Page 5 of Her Possessive Bikers

The thought brings fresh tears, but I blink them back. There'll be time for that later. Right now, I need to focus on getting through the next few days.

My phone rings, pulling me out of my darkness, and Millie's face lights up the screen. I almost let it go to voicemail, but she'll just keep calling.

"Hey Mills."

"Indy," her voice catches. "I tried to switch shifts at the hospital, but we're so short-staffed with this flu going around-"

"Mills, breathe." I curl up in my window seat, watching a cardinal hop along the fence outside. "It's okay. Really."

"No, it's not okay. You shouldn't have to do this alone. I can call out sick-"

"Don't you dare." I press my forehead against the cool glass. "You've got patients who need you. Besides, I won't be alone. Dad's whole club will be there."

"That's what worries me. You haven't been around them much since-"

"Since Mom took me and ran?" A sad smile tugs at my lips. "They're not so bad. Dad made sure of that."

Millie sighs. "I know. I just... I hate that I can't be there for you."

"You're always there for me." I fiddle with the small anchor tattoo on my wrist - matching the one on hers. "Remember when Mom passed?"

"You couldn't get rid of me if you tried." She pauses. "Hey, wear that black dress."

"What?"

"The one with the sweetheart neckline. The one that makes you look like a total badass."

"To a biker funeral?"

"Hell yes. Your dad always said you looked like a queen in it. Make him proud."

My throat tightens. "Yeah, he did say that, didn't he?"

"He did. And Indy? If you need me, call me."

"I will. Love you, Mills."

"Love you too, babe. Show those bikers what you're made of."

I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and head downstairs. The house feels emptier than usual, like it knows I'm leaving for a while.

At the door, I pause, glancing back at the living room. Dad's old pocket watch catches the sunlight again. I grab it, slipping it into my pocket. Maybe it'll bring me some luck.

I lock up the house, triple-checking each door and window. Paranoia? Maybe. But I won't take chances with my home. Once I'm satisfied, I head to my Jeep.

The Alabama heat slaps me in the face as I step outside. The driveway shimmers in the sun, and my car looks like it's baking under a giant magnifying glass. Two days ago, everything was normal. Now I'm driving back to a past I never really knew.

As I load my bag into the back, a familiar voice calls out from across the street.

"Indy! Where you headed?"

I turn to see Mrs. O'Hara watering her garden, her wide-brimmed hat shading her face.

"Texas," I call back, forcing a smile.

She squints at me. "Texas? Everything alright?"

I take a deep breath. "My dad passed away."

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