Chapter 38
Grim
Sophia needed space.
Grim knew that. He’d felt it in the way she’d pulled her hands into her sleeves that morning. In the way she’d avoided his eyes. In the way she’d said, “I need to try,” with a voice that shook like she was holding herself together with thread.
So he gave her space.
He hated every second of it.
He watched her walk to the bathroom, watched her tie her hair back with trembling fingers, watched her force a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She looked like she was wearing her own skin wrong, like it didn’t fit anymore.
When she said she wanted to go back to work, Grim’s stomach dropped.
Not because he didn’t think she could. But because he knew she wasn’t ready.
But he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything.
He just nodded and said, “I’ll drive.”
Sophia stiffened. “I can drive myself.”
Grim swallowed the instinct to argue. “Okay.”
He watched her walk out the door. Watched her get into her car. Watched her hands shake on the steering wheel.
He didn’t follow her.
Not at first.
He lasted seven minutes.
Then he grabbed his keys and followed at a distance, far enough she wouldn’t see him, close enough he could get to her if she needed him.
He told himself it wasn’t stalking. It was protection.
He wasn’t sure he believed himself.
Sophia parked outside the hospital and sat there.
Grim could see her through the windshield, her hands gripping the steering wheel, her shoulders rising and falling too fast, her chest heaving like she couldn’t get enough air.
He didn’t move.
Not yet.
He watched her stare at the hospital doors. Watched her try to breathe. Watched her fail.
Then she opened the car door and stumbled out, her knees buckling as she braced herself against the side of the car.
Grim was out of his truck before he realized he’d moved.
“Sophia.”
She didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him. Didn’t feel him.
Her breath came in sharp, broken gasps. Her hands shook violently. Her eyes were wide and unfocused.
She was back in that cage. He could see it.
“Sophia,” Grim said again, softer this time.
Her head snapped toward him, and the look in her eyes gutted him.
Fear. Shame. Anger. All tangled together.
“Don’t,” she choked out. “Don’t help me.”
Grim froze.
She wasn’t yelling. She wasn’t pushing him away. She was breaking.
“I have to do this,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I have to be normal. I have to… I can’t…”
Her breath hitched. Her knees wobbled.
Grim stepped forward on instinct, then stopped himself.
He let his hands hang at his sides. Open. Empty. Safe.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’m right here. But I won’t touch you unless you ask.”
Sophia squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I can’t go in.”
“I know.”
“I thought I could.” Her voice broke. “I thought I was ready.”
“You’re not,” Grim said softly. “And that’s okay.”
She shook her head, sobbing harder. “It’s not okay. I should be stronger.”
Grim’s chest cracked open.
“You survived,” he said, voice rough. “That’s strength.”
Sophia covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking.
Grim didn’t touch her. Didn’t pull her in. Didn’t try to fix it.
He just stood there, letting her break without falling.
When she finally looked at him, her eyes were red and swollen.
“Take me home,” she whispered.
Grim nodded once. “Yeah.”
He opened her car door for her, slow and careful, and waited until she was inside before closing it. He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t try to guide her. He just walked to his truck and followed her home.
She didn’t look at him once.
Back inside the house, Sophia stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself, breathing uneven.
Grim stayed near the doorway, giving her space.
She turned on him suddenly, eyes blazing with something raw and wounded.
“Stop helping me,” she snapped.
Grim didn’t flinch.
She wasn’t angry at him. She was angry at herself.
“I’m trying,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m trying so hard and I can’t… I can’t do anything without you watching me like I’m going to break.”
Grim swallowed hard. “I’m not watching you to see if you break. I’m watching to make sure you don’t fall alone.”
Sophia’s breath hitched.
She looked away. Looked down. Looked like she was unraveling.
“I need space,” she whispered.
Grim nodded. “Okay.”
He stepped back. Then back again. Then again.
He stopped only when he reached the hallway.
“I’ll be right here,” he said quietly. “But I’ll give you whatever space you need.”
Sophia didn’t answer.
Grim stayed there for a long moment, staring at the floor, trying to breathe past the helplessness clawing at his chest.
A familiar ache crept in — the same one he used to get standing on porches with a trash bag of clothes, waiting for someone to decide if they wanted him or not. Back then, space meant distance. Distance meant you were already halfway out the door.
He hated how fast that old instinct came back. How easy it was to feel thirteen again, bracing for rejection he hadn’t earned. Sophia wasn’t sending him away. She just needed room to breathe. But his body didn’t know the difference. Not completely.
His fingers twitched toward his phone before he could stop them. He didn’t type much, just a single message to Stone.
She’s not okay.
He didn’t expect anyone to come. He just couldn’t hold it alone anymore.
She just sank onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest, her breath trembling.
Grim stayed in the hallway, close enough to hear her breathing, far enough not to crowd her.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
The knock came half an hour later.
Grim stiffened. Sophia did too, barely, but he saw it.
He opened the door.
Stone. Havoc. Rook. Fish. Ledger.
All standing on the porch, leather cuts catching the afternoon light, faces grim but eyes soft.
Stone spoke first. “We’re here for her.” Then, quieter, “And for you.”
Grim stepped aside.
The club entered with respect, the kind of reverence reserved for someone who’d survived hell.
Sophia sat curled on the couch, blanket around her shoulders, eyes red and tired. She looked up when they entered, and Grim saw the panic flicker, then fade when she recognized them.
Havoc crouched first, slow, careful, hands visible.
“Hey, chica,” he said softly. “Rough day?”
Sophia blinked. “Havoc…”
He nodded once, expression gentler than his reputation allowed. “We all get hit like that sometimes. Doesn’t mean you’re going backwards.”
Rook lowered himself onto the arm of a chair, giving her space but staying close enough to matter. “Healing’s a bitch,” he said quietly. “Hits when you least expect it.”
Havoc huffed. “Understatement of the year.”
Ledger stepped closer, voice steady, grounding. “You don’t have to pretend with us. Not today. Not ever.”
Fish didn’t approach. He stayed near the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp and assessing, not at her, but at the room, the exits, the shadows. He was scanning for threats she couldn’t see.
Sophia noticed. Her voice was small. “Fish?”
He nodded once. “You’re safe.”
Two words. Simple. But coming from Fish, they carried weight.
Stone sat in the chair across from her, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to talk,” he said. “We just wanted you to know you’re not alone. You’re allowed to have a bad day.”
Sophia’s eyes filled. “I’m trying.”
Stone nodded. “We know. That’s why we’re here.”
Havoc’s expression softened, something rare, something real. “You’re family. And family doesn’t let you drown alone.”
Rook huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “A dysfunctional family,” he muttered, “but still counts.”
Sophia let out a tiny, broken laugh. It was the first sound Grim had heard from her all day that wasn’t pain.
Ledger finally spoke again, voice low. “If you need anything — anything — you call.”
Sophia nodded, swallowing hard.
The club stayed for a while, not talking about the cage, not talking about the Reapers, not talking about anything heavy.
They talked about Havoc’s bike leaking oil again.
About Rook losing a bet to Fish. About Ledger hacking the clubhouse thermostat so it stopped “mysteriously” resetting to sixty-two degrees.
Sophia even smiled, small, fragile, but real.
Grim felt something in his chest loosen.
When the club finally stood to leave, Stone paused beside Sophia, lowering his voice.
“You call if you need us,” he said. “Doesn’t matter what time.”
Sophia nodded, eyes shining. “I will.”
Havoc squeezed her shoulder, slow and careful, following the others out.
Fish was the last to move. He paused in the doorway, meeting Sophia’s eyes.
“You’re not broken,” he said quietly. “Just healing.”
Grim walked them to the porch.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving him and Stone alone on the front steps. The evening air was cool, the sky dimming to a bruised purple.
Stone didn’t speak at first. He just looked at Grim — really looked — like he was reading every crack in him.
“You’re not sleeping,” Stone said.
Grim didn’t bother denying it.
Stone crossed his arms. “You’re carrying too much alone.”
Grim’s jaw flexed. “She needs me.”
“She does,” Stone agreed. “But she also needs you steady. And you’re running on fumes.”
Grim looked away, hands flexing at his sides. “I can’t lose her again.”
Stone’s voice softened. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you,” Stone said. “And I know her. She’s stronger than she thinks. And you…” He paused. “You don’t burn the world down, Grim. You outlast it. And you’ll outlast this too.”
Grim swallowed hard. “I almost didn’t get there in time.”
Stone stepped closer. “But you did.”
Grim’s breath shook.
Stone lowered his voice. “You love her.”
Grim didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Stone clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm, grounding. “Then don’t run yourself into the ground trying to be perfect. Just be there. That’s what she needs.”
Grim nodded once, throat tight.
Stone squeezed his shoulder. “We’ve got your back. All of us.”
Then he walked off the porch, joining the others at their bikes.
Grim watched them ride away, engines rumbling into the fading light.
When he stepped back inside, Sophia was still on the couch, knees drawn up, blanket around her, eyes tired but softer than before.
She looked at him like she wasn’t sure she deserved him. He looked at her like she was the only thing he’d ever choose.
And for the first time since he’d carried her out of that cage, the space between them didn’t feel like a wound.
It felt like a beginning.
Grim’s throat tightened.
Sophia stood slowly, her eyes finding Grim’s across the room.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I just… I don’t know how to need someone.”
Grim’s breath caught.
“You don’t have to know,” he said softly. “Just let me be here.”
Sophia stepped closer, one small, hesitant step.
Then another.
She stopped in front of him, her hands trembling.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered.
Grim’s heart stuttered.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, voice low and certain. “Not unless you tell me to.”
Sophia exhaled shakily.
And for the first time since he’d carried her out of that cage, she reached for him first.