Chapter 3 #2
Grim leaned against the wall beside him, tattooed arms crossed, smirk already forming like he smelled trouble. Havoc perched on the pool table behind them, boots swinging, golden-brown hair a chaotic mess. Ledger sat at the bar, quiet, observant, fingers tapping a slow rhythm against a glass.
And off to the side, half in shadow, sat Fish. Long coat. Gloves. Head bowed slightly as he cleaned a piece of gear with slow, methodical movements. The left side of his face caught the light, burn scars twisting down from temple to jaw.
Prospects hovered in the background, Ghost sharpening a knife, Brick pretending not to eavesdrop, Switchblade and Vandal playing a round of darts.
Fish paused in his cleaning, the faintest shift of attention, like he’d felt the storm walk in with Rook.
Rook peeled off his wet gloves. “Was out.”
“In a storm?” Grim raised a brow. “What, needed a midnight swim?”
Havoc grinned. “Nah. He needed to brood dramatically. It’s his thing.”
“Shut up,” Rook muttered.
But his voice lacked bite, and they all heard it.
Ledger’s eyes flicked up, sharp and knowing. “Something happened.”
Rook didn’t answer.
Stone stepped closer, gaze narrowing. “Spit it out.”
Rook exhaled, long and slow. “Avery’s back.”
A dart hit hard against the dartboard as silence slammed into the room.
Havoc’s grin exploded. “No shit?”
Grim let out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”
Ledger didn’t react outwardly, but his eyes sharpened like a blade. “How long?”
“Tonight,” Noah said. “She just got in.”
Stone studied him, really studied him. “And how are you?”
“Fine.”
Three voices answered at once.
“Bullshit,” Grim said. “Liar,” Havoc added. “Incorrect,” Ledger finished.
A fourth voice didn’t join them.
Fish simply lifted his head. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The weight of his attention alone felt like a judgment.
Stone didn’t laugh. He just stepped closer.
“You saw her,” he said quietly.
Rook’s jaw flexed. “Her car broke down. I helped.”
Grim smirked. “Helped? Or carried her around like a damn bride?”
Havoc cackled. “Bet he did. Look at him, he’s got that kicked-puppy-in-love face.”
“I don’t have a face,” Rook snapped.
“You do,” Ledger said calmly. “You always have it when she’s brought up.”
Rook glared at all of them. “I don’t care that she’s back.”
The room erupted.
Grim laughed so hard he slapped the table. Havoc nearly fell off the pool table. Even Ledger’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
Fish didn’t laugh.
He just watched Rook with that quiet, unblinking focus that made men straighten their spines. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, roughened by old injury, but steady.
“Care’s not the problem,” Fish said. “It’s what it does to you.”
The room stilled. Fish’s gaze hit harder than the teasing. The man didn’t waste words, and when he looked at you, it felt like he saw the parts you tried to bury.
Stone moved closer, voice low and steady. “Rook,” he said. “You’ve been carrying that girl like a ghost for seven years. Don’t stand here and tell me you don’t care.”
Rook looked away, throat tight.
He hated how easily they saw through him. He hated how exposed he felt. He hated that Avery Brooks could still tear him open without even trying.
“She’s staying at the apartment above the bakery,” Rook muttered.
Grim’s smirk faded. “Alone?”
“Yeah.”
Stone’s expression darkened. “That place isn’t secure.”
“I know.”
“You gonna fix that?”
Rook didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
Havoc grinned. “Of course he is. Our boy’s already halfway in love again.”
Rook shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Drop it.”
Havoc held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying…”
“Drop it,” Rook repeated, voice low, dangerous.
The room quieted.
Fish leaned back in his chair, gloves creaking softly. “Storm’s not done,” he said. “Inside or out.”
Stone stepped forward and clapped a hand on Rook’s shoulder. “We’ve got your back. Whatever this brings.”
Rook swallowed hard.
The club wasn’t just a club. They were his family. His anchor. His salvation.
And they knew—every damn one of them—that Avery Brooks was the one thing that could break him all over again.
Havoc nudged Grim. “Told you he’d lose his shit when she came back.”
Grim grinned. “Yeah, but I didn’t think it’d be this fun.”
Rook shook his head and headed for the bar, needing distance, needing air, needing anything that wasn’t the memory of Avery’s eyes on him.
But Ledger’s voice followed him.
“She’s going to change everything,” he said quietly.
Rook didn’t turn around.
“She already did,” he said.
And the room went still. Because they all knew it was true. He didn’t wait for their reactions. He just kept moving.
The clubhouse noise faded behind him the second he shut his bedroom door.
The laughter. The teasing. The clatter of pool balls. The low thump of bass vibrating through the floorboards.
All of it muffled into a distant hum, like the world was happening somewhere he didn’t belong.
Rook leaned back against the door, eyes closed, breath tight in his chest. His room was dark except for the thin strip of hallway light bleeding under the door. The air smelled like leather, gun oil, and the faint trace of smoke that clung to everything he owned.
He didn’t turn on the light.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t trust himself to.
His brothers had seen enough tonight. The jokes. The smirks. The knowing looks. They’d read him too easily, peeled him open without even trying. He’d held the line, kept his face blank, his voice steady, his answers short.
But now, alone, he felt the crack in his armor widening.
He was soaked. Rain dripped from his hair, his clothes clung to his skin, and his boots left wet prints across the floor. The weight of the night pressed against him like a hand on his chest.
He crossed the room and pushed into the small bathroom attached to his quarters. The overhead bulb flickered once before settling into a low, steady glow.
Rook braced both hands on the edge of the sink, water dripping from his sleeves, pooling on the tile. His reflection stared back at him, wet hair plastered to his forehead, jaw clenched, eyes too sharp, too tired, too full.
He looked like a man split down the middle.
He dragged in a breath that didn’t reach his lungs.
Slowly, he shrugged out of his cut. The leather was heavy with rain, darker than usual, the patches slick. He held it for a moment, just held it, feeling the weight of everything stitched into it.
VP. ROOK.
He’d bled for that title. Earned it. Built a life around it.
And tonight, when Avery had slipped it from her shoulders and handed it back, it had felt like someone reached inside his chest and twisted.
He set the cut gently on the counter, like it was something fragile.
Then he started peeling himself out of the rest, boots thudding to the floor, socks soaked through, shirt clinging to him like a second skin.
He turned the shower on, hot water blasting against the tile. Steam filled the room fast, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of his reflection until he couldn’t see himself at all.
Maybe that was better.
He stepped under the spray, the heat hitting him so hard his shoulders tensed on instinct. Water ran down his face, over his shoulders, across the scars on his ribs. He pressed his palms to the wall, head bowed, letting the water drown out the world.
But it didn’t drown out his thoughts.
His mind went straight back to the bakery.
To the dust in the air. To the broken doorframe. To Avery standing in the middle of that ruined place, small, tired, stubborn, beautiful in a way that made his chest hurt.
To the way she’d looked at him.
Like he was a stranger.
He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tightening.
Seven years. Seven years of silence. Seven years of pretending he didn’t wait for her. Seven years of telling himself she wasn’t coming back.
And then she walked into his night like a ghost he’d never stopped seeing.
He remembered the weight of his cut on her shoulders. How wrong it looked. How right it felt.
He remembered the way she’d whispered his name — Noah — like it hurt her to say it.
He remembered the way she’d flinched when he snapped. The way she’d pulled back. The way she’d handed his cut back like it burned her.
His chest tightened until he had to brace harder against the wall.
He’d never stopped waiting for her.
Not really. Not in the ways that mattered. Not in the ways that kept him up at night.
And he hated himself for it.
One look from her unraveled him. Her voice still lived in his bones. He’d carried her inside tonight without thinking, like she still belonged to him.
And God help him, part of him wanted her to.
He let the water hit his face, scalding, grounding, useless.
He was Rook. Vice President. A man with responsibilities. A man with a life built from the ashes she left behind.
He wasn’t Noah anymore.
He couldn’t be.
But standing there under the water, steam thick around him, listening to the muffled sounds of the clubhouse through the walls…
He felt like both men at once.
The one she left. And the one she came back to.
And he didn’t know which one hurt more.