Page 82 of Boulder's Weight

Oakleigh shrugs, beginning to work on the canvas with confident strokes. "I saw your face when Boulder left. And I know that look. Been there myself."

"With Razor?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Oh yeah. That man drove me crazy when we first met. I was not looking to be anyone's old lady." She grins over her shoulder. "Life had other plans."

"Did he claim you? Like Boulder did with me?"

She nods, focused on her painting. "Yep. After the two of us went through literal hell. I was addicted to cocaine. Razor lost his mind trying to get me clean, claimed me and said he was gonna keep me safe, and he did. There were many times I didn’t think we were going to make it. Sometimes I even hated him."

My heart skips a beat at the similarities. "And now?"

"Now I can't imagine my life without him. Took us a while to figure it out, though. These club men aren't the easiest to deal with. But my father’s the regent at the Satan’s Raiders MC, in Los Angeles, so I guess you can say I knew what I was getting into."

"Regent?”

Oakleigh nods, "Yeah, kinda like some medieval sort of shit. Like when someone important from France would go to England to make sure their affairs and alliance was in order. The club does that, so my dad’s in Los Angeles."

I furrow my brows, "So, they sent one from the Satan’s Raiders, right?”

"Yep, that’s Inc, back in Montana."

Ah, I’m connecting the dots super fast now.

"So, I gotta know. What's the deal with you two?" she asks. "The real deal, not the 'it's just for protection' line I heard this morning."

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. But there's something about Oakleigh that tells me I can trust her.

"I don't know," I admit. "We had this casual thing before he found out who I really was. Then everything changed when he claimed me."

"Changed how?"

"He's more protective. Possessive, even. But then he pulls back, like he's remembering it's supposed to be temporary." I pick at a loose thread on my jeans. "Like today in the storage room."

Oakleigh turns, her eyebrow raised. "What happened in the storage room?"

My cheeks heat at the memory. "We were... you know. It was getting intense. Then he just stopped. Said his head was confused, that he needed to think."

She nods like she knows what I’m talking about. "Sounds like Boulder is realizing that what started as a convenient excuse to protect you has turned into something real. And for a guy who's never wanted to be tied down, that's terrifying."

"You think so?" I ask, hating the hopeful note in my voice.

"Trust me. I know these men. They'll face down rival clubs without blinking, but actual feelings? That's when they run like a scared chihuahua in a thunderstorm." She gestures to a sketchbook on the table beside me. "Grab that and a pencil. Drawing helps clear the mind."

I pick up the sketchbook hesitantly. "I haven't drawn in years."

"All the more reason to start again," she says. "Art is therapy. And honey, you look like you could use some."

To my surprise, I find myself opening the sketchbook, the pencil familiar in my hand.

I start with tentative lines, no real plan in mind, just letting my hand move across the paper.

"So how did you and Razor work it out?" I ask as shapes begin to form under my pencil.

Oakleigh laughs. "Time and patience. And a little manipulation." She winks. "Made him think a lot of things were his idea. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late—he was already in love."

"Sounds hysterical, and complicated."

"Life with these men is never simple," she agrees. "But worth it, if you find the right one."

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