Chapter 7
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— Indira —
Some mornings I woke up reaching for Dutch before I remembered. This morning was one of those—my hand stretching across cold hotel sheets, my body betraying me before my mind caught up. The ache of that half-second before reality hit never got easier.
I threw myself into the Nashville apartment listings to drown it out.
One bedroom, two bedroom, downtown, midtown.
The choices felt overwhelming, but for the first time in weeks, I was making plans that stretched beyond “survive today.” Two weeks in Knoxville had turned into a month, and I was done just existing.
I closed the laptop and grabbed my jacket.
Grind Coffee had become my second office—close enough to walk, busy enough to blend in, quiet enough to think.
The espresso machine hissed steam as I settled into my usual corner with a latte and pumpkin muffin, pulling out my laptop for the afternoon video conference.
Then a familiar laugh cut through the café noise, and my blood turned to ice.
“I swear, Crystal told me the whole story. You should have seen her face when she walked in on him at his office...”
I knew that voice. Amber something, a friend of one of the club hangers-on who’d been at a few MC events. She was sitting with two other women I didn’t recognize, but her voice carried across the coffee shop like she was announcing it to everyone.
“She just stood there like a deer in headlights,” Amber continued, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. “I mean, what did she expect? Dating a biker and thinking she’s the only woman he’s touching? Please.”
My jaw tightened. I could duck my head, try to slip out unnoticed. Or I could sit here and wait for the inevitable moment when Amber spotted me. I chose to stay, taking a deliberate sip of my coffee while I waited.
It didn’t take long.
“Oh my God.” Amber’s voice got louder. “Is that her?”
I looked up and met her stare directly, watching her mouth fall open in shock. The two women with her turned to look, and suddenly I felt like I was on display in a zoo.
“Holy shit, it is you!” Amber stood up, clearly planning to come over.
I sat back in my chair and watched her approach, my spine straightening with each step she took. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing except being naive enough to believe Dutch was faithful to me. And that wasn’t shame. That was a lesson learned.
“Indira! Oh my God, what are you doing in Knoxville?” She slid into the chair across from me without being invited, her eyes bright with the kind of excitement people got when they stumbled onto good gossip. “I’m here visiting my cousin at UT. Small world, right?”
“I live here now,” I said simply.
“You live here? But what about Dutch? I heard you guys had some drama, but I figured you’d work it out. You know how bikers are. They all mess around, but they always come back to their old ladies.”
His name landed like a fist to the sternum. My fingers tightened around my cup.
“I’m not his old lady.” The words came out steady and clear. “I never was.”
Amber’s eyebrows shot up. “But you guys were together for like a year. Everyone thought he was going to make you his old lady.”
“Everyone was wrong.” I took a sip of my coffee, using the moment to gather my thoughts. “Including me.”
“So you just... left? Over some club girl?” Amber leaned forward, clearly hungry for details. “Come on, Indira. It’s not like it meant anything. Crystal’s been warming beds at that clubhouse for years. She’s basically furniture.”
My stomach clenched—the same twist I’d felt that night, cheap perfume mixing with the leather-and-smoke smell that used to mean safety.
The casual way Amber said it, like my pain was irrelevant, like Dutch’s betrayal was just part of some game I should have known the rules to. It lit a fire in my chest.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. “It didn’t mean anything. That was exactly the problem.”
Amber looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Furniture.” I let the word hang between us. “That’s a woman you’re talking about. A human being.”
Amber flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” I stood up, gathering my coffee and muffin—I wasn’t leaving them behind. “You’re just so used to it you don’t hear yourself anymore.”
The entire coffee shop had gone quiet. I could feel eyes on us, but I didn’t look away from Amber’s face.
Amber’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “But... but what if he changes? What if he realizes what he lost?”
I paused at her question, because it was one I’d asked myself a hundred times in quiet moments.
For a split second I felt the phantom weight of his arm around my shoulders, the way he’d pull me against his side like I belonged there.
What if Dutch did realize what he’d lost?
What if he came after me with promises to do better?
“Then he’ll have learned an expensive lesson,” I said finally.
“But he’s not my problem anymore.” I walked out of the coffee shop with my head high, leaving Amber and her friends staring after me.
My hands were still shaking slightly, but not from fear or humiliation this time.
From adrenaline. From the rush of standing up for myself.
By the time I got back to my hotel room, I’d made a decision. I pulled out my phone and called the real estate agent I’d been emailing about Nashville apartments.
“Hi, I’d like to schedule viewings for this weekend.”
“Wonderful! Which properties are you interested in seeing?”
“All of them.”
“All of them?” The agent sounded surprised. “Let me pull up your list... that’s six apartments. Have you refined your search at all? Location preferences, price range, number of bedrooms?”
“Everything on that list is in my price range, and I like all the locations,” I said. “I need to see them all in person. I’ll know which one is the one when I’m standing in it.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “That’s... a very sensible approach. Let me check my schedule and work out a route. Can I call you back in an hour with a viewing schedule?”
“Perfect.”
After I hung up, I pulled out my laptop and started looking up things to do in Nashville this weekend. Coffee shops to try between viewings. Maybe a museum or two. The historic district. Places I could explore while I was there, get a feel for the city beyond just the apartments.
I closed the laptop and looked around my hotel room. The suitcase in the corner, still not fully unpacked. The toiletries lined up on the bathroom counter.
For the first time in weeks, I wanted to unpack them. Put them somewhere permanent.
The realtor called back an hour later with a viewing schedule. I wrote it down, thanked her, and hung up.
Then I finished my cold coffee, because I wasn’t about to waste a perfectly good latte.