Page 41 of My Ex-Military Biker

"What happens now?" she asks after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean practically. I have a dead car on Route 9. No phone. No job. Technically I'm supposed to be married right now to someone who's probably filed a missing persons report."

"Do you want to go back?"

"No."

"Then you don't go back. We'll get your car tomorrow. Get you a phone. Figure out the rest as it comes."

"That simple?"

"Yeah."

She looks at me for a long moment. "And what do I do here? Just... live in your house?"

"You live here. With me. You figure out what you want to do for work. You exist. Same as anyone else."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I asked you to stay. That means I'm okay with it."

"What about the club? What about Perry and the Marrow thing and all of that?"

"That's still happening. Will keep happening for a while. That's my world. You're in it now. You need to be okay with that."

She thinks about this. "I saw you come home covered in blood yesterday."

"Yeah."

"And that's going to happen again."

"Probably."

"And you're not going to tell me details about what you do."

"Some details. Not all. That's how this works."

She nods. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I can live with that. As long as you come home."

"I'll come home."

"Promise?"

"I don't make promises I can't keep. But I'll do everything I can to come home. That enough?"

"Yeah," she says quietly. "That's enough."

We finish eating. She helps me clean up. Moving around the kitchen together like we've done this a thousand times instead of once.

My phone rings. Clint.

I answer. "Yeah."