Page 82 of The Grief We Hold

“What?”

He grins at me. “You were miles away.”

“Was thinking about how spring is all about things coming back to life.”

Catfish sees straight through me. “Is spring a euphemism for you?”

I shrug. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Catfish drops down off his horse and wiggles one of the fence posts we’re out here checking. “This section of fence just needs resetting.”

I make a note on my phone, adding it to the list of things we’ve seen that we’ll task the prospects and farmhands with fixing.

“Is that you off the table?” he asks. “I think Isla was kinda hoping you’d old-lady her.”

“She scratched an itch. Nothing more.”

Catfish nods and mounts his horse. “You should bring Raven to the clubhouse again. Claim her, even if you aren’t ready to make her your old lady yet.”

“Can you guys get your asses back here?” Butcher suddenly barks through the walkie-talkie attached to my hip.

I reach for it and press the button. “What do you need, Butch?”

“Got some intel. Need to decide what we’re gonna do about it.”

“Race you?” Catfish shouts, and he’s away before I have the chance to reply.

“Come on, Scout,” I say, encouraging the tan-and-white quarter horse I’m riding.

He’s fast. Faster than Blaze, Catfish’s ride. But if there’s anyone who can coax more speed out of a horse, it’s Catfish.

Still, I’ll bet on Scout’s competitive nature over my brother’s riding skills, any day.

I fucking love my bike. I love the speed and smooth glide. But it’s a different kind of feeling hitting wide open spaces on a horse that wants to run. The thud of its four-beat gallop is raw nature at its best.

We hit speeds pushing thirty miles an hour, taking the outer path along the boundary to avoid disrupting the grazing cattle.

I fucking love this club and the ranch we sit on. When the clubhouse comes into view, I’m almost sad about it.

“You stink of horses,” Butcher says when we walk into church twenty minutes later.

“You’d think after all these years, you’d be used to it,” I say.

Butcher hates horses. Well, he sayshates, but truth is, he’s fucking terrified of them. Never takes one out. Only ever uses one of the ATVs we have. If Ember ever needs to get away from her father, she heads straight to the stables and takes her horse out for a ride.

Catfish joins us two minutes later and hands me a coffee. “Figured you’d be a grumpy asshole without this.”

“Funny. And thanks.”

“I call this meeting to order,” Butcher says, then tips his head to Grudge, who sits on his left-hand side. “Go ahead.”

Grudge yawns. “Sorry. Late night. Me, Atom, and Taco went to scout one of the Bratva meeting place locations we learned about when we went out with the New Jersey brothers.”

“How did I not know about this?” As sergeant at arms, it’s my job to work with Smoke, as road captain, to plan ops like this.

Butcher raises an eyebrow. “You were busy.”

“Not too busy to do what the club needed.”

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