Page 17 of Diesel’s Second Chance

I check my phone, 6:47 AM. Earlier than I usually wake, but sleep's not happening again anyway. I pull on jeans and a clean T-shirt, run my hand through my hair, and head down the hall toward the guest room.

The door's open.

I push it wider, already knowing what I'm going to find. The bed's made, badly, like she did it in a hurry, and June's nowhere. Her damp sweater from last night is folded on the dresser. The towels are unused. The room looks exactly like someone tried to erase all evidence they were ever there.

I walk to the living room, kitchen, bathroom. Nothing. She's gone.

Then I see it, a small card propped against the coffee maker. The kind she uses at the flower shop for arrangement notes. My name's written on the front in her beautiful handwriting.

I pick it up with hands that aren't quite steady and open it.

*Jackson,*

*I'm sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I couldn't face you this morning, not after everything we said, everything we did. I need time to think, to process, to figure out what this means and what I want.*

*Please don't think I regret telling you the truth. I don't. But I also don't know how to move forward from here, and I can't figure that out with you looking at me the way you were looking at me last night.*

*I'll call you when I'm ready to talk. Please give me that time.*

*- June*

I read it twice. Three times. Try to find something between the lines that isn't there.

*I couldn't face you this morning.*

*I need time.*

*I'll call you when I'm ready.*

It's not a rejection. Not exactly. But it's not an invitation either. It's June doing what she always does when things get overwhelming: pulling back, creating space, protecting herself.

I set the card down and move to the window. Her car's gone from the lot. She really did leave, probably as soon as she woke up and realized she'd have to face me in daylight.

The urge to call her, to drive to her house, to demand we talk this through right now, it's almost overwhelming. But she asked for time. Asked for space. The least I can do is give it to her.

Even if it kills me.

I make coffee on autopilot, drink it standing at the counter while staring at her card. Try to figure out my next move. Whether to wait or push. Whether to give her a day or a week or however long she needs.

My phone buzzes. For half a second, I think it's her, but the screen shows Judge's name.

**JUDGE:** Church. 0900. We got intel on Demon. Don't be late.

I check the time. 7:15. An hour and forty-five minutes to get my head straight and show up functional.

I text back: **On my way.**

Then I shower, dress, try to push thoughts of June into a box I can deal with later. The club needs me focused. The war needs me present. Whatever's happening between me and June, that has to wait.

But her card goes in my pocket anyway. I can't leave it here.

The clubhouse is already full when I arrive at 8:50. Brothers everywhere. Some at the bar, others around the common room, all looking tense and alert. The kind of energy that means something big is about to happen.

Canvas is sitting on a couch with Eden tucked against his side, his injured leg propped up. Brick and Rosie are at the bar. Judge and Nora are near the hallway, Grace between them signing something that makes Judge smile. Phoenix stands near his office door talking low with Saint, both of them looking grim.

Ranger's at the table with Delilah, and when he catches my eye, he nods once. I nod back and head for the coffee Phoenix keeps in the corner. Strong enough to strip paint, exactly how I need it.

"Diesel." Phoenix's voice carries across the room. "You good?"