Page 150 of Priest

He nodded once. “Good. That’s a plan.”

“It is not a plan. It is a migraine wearing boots.”

Evan pressed a hand to his chest. “I would like that embroidered on something.”

Priest looked at me, steady and utterly serious beneath the impossible idea. “Fallen Harbor benefits too. Fallen Angels know that better than anyone. They’ve got people running federal contracts through their town, and they still don’t have fast medical access if something goes wrong on their side of the county.”

Ink’s grin faded a little, replaced by something more thoughtful. “He’s not wrong. A facility there gives both territories a neutral piece of ground. Medical, not club. Useful to everyone.”

Lila’s gaze sharpened. “Neutral matters.”

“For us too,” Ink said. “Deacon was east, so Wicker Falls made sense. But west of Bay, toward Fallen Harbor, there’s a gap. If one of ours goes down out there, distance gets a vote.”

Priest looked back at me. “This isn’t just about you.”

I wanted to argue.

I really did.

But the maddening thing was, beneath the overbearing delivery and the timing that deserved criminal charges, the idea had a spine. Bay of Saints did need better emergency access near the Fallen Harbor route. Too many club men, too many civilians, too many people in the wrong place at the wrong time depended on distance being kind.

Distance had never been kind.

Little Jax stirred against me, wrinkled his face into a fierce scowl, and let out an indignant little grunt like he too had opinions about municipal planning.

Evan leaned forward immediately. “That’s right, little man. Tell your father he can’t start civic projects because he’s emotionally compromised.”

Priest looked at our son, then back at me. “He doesn’t seem opposed.”

That broke me.

Not into tears. Into laughter. Tired, unwilling, helpless laughter that hurt my healing body and made me clutch Little Jax more carefully while the absurd room softened around it.

When I could finally breathe again, I looked at Priest over the top of our son’s blanket and shook my head. “You are impossible.”

His expression changed then, just enough for the room to fall away.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not leaving you here unprotected.”

There it was.

Not the ER. Not the jobs. Not the logistics.

The truth beneath all of it.

He was scared in that deep, quiet way that turned itself into action because feeling it too long would tear something open. Under my frustration and exhaustion, under the ache of everything still unresolved, I loved him for it a little.

Not because he could fix all of this.

Because he was trying.

Lila looked at me then, something gentler than her usual strength moving through her face. Evan was quieter too, his humor receding enough to show the uncertainty underneath. They were both waiting, even if they didn’t know exactly what for.

I looked down at Little Jax.

Then back up at Priest.

“Don’t build me an ER,” I said.