Page 40

But the truth is, I'm terrified. Terrified of Cole showing up at our apartment. Terrified of him hurting me again. Terrified of being alone.

"Okay," I whisper. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me."

"I do, though. You've done so much already." I trace the cross tattoo on his wrist. "Most people wouldn't get this involved with a stranger's problems."

"You're not a stranger anymore." He catches my hand. Brings it to his lips and kisses my knuckles. "And your problems are my problems now. Whether you like it or not."

"Can I ask you something?" I say.

"Anything."

"What do you want? Like, long-term. With your life." I'm not sure why I'm asking. Maybe because I need to know if there's space for me in whatever future he's building. "Are you planning to stay with the motorcycle club? Get patched in?"

"Yeah. I want to be patched. Want to be a full member." He shifts slightly so we're lying side by side facing each other. "The club gave me something I didn't have after leaving the priesthood. Purpose. Brotherhood. A way to actually help people instead of just offering empty words."

"And what about after that? After you're patched?"

"I don't know." He's quiet for a moment. "Never really thought that far ahead. Just focused on proving myself. On being worthy of the patch." He pauses. "Why?"

"Just curious." I trace the scar on his ribs. The one from the beer bottle. "I've been thinking about what I want. Now that I'm not with Cole anymore. Now that I have a chance to actually choose."

"What do you want?"

"I want to go back to school." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Not pre-med. God, never pre-med. But maybe illustration. Or graphic design. Something creative."

"You like art?"

"I love it. I used to draw all the time as a kid." I smile slightly at the memory. "My parents hated it. Would rip up my drawings. Tell me I was wasting time. That art wasn't a real career. That I needed to focus on practical things."

"That's horrible."

"Yeah." I shrug. "So, I stopped drawing. Stopped creating. Buried that part of myself because it didn't fit their vision of who I should be."

"And now?"

"Now I want it back." I meet his eyes. "I want to take classes. Maybe online at first while I figure things out. Learn properly instead of just doodling in notebooks. See if I'm actually any good or if it was just a kid's dream."

"You should do it." He says it with such certainty. Like there's no question. "Take the classes. Pursue it. See where it goes. You spent your whole life doing what other people wanted. Being who they expected you to be. Maybe it's time to figure out who you actually are."

He's right. I've spent years trying to meet expectations I never agreed to. Trying to become someone my parents could be proud of even if it meant erasing who I actually was.

"Maybe you're right," I whisper.

"I am right." He pulls me closer. "And I'll help you. However you need. We'll figure it out together."

Together. Like we're a unit now. Like what happened tonight meant something more than just sex.

Maybe it did.

Maybe this is the beginning of something neither of us planned but both of us need.

"I'm tired," I admit. The exhaustion is catching up with me now. The adrenaline fading. Leaving me heavy and drowsy.

"Then sleep." He adjusts the blankets around us. "I've got you."

"You'll stay?"