Chapter 8 — Sienna #2
Clint's attention settles on me. "You've got a seat at this table now.
Officially. You predicted Crane would go after legitimacy instead of just using violence, and that's the kind of strategic thinking we need.
When we're planning, you're here. Your insight into how your father operates gives us advantage we didn't have before. "
I nod, feeling the weight of what just happened. Not just protected. Not just Diesel's woman. An actual contributing member of Vigil's strategic planning.
The church continues for another twenty minutes, logistics, watch schedules, communication protocols. I contribute where I can, details about my father's contacts who might help stage something, his preferred methods for public messaging, the timeline he usually operates on when he's angry.
Nobody questions my input. Brothers take notes. Clint factors what I say into tactical decisions.
When the church breaks, brothers disperse to their assignments and Diesel and I head upstairs as afternoon sun slants through the windows.
In our room, I sit on the edge of the bed feeling the exhaustion hit, not physical, but emotional. The weight of the last few days catching up.
Diesel sits beside me. "You did good today."
"Clint said I have a seat at the table now."
"You earned it."
"I didn't expect that when I walked through your gate four days ago."
"What did you expect?"
"To trade intelligence for protection and disappear. Maybe get a new identity and move to another state. Just survive somewhere my father couldn't find me."
"And now?"
"Now I'm choosing to stay in the middle of a war. Contributing to strategy against my own father. Building something with you instead of just surviving."
He's quiet for a moment and then says, "I've got a rental across town I barely use. Mostly just storage. We could get a place together. Something that's ours. Garage for the bike, room for your books, whatever else you want. Build something real."
The suggestion surprises me even though it shouldn't. We've been sleeping in the same bed for three nights. We said I love you. This is the logical next step.
But it's also permanent in a way I'm not used to planning for.
"You want to live together?" I ask.
"We already are. Just not officially. And I want it official. Want a place that's ours. Want to wake up next to you somewhere that isn't the clubhouse or my empty rental. Want to build a future instead of just surviving the present."
I turn to look at him and his expression is serious, open, waiting for my answer without pushing.
"Yes," I say. "I want that. A place that's ours."
"Good. We'll start looking next week. After we handle whatever Crane's planning. After things settle enough that we can think past the next crisis."
"If they settle."
"They will. One way or another, this ends. And when it does, we'll have somewhere to go that's just ours."
He pulls me against him and we sit like that for a while, just breathing together, and I realize this is what permanent feels like. Not grand gestures or perfect moments. Just sitting together planning a future we both want.
"I need to tell you something," he says quietly.
"Okay."
"I've never done this before. Lived with someone. Planned a future with someone. Never wanted to. So if I'm bad at it, if I do things wrong or forget to ask about things I should ask about, you need to tell me."
"You're not going to be bad at it."
"You don't know that."
"I know you pay attention. You make my coffee right without asking. You bring me food when I'm working. You notice things I need before I say them. That's what matters."
His arm tightens around me. "I want this to work. The living together. The building a future. All of it."
"It will. We'll figure it out as we go."
He shifts to face me and his hand comes up to cup my face. "I want this to work. All of it. You and me and the future we're building."
"It will work. We'll make it work."
"Good. Because I'm keeping you and I need you to know what you're signing up for. The club. The dangerous life. A guy who's going to do reckless things sometimes because that's who I am. Early mornings and late nights and brothers showing up unannounced. Violence when it's necessary. All of it."
"I know what I'm signing up for. I chose it. I'm still choosing it."
He kisses me and it's slow and thorough, and when he pulls back his forehead rests against mine.
"When this thing with your father is handled," he says quietly, "when the immediate threat is over, I want to take you somewhere. Just us. Away from the club and Bloomfield and all of it. Even just for a weekend. I want you to see me when I'm not in the middle of a war."
"You don't have to prove anything to me."
"I want to anyway. I want you to see all the parts of who I am, not just the MC version."
"Okay. Then we'll go. Wherever you want."
We stay like that for a while, holding each other as the sun sets outside and orange light fills the room.
Eventually we get into bed properly, both exhausted from the day. We don't have sex. Just lie together, his arm around me, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat steady and strong.
"Your father's coming," he says into the darkness. "Whatever he's planning, it's going to be soon. And it's going to be bad."
"I know."
"And I can't protect you from everything. That scares me."
"You don't have to protect me from everything. Just stay here with me and we'll handle it together."
"I can do that."