Chapter 2
EVERLY
Dublin in January is cold as hell, but I love it anyway.
I'm four months into my postgrad at Trinity and I've finally stopped feeling like a tourist. The city feels like mine now in a way South Carolina never quite did.
Too many memories there; too many people who know me as Diesel's daughter first and Everly second.
Here, I'm just another student trying to finish her degree in immunology without losing her mind.
I'm in the lab running PCR samples when Maya leans over my bench. "You coming out tonight?"
"Where?"
"Just drinks with some of the program, nothing fancy."
I think about it for half a second, then I shake my head. "Can't. I've got plans."
"Let me guess, motorcycle club plans?"
"Old ladies’ family dinner, actually."
Maya grins. "You're living a double life—you know that, right? Postgrad student by day, biker chick by night."
"I'm not a biker chick."
"Your dad's the VP of a motorcycle club."
"In South Carolina, not here."
"Still counts." She goes back to her samples and I finish labelling mine.
The thing is, she's not wrong. I do live a bit of a double life here. But I like it that way. It keeps things interesting.
At Trinity, I'm just Everly, the American girl who's decent at immunology and drinks too much coffee. At the clubhouse, I'm Diesel's daughter, which comes with a whole different set of expectations.
I prefer the Trinity version most days.
I pack up my stuff around five and head out. The bus to the clubhouse takes forty minutes, and I use the time to decompress, days like today the parking is awful, it’s easier to take the bus than be stressed trying to find a parking spot.
My phone buzzes with a text from my dad.
Dad: You good?
Me: Yeah, why?
Dad: Just checking. Pyro says you've been settling in well.
Me: Pyro's a gossip.
Dad: He's looking out for you.
Me: I know. I'm fine, Dad. Promise.
Dad: Good. Love you, kiddo.
Me: Love you too.
I pocket my phone and stare out the window at the Dublin streets flying past.
My dad worries too much, always has. Being the only daughter of a motorcycle club VP comes with its own brand of overprotective bullshit, but I learned how to navigate it years ago.
Smile and nod, then do what I want anyway.
Works every time.
The clubhouse is packed when I walk in. It's Friday night and apparently that means everyone associated with the Vipers is here.
I spot Chloe near the back with Gráinne and Caoimhe. They wave me over and I weave through the crowd.
"There she is," Gráinne says, pulling me into a hug. "How was your week?"
"Long. Yours?"
"Same. I had three emergency surgeries and I'm exhausted."
Caoimhe hands me a glass of wine. "Here, you look like you need this."
"Thanks." I take a sip and let myself relax into the familiar chaos of the clubhouse.
This is what I needed—not the lab, not my flat, just this. People who don't care about my research or my grades, just whether I'm okay.
We talk about nothing important for a while. Caoimhe tells a story about Saoirse's latest adventure at preschool that has us all laughing.
I notice Rush at the bar, same spot as last week, same controlled stillness. He's tracking the room with that quiet intensity that should probably make me uncomfortable but doesn't.
His eyes meet mine for a second and I raise my wine glass slightly, acknowledging him.
He nods back, expression unchanged.
"He's always like that," Chloe says, following my gaze.
"Like what?"
"Watching everything, always on alert."
"It's his job."
"It's more than that with Rush. It's just who he is."
Gráinne leans in. "How's the babysitting going? Is he being too intense?"
"No, he's fine. Mostly just walks me to my car and that's it."
"Good. Let us know if he's not."
We move on to other topics but I'm still aware of Rush across the room, still aware of the way he's positioned himself where he can see both the door and our table.
Professional paranoia or something deeper, I still can't tell.
Around ten, I decide to head out. I say goodbye to the old ladies and walk toward the door.
Rush is there before I am, like he knew I was leaving before I did.
"I'll walk you out," he says.
"I know the drill."
We walk to the bus stop in comfortable silence, the cold night air biting through my jacket.
I turn to face him. "You don't have to do this every time, you know."
"I know."
"But you're going to anyway."
"Yeah."
I shake my head but I'm almost smiling. "Consistency, I'll give you that."
"It's all I've got."
I step onto the bus and turn to look at him. "See you around, Rush."
"Yeah."
I take a seat but don’t look out the window. I already know he's watching.
Saturday, I spend the entire day in the lab. My samples aren't cooperating and I'm starting to think I need to redesign the whole experiment.
At around three, Maya finds me staring at failed results. "Still here?"
"Yeah."
"You need a break."
"I need these samples to work."
She leans against my bench. "They'll work better if you're not exhausted. Come get coffee with me."
I want to argue but she's right. I've been staring at the same data for two hours.
We walk to the café down the street and order lattes, then we sit by the window.
"So," Maya says. "Tell me about the motorcycle club."
"What about it?"
"Is it weird? Being around all that?"
"Not really. I grew up around it."
"Your dad's really the VP?"
"In South Carolina, yeah."
"And that doesn't freak you out?"
I think about it. "No. Should it?"
"I don't know, seems intense."
"It is intense, but it's also family. The club takes care of its own."
"Even you?"
"Especially me. I'm Diesel's daughter."
Maya processes that, then she grins. "You're kind of a badass."
"I'm really not."
"You grew up in a motorcycle club and now you're doing a postgrad in immunology—that's badass."
I laugh. "If you say so."
We finish our coffee and head back to the lab. I work until eight and then I go home to my flat.
It's small but it's mine—one bedroom, tiny kitchen, just enough space for me and my books.
I make dinner and settle on the couch with a journal article. My phone buzzes around nine.
It's Chloe.
Chloe: Dinner next Friday? Just the old ladies.
Me: Yeah, sounds good.
Chloe: Great. How are you settling in?
Me: Good. Trinity's keeping me busy.
Chloe: And Rush?
I stare at the message for a second, before typing back:
Me: What about him?
Chloe: Just making sure everything is okay.
Me: He's fine. We rarely speak.
Chloe: Okay. Let me know if you need anything.
Me: Will do.
I set my phone down and go back to my article, but I can't focus.
Rush has been on my mind more than I want to admit, and that's annoying.
He's just a guy doing his job, nothing more.
Except he's not just a guy. He's controlled violence wrapped in leather and ink, and that's exactly the kind of thing I should stay away from.
I've seen what happens when guys like that lose control. I grew up watching it.
But there's something about Rush that's different. He's not performing, he's not trying to intimidate; he just is.
And that makes him more dangerous than anyone else in that clubhouse.
I close my laptop and go to bed. I've got enough to worry about without adding Rush to the list.
Monday morning, I'm outside the science building when Aaron catches up to me.
"Hey Everly," he says, falling into step beside me.
"Hey."
"You figure out the protocol issue yet?"
"Working on it."
"I could help if you want. I had a similar problem last month."
"Thanks, but I've got it."
He doesn't take the hint. "You want to grab coffee later? Compare notes?"
I stop walking and turn to face him. "Aaron, I appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested."
"In coffee?"
"In anything beyond classmates."
His smile falters. "Oh, okay, yeah. No problem."
He walks away and I head into the building. I feel a little bad for being blunt, but it's better than leading him on.
The rest of the week passes in a blur of failed experiments and too much caffeine. By Friday I'm ready for a break.
The old ladies dinner is at Caoimhe's flat and it's exactly what I need—just the four of us eating and drinking wine and talking about everything and nothing.
Somewhere around dessert, the conversation turns to Rush.
"He asked about you," Chloe says.
"What about me?"
"How you're settling in, if you need anything."
"That's nice of him."
"He takes his job seriously."
"I've noticed." I take a sip of wine. "Does he ever relax?"
"Not really," Gráinne says. "He's always been like that—very controlled."
"Why?"
The old ladies exchange a look and I know there's a story there.
"He's had a rough go of it," Ailbhe says carefully. "But it's his story to tell, not ours."
I want to push but I know better. If Rush wants me to know he'll tell me himself.
We move on to other topics, and I file that information away for later.
Sunday afternoon, I'm back at the clubhouse. It's becoming a habit and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
I walk in and immediately notice Rush at the bar. He's not alone.
There's a woman sitting next to him—blonde, pretty, laughing at something he said. She's comfortable in his space, her body language open and familiar.
Friends—definitely friends.
I walk over to the old ladies and Chloe sees where I'm looking.
"That's Ciara," she says. "She works at O'Hara's with Enya."
"She seems nice."
"She is. She and Rush have been friends for a while now."
I watch them interact. Rush is more relaxed than I've ever seen him; his posture is easier, his expression less guarded.
It's nice seeing him like that.
Ciara says something that makes him almost smile, and then she glances around the room. Her eyes land on me and the old ladies.
She smiles and waves. It's friendly enough, but there's something in her eyes I can't quite read.
She stands and walks over. Rush watches her go but doesn't follow.
"You must be Everly," she says when she reaches our table. "I've heard so much about you."
"All good I hope."
"Of course." Her smile is bright and warm. "I'm Ciara. I work with Enya at O'Hara's."
"Nice to meet you."
"You too. How are you settling into Dublin?"
"Good. It's been great so far."
"That's wonderful." She glances back at Rush. "I see you've met our resident guardian. He's very dedicated to his job."
There's something in the way she says it—not quite possessive but close.
"He's been very helpful," I say carefully.
"I'm sure he has." Ciara's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, I should get back. I just wanted to say hi."
She walks back to the bar and I watch her go, my instincts prickling.
"She seems friendly," I say to Chloe.
"She is—mostly."
"Mostly?"
Chloe shrugs. "She's protective of her friends."
I glance back at the bar where Ciara is leaning close to Rush again, saying something that makes his jaw tighten.
Yeah, protective is one word for it.
Later that night, Rush walks me to my car again. It's routine now.
"Your friend seems nice," I say as we walk.
"Ciara?"
"Yeah."
"She's alright."
"You two close?"
"We're friends."
"She seems to care about you."
He doesn't respond, and we reach my car in silence.
I unlock the door and turn to face him. "She doesn't like me much, does she?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling."
Rush studies me for a second. "Ciara's protective, that's all."
"Of you?"
"Of her friends."
"Right." I get in my car. "See you around, Rush."
"Yeah."
I drive away thinking about the way Ciara looked at me, the subtle edge in her smile, the way she positioned herself between Rush and everyone else.
Interesting.
But not my problem. If Rush wants to be friends with someone who's clearly into him, that's his business.
I've got better things to do than worry about territorial women and complicated bikers.
Even if the complicated biker is starting to get under my skin more than I want to admit.
I make a decision right there in my car.
Rush can watch all he wants, but I'm not chasing. If he wants something he can come get it.
I never chase.
Never have, never will.