Chapter 6
Rook
Rook didn’t remember the ride back.
He remembered the roar of the engine, the vibration in his bones, the cold air slicing across his face. He remembered the burn in his chest, the way Avery’s voice cracked when she said his name, the way her eyes filled with tears she tried to hide.
But the road?
Gone.
He tore into the lot too fast, gravel spitting under his tires. The bike skidded, corrected, then growled into silence. Rook swung off in one sharp motion, boots hitting the ground hard enough to jolt up his spine. His helmet hit the seat with a hollow thud that echoed louder than it should have.
He didn’t head for the clubhouse.
He couldn’t walk into warmth and laughter and normalcy when everything inside him felt like a live wire.
He veered left—toward the garage.
The metal door screeched as he shoved it open. The space was dim, lit by a single overhead bulb that flickered like it was debating giving up. The smell of oil, steel, and old gasoline wrapped around him, familiar and grounding, but not enough. Not tonight.
The garage was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made the blood in his ears sound like thunder.
He paced once. Twice. His breath came hard, uneven. His hands shook with a fury he didn’t know how to hold. His chest felt too tight, like something inside him was clawing to get out.
Then he snapped.
Rook slammed his fist into the side of a metal cabinet. The impact rang through the garage—sharp, metallic, echoing off concrete and steel. The cabinet dented slightly, just enough to show he’d hit it, not enough to piss off the brothers later.
Pain shot up his arm, bright and grounding. He welcomed it.
He braced both hands on the cool metal, head bowed, breath ripping in and out of him like he’d run miles instead of riding home.
The garage door creaked again.
Stone stepped inside first, boots steady, shoulders squared, expression carved from granite. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His presence alone was a command.
Fish followed, silent as a shadow. He leaned against a workbench, posture loose but attention razor-sharp.
Ledger appeared last, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Stone’s voice cut through the silence. “Talk.”
“No.” Rook didn’t look up.
Stone didn’t raise his voice. “Now.”
Rook slammed the cabinet again—not with his fist this time, but with the flat of his palm. The metal rattled, tools inside clattering. The sound echoed through the garage… and beyond it.
Footsteps pounded outside.
The side door banged open.
Grim filled the doorway first, eyes sharp. Havoc was right behind him, hair wild, expression caught somewhere between concern and oh, this is gonna be fun.
Grim took one look at Rook’s face and let out a low whistle. “Well, shit.”
Havoc leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Knew that sound wasn’t a wrench dropping.”
Rook didn’t look at them. Didn’t want to. His pulse was a hammer in his throat, his breath ragged. “She doesn’t get to do this.”
Ledger’s tone was calm, clinical. “You’re already reacting as if she does.”
Rook spun, glare sharp enough to cut. “Shut it.”
Ledger didn’t flinch. He never did.
Stone stepped closer. “What happened?”
Rook dragged a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. His boots scuffed against the concrete, each step too loud in the tight space. “She heard the prospects call me Rook.”
Ledger exhaled softly. “Ah. That explains the escalation.”
Fish’s thumb tapped once against the workbench. A quiet, steady sound that somehow cut deeper than shouting.
Stone’s gaze sharpened. “And?”
“And she acted like she had a right to be pissed about it.”
Stone waited.
Rook’s voice dropped, rough and raw. “She left, Stone. She left and didn’t look back. And now she wants answers? Now she wants explanations? Now she wants to know who I am?”
Stone didn’t blink. “Do you?”
Rook froze.
The question hit harder than the cabinet.
Did he know who he was anymore?
The boy he’d been with Avery? The soldier he’d become after she left? The VP of the Bloodline Saints? Rook?
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know anything except that seeing her again felt like ripping open a wound he’d stitched shut with barbed wire.
He turned away, gripping the edge of a workbench until his knuckles whitened. His breath shook. His shoulders trembled. He hated that they could see it.
Fish finally spoke. His voice was low, roughened by old injury. “Names don’t change you,” he said. “They just show what you survived.”
Rook’s body locked up.
Fish wasn’t talking about road names.
He was talking about scars. About the military. About the things you didn’t say out loud. About the pieces of yourself you lost and never got back.
Rook didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
And that’s when the memory hit him.
Sweet Treats was warm that night, the ovens humming, the air thick with cinnamon and sugar. Avery sat on the counter swinging her legs, acceptance letter folded in her hands. She kept smoothing the crease, over and over, like she could iron out her nerves.
Noah leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t watching her every move.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
“You’re leaving,” he replied.
She swallowed. “It’s college, Noah. It’s not forever.”
“It feels like it.”
She looked down at the letter. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“I am.” His voice cracked. “I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to be without you here.”
Her chest tightened. “You’ll be fine.”
“No,” he said softly. “I won’t.”
She froze.
He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching her. “I was gonna tell you something tonight.”
“What?”
He hesitated. Then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Noah…”
“Go chase your dreams, Aves.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Just don’t expect me to be the same when you get back.”
She didn’t understand what he meant. Not then. Not until it was too late.
He walked out of Sweet Treats that night and didn’t look back.
The next month, he enlisted.
He didn’t tell her. He didn’t tell anyone.
He just needed to become someone who didn’t break when she walked away.
Rook blinked hard, dragging himself out of the memory. His chest hurt. His throat burned. His hands shook.
Stone was still watching him. Ledger’s expression had softened. Fish hadn’t moved.
Stone stepped closer. “You joined the military because of her.”
It wasn’t a question.
Rook didn’t deny it.
Fish lifted his chin slightly. “Running doesn’t fix what broke you,” he said quietly. “Just teaches you how to hide it.”
Rook swallowed hard. The words hit too close. Too true.
Stone exhaled slowly. “And now she’s back.”
“Yeah,” Rook said, voice low. “And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”
Grim pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “You still love her.”
Rook’s head snapped up, glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Don’t.”
Havoc shrugged, palms up. “Man, you’re the only one who thinks that’s a secret.”
Ledger nodded once, matter-of-fact. “Statistically speaking, your behavior aligns with unresolved romantic attachment.”
Grim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Ledger, for the love of God…”
Stone cut them all off with a single word. “Enough.”
The room stilled instantly. Even the hum of the overhead bulb seemed to quiet.
Stone ignored the tension. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” he said. “But you do have to face it.”
Rook looked away.
He didn’t want to face it. Didn’t want to feel it. Didn’t want to admit that Avery Brooks still had the power to break him with a single look.
Stone stepped closer, hand firm on his shoulder. “We’ve got you. Whatever this turns into.”
Rook swallowed hard.
The Saints weren’t just a club. They were the bridge between the boy he’d been with Avery and the soldier he’d become without her. When the military chapter ended—when he lost the only family he’d managed to build after she left—the MC was the only place that made sense.
They filled the hollow places he didn’t talk about.
And now that she was back… every part of him felt dangerously close to cracking open again.