Page 63 of Steel

“Some days are better than others.” I brush my hair back. “He still wakes up every morning asking for her.”

“Your mom?”

I nod.

“It’s strange how the brain resets like that. How you can fall asleep and forget. And then it’s like you’re losing them all over again.”

I turn to face him. “You sound like you know something about that.”

“I do.” He sets his glass down but doesn’t elaborate.

My gaze drifts while the constant hole inside me widens. “The other day Austin asked me if this is what it takes to become a superhero. He asked me if that’s why all this happened. Because he thinks you don’t get your powers until you’ve lost something big. He’s still too young to know the difference between a hero’s origin story and real life. How am I supposed to explain all this to him? I don’t have the answers he’s looking for.”

“He’s not looking for answers, Tempe. He’s looking for comfort. He’s trusting you to keep him safe.”

I curl my legs up under me. “I’m not a superhero, Jameson.”

“You are to Austin. He sees you stepping up for him—being there for him. You’re grieving your mom’s loss just as much as he is, but you put him first no matter what you’re feeling. Your actions say more than words ever could.”

My heart hurts when I think about my mom. How I’m all he has left, and I’m still nothing close to what he deserves.

“You’re his superhero, Tempe, and it gives him hope. Let him have it.”

I shake my head. “If anyone is his superhero,you are.”

“I’m no hero.” Jameson scratches the scruff on his jaw.

“Your men think you are.”

“My menknowI’m not.”

I mull over that confession, wondering what side of Jameson they see, and wondering if maybe he’s right. Maybe he never shows them the parts of himself we get to see. The man who strips his cut off when he walks through the front door and leaves the club outside it.

I can’t imagine how hard that must be on him. While Austin relies on me, Jameson has an entire club resting on his shoulders.

“How heavy is it?” I glance at Jameson.

“How heavy is what?”

“Your men rely on you. The women rely on you. Your whole club does. Hero or not, you’re responsible for them. And when things go wrong, you’re the one who carries the burden. How heavy is that weight?”

Jameson stares at me, and it’s impossible to read his expression. His gray eyes soften, and I sense his defenses slowly coming down, no matter how much he fights it.

“Heavy enough that it’s easier not to focus on it.”

I absorb that.

The weight he carries. The responsibility. The burden.

I resented the Twisted Kings because of my father, but Jameson offers a different perspective on his club. The more time I spend with him, I understand that he does so much more than enjoy the perks that come with being a biker.

Jameson is there for the people who depend on him. He helps them when they have nowhere to go. And for the first time, I’m seeing the full burden of that responsibility sitting in front of me.

Turning, I sit on the edge of the couch and widen my knees, pointing to the ground at my feet. “Come here.”

Jameson’s face pinches. “Why?”

“Just come sit on the floor.” I roll my eyes.

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