Page 74 of Falcon’s Forever

His jaw tightens. "Okay."

That's all. There’s no argument, no demand, and no promise to change. Just okay, and somehow that hurts more than a fight would have. I look away. The ambulance siren fades with Emily inside it, and I need to be there instead of here.

"I need to go," I say.

He steps aside. "I know."

I walk past him. He doesn't touch me. At the front door Vulture's coming up the steps, he looks at my face, then at Falcon behind me, and understands enough not to ask.

"Escort's ready," he says. "Frankie and Sarah can go with you. Knox is already at the hospital."

"Thank you." I’m grateful.

"Ice is driving." I nod.

Vulture catches my arm gently before I step outside. "This wasn't your fault."

My throat tightens. "I know."

He raises an eyebrow.

Apparently the phrase is infecting everyone now. "I'm working on believing it."

"Good," he says.

I head for the waiting SUV. Frankie's already inside, Sarah beside her, Ice Pick is behind the wheel.

"Ready?" he asks.

"No."

"Figured."

He starts the engine. As we pull away nobody promises everything will be fine, nobody promises Emily will be okay, nobody promises Falcon and I will find our way back to whatever we were. They just stay with me. Frankie takes my hand. Sarah leans against my shoulder. Ice Pick drives.

This is my family. Not a man riding alone into danger, not a promise that nobody will ever get hurt, but people who stay when it happens anyway.

I close my eyes, and for the first time, I understand the difference.

Chapter 11

Falcon

The compound feels wrong after Cara leaves. It’s not quiet, exactly, the Saint’s Outlaws are never quiet for long, but the noise has changed it’s frequency. Brothers move between the clubhouse, the garage, and the damaged fence without the banter that usually carries them through a bad night, prospects are carrying equipment where they're told, radios are crackling with updates from the hospital and the perimeter every few minutes. Somebody's already taken Carrot's bike off the rack outside the garage and wheeled it into the back bay, out of sight, because nobody could stand looking at it parked where he left it.

I stand in the middle of the yard longer than I should. That's probably the first problem. Usually, I move first and think later. Tonight every instinct I've got is pulling me in a different direction. Go after Cara. Check on Emily. Find the men who hit the house. Do something, anything, that isn't standing here with a dead nineteen-year-old's blood still on my jeans.

Instead, I stay where I am, because for once I understand that movement isn't automatically useful, and because I'm not sure my legs would take me anywhere that mattered.

Cara said she was done, not forever. That should help, but it doesn't, because she was starting to trust me, and I made the exact decision she was afraid I'd make, and this time it didn't just cost trust. It cost a name I taught to ride toward gunfire because I told him showing up mattered more than anything else.

Boots on gravel behind me. I know who it is before he speaks.

Vulture stops beside me and remains silent.

That’s one of the reasons he has kept this club standing for as long as he has. He knows when words will help and when they’ll only get in the way.

“You planning to stand here all day?” he asks eventually.