Page 17 of Smoke

Eventually we went upstairs to see her father, and his face changed when Beth walked into the room. For the first time since I'd known him, I watched Sheriff White struggle to hide fear. He reached for her hand, and she sat beside the bed while he looked at every bruise as though staring hard enough could undo them.

I stayed near the door until he finally looked at me.

"You found her."

"Yeah, of course."

His jaw worked once. "Doesn't mean I like you." Beth laughed softly, and I almost smiled. "Would've worried me if you started."

That was all the peace either of us needed. I didn't want his blessing, and he didn't want to give it. We simply understood that the cartel had moved past property and intimidation and started using people as leverage. Warren was still the sheriff and stubborn enough to keep pushing. The Unholy Few were still outlaws and unwilling to let an outside power claim Salvation; nobody needed to pretend that made us friends. By the time Beth was fully discharged, the sky was dark. I drove her back to the house and caught myself thinking about it as our home without effort. For years after the divorce, I'd called it my house because anything else felt pathetic. Tonight, I let the old word stay.

Beth showered while I stood in the kitchen and let myself feel the parts I'd kept locked down long enough to find her, including the broken call, blood in her car, Beth tied to a chair and a man reaching for her while I was already in the room.

The club looked to me when shit went wrong. The Army had taught me to function under pressure long before that. Control didn't mean feeling nothing; sometimes it meant waiting until the danger was over before you let yourself feel any of it.

Beth came in wearing one of my T-shirts and sleep shorts, damp hair loose around her shoulders. The bruise on her cheek had darkened.

"You're doing that thing again," she said.

"What thing?"

"Pretending you're fine because I'm home."

I looked at her and gave up pretending. "I couldn't bear to lose you from my life again."

"But you didn't."

"Doesn't make the rest disappear."

"No, it doesn't. But I'm fine, and I'm here." She crossed the room and put her hand against my chest. "But the one thing that kept me going is that I knew you'd come."

"You couldn't know that."

"But I did."

There was enough certainty in her voice that arguing would have been pointless. I covered her hand with mine and said what the old version of me would've expected her to understand without hearing.

"I don't want this to be why you stay. You don't stay because somebody took you and I got you back, because your father is hurt or because the club can put more men around you here. If you want to go back to Albuquerque when this settles, you go, and we figure out whatever comes next from there."

Her fingers curled into my shirt. "You think I want to leave?"

"I'm not assuming shit for you anymore."

That brought a faint smile to her mouth. "Look at you! Learning this stuff."

"It's a painful fucking process."

Beth's smile faded into something softer. "I built a life in Albuquerque because I needed one that was mine. I'm glad I did, and I'm not giving it up. But I can do my job from here most of the time, and when I can't, Albuquerque isn't another country."

I stayed quiet because I didn't want to mess this up again.

"I don't want the marriage we had," she continued. "I want the part where we actually talk before things rot underneath us. You tell me when the club needs you instead of disappearing into it, and I tell you when I need you instead of making it a test you don't know you're taking."

"That's a hell of a lot of talking." Her eyes narrowed at the joke, and I smiled before adding, "I can do it."

"Good."

I touched her waist carefully. "I want you here." Her face softened enough that I knew the answer before she said it. "I want to be here."