Page 44 of My Ex-Military Biker

"No."

"Then why ask?"

"Wanted to hear you say it."

"No regrets. None. Not one." I go back to his hand. "Even when you come home bleeding because Sully can't keep his mouth shut."

"He called Ray a has-been."

My hands still. "What?"

"At church. Said Ray should retire instead of taking up space in his shop. Said it where I could hear it."

Ray is sixty-six now. Still runs the bike shop. Still doesn't ask questions. Still the only person outside the club Tate spends time with voluntarily.

"How bad did you hit him?" I ask.

"Not as bad as I wanted to."

"Clint stop you?"

"Didn't need to. I stopped myself." He pauses. "You would've been pissed if I'd broken his jaw."

"Probably."

"Definitely."

I finish cleaning, start wrapping. "You're learning."

"What?"

"Impulse control."

"Had it before."

"You have more of it now."

"Because of you."

"Because of you deciding I matter more than Sully's face."

"You do."

Simple. Direct. The way he says everything that matters.

I tape the gauze down, then don't let go of his hand. Just hold it. Look at the bandaging I just did and the bandaging I did three years ago in this same bathroom when I didn't know him at all and wanted him anyway.

"What do you want?" he asks.

The question. Our question. The one he asked me on the first night when I didn't have an answer.

I look at him. "Right now?"

"Right now."

"You. Here. No waiting."

Something in his eyes goes dark. "Yeah?"