life often calls for a cold heart. You can love your family, your brothers, you can let your blood burn hot when it’s time for war, but there are emotions you have to keep at an arm’s distance or else they’ll tear you to pieces.

But when that sweet woman falls apart in front of me, rests her head against my chest, and asks me to hold her? Pain that I’ve held back for years comes flooding back.

Her tears wet my chest, she shakes in my arms, and I wade through a sea of emotions from that moment all those years ago, when I shouldered the blame for one of my brother’s mistakes and saw the entire course of my life changed for good. I don’t regret where I’m at; I love my family in the MC, but sometimes I miss my old life. Sometimes I miss being a hero.

For the longest time, neither of us talks; I don’t know what to say and I’m so wrapped up in not saying the wrong thing that I keep my damn mouth shut, while Tiffany just shudders and sobs against me.

As she does, I slowly come to understand that she doesn’t need or want me to say a damn thing. All I need to do for her is to be here and listen if she wants to talk. And I could stay here — holding her — for a very long time.

When she pulls back, with her eyes puffy red and her nose sniffling and my heart stirring with the competing desires to pull her back into my arms and to find the piece of shit who did this to her and put him in the ground, she dries her tears on her shirt and clears her throat. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“Are you sure you want to talk about that right now? You don’t want to talk about something else?”

“I do. I need the distraction. I haven’t talked about what happened to me with anyone else… Not what friends I have left here in Torreon, not even my father. I mean, I haven’t even seen my father since Stanford, except for one time we met up for coffee. We weren’t that close to begin with, he’s not the emotional support type, and then, when I came back, I just buried myself in work, first — and for too long — temp jobs and then at the bank. Work is what works for me. So, let’s make a plan.”

I nod. She knows herself. She knows what she needs. The best thing I can do for her is to support her. “OK, let’s make a plan. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She crosses her arms and starts pacing. It’s amazing how quick she can switch gears, from shaking and sobbing to laser-focused on a problem.

“Well, first: we need more information. About who those big guys are that threatened your mother, and about what is going on with the loan. We can’t answer the question of how to deal with the debt your mother is under without knowing all the details.”

“Makes sense,” I say. “How do you think we should do that?”

“I think we need to split up.”

“What? Why?”

“We have two problems and we don’t have a lot of time. In fact, we need to buy your mom more time. You can look into the people who threatened your mom, and I’ll try to figure out a way to slow the bank down and get us more time to determine just what this loan is about and how we can resolve it without her losing her home.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I know what I’m doing, Blaze. I might not know what I’m doing with anything else in my life, but I know what to do here. Do you have any idea how tightly I’ve held on to my work? It’s all I’ve had to cling to. Until now.”

Until you, her eyes say.

I push back any other doubts simmering in my mind — she needs this, and if I’m shooting off every half-baked question that pops into my thick skull, it might set her off.

“I can look into the assholes who threatened my mom — and, before you ask, I can do it without beating the shit out of them — but how am I going to do that without being seen? I’m sure you’ve noticed, but I’m not an average guy — I’m more handsome, I’m bigger, and I’ve got the kind of ride that turns heads. There’s no way I can just slink around and not have at least half the men and women out there staring at me.”

She rolls her eyes and then a smile creeps over her face. It’s a new kind of smile. Mischievous. Devilish. I love it. “There’s a way. Do you think your mother’s thrown out any of your things since you left?”

“I don’t think my mom has thrown out anything since I’ve left.”

“Have you grown much since high school?”

My stomach tightens a bit as it sinks in where she’s heading.

“Not taller.”

“But wider?”

“Not wider. Don’t say it like that. But I’ve been to the gym more than once or twice.”

“And your style in high school was a lot different from what you’re wearing now?”

“It was. But that doesn’t matter. I know where you’re going and we are not doing this.”

“Unless you have a better idea?”

“We both know you’re the brains of this operation. But there’s got to be something else we can do.”

She raises an eyebrow and gives me a look that’s half defiance, half amusement. “Go ahead, I’m all ears. And if you need some time to put your idea together, that’s fine. It’s not like we’re under a tight deadline with your mother’s house — and possibly even her life — on the line.

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