Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Two weeks later
CB shifted in the leather chair and tried not to look at the clock on Dr. Montgomery’s wall.
“You’ve been avoiding this session for a month,” Vivi said, her tone mild but pointed. She sat across from him, legs crossed, a notepad balanced on her knee. Her hair was down today, and she wore no classic white lab coat. Just a soft cotton blouse and jeans. “Want to tell me why?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been busy for four weeks straight? No thirty-minute window in your entire schedule?”
He sighed. Vivi wasn’t just the head of Shadow Point Security—she was also a former NSA psychologist who had a way of cutting through excuses that made her impossible to dodge.
He tried anyway. “I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted. “A lot’s happened.”
Vivi set down her pen. “How’s the injury?”
He shifted in the chair that was ever so slightly too small for him. “Healing fine.”
“Don’t forget Garrett and Mack still have you on light duty for the next two weeks.”
He held in his exasperation, even though it bubbled in his chest. “I’ve survived much worse than this, you know.”
“I know. I’ve seen your files. You, and every other man here, give new meaning to the terms tough and brave . All I’m asking is that you don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re not.”
He grinned. He’d never tell her he’d used that line on Regan, and planned to keep on doing it. “Would I do that?”
She rolled her eyes and picked up her pen. “Why don’t we start with Ryder?”
The name landed like a punch to his gut.
CB looked out the window at the Montana sky, blue and endless, the kind of view that usually settled him.
It fell short today. “He’s in federal custody awaiting trial.
Claire says the case is airtight—attempted murder, extortion, assault, money laundering. He’ll be in prison for a long time.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
CB considered the question. A month ago, the answer would have been complicated. Ryder was family. They’d grown up together, played in that lodge as kids, shared holidays, birthdays, and the tangled bonds of the Briggs name.
But Ryder had also pointed a gun at Regan’s chest and pulled the trigger.
“Relieved,” CB said finally. “And tired. It shouldn’t have come to this. If I’d paid more attention years ago, if I’d seen what he was becoming?—”
“You left the Outlaws when you were eighteen. You were a kid yourself.”
“Old enough to know something was wrong. When I returned to the States, I noticed it right away—his greed, his hunger for power. There are so many things I should have done differently.”
Vivi tilted her head. “Is that guilt talking, or genuine accountability?”
He didn’t have a good answer for that. “Does it matter?”
“What about the other Outlaws?” Vivi asked, ignoring his question. “The ones who were involved in Ryder’s operations?”
“Some are facing charges—Denny Crue is looking at serious time for the attack on Regan. Others are cooperating, giving testimony in exchange for reduced sentences or immunity.” CB rubbed his jaw.
“Most of them were just following orders. They didn’t know how bad it had gotten, or they convinced themselves it wasn’t their problem. ”
“And your role as liaison?”
“Temporary.” He said it automatically, then caught Vivi’s slight smile. “It is. I’m just helping them transition while the FBI finishes their investigation. Once things stabilize, they’ll hold a real election.”
“You could run. I’m guessing it would be a landslide.”
“I won’t.”
Vivi made a note. CB couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.
“Tell me about your father,” she said.
The shift caught him off guard, even though it shouldn’t have. Vivi had a way of circling back to the things he least wanted to discuss.
“He’s cooperating with the FBI. Full disclosure, all his records, testimony against Ryder.” CB paused. “Claire thinks he’ll avoid prison time because of it. An ankle monitor, restricted to the county, with weekly check-ins. That kind of thing.”
“That’s the legal outcome. I want to know how things are between you.”
CB was quiet for a moment. The relationship with his father had never been simple. Wade had wanted him to lead the Outlaws; CB had wanted something else entirely. They’d spent years talking past each other, each one convinced the other had made the wrong choice.
But something had shifted since that night in the parking lot.
“We’re talking,” CB said. “Actually talking, not just arguing. He came to the hospital after I got shot—sat with me the whole first night, even though he could barely stay awake. He and Regan really hit it off. When I woke up, he was still there, right beside her.”
“That sounds significant.”
“It was.” CB looked at his hands. “He told me he was proud of me. First time he’s ever said that.”
Vivi nodded slowly. “And the Fourth of July ride?”
CB felt his chest loosen at the mention of it. The annual Ride For Youth had been his parents’ creation—Wade and Mary’s way of giving back to the community, showing people that the Outlaws could be more than their reputation suggested. This year marked the tenth anniversary.
“We’re doing it,” he said. “Dad and I talked about it last week. We want to honor Mom—her memory, what she believed in. The ride was always her idea more than his.”
“How does it feel to be part of that again?”
“Good,” he said, smiling. “It feels good.” He met Vivi’s eyes.
“For a long time, I wanted nothing to do with the Outlaws. I thought the only way to be my own person was to cut that part of my life off completely. But watching Ryder twist everything my family built—” He shook his head.
“Someone has to remember what it was supposed to be. Someone has to carry that forward.”
“And you think that someone is you?”
“I think it’s a lot of people. The men and women who stood with me in that parking lot. The ones who are still showing up, trying to do better.” CB paused. “I’m just one piece of it.”
Vivi smiled—a real one this time, warm and approving. “That sounds like growth.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
She laughed. “Same time next month?”
“I’ll be here.”
He meant it this time.
After a quick check-in with Garrett and Mack, he left the SPS compound and drove toward the bar, the windows down and the summer air rushing past.
The stitches in his side had come out a week ago, leaving a scar that would fade but never disappear. He didn’t mind. It reminded him of what he’d been willing to do for someone he loved.
The Hill’s Tavern parking lot was full when he arrived—a mix of motorcycles, pickup trucks, and a few sedans with out-of-state plates. Tourists had started trickling in for the Fourth, drawn by the mountains and the small-town charm. The bar was benefiting.
He pushed through the front door and stopped to take it in.
The place was packed. Outlaws occupied several booths, their demeanors easy, relaxed. Like this was a home-away-from-home. That was how it used to be, if Lucy and her pictures were to be believed.
A family with two young kids sat near the window, the parents nursing iced teas while the children colored on paper placemats. A group of hikers clustered around the bar, studying the menu and debating burger toppings.
Lucy stood at the register, ringing up a check and chatting with an older couple CB didn’t recognize. She looked healthy, rested—the weeks at the SPS compound had done her good, and being back at the bar seemed to have restored something essential in her.
Desi lay sprawled under the bar, his tail thumping lazily against the floor when he saw CB.
And there was Regan.
She moved through the crowd with an ease that made CB’s chest tighten. Taking orders, delivering plates, and stopping to laugh at something one of the Outlaws said.
Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wore the same faded cut-off jeans and turquoise tank she’d worn the first day he walked into this bar.
She looked happy. Genuinely, unguardedly happy.
She spotted him and her face lit up. “Hey, you.”
“Hey yourself.”
She crossed to him and rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. He had to bend over for her to actually reach it. “How was the session?”
“Surprisingly not terrible.”
“Good.” Regan squeezed his arm. “Hungry? Pete’s experimenting with a new burger—green chile and pepper jack.”
“Pete’s here today?”
She’d hired him to work the lunch rush three days a week. “I think he’s got a crush on Mom. Don’t tell her.”
CB glanced toward the kitchen, where Pete was visible through the pass-through window, flipping patties and looking entirely in his element. The former Outlaw had found a second calling, and the bar had found a reliable cook.
“Business is hopping again today,” CB said.
“It’s been crazy.” Regan pulled him toward an empty spot at the bar. “Between the tourists, the Outlaws, and the regulars who finally stopped being scared to come back, we’re actually turning a profit. First time in two years.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It is.” She leaned against the bar, her expression shifting to something more thoughtful. “I’ve been working on something. A new podcast angle.”
“Yeah?”
“A mini-series about what happened. The extortion, the investigation, all of it—but ending with what’s happening now. The restructuring, the cleanup, the people who are trying to do better.” She met his eyes. “I want to tell the whole story. Not just the ugly parts.”
Warmth spread through his chest. “Phoenix from the ashes.”
“Exactly.” Regan smiled. “I’m releasing it right before the Fourth of July ride. I hope it encourages people to show up, donate, and get involved. The ride for youth deserves attention—positive attention, for once. Are you okay with that?”
“Okay with it? I’m grateful. My mom would have loved it.”
Regan’s smile softened. “That’s kind of the point.”
He leaned in and kissed her, not caring that half the bar could see. When he pulled back, her cheeks were flushed.
“I have something for you,” he said. “Well, for your list.”
“My list?”
“Kitchen. Come on.”
She followed him through the swinging door, past Pete at the grill, to the bulletin board mounted near the walk-in cooler. The list of rules was still there, pinned in the center, but updated from the originals. The running joke they’d built together over the past few weeks.
Rule 1: No lying about being fine.
Rule 2: Partners share the load.
Rule 3: Trust goes both ways.
And so on, each one a small piece of the language they’d developed. A shorthand for everything they’d been through and everything they’d become.
CB pulled a marker from his pocket and wrote beneath the existing rules.
Rule 8: Fine or not, remember I love you.
Regan stared at the words.
For a long moment, she didn’t move. CB watched her face, watching the way her expression shifted from surprise to something deeper—something that made her eyes shine, and her breath catch.
Then she started crying. Just a tiny tear out of the corner of her eye. She dashed it away with the back of her hand and turned away from him.
Was it too much? Too soon? Had he completely misread things between them? Did she not feel the same way? “Regan…?”
In a split instant, she whirled, threw her arms around him, and buried her face against his chest. He held her carefully, mindful of the still-healing scar on his side, and felt her shoulders shake with the force of emotions he understood better than words could express.
“I love you, too,” she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. “I love you, too.”
CB pressed his lips to the top of her head and closed his eyes.
Outside, the summer sun beat down on Montana. The bar hummed with voices and laughter. Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle engine rumbled to life.
And in the kitchen of Hill’s Tavern, surrounded by the smell of green chile burgers and the warmth of a woman who’d changed everything, CB finally felt like he was home.