Page 12 of My Veteran Biker

"I would've waited if you'd asked me to."

"I know that too. That's why I didn't ask."

The words hit like a slap. Not because they're cruel but because they're honest in a way that makes my chest ache. He didn't come after me because he knew I would've stayed, and he didn't want me to stay for the wrong reasons.

I don't know if that makes it better or worse.

"I grew up," I say. "I don't wait for anyone anymore. I built a life where I make my own decisions and I don't accommodate anyone else's timeline."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah. You should've done that years ago."

"I did it because you taught me I had to."

He flinches. Slight, barely visible, but I see it. See the way something in him contracts like I just hit a nerve he didn't know was exposed.

His phone buzzes. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. He doesn't move to check it.

"You need to get that?" I ask.

"If it's urgent they'll call."

"What counts as urgent in a motorcycle club?"

"Someone bleeding or someone dead."

The words are delivered flat, matter-of-fact, like he's telling me the time.

It makes my stomach go cold.

"A brother died three weeks ago," he continues. "Perry. Shot outside his apartment. He was alone. Nobody was waiting for him. Nobody knew he was gone for two hours."

My throat goes tight. "I'm sorry."

"He was thirty-four years old."

There's something in Knox's voice I can't identify. Something that sounds like fear dressed up as resignation.

"That's why you're not sleeping," I say.

"I sleep fine."

"I can see your light on at two in the morning."

His mouth tightens. "You watching me, Francis?"

"I'm awake too. Hard not to notice."

We look at each other across four feet of kitchen floor that feels like miles. His phone buzzes again and this time he pulls it out, glances at the screen. Something in his face changes, tension pulling his features tight.

"I have to go," he says. "Club business."

"Now?"

"Yeah."