Chapter 6 — Zoe
The drive to my father's house takes twenty minutes. Dean's hand rests on my thigh the whole way. Not moving. Just there. The weight of it grounds me when everything else feels like it's tilting sideways.
I've been preparing for this conversation since yesterday. Running through what I'll say, how I'll explain, what arguments I'll use. None of it feels adequate now.
Dean pulls into the driveway behind Dad's truck and kills the engine. Neither of us moves.
"We could turn around," he says.
"No, we couldn't."
"We could wait. Give him a few more days to process Perry."
"It won't get easier." I look at him. His jaw is tight. His eyes are fixed on the house like he's memorizing it. "Are you scared?"
"Terrified."
"Me too."
He finally looks at me. "Your dad has been my best friend for twenty years. He's the closest thing to family I have in the club besides Clint. If I lose him over this—" He stops. Swallows hard. "I've never wanted something for myself badly enough that I was willing to risk losing him."
"Until now."
"Until you." His hand tightens on my thigh. "And that scares the shit out of me because what if he's right? What if a year from now you realize this was a mistake and I've blown up a twenty-year friendship for nothing?"
The vulnerability in that admission makes my chest ache. "I won't."
"You don't know that."
"Yes I do." I cover his hand with both of mine. "I've spent a year thinking about this. A year watching you avoid me. A year being sure. You're the one who's been fighting it. Not me."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he nods once. "Alright. Let's do this."
We get out together. Walk up the front path side by side. Dean's hand finds the small of my back. The touch is deliberate. Anyone looking at us would know immediately what we are to each other.
The front door opens before we reach it.
Dad stands in the doorway in jeans and a black t-shirt. No cut. His hair is damp from a recent shower but his eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he hasn't slept. Like he's been carrying something heavy for too many hours.
His eyes move from Dean's face to mine, then down to where Dean's hand rests on my back.
The muscle in his jaw jumps.
"Come in," he says. His voice is flat.
We follow him inside. The house smells like coffee and the lingering ghost of cigarette smoke even though Dad quit two years ago.
I grew up in this house. Know the creak on the third floorboard.
The loose handle on the bathroom sink. The way afternoon light falls through the kitchen window and makes patterns on the linoleum.
It feels foreign now. Like I'm trespassing.
Dad gestures to the couch. "Sit."
Dean sits. I sit beside him. Not touching but close enough that the space between us feels charged. Dad takes the armchair across from us. Leans forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands clasped.
He looks at Dean for a long time without speaking.
"I sent you to keep her safe," he finally says. "That was forty-eight hours ago."
"I know."
"And in forty-eight hours you went from keeping her safe to—" He stops. His jaw works. "To this."
"It wasn't that simple."
"No?" Dad's voice is dangerously quiet. "Then explain it to me. Make me understand how my best friend of decades ended up with my daughter in two days."
Dean doesn't flinch. "It wasn't two days.
I've had feelings for Zoe for a year. Since she was nineteen.
I didn't act on them. I stayed away from her.
Avoided being in the same room as her. Turned down dinners at your place if I knew she'd be there.
I managed it for a whole year, and it worked until Friday when you asked me to pick her up. "
Dad's hands tighten. "So, this is my fault?"
"No. It's not anyone's fault. But you put us in close for the first time in a year and she—" Dean glances at me. "She made it clear she'd been feeling the same things I had. And I couldn't keep pretending anymore."
"You could've walked away."
"I tried. Multiple times. She didn't let me."
Dad looks at me. His eyes are hard. "Is that true?"
My throat is tight, but I keep my voice steady. "Yes. I pursued him. He said no. I kept pushing."
"Because he made himself available to be pushed."
"He kept his distance," I say. "What more do you want? He avoided me. He protected you from knowing about it. He did everything right until I forced the issue."
"You're twenty years old, Zoe. You don't get to force issues with men twice your age."
The words land like a slap. "I'm an adult. I can make my own choices."
"Can you?" Dad leans back in his chair. The movement is too controlled. "Because from where I'm sitting it looks like you're making choices you don't understand the consequences of."
"I understand—"
"Do you?" His voice rises. Not shouting but close. "You were kidnapped eight months ago. Marrow pulled you out of your bedroom window and held a gun to your head for two hours. You've been in therapy ever since. And now you're choosing to get deeper into this world instead of getting out?"
The mention of the kidnapping makes my stomach clench but I don't look away. "I know what this world is."
"Knowing and living with it are different things. You think you're ready for nights he doesn't come home? For him walking out the door to go kill people and not knowing if he's coming back? You think eight months is enough time to process trauma and decide you want more of it?"
"Stop treating me like I'm too damaged to know my own mind."
"I'm treating you like someone who's been through hell and might not be thinking clearly."
"I am thinking clearly." My voice cracks. "Clearer than I ever have. I love him. And I know what choosing him means. The danger. The violence. The fear. I know all of it and I'm choosing him anyway."
Dad's face does something complicated. Pain and anger and something that might be disappointment. He looks at Dean.
"You're twenty years older than her."
"I know."
"She's my daughter."
"I know that too."
"And you still—" Dad stops. Breathes hard through his nose. "You still thought this was a good idea?"
"No." Dean's voice is rough. "I think it's a terrible idea.
I think the age gap is real. I think you have every right to be angry at me.
I think I'm risking a friendship that's been the most consistent thing in my adult life for something that might not work.
I think all of that. And I'm doing it anyway because I love her. "
The room goes silent.
Dad stands abruptly. Walks to the window. Stares out at nothing with his back to us.
"Perry's dead," he says quietly.
The shift catches me off guard. Dean goes completely still beside me.
"I know," Dean says.
"We burned Marrow's base last night. Killed two of them. And Perry's still dead." Dad's shoulders are rigid. "I keep thinking about him. About how he died alone. How no one was there. How he didn't have anyone waiting for him to come home."
"Roan—"
"All these years," Dad interrupts. "You and me. We came up together. Patched in the same year. I trusted you with everything. My life. My daughter's life. And you repay that by—" His voice breaks. He stops talking.
Dean stands slowly. Takes a step toward him. "I'm sorry."
"For what? For wanting her? For taking her? Or for not telling me sooner?"
"All of it. None of it." Dean's hands curl into fists at his sides. "I don't know how to apologize for something I'd do again."
Dad turns. His face is hard but his eyes are wet. "You'd do it again."
"Yeah. I would. Because walking away from her isn't an option anymore. Not for you. Not for anyone."
"Even if it costs you our friendship."
"Even then."
The words hang between them like something physical.
Dad's jaw works. "Get out."
"No." Dean's voice is firm. "Not until you hear me out."
"There's nothing to hear. You made your choice."
"I made my choice knowing what it would cost. But you need to understand something.
" Dean takes another step closer. "I have loved exactly two people in my entire adult life.
You're one of them. Zoe's the other. And I know that's not fair to you.
I know it feels like betrayal. But I'm not apologizing for loving her.
I'm just asking you to understand that this isn't me choosing her over you.
It's me finally choosing something for myself after twenty years of putting the club first."
"The club is family."
"I know. And so is she. And I'm asking you to make room for both."
Dad's breathing is hard. His hands are shaking. "You should've told me when it started. You should've trusted me with the truth."
"I was ashamed," Dean says. "She was nineteen and I was noticing her in ways I had no business noticing. What was I supposed to say? That I was having thoughts I couldn't control? I dealt with it the only way I knew how. I stayed away."
"Until you didn't."
"Until she didn't let me anymore." Dean glances at me. "And I realized staying away from her was destroying me more than facing your anger would."
Dad looks at me. Really looks. And for the first time since we walked in I see past the anger to the hurt underneath.
"I raised you alone," he says. His voice is quieter now. Rawer. "Your mother left when you were six months old. I've been it for you ever since. Made every decision based on what was best for you. Gave you everything I had."
My throat closes. "I know."
"And I never asked for anything back except honesty. I told you when you were old enough to understand that the MC life was dangerous and messy but we didn't lie to each other. Remember?"
I nod. Can't speak.
"So why didn't you tell me?" His voice cracks. "Why did I have to find out like this?"
"Because I knew how you'd react," I say through tears I can't stop anymore. "I knew you'd be hurt. I knew you'd see it as betrayal. And I was selfish enough to want to keep both of you. To have Dean and not lose you."
"Well you can't have both. Not right now."
The words hit like a fist.
"Dad—"