Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Ingrid
The massage room feels too small after Gunnar leaves.
Too quiet.
Too full of his lingering presence—the scent of his skin, the heat that radiated from his body, the way my hands trembled every time I touched him.
I lean against the door, eyes closed, trying to catch my breath.
Trying to pretend my heart isn't racing.
Trying to convince myself that the relief I felt when his phone rang wasn't mixed with crushing disappointment.
He had to leave.
Club business.
Important, dangerous work that has nothing to do with me.
Which is good.
Perfect, even.
Means I don't have to finish that conversation.
Don't have to explain why I left.
Don't have to admit that he's right—I am running, I am terrified, I do feel something I can't afford to feel.
A knock on the door makes me jump.
"Ingrid?" Mom's voice. "Honey, can you come to my office for a minute?"
Oh no.
"I need to clean the room first."
"It can wait. Come on."
That tone.
The one that means she's not asking.
I take a deep breath, smooth my hair, and try to compose myself.
Then follow her down the hall to the office she shares with Fern.
It's a cozy space—desk covered in paperwork, shelves lined with product samples, two comfortable chairs for consultations with clients.
And on the desk, two fresh matcha lattes in our favorite mugs.
My stomach sinks.
She planned this.
"Sit," Mom says gently, settling into one chair and gesturing to the other.
I sit.
Take the offered latte.
Stare at the green foam like it might have answers.
"So," Mom starts, voice carefully casual. "Gunnar seemed tense today."
"He works too hard. All the guys do."
"Mmm. And you seemed tense too."
"Busy day."
"Ingrid." She waits until I look at her. "In case you’ve forgotten, I've known you for twenty-seven years. Longer if you count the time you were cooking in my belly. I know when something's going on."
"Nothing's going on."
"Really? Because the tension in that massage room was thick enough to cut with a knife."
I take a sip of latte, buying time.
Too hot.
Burns my tongue.
"We're friends," I say finally. "Sometimes friends have... tension."
"What kind of tension?"
"Mom—"
"Because from where I was standing, it looked like the kind of tension that comes from something happening between two people. Something significant."
My throat closes.
She knows.
Of course she knows.
Mothers always know.
"It's complicated," I whisper.
"Most worthwhile things are."
"It's not—" I stop, swallowing hard. "It's not worthwhile. It's a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake that I'm trying to move past."
"Why is it a mistake?"
"Because it's Gunnar."
"And?"
"And he's—" I gesture helplessly. "He's Vail and Vanir's son. He grew up in the clubhouse just like me. He's my friend. Was my friend. Before I ruined it by—"
"By what?" Mom asks gently. "By letting yourself feel something?"
The tears come before I can stop them.
"By letting him see me," I choke out. "The real me. The broken, fucked-up, worthless me that nobody wants to keep."
"Oh, baby." Mom sets down her latte, reaches across to take my hand. "You're not worthless."
"Tell that to Njal. Tell that to Bjorn."
"Those boys were idiots who didn't deserve you."
"They proved what I am. What I've always been. Just—" My voice cracks. "Just good enough to fuck, not good enough to keep."
Mom's quiet for a long moment.
When she speaks, her voice is firm.
"You know what I think? I think you're scared."
"Of course I'm scared—"
"Not of Gunnar hurting you. Of him not hurting you."
I blink, confused. "What?"
"You're scared he might actually be different. That he might actually see you and stay. Because if that's true, if someone like Gunnar can love you the way you deserve, then it means Njal and Bjorn were wrong. And if they were wrong, you've been punishing yourself for years for nothing."
The words land like a punch.
"That's not—"
"Isn't it?" Mom squeezes my hand. "You've built this entire identity around being damaged. Around being the girl nobody kept. But what if you're not that girl? What if you never were? What if you're the girl who survived two assholes and came out stronger?"
"I'm not stronger. I'm a fucking mess."
"You're human. There's a difference." She pauses. "Can I tell you something?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Gunnar's been watching you for years."
My head snaps up. "What?"
"Years, honey. The way he looks at you when you're not paying attention... it's the way your father looks at me. Like you're the only thing in the room that matters."
"That's not—"
"It is. Everyone sees it except you." Mom's eyes are gentle. "And maybe that's exactly why this could work."
"How? How could this possibly work? Look at my history with club men—"
"Exactly. Look at your history. Njal and Bjorn were club men who treated you like garbage.
So is Gunnar, but he never did. He's been your friend through all of it.
Patient. Kind. Showing up every time you needed him without asking for anything in return.
" She leans forward. "That's not nothing, Ingrid. That's everything."
"But what if—" I can barely say it. "What if he realizes I'm not worth the effort? What if he sees who I really am and decides I'm too broken to fix?"
"Then he's an idiot. But I don't think he is." Mom smiles softly. "I think he already sees who you really are. And he's still here."
"He left—"
"For club business. Not because of you. There's a difference."
I want to believe her.
God, I want to believe her so badly it hurts.
But the voice in my head—the one that sounds like Njal's indifference and Bjorn's hurtful words—keeps whispering that I'm fooling myself.
That this will end like everything else.
That I should run before it's too late.
"I don't know how to do this," I admit. "How to let someone in without breaking."
"You start by being honest. With him. With yourself." Mom stands, pulls me up into a hug. "And you remember that you're my daughter. You're Fenrir's daughter. You come from strength and loyalty, and love. That's in your blood, baby. You just have to trust it."
I hug her back, breathing in her sweet scent.
Letting myself be held.
Letting myself be her little girl for just a moment.
"What if I'm too scared?" I whisper against her shoulder.
"Then you be scared and brave at the same time. That's what courage is."
By the time I leave Mom's office, my eyes are puffy and my head hurts.
But something in my chest feels lighter.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
Just... less heavy.
The rest of my afternoon appointments pass in a blur of familiar routines—muscle work, small talk with clients, the rhythm of professional distance that I can hide behind.
By five-thirty, I'm exhausted.
Ready to go home, curl up in bed, avoid thinking about Gunnar or last night or the way my mother's words keep echoing in my head.
But I can't.
Because tonight's my turn to make dinner for the club with Magnolia.
It's a rotation thing—the women in the club take turns cooking for everyone, making sure there's food available for members who live at the clubhouse or come by after work.
Usually I enjoy it.
The routine, the productivity, the way cooking lets me focus on something tangible.
Tonight, though, the thought of seeing Gunnar across a crowded room makes my stomach twist.
But backing out would raise questions I don't want to answer.
So I go.
The clubhouse kitchen is already warm when I arrive at six, Magnolia pulling ingredients from the industrial-sized fridge.
She looks up when I walk in, grinning.
"There you are! I was starting to think you'd bail on me."
"Wouldn't dream of it." I set down my bag, wash my hands. "What are we making?"
"Lasagna. Three pans' worth. Should feed everyone plus leftovers." She hands me a knife and a cutting board. "You're on vegetable duty. Onions, peppers, mushrooms. Chop 'em small. If the mushrooms are small enough, the kids won’t even know they’re in there."
We fall into easy rhythm—her at the stove browning meat, me prepping vegetables, both of us moving around each other like we've done this a hundred times.
Because we have.
Magnolia's been part of the club since before I was born, married to Kraken, adoptive mother to Everly, and oddly enough, the mother to Bjorn and Njal.
She's family.
Safe.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she speaks.
"So. You and Gunnar."
I nearly cut myself.
"What about us?"
"Don't play dumb. The entire club's seen how you’re avoiding each other like the plague. Everything was fine, and now you’re being awkward as all hell."
"We're not—"
"You are. The question is, are you finally doing something about it?"
My hands are still on the cutting board.
"It's complicated."
"It always is." Magnolia adds spices to her meat, the scent of garlic and oregano filling the kitchen. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Gonna tell you something anyway." She turns, leaning against the counter. "You know why Kraken and I work?"
"Because you're perfect for each other?"
"Because I stopped running from the fact that I loved him." Her voice is gentle. "Took me a while to admit it. Know what finally changed?"
"What?"
"He told me he wasn't going anywhere. The chemistry exploded between us, and eventually..." She shrugs. "I got tired. And he was there. Just like he promised."
Tears prick my eyes.
"What if I'm too broken for that?"
"Then you'd be like every other woman who's loved a biker. We're all a little broken, honey. The right man doesn't try to fix you. He just loves you through the cracks."
I want to believe that.
Want to believe that Gunnar could be that person.
That I could let him be.
For fuck’s sake, we’ve been friends since we were kids, pretty much grew up together.
"I slept with him," I blurt out. "Last night. And this morning I ran because I'm a coward, and now I don't know how to face him."
Magnolia doesn't look surprised.
Just nods slowly.
"Well. That's a start."