Page 81 of Boulder's Weight

He shakes his head, stepping back another pace. "My head's just... confused right now. This whole situation."

"What situation?" I ask carefully. "Us, my brothers, or the club?"

"All of it," he admits, not quite meeting my eyes. "I need to think clearly, and I can't do that when I'm touching you."

A cold weight settles in my stomach.

Is he regretting claiming me?

Finding the responsibility too much?

"I understand," I say, though I don't. Not really. "It's a lot. This wasn't what you signed up for."

Boulder looks like he wants to say more, but the door opens slightly, Astra's voice drifting in. "Everything okay in there?"

"Fine," I call back, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll be right out."

When I look back at Boulder, his expression has shifted, closed off in a way I haven't seen since before he claimed me. "Brick will take you back to the clubhouse after your shift. I've got club business I need to focus on."

I nod, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. "Be safe."

Boulder hesitates, then gives a curt nod before slipping out the back door.

I take a moment to compose myself, splashing water on my face and fixing my hair before returning to the front of the café.

Astra and Oakleigh exchange a glance when I emerge, clearly noting Boulder's absence.

"You okay?" Astra asks as I tie my apron back on.

"Fine," I lie, grabbing the coffee pot to refill customers' cups. "Just a little panic attack. I get them sometimes."

"And Boulder?" Oakleigh prompts.

"Had club business," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Oakleigh studies me for a moment, then nods decisively. "You're coming to my studio after work. No arguments. I think you’re in dire need of some girl time."

I keep myself busy for the rest of the shift, forcing myself to stay distracted so I’m not focusing on everything else going on around me.

I’m glad I stay busy too, because it’s slowly eating me alive.

Brick takes me back to the clubhouse and Oakleigh's studio turns out to be upstairs.

It’s in another section of the upper level, at the end of the hallway I’ve never ventured down.

Boulder told me it was the VP’s quarters, but I never put two and two together.

Their place is spacious and flooded with natural light, the walls covered in canvases in various stages of completion. It looks more like a studio than a makeshift apartment.

The smell of paint and turpentine fills the air, strangely comforting.

"Make yourself at home," she says, gesturing to a worn couch in the corner. "Beer's in the mini-fridge if you want one."

I sink onto the couch, watching as she pulls a canvas onto an easel and selects a brush. "So what am I doing here, exactly?"

"Escaping," she says simply, mixing colors on her palette. "Figured you could use a break from all the testosterone and drama."

I laugh hard. "That obvious, huh?"

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