Page 111 of Bad Luck, Hard Love
“I'm not asking you for promises. I'm not asking for forever. I'm just asking for a chance to build something new together, somewhere far from all this. Somewhere you can heal.”
Her fingers trace the outline of my jaw, skimming over stubble and the fading bruises that still mark my face. “What about the club? Your brothers? This has been your life for so long.”
“They'll always be my family,” I say, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “But you're my future, Charlotte. If you want to be.”
“Where would we go?”
“Anywhere.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “San Simeon. Oregon coast. Montana mountains. Some little town in the middle of nowhere where nobody knows our names.”
“Just like that? Drop everything and disappear?”
“Just like that. We can be on the road tomorrow if that's what you want.”
Charlotte's laugh is soft, disbelieving. “You'd really leave all this behind? For me?”
“In a heartbeat.” The words come easy because they're true. “This life—the club, the chaos—it gave me purpose when I had none. But you, Charlotte, you've given me something I didn't even know I was missing.”
“I've never had a choice before. Not a real one. Terrance made every decision for me, and then survival made the rest.”
“This is yours,” I tell her, my thumb tracing circles on her wrist. “Whatever you decide, it's yours. No pressure, no expectations.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on the desert horizon where the city lights bleed into star-streaked darkness. When she looks back at me, something in her face has shifted—a door opening, a wall lowering.
“I think I want to go home. Back to San Simeon. At least for a little while.”
“San Simeon, it is.”
“I miss the ocean. The way it washes everything clean. Makes it new again.”
“Then we'll go tomorrow. Pack up whatever we need and just...go.”
“Just like that?” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, small but genuine. “No farewell tour? No dramatic goodbyes?”
I shrug, pulling her closer. “We say our goodbyes tonight. We hit the road at dawn.”
Charlotte leans into me, her forehead resting against mine. “What about your stuff in Upland?” she asks, always thinking ahead—even now.
I smile. “We’ll swing by and grab it on our way home.”
That word lingers between us, warm and solid. Home. For so long, it felt like a place I couldn’t reach—like something meant for other people, not men like me. But with her, it’s different. Like breath filling my lungs. Like a key finally turning in the right lock.
She shifts closer, her hand curling around mine like it’s always belonged there.
I’ve spent my life chasing something I couldn’t name—peace, purpose, freedom.
Now, with Charlotte beside me, I don’t have to chase anything.
I’m already home.
CHARLOTTE - THREE MONTHS LATER
The soundof waves crashing against the shore has become my alarm clock. Every morning, I wake to their rhythm, constant and cleansing. Sometimes I lie awake just listening, reminding myself that I'm here. I'm safe. I'm free.
“Soren,” I whisper his name into the empty space beside me, testing it on my tongue for the hundredth time. Not Thor—the road captain, the warrior—but Soren, the man who holds me through the nightmares and never complains when I wake him screaming at 3 a.m.
He insists I use his real name now. Says Thor belongs to the club, to the road, but Soren belongs to me. Just me. It took weeks before it stopped feeling strange in my mouth, this intimate piece of him so few people are allowed access to.
I roll over, burying my face in his pillow. It smells like him. The sheets are still warm where he slept. He's probably in the kitchen, making coffee strong enough to strip paint because he still hasn't figured out the right proportions.
