“It looks amazing!” Evie gushed, bending sideways at the waist to get a better look at the outline despite the layer of clear gunk over it.

Stone stood behind her, an indulgent smile on his lips.

The newlyweds were sweet. Sometimes, it was hard to look at, but it was impossible to deny that they were a great match—even with their age difference. It took no time being around them for the fifteen odd years separating them to disappear.

We were in the farmhouse kitchen. I’d come in while Evie and Avery were discussing plans for a cookout at the clubhouse that weekend. Once spring took hold of Hoffman, this would be nearly every other weekend to some degree. The guys loved any excuse to grill meat and party.

I hadn’t really planned to make a thing of the tattoo—or what I had of it for the moment, anyway—but I’d already told Avery since she was the one watching Owen. When I got back to the farmhouse, she’d demanded to see it in front of the others.

“Looks good, darlin’,” Doc agreed.

Doc and I had a different bond than I did with the rest of the Disciples, if only because of how much longer I’d known him. He lived next door to Joel and Daz when we were growing up. Daz, in particular, had gotten close with him—not that Joel, and then myself by extension, didn’t. Doc had introduced both of the Larson boys to motorcycles and went further to introduce Daz to the Savage Disciples and club life. He’d even taken Daz in when Joel and I were eighteen and Joel was determined to get me away from my family. We’d planned to take Daz with us, but Doc had stepped in so Daz would stay in the same school—and we wouldn’t be two teenagers trying to make it while being financially responsible for another.

He was family.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Who did it?” Avery asked.

There was flour on her clothes, and I wondered if Owen looked similar. She said he was down for a nap when I came in. He liked to claim he loved baking, which always got Avery excited about doing it with him, but he really just liked making a mess and eating whatever they made.

“Liam.”

I felt shy saying that. Like I was going to start blushing or something equally ridiculous.

“Kid’s got talent,” Doc commented.

“Sketch wouldn’t hire anyone else,” Stone put in.

“I’m going to go check on Owen quickly,” I threw out, not wanting to get into a conversation about Liam, especially after having spent so long with him.

Especially not after what had happened on the way out.

“We’ve got you down for two weeks, but, like I said, we’ll have to see how you’re healing up then,” he said, leaning against the reception desk. Jess was nowhere to be seen, and I worried maybe she was intentionally making herself scarce for some reason.

I nodded, feeling awkward now. Over the last couple hours, I’d gotten comfortable with Liam. Then, we’d finished and he’d shown me the progress. Seeing that outline in real ink, knowing that it was there on my skin forever now, having it be so beautiful, was overwhelming. He seemed to get it and focused on all the aftercare instructions rather than asking me why I was acting strangely.

Truth was, I didn’t know. I just knew I was feeling that moment more acutely than I’d felt much of anything in a long time. I owed that feeling—good or bad, I wasn’t sure yet—to Liam, even if he had just been doing his job.

Now, with all of my instructions understood, my tattoo wrapped up, and the bill paid, there was nothing left to say.

Or, I had nothing to say, anyway.

Liam looked at me for a long moment. His hair was down again, and I couldn’t tell if it was that or something in his expression that made him look on edge.

“I need to say something,” he finally spoke. “But I don’t want to fuck with your head before you go home.”

That was…unexpected. Still, after all he’d done, giving me this beautiful piece of art—even in its unfinished state—and making me feel comfortable enough to not have to pretend to be fine the whole time, I felt like I should give him this.

“Tell me.”

“Connor’s injury?” I nodded to indicate I was with him. “He got it in a car accident.”

My stomach churned and I felt bile burning in the back of my throat. Every muscle in my body was braced like I could break into a sprint and escape this.

“The accident took my dad from us.”

There it was.

Suddenly, I remembered what he’d said earlier.

“We know more intimately than most how much worse it could have been.”

And what he’d said at the bakery that day.

“I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t help at all. I know it still hurts and all the sympathy in the world doesn’t touch that, but it’s true.”

He’d all but told me, I just hadn’t caught it.

“Mom.” He shook his head. “She loved him. More than anything. I watched for years as she just lived every day for the three of us, and I can see that’s what you’re doing, too. And that’s okay. That’s what you need now, and you deserve to do whatever you need to keep going after what you lost. But I want you to know that I’m here. I know you’ve got one fuck of a support system from the club, but if none of them feel right, I’m right here whenever. Or she can be, if you’d want to talk to someone who’s been there. She’d be there for you in a heartbeat. All you have to do is ask.”

I was concentrating so hard on not letting myself fall apart, an instinct born of years of practice, that I couldn’t get my jaw to release enough to say anything back. Not that I knew what to say even if I could.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he went on anyway. “I just needed you to know, but that’s that. The ball is in your court, whatever you want to do. Okay?”

It was an effort to nod, but I managed it.

“Okay.” His voice was soft, and so was his expression as he reached up and tucked some of the hair that had fallen from my ponytail behind my ear. “I’ll see you soon, gypsy.”

He didn’t move away after he said it, just stood there waiting for whatever I did next. I contemplated a million options: telling him it was none of his business, offering my condolences, trying to deny what he’d said about what I was going through, and even—surprising myself—considering taking him up on it. Instead, I met his gaze for a long moment, hoping there was something there that might serve as a thank you, and I left.

I moved quietly down the hall to mine and Owen’s rooms, replaying it all. Even though the defensive instinct had flared up, I was glad I hadn’t acted on it. Liam was a good guy, and he was trying to help. I’d lost my temper too many times with people for trying to do the same. Daz especially.

With a slow push on the cracked door, I saw my boy curled up in his bed. He was still out, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. Naps were all but a thing of the past at this point. Instead, he seemed to be an endless supply of energy. Some would probably say it was natural for a six-year-old, but I wasn’t so sure. The Larson boys always had that kind of boundless energy, and every day Owen reminded me more and more of his father.

As I watched him sleep, I couldn’t help but think of Connor, of Liam’s mom, about what he’d said about wishing he could change Connor’s fate but loving him the same either way. I’d played out many times how much worse the accident might have been. Owen and I had been right there. I could have lost them both. Owen could have lost both of his parents. Or I could be standing here right now thanking every power that I had him, even if he was never the same.

It was hard to feel fortunate when I’d lost the man I loved with all my heart for years. Right then, looking at the beautiful life we made together, I felt it. Despite the anger and the bitterness, I felt it so strongly it nearly brought me to my knees.

I pulled the door open again and turned to head down the hall to see Daz standing a few feet away, watching me. He looked concerned, and my gut tightened. I walked to him, and he watched me without any change.

“What?” I asked low.

“You’ve been back here for fifteen minutes,” he explained.

This was surprising, but not overly so. To a normal person, zoning out that long would probably seem odd. Unfortunately, I went into my head like that a lot only to come back and realize how much time I was missing. Fifteen minutes was nothing. There were times closer to the accident when I would lose hours, even the better part of whole days.

“Are you doing okay?”

It was a question I’d been asked more times than I could ever begin to count since losing Joel. I’d gotten into the habit of automatically assuring everyone that I was. I was always okay. Maybe I wasn’t the same woman I had been, but I was getting on with life.

At least, that’s what I said.

Right then, though, I couldn’t muster the words.

Daz’s usually carefree face was so marked by his worry. I thought about everything Liam had said about loving his siblings unconditionally. Daz had given me that from the beginning, even if I wasn’t his family by blood. Suddenly, that familiar lie felt like ash on my tongue.

“It’s just hard sometimes.”

Even that mistruth felt wrong, but it would have to do.

It wasn’t hard sometimes. It was hard all the time.

You were doing all right earlier. Almost like the girl I fell in love with. I’ve missed her.

Those words in Joel’s voice in my mind hit me like a blow. I felt the tears I usually held in unless I was alone gather and fall.

Daz wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in against his chest. He probably thought it was the relief of admitting that or the strain of having a bad day making me lose it, but that wasn’t it at all.

It was the realization that the woman I’d become in my grief, the pretending, the lies, Joel would hate it all.