Chapter 6 #2
Even with what just happened, I smile. "Both sounds perfect."
"See you soon."
Astrid and Geirolf live in a house not far from the club’s property—three bedrooms, nice yard, the kind of place that feels like an actual home instead of just somewhere to sleep.
I've always loved it here.
The warmth, the stability, the evidence everywhere that two people have built a life together.
Photos on the walls, Geirolf's bike parts on the workbench in the garage, Astrid's books scattered across the coffee table.
It's everything I want and have been too scared to reach for.
Astrid opens the door before I can knock, takes one look at my face, and pulls me into a hug.
"Come here."
I collapse against her, breathing in her familiar scent—lavender and vanilla and home. "It's okay," she murmurs. "Whatever it is, it's okay."
She guides me inside, settles me on the couch, and disappears into the kitchen.
Returns with two glasses of wine and a box of tissues.
"Talk," she says, sitting beside me. "What happened?"
So I tell her.
Everything.
The bar Friday night, Gunnar coming to get me, what happened in his room.
Waking up alone Saturday morning and running.
The spa, Mom's conversation, dinner with Magnolia.
The parking lot confession, him saying he loves me.
Last night—the cozy domesticity, Dad walking in, Gunnar leaving for the run.
And finally, this morning.
Trisha and Angela's poison.
Their words designed to make me doubt, to make me run, to keep me small and scared and stuck.
Astrid listens without interrupting, her hand holding mine, her expression shifting from concern to understanding to rage she can barely contain.
When I finish, she takes a long drink of wine. "Those bitches."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Astrid—"
"No. Those girls were never your friends, Ingrid. They were vultures circling, waiting for you to fail so they could feel better about their own shit lives."
"They said—"
"I don't care what they said. They're wrong." She squeezes my hand. "You're not too damaged. You're not too much work. You're a woman who's been hurt and is still brave enough to try again. That's not weakness—that's strength."
Tears blur my vision. "What if they're right though? What if Gunnar realizes I'm not worth the effort?"
"Then he's an idiot. But he's not. That boy has been in love with you for years."
"How do you know?"
"Because everyone knows. The entire club has been watching you two dance around each other, waiting for you to finally figure it out."
"Mom said the same thing."
"Because it's true." Astrid tops off my wine. "Gunnar's good people, Ingrid. One of the best. And he sees you—really sees you—which terrifies you because it means you can't hide anymore."
"I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Be loved. Be with someone who actually wants me for more than just sex."
"Then you learn. Together." She smiles softly. "That's what relationships are—two people figuring it out as they go."
"But what if—"
The front door opens.
Geirolf walks in, grease-stained shirt and tired eyes, clearly just back from the clubhouse.
"Hey, baby—" He stops when he sees me. "Ingrid. Didn't know you were here."
"Sorry. I should've texted you both."
"Don't be stupid. You're family. You're always welcome." He bends to kiss Astrid, then looks between us. "What's wrong?"
"Sister stuff," Astrid says. "But actually, you should probably stay. Might need the male perspective. Leif is taking a nap, so we’re good for at least another hour."
He raises an eyebrow but settles into the chair across from us. "All right. What's going on?"
"Ingrid and Gunnar," Astrid says simply.
Understanding floods Geirolf's face. "Finally."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" I demand.
"Because we've all been waiting." He leans back, crosses his arms. "Gunnar's been half in love with you since you were twenty. Anyone with eyes could see it."
"If he loved me, why didn't he do something about it sooner?"
"Because you weren't ready. Because you needed time to figure yourself out. Because he's patient and smart enough to wait for the right moment instead of rushing in when you were still healing from those other assholes."
The bluntness makes me blink.
"Njal and Bjorn—"
"Weren’t the right fit for you," Geirolf says flatly. "Everyone knew it. They were boys—not men, when you were with them. They did you dirty."
"They proved what I am."
"They proved what they are—cowards who couldn't handle a real woman." He leans forward. "Gunnar's nothing like them. You know that, right?"
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true. Gunnar's solid. Loyal. One of the most capable guys we have. And he's been waiting for you to see him for years."
"But what if—" I stop, swallow hard. "What if I'm too broken? What if I mess this up?"
"Then you mess it up and you fix it. Together. That's how relationships work." Geirolf's expression softens. "Nobody's perfect, Ingrid. We're all carrying damage. The question is whether you find someone willing to love you through it."
"You think Gunnar is?"
"I know he is. He's already been doing it—showing up when you spiral, being patient when you push him away, caring when you try to convince him not to. That's love. He’s just been waiting for you to love him back."
The words settle into my chest, warm and heavy and true.
"I'm scared," I whisper.
"Good," Astrid says. "If you weren't scared, it wouldn't mean anything."
"But the trafficking stuff—he's doing something dangerous. What if something happens? What if I finally let myself love him and then I lose him?"
Geirolf and Astrid exchange a look.
Some silent conversation passing between them.
"You tell her," Astrid says. "She deserves to know what he's walking into."
Geirolf sighs, runs a hand through his hair.
"All right. But this doesn't leave this room. Understood?"
I nod.
"We've been investigating a child trafficking ring. Got a lead last night, went to a dive bar near the Georgia border to gather intel." He pauses. "Gunnar went rogue. Saved a little girl right out from under the traffickers. Got her to safety, reunited with her family."
My breath catches. "He saved her?"
"Completely against orders. Compromised the investigation.
Alerted the network that we're onto them.
" Geirolf's eyes meet mine. "But he couldn't walk away.
Couldn't leave that child with those monsters. So he acted, and your pops is pissed. Angrier than I’ve seen him in a long time, but he did it because he knew it was the right thing to do. "
Tears stream down my face.
"That's Gunnar," Geirolf continues. "That's who he is. Someone who does the right thing even when it's not the smart thing. Someone who protects the vulnerable. Someone who fights for what matters."
"And that includes you," Astrid adds softly. "He's been fighting for you for years, Ingrid. Just waiting for you to let him."
"What happens now?" I ask. "With the investigation?"
Geirolf's expression darkens. "We move fast. The traffickers know we're coming now. They'll try to relocate their operation, move their next shipment early. We're planning a raid—probably Thursday, maybe sooner."
"How dangerous is it?"
He's quiet for a long moment.
"Dangerous enough. These people are desperate, armed, and they've got nothing to lose. But we're prepared. We've handled worse."
"Will Gunnar—" I can barely say it. "Will he be part of the raid?"
"Yeah. He volunteered. Wouldn't take no for an answer." Geirolf leans forward again. "But Ingrid, listen to me. Gunnar's good at this. He's been trained, he's smart, and he doesn't take unnecessary risks. He'll come home."
"You can't know that."
"No. I can't." He glances at Astrid. "None of us can. That's the reality of club life. We do dangerous things because someone has to. And the women who love us learn to trust that we'll come home."
"How?" I look at my sister. "How do you deal with it? Knowing Geirolf's out there doing things that could get him killed?"
"I trust him," Astrid says simply. "I trust his skills, the brothers, and the fact that he wants to come home to me as much as I want him here.
And on the days when trust isn't enough, I let myself be scared.
I cry. I rage. And then I pull myself together and wait.
Because that's what we do—we're strong enough to let them be strong. "
"I don't know if I'm that strong."
"You are. You're our father’s daughter. Our mother’s daughter. Strength is in your blood." She squeezes my hand. "And you're braver than you think. You've survived everything life's thrown at you. You can survive loving a man who does dangerous things."
My phone buzzes.
Text from Gunnar:
Can I see you? Need to see you.
My heart lurches.
"That's him, isn't it?" Astrid asks.
I nod.
"Then go. Be with him. Stop running."
"But what if—"
"What if it works?" She cuts me off. "What if you let yourself be happy? What if you stop protecting yourself from pain and start reaching for joy? What if this is the real thing and you almost missed it because you were too scared to try?"
I stare at my phone.
At Gunnar's message.
At the choice in front of me.
Keep running, keep protecting myself, keep being small and scared and alone.
Or be brave.
One more time.
One last time.
I type back:
Yes. Where?
His response is immediate:
Your place? Or mine? Wherever you're comfortable.
I shoot him a text back:
Yours. I'll be there in twenty minutes.
Within a few moments, I have a response:
I'll be waiting.
I stand, wipe my eyes. "Thank you. Both of you."
"That's what family's for," Geirolf says.
Astrid pulls me into another hug. "You've got this. And if you need us, we're here. Always."
"I know."
I head for the door, then pause.
"Astrid? Does Dad know? About you knowing?"
She grins. "Honey, the entire family knows. Mom told everyone at breakfast this morning. You and Gunnar are the worst-kept secret in club history."
Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the danger ahead—I laugh.
"Of course we are."
"Go." She shoos me toward the door. "Go be with him. Be happy. You deserve it."
The drive back to the clubhouse feels different this time.
Not like running toward something I'll regret.
But like running toward something that might finally be right.
Gunnar's waiting for me in the parking lot, leaning against his bike, still in his cut from kirkja.
When he sees my car, his entire face lights up.
He crosses to me before I'm even fully out, pulls me into his arms.
"Hey," he murmurs against my hair.
"Hey."
"You okay? Your text sounded—"
"I'm okay. Better now." I pull back to look at him. "Astrid told me. About last night. The little girl."
His jaw tightens. "I couldn't leave her."
"I know. And I'm glad you didn't. You're—" My voice catches. "You're a good man, Gunnar. The best man I know."
Something in his expression softens.
"Come on." He takes my hand. "Let's go inside. We need to talk."
"About the raid?"
"About everything."
He leads me toward the clubhouse, and I follow.
Not running.
Not hiding.
Just... trusting.
That maybe, finally, I found someone worth being brave for.
Someone who won't leave.
Someone who sees me and stays anyway.