Page 22 of Stitch & Steel
I stared at my bike, at the clubhouse I’d called home for the last decade. I had shit to do here… I couldn’t keep going back up that mountain that crept up to feeling like I belonged more there than here.
“Logan, brutha,” Axel, called out a greeting then asked me to help him take a look at the Van’s cracked fan belt. After that it was a new muffler for the F-250. My hands were covered in sweat and grease but the feeling in my gut went unchanged.
And then I made the call.
I rolled back up the mountain by sundown, packed light. A duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Ammo in the saddlebag. No ceremony, no excuses.
Just a decision.
Bella was bent over the garden bed, hands deep in the dirt. Hair twisted into a messy knot. Tank top clinging to her in the late summer heat.
She didn’t hear me right away.
Didn’t look up until I cleared my throat.
“What now?” she asked, brushing dirt off her cheek. “Here to steal Gran’s shotgun again?”
“Nope.” I tossed the duffel on the porch with a thud. “I’m moving in.”
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Just until things calm down. Don’t get your flannel in a twist. I’ll take the spare room.”
“I didn’taskyou to move in.”
“I didn’t ask for permission.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then growled, “God, you are such a man.”
“Glad you noticed.”
I stepped past her, boots heavy on the porch, and rapped twice on the screen door.
Gran opened it and grinned. “About damn time. Supper’s in the oven. You’re staying, right?”
I nodded. “If that’s alright.”
“‘Course it is. Just don’t snore. And don’t let Bella talk you into herbal tea, you’ll grow boobs.”
Bella sputtered behind me. “Gran!”
But she didn’t argue when I dropped my bag in the guest room.
Didn’t stop me when I sat across the table for supper, or poured her a cup of black coffee when she looked like she needed it most.
Didn’t say a word when I stood at the window that night, watching the tree line like I was waiting for war.
Because maybe I was.
And maybe I’d finally figured out what I was fighting for.
Seven
BELLA
I burned the toast.
Not on purpose, but the timing felt symbolic.
