Oaks
I wake up before she does.
For a second, I don’t move.
Her hair’s spilled across my chest like her mark on me.
One leg thrown over mine, warm and trusting, like she did not spend weeks pretending she was fine while Hell tried to chew her up.
Early light filters through the thin curtains and paints her skin gold.
Soft. Calm. Like nothing ugly exists outside this cabin.
She looks more innocent when she sleeps.
Not fragile.
Just unguarded.
And it makes me feel older than I am. It makes me feel like every year I’ve spent learning how to survive has been leading to this exact moment, where survival ain’t the hardest part.
Attachment is.
My hand rests at her waist. I don’t remember putting it there. I don’t remember deciding I deserved to hold her like that. My body must’ve done it while my brain was off duty.
That’s the problem.
I don’t do unconscious attachments.
I slide out of bed slow, careful not to wake her. She makes a small sound, like she is reaching for something in a dream, and my chest tightens so hard it feels like punishment.
I pull on my jeans and step outside into the thin morning air.
Herrington Lake is quiet at this hour. Mist hovers low over the water like something breathing just under the surface.
The camp is scattered across cabins and tents, smoke starting to curl from early fires.
Voices are low. Engines are still sleeping.
Even the birds sound cautious, like they know something is off.
This is supposed to be simple.
Search for the missing girl. Keep the ol’ ladies safe. Keep the peace with Pearly Gates until we have proof. Don’t let the club fracture. Don’t let Bethany turn this into a circus.
Instead, I’m standing barefoot on damp wood thinking about the way Brittany looked at me last night like I ain’t a married man with a reputation for ruining things.
Holler is already outside the cabin next door when I step off the porch.
Him and Lottie took it over once we took theirs.
He has a mug in his hand and a look in his eye like he didn’t sleep either.
They’re not newlyweds but still act like it.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they announced another baby soon.
He gives me a slow nod.
No grin. No joke. No comment about walls shaking or how long it’s been since he has seen me come out of morning after looking like I actually care.
Just that nod, like he sees the shift in me, and he’s filing it away for later.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
We stand there quiet for a minute, steam rising, the lake stretching out calm and deceptively harmless. Somewhere down the shoreline, a door creaks open. A man coughs. A zipper on a tent drags.
Normal camp sounds.
Except nothing is normal.
“She good?” Holler asks finally.
I don’t answer right away, because the real answer ain’t a yes or a no. The real answer is that she is good right now, in this moment, and I don’t know how long I can keep the world from touching her again.
“Yeah,” I say eventually. “She’s good.”
That ain’t the question he asked.
Holler watches me another second, raises his eyebrows, then lets it go, because Holler is a good man. He knows when pushing will turn into a fight I’m already looking for excuses to have.
Legend’s voice carries from the main fire pit.
“Church. Ten.”
My stomach drops.
Church at a lake feels like pressure. It feels like we are about to pretend we are calm while we decide how ugly we are willing to get.
I head toward the clearing without looking back at the cabin. If I look back, I’ll go back in. If I go back in, I’ll not want to leave again.
Legend stands in front of us, like the wall of muscle he is, arms folded.
Royal is to his right, tall where Legend’s wide, both imposing.
He looks darker than usual, like somebody wound him too tight overnight and left him to simmer.
He’s claimed Becki Crowley now. Formally known as Crazy Becki and once obsessed with Legend.
Already knocked her up from what I hear.
The brothers gather in a loose half-circle. Some of the ol’ ladies hover near cabins, pretending they ain’t listening. Bethany ain’t hovering. Bethany is planted like a threat, lipstick already perfect, like she crawled out of bed with a full face of makeup.
Her eyes flash with the kind of anger that likes an audience. Seen the look too many times before. Ain’t got time to dwell on it as Legend’s gaze finds mine immediately.
“VP,” he says. “Walk with me.”
We step off from the group. I feel all eyes on my back. Especially Bethany's evil stare.
Legend does not waste time.
“You need to watch yourself.”
There it is.
“Watch what?” I ask, even though I know.
“You know what,” he says.
He stops and faces me. His expression ain’t cruel. It’s tired. It’s the face of a man who has had to clean up other people’s messes for too damn long. But it’s also one that’s decided to not fail.
“You made your choice with Bethany years ago. You made it for this patch. That don’t change because you found something shiny at a lake.”
My face contorts. “She ain’t shiny.”
Legend’s eyebrow lifts. “That’s worse.”
I drag a hand over my face.
“She’s in danger,” I say. “Girls are going missing. Pearly Gates’s sniffing around her. Bethany’s unstable.”
“And you think climbing into bed with her makes that safer?” Legend asks.
His voice ain’t mocking. It’s disappointed in a way that hits harder than anger.
“I ain’t climbing into anything,” I snap. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”
Legend goes still.
That word hangs between us, heavy.
“That word,” he says quietly. “You better be real careful with it.”
Silence stretches. Somewhere behind us, a man laughs too loudly and then stops when he realizes church is still happening.
“You’re my VP,” Legend continues. “The club’s already tense.
Royal’s sister reappearing has everybody sideways.
Pearly Gates is pushing lines. Bethany, your ol’ lady, your responsibility’s looking for an excuse to go rogue, betray us.
And now you’re walking around with a girl half your age like you’re auditioning for a midlife crisis. ”
“She ain’t a crisis,” I growl.
“She will be if you lose control,” Legend says.
That lands.
Hard.
Legend’s voice lowers, the kind of tone a president uses when he is trying to keep the whole damn house from collapsing.
“You don’t get to be selfish in that patch. Not when you’re second in command.”
I swallow it. All of it. Because he ain’t wrong about the club. He ain’t wrong about the timing.
But he’s wrong about Brittany being some shiny distraction. She ain’t a toy. She ain’t a phase. She ain’t even a girl. She’s a woman who got chewed up by Hell and still stood up to it.
“I hear you,” I say finally.
Legend holds my gaze a second longer, then nods once and turns back toward camp.
Church ain’t long. Search teams split off. Men grab radios and maps scribbled on napkins like that is enough to find a missing girl in a county full of hiding places.
And I do what I have always done when something starts to matter too much.
I shut it down.
I don’t go back to the cabin. Not right away.
I join Rye and Bullet combing the treeline along the north edge of the lake.
I keep my answers short. I keep my expression neutral.
I keep my hands busy. I pretend my body ain’t still remembering Brittany’s mouth, her nails.
The way she said she was choosing me like I was something worth all this trouble.
We find nothing but broken branches, old beer cans and a torn scrap of lace caught on a thorn bush that makes my blood turn cold until Royal confirms it is old. Not connected. Not yet.
Still, it sits in my head like a warning.
When I do finally pass the cabins again, I see her.
Brittany’s outside with Lottie, hair pulled back, wearing one of my shirts, laughing at something Holler said. There’s sunlight framing her like an angel. For a second she looks like she belongs in the world instead of being hunted by it.
She catches my eye. Her smile lifts, quick and hopeful, like she forgot to be guarded.
And I look away.
Like nothing happened. Like last night didn’t crack something open in me that I’ve spent years welding shut.
Her smile falters.
I see it.
I keep walking anyway.
Professional. Guarded. Controlled.
If I don’t feed it, maybe it will burn out. If I treat it like nothing, maybe the club will too. If I don’t reach for her, maybe I won’t fuck up her life.
That’s the lie I tell myself while my chest tightens every time I pass that cabin and don’t go in.
That is the lie I tell myself while Bethany watches from across camp like she’s taking notes.
And that’s the lie that breaks, quietly, when I hear Brittany’s laugh die off behind me and realize I hate the sound of that more than I hate Bethany’s voice.
Because the truth is simple.
I can act like last night meant nothing.
The club might even believe me if I do it long enough.
But Brittany will not.
And neither will I.