Chapter Nine
Oliver
Lark’s arms stayed wrapped loosely around my waist, and for the first time since she’d climbed onto the back of my bike, I found myself wishing the ride wasn’t so damn short.
I almost laughed at myself.
She’d been on my bike twice. Twice. And somehow it’d already started feeling... right.
I rolled into the clubhouse parking lot and killed the engine.
The rumble beneath us faded until all that was left was the chorus of crickets and the occasional laugh drifting from inside the building.
Lark slid off the bike, pulling her helmet free before handing it to me. “Thanks.”
I hooked both helmets over the handlebars. “For what?”
“The ride.” She shrugged. “I kinda like your bike.”
“It’s just a bike.”
She smiled. “Sure, Ollie.”
I shot her a look.
She grinned wider. “I know, I know. Don’t call you that.”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t gonna say it.”
“You’ve finally accepted your fate?”
“Don’t push it.”
Her laugh echoed across the lot. She glanced toward the clubhouse before looking back at me. “Wanna go watch the stars?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“In the backyard,” she clarified quickly. “Not sneaking out there by myself and giving you another heart attack.”
A huff of amusement escaped before I could stop it.
“I didn’t have a heart attack.”
“You were close.”
“I was doing my job.”
She tilted her head. “So... is that a yes?”
I looked toward the clubhouse. Everyone else had already disappeared inside and nothing needed my attention. “Yeah.”
Her smile softened. “Come on.”
The backyard was quiet. The firepit sat cold tonight, leaving the sky above us clear enough that thousands of stars stretched from one end of the horizon to the other.
Lark dropped onto one of the Adirondack chairs.
I took the one beside her, leaving a couple feet between us. Neither of us spoke.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable and it settled around us like the cool summer air. From somewhere inside the clubhouse came the muffled sound of laughter.
Someone yelled. Another voice answered. Then everything faded back into the background.
Lark tipped her head back, her eyes fixed on the stars. “They’re prettier out here.”
“They are.”
Another minute slipped by. She hugged one knee against her chest.
I studied her from the corner of my eye.
She’d barely talked since we’d left the Social Club.
That wasn’t like her.
“You okay?”
She smiled without looking at me. “Yeah.”
I waited.
She sighed. “It was just...” Her voice trailed off. “Surreal.”
“What was?”
“The Social Club.” She looked over at me. “Watching all of you.”
“We were throwing axes and acting like dumbasses.”
I caught the smallest smile. “I know.” She laughed quietly.
“That’s not what I mean.” She looked back toward the sky.
“The way everyone was together. Alice giving Pipe crap. Nikki threatening him if he lost. Wrecker acting like he was twenty-five instead of...” She paused with a grin. “However old he is.”
I snorted. “Don’t let him hear you.”
“I won’t, I enjoy living.” Another quiet laugh escaped her before her expression grew thoughtful again. “They’re a family.”
“They’re loud,” I grunted.
“They’re both.” She swallowed. “They’re not all related by blood, but you never would’ve known it tonight.”
My chest tightened. I knew exactly what she meant, or at least I thought I did.
“I’ve got a piece of paper that says I’m a Fallen Lord.”
She turned toward me. “What?”
I kept my eyes on the stars. “The adoption papers.” The words came out before I could stop them. “They say I’m Pipe and Nikki’s son.” I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Most days I don’t think about it.”
“Most days.”
I nodded once. “But every now and then...” I let the sentence die.
Lark waited.
Finally, I exhaled. “It feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
I shook my head. “Never mind.”
“Ollie.” There wasn’t any teasing in her voice this time. Just concern.
I still didn’t look at her. “It’s stupid.”
“I don’t think it is.”
Silence settled between us again. She didn’t push. Not right away.
“How old were you?”
I glanced over.
“When Pipe and Nikki adopted you.”
“Nine.”
She nodded slowly, giving me time if I wanted it.
“I’d bounced around enough by then that I quit unpacking my stuff.” A humorless chuckle escaped me. “Made moving easier.”
She didn’t interrupt.
“I figured it’d be the same with them.”
“But it wasn’t,” she whispered.
I shook my head. “They kept showing up.”
I looked down at my hands. “School stuff. Ball games. Birthdays.” I shrugged like none of it mattered. “They... stayed.” The word hung between us. “I kept waiting for them to change their minds.” I laughed once under my breath. “Took me a long time to believe they weren’t going to.”
Lark was quiet. When I finally looked over, her eyes were fixed on me. “You’re lucky.” There was a sadness in those two words that hit harder than anything she’d said all night.
“Yeah.”
“My parents...” She swallowed. “I had them until I didn’t.” She stared out across the yard. “No second chance.”
I knew they were both gone. Everyone did.
But sitting there beside her, hearing the loneliness behind those three words, it landed differently.
She wasn’t just talking about losing her parents.
She was talking about having no one left. No one to tease her. No one to argue with over dinner. No one waiting for her to come home.
For the first time since I’d met Lark, I stopped seeing the woman who filled every room with laughter. I saw the one who went back to an empty house when the laughing stopped.
The silence stretched between us.
She wrapped her arms around herself, staring out across the dark yard. “I miss them,” she admitted so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. “Some days are okay.” She gave a small shrug. “Some days I still catch myself reaching for my phone because I want to call my mom.”
My chest tightened.
“I know they’re gone, but...” She let out a shaky laugh. “Sometimes being alone just... gets loud.”
I looked over at her. “You aren’t.”
She frowned. “What?”
“You aren’t alone.”
She held my gaze like she was trying to decide if I’d actually meant it. “I don’t have anyone.”
“You’ve got Ever.”
A tiny smile touched her lips.
“Jude.”
She nodded.
“The club.”
The smile faded into something softer.
“And...” I cleared my throat. “Me.”
The word came out rough, almost reluctant, but once it was out, I didn’t take it back.
Lark stared at me for a long moment. “You mean that?”
I frowned. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
Something in her expression eased, like a weight she’d been carrying shifted just enough to let her breathe.
Neither of us said anything after that.
We didn’t need to.
The quiet settled around us, comfortable this time instead of lonely, and for the first time since we’d sat down on the back porch, it didn’t feel like either one of us was sitting there by ourselves.