Page 76 of Scatter the Bones

“Yeah. That a problem?”

“Not with me.”

We swap info. He reaches under the counter and pulls out a packet of papers—financials, equipment list, service logs, all neat and organized.

Looks like something I’ll be handing to Teller when I get to church.

Excited about the possible new business venture, I ask for a quick tour, and when we’re done duck out the back door into the same lot where I left my bike. It’s getting late.

I stuff the packet in my saddlebag, swing a leg over my bike and fire it up, the rumble grounding me.

The ride out of Johnsonville gives me too much time to think. Cold wind cuts through my flannel as I open up the throttle, heading for the clubhouse. No traffic, just the hum of my bike and the buzz in my skull.

I roll into the lot and, as I figured, only a few guys from downstate have made it here so far. Z’s bike and his wife’s SUV are at the far end of the lot. Must mean his family stayed herelast night.Fuck.Most of the guys probably stayed at the other clubhouse once they wrapped up the funeral after-party. We’ve only held church down there a handful of times, though. So, I’m in the right place. I park along the fence line.

My gaze drifts to the trail that cuts into the woods.

Instantly, I picture Margot here the night of the bonfire. She held her own with my brothers, didn’t flinch when the bunnies hassled her, and was so sweet to my brothers’ kids.

She fits so perfectly into my club. Even Wrath said she’s good ol’ lady material and it usually takes a while to win him over.

What the fuck am I doing?Sneaking out of her place like she’s some fling I want to forget, when she’s the only future I want? The only peace I’ve ever felt.

I pull my phone out, lean on my bike, and call her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Margot

Jigsaw’s communicationissues are really starting to piss me off.

I woke up alone. No “goodbye, see ya later” written on a crappy Post-it Note to be found anywhere in my apartment.

I don’t have time to be annoyed with him. Not when I have a funeral to prepare. Still, the empty side of the bed gnaws at me while I get dressed and hurry downstairs. My mind races ahead, going over the checklist—flowers, music, seating. All the things I need to do before the family arrives. No time for distractions.

Why’d I have to push him about his brother again last night? I should’ve let it go. He opened up to me about so many things yesterday. He’s probably up in Maine again. Or maybe this time he kept riding. Maybe he’s on a fishing boat in Nova Scotia by now.

I’m finishing the floral arrangements when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I wipe my hands on my apron and check the screen.

Jigsaw.

My heart jumps. But my stomach tumbles. My thumb hovers over the green icon on the screen. Should I let it go to voicemail? Let him sweat, thinking that I’m mad at him?

One tap and I’ll hear his voice. Make sure he’s okay.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hi.” He blows out a breath, like he’d been worried I might not answer. “You get up on time?”

“I had my alarm set.” I tuck the phone between my cheek and shoulder, rearranging a spray of lilies. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t counting on you to wake me.”

He lets out a short huff of laughter. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about…stuff.”

“You could’ve woken me up to talk about it.” The words come out softer than I mean them to. Too close to pleading.

“I didn’t want to unload any more stuff on you. Just needed to clear my head.”

“Where’d you end up this time? Canada?” It comes out sharp and I instantly regret it.

---