Chapter 20 #2
“I want to speak,” I said, standing up. “Handful’s right that there might come a day when Indira asks me to choose.
” I looked around the table, meeting each brother’s eyes.
“Yeah, she left me once. Because I gave her every reason to. I cheated, I lied, I treated her like property instead of a partner. If she’d stayed after what I did, that would’ve said something bad about her judgment, not something good about our relationship. ”
I paused, letting that sink in. “She’s not coming back because I begged her to.
She’s coming back for her career—a promotion she earned.
The fact that she’s willing to give me another chance while she’s here?
That’s a gift I don’t deserve, and I know it.
But the reality is that for the past year, I’ve been the best president this club has seen.
The numbers don’t lie. Our profit is up.
Our legal troubles are down. Our territory is expanded.
And yes, that’s partly because I’m not wasting time and energy on meaningless hookups.
I’m focused on what actually matters—this club’s success and becoming a man worthy of the woman I love. ”
“She makes you vulnerable,” Handful insisted. “Someone gets to her, they get to you.”
“Someone got to my woman, they’d have to deal with me.
And then with every brother at this table who honors our code of protecting old ladies.
” I let that sink in. “But if you genuinely believe I can’t lead this club anymore, then call the vote.
I’ll respect the outcome. But know this—if you vote me out, you’re voting based on fear of what might happen, not evidence of what has happened. ”
Colt stood. “All in favor of removing Dutch from presidency, say aye.”
My heart was hammering, but I kept my face impassive.
“Aye,” Handful said immediately.
Two more brothers—Blackjack and Snake, younger members who’d always followed Handful’s lead—echoed with quiet ayes.
“All opposed?”
“Nay,” Glitch said firmly.
The responses came from around the table, one after another.
“Motion fails,” Colt said. “Twenty-five to three. Dutch retains presidency.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Twenty-five brothers had just voted to keep me. Three had voted me out. It could have been worse, but it also could have been unanimous.
I looked at Handful, then at Blackjack and Snake. “You three going to have a problem with this?”
Handful shook his head. “No problem, prez.”
Then the room erupted. Laughter—actual fucking laughter—rolling around the table like a wave. Brothers were grinning, some slapping the table, a few shaking their heads.
I stared at them, completely lost. “What the fuck?”
“It was staged, brother,” Glitch said, not even trying to hide his smile. “We needed to make sure your head was in the right place.”
“Staged?” I looked around the table, seeing the confirmation on every face. Even Colt looked amused.
Handful leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
“Look, Dutch, I don’t give a shit about Indira coming back one way or another.
I care about two things—money and tits. And thanks to you, I’ve got more of both than I’ve ever had.
” He paused, his expression going serious.
“But if you start fucking with either of those things? Maybe I’ll call a vote for real. ”
The laughter died down.
“Fair enough,” I said finally.
“Anyone got anything else for church?” I asked, looking around the table.
Silence.
“Then we’re done. Dismissed.”
After they’d all left, I sat alone in the empty church room, thinking about what had just happened. They’d tested me. Pushed me to see how I’d handle the pressure, how I’d defend my choices when challenged.
And I’d fucking passed.
?
Almost four weeks later, Indira drove into Millfield in a U-Haul truck, followed by professional movers who helped her carry boxes into a two-bedroom apartment in the complex I’d recommended.
I watched from the parking lot, staying far enough away that she wouldn’t feel pressured but close enough to help if she needed anything.
She didn’t ask for help. Handled everything herself with the efficient competence I’d always admired about her.
That evening, she called.
“I’m moved in. Mostly.”
“How does it feel to be back?”
“Strange. Familiar and foreign at the same time.” She paused. “I went by my old apartment. It’s still empty.”
“I’ve been paying the rent,” I admitted.
“Why?”
“Hope, I guess. Stupid hope that someday you might come back.” I paused, then added, “I also kept all your stuff. After you told your landlord to send everything to charity, I convinced him to let me take over the lease instead. Kept everything exactly how you left it.”
“You what?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I know how that sounds. But I couldn’t let him get rid of your things. The books you’d arranged by height, the throw pillows, even...” I stopped myself before mentioning the broken vase I’d saved. “Everything’s still there.”
“That’s...” She was quiet for a moment. “That’s really sweet. And financially irresponsible. And maybe a little concerning.”
“I’d call it dedicated. Maybe a little obsessed.” I gave her a small smile. “But worth every penny.”
There was a long pause.
“There’s something I want to show you. Can you come over? Not for anything romantic,” she added quickly. “I just want to have a conversation.”
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in her new living room, surrounded by boxes and the smell of fresh paint. My chest tightened the moment I saw her. After over a year apart, she was here, back in Millfield finally.
“Coffee?” she offered.
“Please.”
As she busied herself in the kitchen, I looked around at the space she’d created. It was distinctly hers-clean lines, warm colors, new books everywhere. But there was something missing that I couldn’t quite identify.
“No photos,” I said suddenly.
“What?”
“Of us. There are no photos of us anywhere.”
She handed me a mug and settled onto her couch. “Are you surprised? Couldn’t bear to look at them.”
“But you still have them?”
“Some of them.” She looked away. “The night I left, I smashed a few at my apartment. I was...” She shook her head.
I remembered finding the broken glass on her floor, along ceramic shards from the vase scattered near her kitchen counter.
And before that, the photo she’d hurled against my bedroom wall—the two of us at the charity ride, both smiling, my arm around her waist. Glass everywhere, the frame destroyed, our frozen smiles lying amid the shards.
“I remember,” I said quietly.
“The ones that survived...” She met my eyes again. “I’m not sure what they represent.” She set down her coffee and looked at me directly. “I heard something interesting about you.”
“What?”
“Glitch sent me this.” She pulled out her phone and turned the screen toward me.
I watched myself drag a mattress across the clubhouse parking lot, douse it in lighter fluid, and set it ablaze while my confused brothers looked on.
I felt heat rise in my face. “Glitch needs to mind his own business.”
“He cares about you. They all do, even when they think you’re making mistakes.” She set the phone down. “You told me about this. But seeing it...”
“It hits different?”
“Very different.” She studied my face. “You also mentioned giving up your room at the clubhouse. Moving to your house permanently.”
“Don’t want that lifestyle.”
“Lifestyle?”
“Before you, I had a room at the clubhouse for one reason—easy access to women. Club girls, hangarounds, whoever wanted a night with the president.” I shook my head. “When we got together, I told myself I’d changed, moved into the house, but I kept the room.”
“And now?”
“The room’s cleaned out, the mattress is ash, and I sleep at my house every night. Alone, until you decide otherwise.”
She was quiet for a long time, still watching me like she was reconciling the man in the video with the man sitting across from her.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” she said finally.
I nodded, thinking about my new office at the clubhouse and why I’d needed to destroy the old one.
“I’ll show you sometime. When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
So I drove her to the clubhouse, ignoring the curious looks from my brothers as I led her down the hall—past the door to my old office, now converted to storage, and into the room at the end.
“This is different,” she said, looking around. New desk, new furniture, different layout entirely. Nothing remained from before.
“I moved offices a few months after you left.”
“Why?”
I met her eyes, forcing myself not to look away.
“I couldn’t sit at that desk anymore. Not after I realized what I’d done to us.
” I paused, the confession sitting bitter on my tongue.
“I fucked other women on that desk, Indira. Club girls, before we were together, while we were together. And I sat behind it every day pretending I was a different man than I actually was.”
Her expression didn’t change, but I saw her shoulders tighten.
“So I destroyed it. Took a sledgehammer to the desk. Moved into this room and started fresh.” I gestured around at the clean lines, the new leather furniture. “Nothing in here has any history. No ghosts.”
She walked slowly around the room, trailing her fingers along the edge of the new desk. “You destroyed your desk.”
“Felt good. Cathartic.”
“And the old room?”
“Storage now. Couldn’t stand to look at it.”
She turned to face me, and there was something in her eyes I couldn’t quite read. “You burned the mattress. Gave up the room. Destroyed your desk.” She shook her head slowly. “You really did tear your whole life apart.”
“Only the parts that were rotten.” I held her gaze. “The parts that let me pretend I could be one man with you and another man everywhere else.”
She was quiet for a long moment, still studying me like she was reconciling everything I’d told her with the man standing in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “For showing me this.”
I waited, hoping for more. For some sign that this meant something.
“It doesn’t change anything, Jacob.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “You understand that, right? You can burn mattresses and destroy offices but that doesn’t undo what happened between us.”
My throat tightened. I realized I’d been holding my breath since she started talking, and when I finally exhaled, my chest ached like I’d been holding it for hours. I wanted to reach for her—the urge so strong my fingers actually twitched—but I locked my hands at my sides. “I know.”
“Do you?” She studied my face. “I’m not going to reward you for becoming the man you should have been all along. These changes? They’re the bare minimum. They’re what you owed yourself, not what you owe me.”
I nodded, swallowing hard against the tightness in my throat. The new desk suddenly felt like a prop in a play I’d written for an audience of one, and I wasn’t sure anymore if the performance had landed. She was right. Of course she was right.
“But,” she said, and something in her expression softened just slightly, “it does matter that you did it. That you didn’t just move on and find someone new who didn’t know your history. Or who did and didn’t care.” She paused. “It matters that you’re trying.”
“That’s all I’m asking for. A chance to keep trying.”
She smiled—small, cautious, but real. “I know. That matters more than you probably realize.”
We drove back to her apartment with the radio filling the silence between us.
She hummed along to a song I didn’t recognize—something soft, with piano—and I filed that away.
Another piece of her I’d need to learn. Or relearn.
I wasn’t sure anymore which parts of her were new and which I’d just never noticed before.
At her door, she turned to me.
“Goodnight, Jacob.”
“Goodnight, Indira.”
As I drove home, her words played on repeat. The bare minimum. My knuckles went white on the steering wheel. She was right—ash and splinters didn’t erase betrayal.
But she’d said it mattered that I was trying. My grip loosened.
For now, that would have to be enough.