––––––––

CHIEF PARKED THE TRUCK outside the clubhouse and shut off the engine. Jett stared straight ahead at the crowd gathered in front of the door. It'd been four years and six weeks since he'd been on Brikken Property.

"Take one day at a time, son." Chief exhaled loudly. "You're facing more than life on the outside, and you're —"

"I'm fine. Throw me back on the schedule," said Jett.

"You'll take a week off, like every member who walks out from behind bars. Stay home with Sydney, wear off some of that frustration, and then get your strength back. You'll figure everything out in time. No use rushing it." Chief looked down at Jett's hand, laying useless on his lap.

His father asked no questions, but the silence spoke of Chief's doubts in his ability to come back as the son of the president. Jett held himself stiff, refusing to turn from the inspection. His temper used to be his weakest characteristic.

Now, his weakness was there for everyone to see. He had no use of his hand. To twist the knife in his pain, it was his dominant hand. The hand expected to lead Brikken Motorcycle Club someday.

He stared down at the patch on his leather vest. "I will ride again."

"You're Rollo's grandson. It's what you were born to do." Chief's steady, gruff voice gave passion to the statement.

Jett opened the door and walked out to the homecoming waiting for him, knowing there was no way he could fucking ride.

Faced with the impossible, he strode forward. His unhidden weakness out in the open for all to see.

Cheers blasted the air. The men rushed him, and he braced, bringing his hand to his chest to protect the damaged limb. He walked through the crowd, knowing Sydney wasn't here.

He couldn't face her in front of the others. Already struggling, he needed to first show the members of Brikken he was back. Once he got through the welcome, he'd face Sydney alone.

Alone where he could accept the condition in which he returned to her.

His mom broke out in front of the crowd, intently studying him. The pain of what she'd gone through having her oldest son in prison again written in the lines on her face, the tears hovering below the surface.

A source of strength for him, his mom never judged him for his choices but stood by him. She understood life inside of Brikken, and while she never condoned behavior out of her comfort zone, she never stopped loving him or his brothers.

He stopped in front of her and let her have a look, reassuring herself he was okay. Shutting himself off from the reality of his mom aging while he'd been gone, he concentrated on standing still. For her. For their relationship.

She'd respected his wish not to have her come to the prison. It was for her protection and his. Around his mom, he became a different person. A weaker man. It'd been a long four years for both of them having only phone contact.

Her face lifted and she whispered, "Jett..."

He held out his good arm, and she walked into his hug, carefully staying on the left side of his body. Holding her gently, he gritted his teeth trying to ignore the fragility of her age when he only wanted her to grab and shake him, make the disconnection go away.

She lifted her face, running her hand down his cheek. "You look like shit, but you look like my son. So strong. You're going to be okay. I love you so much."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "I need to get home to Sydney."

"I know. I want to see you soon." His mom stepped away, reluctant to let go of him and gazed behind him.

He turned and found Olin and Thorn. While he'd seen both of them off and on during visitations, it hit him hard that he was home, surrounded by his brothers.

"I guess it really does take being incarcerated to grow a fucking beard that long." Thorn rubbed his trimmed beard.

Olin elbowed Thorn. "And, get that ugly."

Thorn moved in, smacked him on the shoulder making Jett wince. Olin backed away, lifting his hand. "Welcome home, bro, but some of us have to work around here. Catch you for a  beer later?"

"Yeah." He lifted his arm, forgetting his useless hand could do no more than stick up in the air like a fucking flag. "Later."

He looked at his mom, his brother, and inhaled. "I'm going to..."

"Yeah, yeah. Go." Thorn waved him away. "We'll see you Saturday for the party."

He walked toward the truck, nodding, answering the others milling around asking questions, not remembering what he said, only knowing he wanted to go home where no one told him what to do and when to do it.

Chief spotted him coming and stepped toward the truck, ready to take him. He climbed up in the cab, irritated that he couldn't drive himself. He should've ridden his Harley from the prison, returned as a hero.

He'd had his second surgery only two weeks ago with the prognosis that he wouldn't have full use of two of his fingers. His index and middle finger. The fingers he'd need to grip the handlebar. The fingers that gave him strength in his hand.

The loss of control over his emotions surrounding Sydney, letting his weakness show by beating the wall, caused him his biggest mistake.

"Ready?" Chief started the truck.

He nodded and rolled down the window, suffocating in the small space.

After Olson mentioned Jersey's attack on Sydney to get to him, he'd forbidden her from coming to the prison. Between two surgeries, recovery, and the bullshit threats, he wanted her far away, somewhere safe. Because if word got out to his enemies that he had a weakness, and that weakness was his love for Sydney, he'd be dead.

***

JOHANNA TURNED AWAY from the front window of Jett's house. Sydney fluffed up the pillow on the couch and straightened the blanket draped over the back.

"It was really nice of you to get all the furniture for Jett." Sydney sat down in the chair placed by the fireplace.

"It was no problem." Johanna gazed around the room. "I know he would've wanted to fill the house himself when he returned, but someone in Brikken is always getting new furniture which means there is used furniture for anyone who needs it. It'll be more comfortable for Jett while he heals. Once he's better, he can change things out if he likes."

The updates Chief relayed to her on Jett's condition were that the bones in his hand were shattered. Despite the surgeries, he couldn't close some of his fingers into a fist. Once Jett arrived home, he'd need to make sure he kept the hand elevated if it showed any signs of swelling. Luckily, the latest stitches from his second surgery were removed at the prison before his release.

"Does he need to see a doctor? You know, one that's not hired by the prison?" asked Sydney.

She had no idea if Jett had insurance. Foster kids were covered by the state until they were eighteen years old. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a doctor, but without a real job, she would have to pay cash if she became sick or hurt.

"He's told Chief he didn't want to see another doctor. I'm hoping he changes his mind. It's always good to get a second opinion." Johanna jolted and walked back to the window. "They're here."

Sydney pressed her hand to her stomach and moved to the window, wishing Kylie was here, but she'd sent her sister to the clubhouse to watch Stassi and Jackie while Chief and Johanna helped Jett get home. She'd waited for this day for more than four years, and now that his release day had come, she was scared.

Scared she wouldn't be able to make him happy.

Scared she wouldn't be able to take care of him with his hand being unusable.

Scared she wouldn't be the woman he wanted any longer.

"Should we go out there?" asked Johanna.

"No." She had no idea what he wanted or needed. "I think it'll be easier for him to come inside where he can sit and relax."

"Oh, God," mumbled Johanna. "He looks awful."

She'd argue that point, but she was too caught up in looking at Jett in street clothes. His black T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and fit firm against his hard stomach. How could she not remember how incredibly sexy he'd been when they were together?

His hair, tangled and long, hung in waves halfway down his back. His beard was equally long.

In his leather Brikken motorcycle vest, she could almost pretend that he was okay.

She dropped her gaze to his hand, and her stomach fluttered at the magnitude of his injury. Wrapped in a bandage, she suspected the bigger size also contained a brace of some kind under the packaging.

Losing sight of him the closer he came to the door, she turned when it opened.

Jett stopped in the doorway, looking at the furniture filling the room. Johanna laid her hand on Sydney's back. She stepped forward.

"Welcome home," she said, wishing her voice came out louder, more confident.

His chest swelled with a breath. "Syd."

Her name coming from him spurred her into action. She went to him, careful of his hand, and stretched up on her toes. He palmed the back of her head with his good hand and lifted her higher, bringing his mouth down. He kissed her firmly, opening her mouth, forcing his tongue against hers. Her body vibrated, a slave to his need.

Familiar and yet a stranger, even the smell of him was different than she remembered. The contact after all these years overwhelmed her. She couldn't breathe or join in the kiss because she had no control over herself. She had no idea what to do.

She tilted, legs wobbling, and caught herself against him. He moaned, and she pulled back, stepping away. "I'm sorry."

The tension etched in the wrinkles around his eyes stayed. "I'm fine."

But, he wasn't. He held his hand against his chest. She'd need to be more careful.

"It's so good to see you." Johanna approached and rubbed Jett's good arm. "We'll have you over for dinner soon. After you've settled in, of course. The girls wanted to see you, but we thought it best to let you catch your breath."

"Right." He cupped the back of Sydney's neck and pulled her closer, keeping her at his side. "I'm beat."

Johanna's eyes softened. "I'll get out of here. Welcome home."

Jett dipped his chin. Sydney took the time to make sure she positioned herself away from his hand.

The door shut. Jett walked her over to the couch and sat. Sitting beside him, nerves hit her. She wasn't prepared for the amount of care he'd need or how to go about helping him when everything about him coming home left her feeling awkward.

"Where's Kylie?" he asked, stretching his legs out straight and pulling her back against his side.

"She's watching Chief and Johanna's kids at the clubhouse. Then, she's going to walk them home and have dinner at their house. Johanna will bring her back here later tonight." She put her hand on his thigh and looked at him. "It was Johanna's way of letting us have time alone, but you probably want to take a nap. Do you have any pain medicine or do you need Tylenol?"

"Nah, I don't want anything." He patted her hip. "Come closer, warm me."

"I can try and make you an appointment with a doctor in Tacoma. They'd give you something to make you more comfortable." She half turned, pressing her breasts against his side.

"Don't need anything." He rubbed her hip.

"There's a blanket behind us. I could—"

"Syd." He patted her hip and warmed the skin under his hand. "Just you."

Part of her wanted to relax. Jett was the man she loved, and she was anxious to have the intimacy back that she'd found with him. The other half of her wanted to get up and put space between them. She was nervous. Yet, she hated that she wasn't throwing herself at him.

It was much easier at sixteen years old to let him do whatever he wanted with her because she honestly had no idea what he was capable of doing. At twenty-one years old, the feelings inside of her instinctively understood the way he could make her feel good. That power to go after what she wanted and the desire to have him do whatever he wanted created a whirlwind inside of her.

Even Kylie, at almost nineteen years old, had sex with Milo before he went to college. She inhaled deeply, trying to settle her highly wound body, and just enjoy having Jett back in her life the way she'd craved for the last four years.

Most of her desperation came from her insecurities. She wanted to make everything perfect for him. She needed validation that nothing had changed between them, knowing everything had changed. But, she had to slow down.

From now on, he'd be here every day. Sleep with her every night. When she wanted to talk, he'd be here to listen.

She peeked up at him. He sat with his eyes closed.

Remembering how he'd told her about his difficulties in sleeping after he was incarcerated the first time, she held still and let him rest.

There would be time later to talk and do...other things.