Page 95 of Boulder's Weight

Before I can respond, Boulder appears across the room.

His eyes narrow slightly when he spots me with Brick, but he makes his way over quickly.

"Everything okay here?" he asks, his tone casual but his eyes watchful.

"Just getting to know your ol’ lady," Brick says, standing and holstering his cleaned weapon. "She's got good instincts."

Boulder looks between us, clearly trying to figure out what he's missed. "Yeah, she does."

"I'll take first patrol," Brick offers, clapping Boulder on the shoulder as he passes. "You brief her on the changes going on around here."

As Brick walks away, Boulder takes his empty seat. "What was that about?"

I shrug, not ready to share what Brick said. "Just talking. He mentioned his dad's in prison too."

Boulder's expression darkens slightly. "Yeah, armed robbery. Fifteen years."

"It sucks, being the children of men who could care less, who choose to make horrible choices," I say automatically.

"They make their choices. And we shouldn’t be focusing on them," Boulder changes the subject. "Amara's putting together a strategy for dealing with both threats. She wants us both in church tomorrow morning."

The fact that she wants me there again surprises me. "Both of us?"

"Your insight on Benji is valuable," he explains. "And I think she recognizes that keeping you in the loop is better than us not knowing shit."

I can't help but smile at that. "Smart woman."

"She is," Boulder agrees. "That's why she's the Prez."

We sit in silence for a moment, the bustling activity of the clubhouse flowing around us.

It's strange how quickly this chaos has become normal to me.

How quickly these people, this place, has started to feel like?—

No.

I stop the thought before it can fully form.

Thisisn'thome.

It can't be.

Homes are permanent, and nothing in my life has ever been permanent.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Boulder asks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Just thinking about how quickly things change," I admit. "A couple of weeks ago, I was alone in my apartment, jumping at shadows. Now I'm sitting in a clubhouse full of bikers, planning with you all against my psychotic brother."

"Any regrets?" he asks, watching me carefully.

I consider the question, searching for the honest answer. "No. Not about being here." I hesitate, then add, "But I do worry about dragging all of you into my mess."

"You didn't drag us anywhere," Boulder says firmly. "I made a choice when I claimed you. The club made a choice when they backed me up. That's on us, not you."

His words ease something tight in my chest, a knot of guilt I've been carrying since the night he brought me to the clubhouse.

"Besides," he adds with a smirk, "you're hardly the messiest thing the club's dealt with."

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