The ground doesn’t actually shift beneath my feet. It only feels that way. I’ve known something’s been sitting on her. I’ve watched her carry it for weeks, that tight brightness she wears like armor whenever Jonas comes up in conversation. I thought it was the usual worry that comes with having a father who works in close proximity to a one-percent club.
I had no idea it was this.
“How long has he known?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“A few months. He made me promise not to tell anyone.” She finally turns to look at me, and her eyes are dry, which somehow makes it worse.She has clearly already done the crying.She’s in the part that comes after, the long, exhausting part where you carry it in silence. “He wants to get things in order. Arrangements for the mine, for me. He doesn’t want people treating him differently.” She holds my gaze, steady as bedrock.
My thoughts hesitate on Sin. On the patch sitting less thanoneweek away, and everything that’s riding on it. On the reality that Jonas McClane’s deal with Defiance stopped being just business years ago and turned into one of the foundations this club stands on.
Then my brain circles back to the secret sitting in my chest and what keeping my mouth shut is probably going to do to my patch.
And what it means to my relationship with Millie not to.
The conflict sits in my chest like a wire pulled too tight.
But she is looking at me.
Not the club.
Not the future.
Me.
“Okay,” I say.
Because she needs to know I heard her, and that I understand the weight of what she’s handing me. I reach for her before I overthink it, my hand closing around hers, firm enough to be real, careful enough not to take more than she’s offering.
“I’m sorry,” I add. “That’s… a hell of a thing to carry on your own.” Her fingers tighten in mine. “You don’t have to do it alone,” I say. “Not with me. Whatever you need… appointments, paperwork, sitting in silence. I can do silence.”
A small, almost disbelieving breath leaves her.
I don’t make promises I can’t keep, but this one feels carved into bone.
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her. “One step at a time.”
She nods, something in her shoulders loosening as if she’s finally set down a weight she’s been bracing against for too long.
“You wanna head home?” I ask her.
Her eyes begin to sparkle with the threat of tears, but just as quickly as they came, she blinks them away before she nods at me. “Ireallydo.”
I weakly smile at her, taking her hand in mine, and I lead her toward my truck.
We drive home in the kind of silence that doesn’t need filling.
***
The knock hits the front door right as Jonas sets his fork down, sharp enough to cut straight through the house.
Millie’s head snaps up instantly. Her entire body changes before she even moves, that automatic reaction telling me she already knows exactly who’s standing on the other side of the door. “I’ll get it,” she chimes, but she’s already moving, wiping her hands absently against the sides of her jeans as she crosses the room.
When she opens the door, the cool evening air follows the woman inside, along with the faint scent of outside, something floral from the garden. She’s small, but there’s nothing slight about the way she occupies space. Her dark eyes scan the room in a single pass before settling on Millie, and whatever she finds there softens her expression, like it’s been that way for years.
“Hey bitch,” she beams with happiness, holding a bottle of wine in her hand.
Millie exhales, as if she’s been holding her breath all evening, and the mere presence of this woman is like a relaxant. “Hey.”
They fold into each other without hesitation, her arms wrapping tight around Millie’s shoulders, her hand coming up to rest briefly at the back of Millie’s neck in a gesture that feels both protective and practiced. When she pulls back, she studies Millie’s face with an unflinching attention that doesn’t feel intrusive so much as inevitable.
