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“I want to start, if that’s okay,” Lyra said.
Zach had been practicing what he’d say for a while and would have preferred to go first, but he nodded.
“Last night ... it wasn’t about you, or even the Bulls, really. It was about my dad. And Reed, too, I guess. But the thing I was really mad about wasn’t you.”
“You were mad because Ben sent you out of the room.”
“Yeah, but no. I found out that Pop and Reed offered to bring the club into the cleaning business—but they didn’t tell me that. I’m an owner, and they didn’t even run it by me. I found it out sitting in that living room, listening to you all talk. That’s what I was really pissed about. The rest of it was just little stuff that felt a lot bigger because I was already there, getting aced out of things I have a right to be a part of.”
“Oh ... shit. That’s ...” Zach stopped, because he honestly didn’t know how to proceed from there. Support her and say what he was really thinking, that it was shitty for them to ignore her? Or would she take that like him criticizing her father? Finally, he landed on, “I know this isn’t the point, but we’re going a different direction. The club won’t be involved with your company.”
“I know, and yeah, it’s not the point. What I mean right now is, you got caught in that—and the Bulls, too. I think I would have taken being asked to leave better coming from one of you, actually. I understand that club business isn’t my business. It’s just Pop sending me out, after the HRC thing. I kind of lost my shit a little.”
Zach laughed. “A little, maybe. Shit was hitting me hard, too, all at once.”
“What kind of shit hit you?”
Picking his words carefully, he found a way to answer honestly without saying that part of his shit was being responsible for her. Because wasn’t that part of being in a relationship? Being responsible for each other?
“Just shit about this charter, and my place in it, what that means for ... everything in my life. And ... yeah, being worried that you couldn’t deal with my life. Because, Ly, I mean it when I say Iama Bull. It’s not just a patch to me. I need to know you’re okay with every single thing that means. Including the flash I wear under my name.”
“Righteous Fist. I’m right about that—it means you’ve killed somebody.”
This time, rather than let defensive outrage take him over at once, he nodded. “That’s what it means. It’s not something I’m proud of, and it’s not something I’m ashamed of. It had to be done, and I did it. If it has to be done again, I’ll do it. I need to know you can handle that. Nottryto handle it. I need you to besolidwith it, right now.”
She didn’t flinch or hesitate. “I am solid with it. Right now. I worked through it last night. Pop has a similar patch—flash?”
“Yeah, the smaller patches are called flashes. The onlypatchis the one on my back.”
“Okay. Pop has a flash like it on his old kutte.” She grinned, and Zach’s settling worry calmed several more levels in quick succession. “Soul Reaper, which is a lot less subtle than Righteous Fist, actually. Anyway, I asked him what it meant, and he told me something about it meaning he’d done the hardest work the club had. Eventually I figured out that meant he’d killed somebody for his club, and he basically confirmed it.”
“That’s a good way to explain it—that’s why there’s a special flash, to acknowledge the weight of that work.” He peered as deeply into her eyes as he could. “And you get that? You’re okay with it?”
“I don’t want to say it like that. It feels strange to say I’m okay with killing. How about, Iunderstandit. I understand that it’s sometimes necessary in your world, and I’m notupsetabout it. It’s not something I hold against you, or Pop. No judgment. In fact, last night, I realized I’m glad he’s a man who’ll kill to protect what he loves. I’m glad you’re a man like that, too. It makes me feel ... well, protected.”
It was like she’d put her hands on his shoulders and lifted a full ton from them. He felt actuallyweakwith relief. “Okay. Okay. That’s good. I was ... worried.”
A small, sweet grin slipped into one cheek. “Me too. I’m sorry.”
He picked up her hand and wove their fingers together. Her hands were small and graceful, long fingers tipped with short, oval nails. No polish, but her nailbeds had a natural rosy tint. “It’s okay. I get needing to work through it.”
“There is one thing I still need to understand, though.”
“Okay, hit me.”
“I’m scared about everything in your life being a secret. I feel like I’ll go crazy in the dark.” Her voice shook a little with fresh worry.
But Zach had a ready answer for this one. He had his parents as a model. “You don’t have to be in the dark. There are some things that never leave the table, things only patches ever know, but all the rest of it, it’s pretty much up to the couple to decide how they handle it. Some old ladies don’t want to know anything, and some old ladies want to know everything they can. My mom is camp B—Pop always told her pretty much everything.”
“I want to be like that. I can deal with whatever you need to do. I realized last night, it all comes down to trust—me trusting that you need to do what you do, and knowing you’re a good man, and you trusting me with the things you do and the things happening—as much as you’re allowed to share—and knowing I would never do anything with that information to hurt you or the club.” Her head tilted suddenly. “Wait. Are we talking about me being yourold lady? Because I know what that means.”
Zach felt his cheeks heat up, but he didn’t puss out. “I think it’s early for me to put ink on you, but ... yeah, I can see it. From over here, anyway. How would you feel about it?”
She thought for a few seconds before she said, “I agree it’s early, especially since yesterday happened. I don’t want to move too fast and either of us, or both of us, get hurt. But ... yeah, I can see it from here, too.” Her fingers tightened around his. “Does this mean you’re staying in Laughlin? Moving here? To live?”
Zach hadn’t said the words aloud yet. He hadn’t totally processed that he’d decided; it was all bound up in the same snarl with his feelings for Lyra, and what had happened between them yesterday, and all the baggage he’d brought with him from Tulsa. But he had decided, hadn’t he?
“Yeah, I think so,” he said, and Lyra grinned and jumped into his arms.
