Chapter Three
Britta
Getting dressed should not feel like a full-contact sport. And yet… here we were.
I sat on the edge of my bed, shoulders slumped, breathing a little heavier than I should have been for someone who had just successfully put on a T-shirt and leggings.
My right arm hung slightly away from my body, careful, guarded, like it had a mind of its own now and didn’t trust me not to mess things up.
My shoulder throbbed. Not sharp like it had the first few days. Not that white-hot, make-you-see-stars kind of pain.
This was deeper. A dull, constant reminder that yeah, I’d been shot. Still rude.
I stared down at my hands resting in my lap and let out a long breath.
Eight days ago, I could get dressed in two minutes flat.
Now it took me fifteen, a pep talk, and at least one internal argument with myself about not throwing the shirt across the room and giving up.
“Wow.”
I looked up.
My mom leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised like she’d just walked in on something mildly concerning but not surprising. “You look like you need a ten-hour nap,” she said, “not like you just woke up.”
I laughed, but it came out flat. “I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just studied me in that way moms did when they were cataloging every possible thing that could go wrong and deciding which one to worry about first.
“You sure you don’t want to stay here a little longer?” she asked gently. “Until you’re… better?”
I shook my head immediately. “No.” Too fast. Too firm, but I didn’t take it back.
Her lips pressed together slightly, and I could tell she didn’t like it.
She didn’t argue, though. That was the thing about my mom. She raised me to make my own decisions even when she didn’t agree with them.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m making a terrible life choice.”
Her mouth twitched. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” I shot back. “It’s your fault, you know.”
She blinked. “My fault?”
“Yeah,” I said, gesturing vaguely with my good hand. “You raised me to be independent. This is on you.”
That earned me a real laugh.
She pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room, shaking her head. “Well,” she said as she sat down beside me on the bed, “I know you’re going to be fine.” Her hand came down on my leg in a soft pat. “But I can still be worried.”
My shoulders softened a little at that. “I’m not going to be alone,” I said. “Tyson lives in the same building. He’s literally down the hallway.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
There was a pause.
A beat where neither of us said anything, but there was a whole conversation happening anyway.
Fear.
Relief.
That weird space in between where you didn’t quite know which one was going to win.
Then she glanced at me sideways. “How long is your biker going to be hanging around?”
I groaned. “He’s not my biker.”
“Sure, sure,” she said with a chuckle, completely unconvinced.
“And I don’t know how long he’ll be around,” I added. “Probably until they find the guy who burned up the bar and shot me.”
She nodded slowly. “So… a while.”
I sighed and tipped my head back. “God, I hope it doesn’t take that long.”
Her hand squeezed my leg. “Well,” she said, “I know it drives you crazy…” She paused just long enough to make sure I was listening. “…but that biker of yours is the only reason I’m okay with you leaving.”
I rolled my eyes. “I have Tyson, Mom. He would keep me safe if Swift wasn’t there.”
She didn’t respond to that.
“Mom,” I said, softer now. “I’ve lived on my own for years. I think I’m going to be fine.”
She let out a breath and shook her head. “I thought that too,” she said quietly. “Until you got shot.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “That is one phone call a mother never wants to get.”
My chest tightened. I leaned into her carefully, mindful of my shoulder, resting my head lightly against hers. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She inhaled slowly, then wrapped an arm around my shoulders, gentle, careful, like I might break if she moved too fast. “It’s not anyone’s fault, honey,” she murmured.
“There are just bad people in the world…” Her grip tightened slightly.
“…and somehow one of them found the club and you.” She pulled back just enough to look at me.
“I know I don’t know Swift very well,” she admitted, “but him being with you takes my worry down to about a two out of ten.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “Wow. That’s pretty good.”
She smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t make me regret saying that.” She stood, smoothing her hands down her pants like she needed something to do with them. “Call me when you get to your apartment, okay?”
I nodded. “I can do that.”
She blew me a kiss and stepped out into the hallway.
I listened to her footsteps fade, the familiar rhythm of her moving through the house.
And for a second…
Just a second…
I felt it. That tug. That small, quiet ache telling me I was going to miss this. Miss her. Miss the safety of this house, even if it drove me a little insane.
But underneath that?
There was something else.
Relief.
Excitement.
The need to get back to my space. My routine. My life. I wasn’t the girl who stayed put. I never had been.
I pushed myself to my feet slowly, steadying against the mattress for a second before I reached down and grabbed my sweatshirt from the foot of the bed.
Pulling it on was another whole process, but I managed it without swearing this time.
Progress. Again.
I made my way down the hallway, each step careful but more confident than yesterday.
The house smelled like coffee and toast.
And then I hit the kitchen doorway and stopped.
Swift stood at the sink, finishing a cup of coffee. My eyes locked onto the movement of his throat as he swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, slow and deliberate.
And my brain—my very tired, slightly scrambled brain—went: Sexy.
I blinked, trying to figure out where that thought came from.
He set the empty mug in the sink and turned slightly, catching me standing there. “Morning, sugar.”
“Morning,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. I stepped into the kitchen. “Ready to leave suburbia and get back to State Street?” I asked.
He chuckled, low and easy. “Gonna do the same thing here that I’m gonna do there.”
“Yeah, but the scenery and social scene are so much better on State Street,” I pointed out.
His mouth curved just a little. “Not wrong there.”
We moved toward the front door together, the rhythm of it easy in a way that felt… natural.
Too natural.
Swift grabbed his keys off the small table near the door and checked the lock before opening it, stepping out onto the porch first like he always did.
Scanning. Watching. Then he motioned for me.
I stepped outside and saw Tempi’s car sat in the driveway, but Tempi was nowhere in sight.
I frowned. “Where’s Tempi?”
Swift moved ahead of me, opening the passenger door. “She’s at the bar,” he said. “Finishing cleanup from the fire and getting ready to start ripping shit out.”
I pointed at the car. “Then how did this get here?”
“She drove it here last night,” he said. “Twister followed her. Didn’t think you’d be up for riding on the back of my bike yet.”
I quirked my lips. “Yeah,” I admitted. “You’re probably right.”
I carefully lowered myself into the passenger seat, moving slower than I would have a week ago.
Swift leaned in.
Close. Too close.
The heat from his body wrapped around me instantly. My heart kicked up.
Stupid.
I caught a hint of his scent. Clean, a little smoky, and something distinctly him.
He reached across me, fingers brushing lightly against my side as he pulled the seatbelt across my chest.
Snap. The buckle clicked into place.
He didn’t pull back right away and just looked at me. “Ready?”
My breath hitched. “Never been readier.”
His mouth curved into a slow, almost dangerous smile. “Readier, huh?”
I blinked. “…more ready,” I corrected quickly, a laugh slipping out. “My brain is still asleep, okay?”
“Right, right,” he said, clearly amused.
He pulled back, shutting the door, and rounded the front of the car.
I watched him the whole way.
Because apparently, I did that now.
He slid into the driver’s seat and glanced at me. “All good?”
I nodded. “Yeah.” Then I hesitated. “It’s just… weird seeing you in a car. I’ve never pictured this.”
His brow lifted. “You’ve pictured me before?”
Oh my God. “I—what—no—I mean—”
He laughed. Actually laughed and it did something ridiculous to my stomach.
He started the car, shifting into reverse smoothly as he backed out of the driveway.
“Where’s your bike?” I asked, desperate to recover.
“Magnum rode with Tempi when she dropped this off,” he said. “Then he drove my bike over to your apartment.”
I nodded slowly. “You guys did a lot of maneuvering to get me back to my place.”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “Whatever you need,” he said. “I’ll make it happen.”
That hit me harder than it should have.
Because yeah, I had my mom. And Tyson. And Tempi.
But outside of them? There wasn’t really anyone who would just… do that. Show up. Rearrange things. Make sure I was okay without asking for anything in return.
It was different.
“Uh… well,” I said, suddenly aware of how weirdly tight my chest felt, “thank you. For doing all of this. I mean, I totally get it if you need to get back to doing… whatever it is that you do.”
He glanced at me and my stomach flipped.
“This is what I need to be doing.” Simple. Direct. And somehow… heavy.
I nodded and turned my head toward the window, watching the neighborhood pass by as we headed toward State Street.
He was a man of few words. But when he spoke? Those words meant something.
God damn.