“He wanted you to be completely sure,” I say. “That’s why he didn’t push. He wasn’t going anywhere… he just wanted it to be right when it happened.”
Her shoulders drop slightly.
“And whatever your answer was going to be…” I continue, softer now, “… he still wanted you in his life… more than anything. The ol’ lady question was just one part of it. You were all of it.”
Her voice breaks just a little when she replies, “I would have said yes,” she whispers. “The next time he asked, I know I would have.”
The honesty in those words hits harder than anything else she’s said this morning. Of course, it means something, knowing she’d been ready to sayyesto Tracker. Of course, it does.
I don’t respond straightaway.
I’m aware of it the way you’re aware of something dangerous, precisely and from a careful distance, standing in my own kitchen with my brother’s woman looking at me like she’s seeing me properly for the first time. I take a step back before it becomes something neither of us can come back from cleanly.
“You think that changes anything?” I ask, keeping my voice level.
Her eyes search mine. “It changes everything,” she says.
For a second, neither of us moves. The air is thick, charged, and too close and too much all at once, and I take another deliberate step back to break the distance.
“Then you need to understand something.”
Her gaze stays locked on mine.
“You’re not stepping into Ryan’s life.”
Her breath catches, confusion moving across her face.
“You’re stepping into mine.”
The words land exactly where I mean them to. I can see it in her expression, the way she feels the difference between those two things and understands, maybe for the first time, what that actually means.
“This world…” I continue, voice low and level, “… doesn’t give second chances. And it sure as hell doesn’t let people walk in and out whenever they feel like it. My club, my rules, my responsibility, and that means every person who walks through those doors is on me.”
Her chin lifts slightly. “I’m not fragile, Tate.”
“I never said you were.”
“Then stop treating me like I am.”
I hold her gaze.
A beat passes.
Then another.
“You’re not fragile,” I say, and my voice comes out quieter than I intend. “But you are important.”
Something in her expression softens, just a fraction, just enough.
“And I don’t let important things walk into danger.” I pause, choose the next words carefully, then say them anyway because they’re true, and she needs to hear them. “My boys, they’re good men, but they’re still men. And I’m the president, which means I need to be focused on the club when I’m there. I can’t be watching the room and watching out for you at the same time.”Another pause. “Especially when there’s a beautiful woman in it.”
Fuck. Why did I have to add that last part?
But it’s the truth, and it’s already out there. Taking it back would only make it worse.
Her eyes widen.
Her lips part like she wants to argue, like she has three different responses ready and can’t decide which one to lead with, but she doesn’t say any of them.
