Chapter 8 - Sarah
This small, tidy space is mine—my sanctuary, my normal life—and being back feels like coming up for air after being underwater too long.
"I'll keep watch outside," Viper says. "Take your time."
I immediately head for my bedroom, pulling my suitcase from the closet.
"I need to pack quickly," I call over my shoulder to Ace, who's still standing in the living room, looking oddly out of place among my throw pillows and houseplants.
"Sarah, wait," he says, following me. "Viper says we've got time. We're safe here for now."
I pause, a stack of t-shirts in my hands. "I thought you said ten minutes, no exceptions."
"Change of plans." He leans against the doorframe, watching me. "Why don't we sit down for a minute? Actually talk without guns or Vultures MC or club business interrupting."
The suggestion surprises me. Since telling him about the pregnancy, we've barely had a moment of genuine calm to process what it means for us, for our future. Maybe he's right. We need this.
"Okay," I agree, setting down the clothes. "Let me just grab some water first."
In the kitchen, I fill two glasses and take a moment to collect my thoughts.
What do I even want from this conversation?
From him? The father of my child is a biker who lives in a world of violence I can barely comprehend.
Yet there's something about him that draws me in, something beyond his handsome face and the memory of our night together.
When I return to the living room, Ace has settled on my small couch, looking absurdly large against my pastel throw pillows. I hand him a glass and sit at the other end, tucking one leg beneath me.
"So," he says after taking a sip.
"So," I repeat.
"I like your place," he offers. "It's very... you."
"How would you know what's 'me'?" The question isn't accusatory, just honest. "We spent one night together, Ryan."
"Ace," he corrects automatically, then seems to catch himself. "Though I guess here, outside the club, it is Ryan."
"Which do you prefer?"
He considers this, as if no one has ever asked him before. "Depends on the context. In the club, with my brothers, I'm Ace. It's who I am there, who I need to be." He pauses. "But with you... I don't know. Maybe Ryan makes more sense."
The admission feels significant somehow, like he's offering me access to a part of himself others don't see.
"That night," I say, deciding to dive right in, "at the diner after the bar fight. Why did you approach me?"
His green eyes meet mine directly. "Because you were beautiful. And you looked at me like I was a person, not just some dangerous biker to avoid or use for a thrill."
"Is that how most women see you?"
A shadow crosses his face. "Yeah, pretty much. Either they're scared of what I am, or they're turned on by it. Neither one has much to do with who I actually am."
I take a sip of water, considering his words. "And who are you, actually?"
"Still figuring that out," he admits. "Been Ace for so long now, sometimes I forget there was ever a Ryan."
"And which one sleeps with a different woman every week?" The question slips out before I can stop it, more pointed than I intended.
He winces but doesn't deny it. "That obvious, huh?"
"Reaper mentioned you have a... reputation."
"Of course he did." Ace—Ryan—runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not going to lie to you. Before you, there were others. A lot of others."
"I figured as much," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral despite the twinge of jealousy I have no right to feel. "I wasn't exactly expecting you to be a monk."
"But you want to know if I'm going to keep being that guy." It's not a question.
I nod. "If we're going to have this baby together, if we're going to co-parent or whatever we end up doing, I need to know who I'm dealing with."
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, suddenly intense. "I haven't been with anyone since that night with you."
The confession startles me. "It's only been seven weeks."
"Seven weeks is a long time in my world," he says with a self-deprecating smile that fades quickly. "But it's not just that. Something changed after you. I kept thinking about you, comparing other women to you and finding them lacking."
My cheeks warm at his words, but I force myself to stay focused. "So what are you saying? That you want to be with me now? Because I'm pregnant?"
"No," he says firmly. "I mean, yes, I want to be with you, but not because of the pregnancy. That just forced me to face feelings I was already having."
"Feelings," I repeat skeptically. "After one night?"
He looks frustrated, as if struggling to articulate something he's never had to put into words before. "I know how it sounds. But that night, talking with you at the diner before anything else happened... it was the first time in years I felt like myself. Not Ace, not the outlaw, just... me."
His sincerity is disarming. I remember that night too—how easily conversation flowed, how he listened when I talked about my students, how he made me laugh with stories about learning to ride a motorcycle.
There had been a connection between us that went beyond physical attraction, though that had certainly been there too.
"I don't know what I'm doing here," he admits. "I've never done this before… The relationship thing. Never wanted to. But with you, and now with the baby..." He trails off, then looks me directly in the eyes. "I want to try. To be someone worthy of you both."
My heart beats faster at his words. "And what about the club? The violence? The danger?"
"That's complicated," he acknowledges. "The club is my family, my life. I can't just walk away, especially not now with the Vultures situation."
"I wouldn't ask you to," I say, surprising myself with the realization. "But I can't raise a child in that environment, Ryan. I won't."
He nods slowly. "I understand that. And I don't want our kid anywhere near that life either." He hesitates. "Maybe there's a middle ground. Separate worlds but connected."
The idea of compartmentalizing our lives that way feels strange, but not impossible. "How would that even work?"
"I don't know yet," he admits. "But I want to figure it out. For the baby. For you, if you'll let me."
I stare at his face, searching for signs of deception or uncertainty, but find only earnest determination. This man, who lives in a world so different from mine, is willing to try bridging that gap for a child he never planned to have.
"What exactly are you proposing?" I ask, needing clarity.
He takes a deep breath. "I want to be involved in the pregnancy. Doctor appointments, preparations, all of it. I want to be there when our child is born, and I want to be an active father afterward."
"And us? What do you want from me?"
His eyes soften. "Whatever you're willing to give. Ideally, I'd like to see where this could go between us. Dating, building something real. But if you just want me involved as a co-parent, I'll respect that too."
"Dating," I repeat, testing the word. "Me, dating a dangerous biker."
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Sounds like the beginning of a bad romance novel."
Despite everything, I laugh. "My mother would have a heart attack."
"Wait till she meets Viper," he jokes, then sobers. "Look, I know this is a lot to process. I'm not asking for an answer right now. Just... think about it?"
I nod, feeling some of the tension ease between us. "I will."
He reaches across the couch, his hand palm-up in invitation. After a moment's hesitation, I place my hand in his, our fingers intertwining naturally.
"There's something else we need to discuss," I say, gathering my courage. "The danger. These Vultures MC."
His expression darkens. "I won't let them hurt you or the baby."
"I believe you'll try," I say. "But after what I saw yesterday... Ryan, this is serious. People could die. You could die."
His grip on my hand tightens. "I'm not planning on it."
"No one ever plans on dying," I counter. "But it happens anyway, especially in your line of work."
"What are you asking me to do?"
"I'm not asking anything. I'm just saying that if we're going to plan a future together, whether as co-parents or something more, we need to be realistic about the risks."
"The club is planning a final strike against Charles," he says, his voice low. "Once he's gone, the danger disappears with him."
"And if something happens to you during this 'final strike'?" I can't keep the fear from my voice.
"It won't—"
"But if it does," I insist. "What happens to us then? To the baby?"
He looks troubled, as if this possibility hasn't fully occurred to him before. "I could talk to Reaper about staying back, focusing on protection detail instead of—"
"No," I interrupt. "I'm not asking you to abandon your brothers when they need you. I'm asking if you've thought about what happens to your child if you don't come back."
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You want me to make arrangements."
I nod. "If something happens to you, I need to know our child will be taken care of, that there won't be Vultures MC coming after us for revenge, that the club won't forget about us."
"The club would never—" he starts, then stops himself. "You're right. We should have contingencies in place." He squeezes my hand. "I'll talk to Reaper today, make sure everything's official. If anything happens to me, the club will protect you both. Financially, physically, whatever you need."
"Thank you," I say, genuinely moved by his willingness to plan for the worst.
He clasps his hands behind his head and leans back against the couch, the movement stretching his t-shirt across his chest. He looks gorgeous, no other word for it. Those green eyes, that perfect jawline, the lean strength in his arms.