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My gaze strays to the bed. Still rumpled from last night. The first night we…
Scalding tears roll down my cheeks, and I brush them away with the back of my hand.
Everything was so beautiful. So perfect. We had plans today.
Hurry. There isn’t much time.
A ragged sob tears out of my throat. I stuff my fist in my mouth and bite hard to muffle the noise.
Bed. What if they come in here and film? Absurdly worried it’ll look like we had sex, I hurry to straighten the sheets and comforter. I scoop up our scattered clothes, folding them into a neat pile on one side of the mattress.
My frenzied gaze pings around the room. Pack. I came in here to help Griff pack.
What will he need for the next two months?
Clothes. Closet. Griff rotates through a collection of T-shirts and shorts in the summer. Some sleeveless shirts—God, I love when he wears those—and a bunch of work shirts. I doubt he wants anything with his job embroidered on the front, so I flip by those. What about Zips? I know the guys race and gamble illegally there, but Uncle Pax hosts legitimate car shows and stuff too. Griff would want to support the racetrack if he had a chance. I set that shirt in the maybe pile.
A T-shirt with the crown, brass knuckles, and flowers logo Griff and Remy use to represent The Castle crew. It doesn’t have any writing on it. I toss that on the maybe pile.
Support your local LOKI MC, Port Everhart Virginia. Why does he have one for Virginia but not New York? Doesn’t matter. No time! Griff said he wasn’t supposed to mention the Lost Kings MC on the show. I leave that shirt on its hanger.
There’s a T-shirt with Clary’s Tavern emblazoned on the front. Remy can use all the publicity he can get for the bar. I throw that one in the definite pile.
A muscle tank with Strike Back Studio. Doing those promo videos for Sully’s gym are what got Griff into this mess. Sully’s gym could use the free advertising too. I toss that shirt on the definite pile.
I throw a bunch of plain T-shirts on the bed, then go through the rest of his wardrobe. Lots and lots of flannel shirts. Long-sleeved Henley’s, hoodies. His wardrobe is pretty basic. A crime, since he looks so good in a tux.
Focus.
This feels too intimate. Personal. Pawing through his clothes. Trying to figure out what he’ll feel most comfortable in when he’s in a strange environment. What he’ll need for the next eight weeks. He’ll have access to a washer and dryer, right? Will they let him run to a store and grab something if he forgets it?
So many unknowns.
On the top shelf, a large backpack peeks over the edge. I hook my finger in the strap and drag it down, grab a few pairs of shorts, then carry everything to the bed. The front of the backpack has tons of little stash pockets. I unzip one outer pocket and find another inner pocket nestled inside. I hurry to the nightstand and grab the tube of cherry lip balm I tossed there last night. Griff once told me how much he liked the taste of it on my lips.
Paper? My frantic gaze searches his room. A black pen from the garage rests on top of his dresser but there’s no paper in sight. I grab a crumpled receipt. That’ll have to do. I scribble a quick note on the back of the receipt, then roll it around the lip balm and stuff it inside one of the inner pockets of Griff’s backpack. Hopefully he finds it.
What if the show’s producers search his bag and they laugh at my note?
Let them.
I pack a few more essentials he’ll need and one more surprise, then start folding and rolling T-shirts into tight bundles, stacking everything in a pyramid shape.
The door opens and Griff slips inside. He carefully twists the flimsy lock on the handle and presses a finger to his lips.
He hurries toward me and backs me up to the far wall.
“Listen.” His low, urgent voice sends more fear pumping through my veins.
He presses his palms to my cheeks and leans down to stare into my eyes. “If anything happens to me, Hope Kendall has all my info.”
I frown, recognizing the name but not understanding. “The Lost Kings’ president’s wife? Why? What info?”
“She’s an attorney. She drafted a will for me.”
A hot spike of fear stabs me between the ribs. “A will? Like, if you die?” I can barely get the words past my lips.
“You never know. I wanted to make sure my mother doesn’t get her hands on anything.” He flicks one hand in the air as if it’s inconsequential. “My rent’s paid up through the end of October. One way or another, I should be home by then.”
