“Good choice,” Black noted, and Logan gave him his attention to see Black had eyes on Millie. “Face of it, she ain’t no old lady.” His gaze slid to Logan. “Deep down, where that shit needs to be, she’s all about it.”

“Yep,” Logan said again because this was true.

She was all about family. Hers. His. The one they were going to make one day.

So, yes. Definitely.

She was all about it.

Old lady through and through.

But only because he was a biker. She’d be what he needed her to be.

That was Millie.

“Happy for you, brother,” Tack said. “Your age, men don’t find the right one.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “You did.”

Logan jerked up his chin.

“Yeah, I did,” he agreed.

Another giggle erupted from Millie and all the men’s eyes went to her.

She now had two of Chew’s tarantulas crawling all over her.

And she loved it.

And Logan loved her. He didn’t give a fuck what it said, how impossible it was that was the case since they’d only been together a couple of months. He fell in love the minute he laid eyes on her. More in love at her first “hey.” Then more when she told him her name. And more when she looked so adorably hurt when she thought he was laughing at it.

And then more.

And even more.

It’d go on forever, he knew it.

Every day until he died, he’d fall more in love with her.

He’d been a lucky fuck and he knew it. He had a good family. Left that, had some fun, caused some trouble, found Chaos, and earned himself a new family.

Then he found Millie.

Yeah, he was a lucky fuck.

And staring at Millie with her tarantulas, feeling his lips twitch, he knew it.

CHAPTER SIX

You’ll Give

Millie

AFTER I PLOPPED the sour cream into the bubbling contents of the skillet, my phone rang.

I looked to it, saw it was Dottie calling, and snatched it up. I put the phone to my ear as I reached for the Dijon mustard.

“Hey, babe,” I greeted.

“You rang,” my sister replied as I squirted mustard into the bubbling sauce.

I had earlier that day, leaving a voicemail.

“Yeah,” I said. “Listen, I need a favor.”

“You know the drill,” she replied instantly. “You need it, free babysitting and that’s gonna happen soon, seeing as Alan and I are really in need of a date night.”

Two kids, both young, I knew that to be true.

Then again, it was always true. Dottie and Alan had been dating for years, pre-marriage, post-marriage, that’s the way they were.

I liked that for my sister.

My sister liked it too. And she wanted it for me.

“Done,” I told her, stirring my brew, talking to my sister, listening to Macy Gray from the new dock I’d bought, my candles burning, the steak and mushrooms already done and set to go in when the sauce was complete, the noodles resting in their water, ready to drain.

Then it was all a go.

Homemade beef Stroganoff.

It was smelling divine.

I just hoped it tasted the same way.

“What do you need?” Dottie asked.

“Okay, listen,” I began. “I went to that Pilates place and don’t let the pictures of people sitting on their asses bending around fool you. That shit is hard. But I got a wild hair, bought a five-session pass. I will not go again... ever... if you aren’t here in workout clothes, guilting me into doing it. So the favor is, I need you to bring the guilt. Don’t make me waste four sessions.”

I finished talking, asking this favor knowing it wouldn’t be hard. Dottie was a mother. Guilt, I suspected, for women was a specialty that was latent until you birthed your first baby. Then it kicked in full-force. I suspected this because it had happened with Dot.

But even though I stopped talking, Dottie didn’t start.

“Dot?” I called, pinching some salt and pepper into my sauce.

“You went to that Pilates place?” she asked softly.

I stopped moving and stared at my counter.

“Yeah,” I replied softly.

“I...” I heard her clear her throat. “Sure, I’ll do Pilates with you.”

Her tone was hesitant. Hopeful, but hesitant.

She knew what Pilates meant.

She knew what anything outside of me snarfing down fast food and watching reality TV meant.

“I’m done, Dot,” I told her.

“Done?” she asked, still hesitant, still hopeful.

Damn, but I’d put her through the wringer.

I needed to stop doing that.

And finally, I was going to.

“It’s time to move on.”

She said nothing.

I was sure she was shocked. This had never happened. I might have talked about it. I definitely thought about it (daily).

But I’d never done a thing about it.

“Did... something happen?” she queried.

“Yeah,” I gave her the truth. “A lot, actually. And I’ll explain it later. I don’t...” I shook my head even if she couldn’t see me. “I don’t wanna get into it. I’ll share it one day but in the end, it doesn’t really matter. In the end, it’s just time. Long past time. So there it is.”

In that speech, I’d lied.

It mattered.

Logan using me, taking advantage for his revenge fuck, then speaking to me the way he did, killing what we had, turning love to hate.

That mattered.

But it was done.

He hated me and there was nothing I could say that would change that. And the way he’d treated me—like what we had never happened, like what we shared wasn’t everything, like all of that didn’t buy me some kindness or at least some patience or at the very least some silence so I could share what I needed to share—it was inexcusable.

So it was over.

I was done walking through fire for that man.

And I wasn’t wasting another moment of my life on him.

I was going to change.

Finally.

I’d made that decision after the debacle at Wild Bill’s and that decision was cemented after what happened Saturday morning before the King’s Shelter event.

I was all in.

My larder was stocked.

I’d gone to the mall and bought clothes for inside and outside workouts.

I’d also bought a little black dress.

And the aforementioned speaker dock.

And the night before, I’d given myself a luxurious pedicure, unearthing my foot tub out of its box to do it.

My five-session pass for the Pilates center was purchased.

My first session was under my belt.

I was making fabulous-smelling, and I hoped would be fabulous-tasting, beef Stroganoff.

And I was thinking of getting a cat (or two) for company.

Yes, I was all in.

New life.

New me.

New beginning.

All to write a new future.

Out of the rut.

And on to something good.

(I hoped.)

“I don’t know what to say,” Dottie said in my ear.

“Nothing to say anymore.” I dropped my voice and kept stirring my sauce. “You’ve said it all, babe. I just never listened. Or if I did, it just didn’t sink in. It’s sunk in.”

“It’s seeing Logan,” she guessed.

“Yes.”

I did not lie about that, just my answer encompassed a whole truth she didn’t know.

Her voice was stronger when she said, “Then it’s good that happened. It didn’t seem good at the time but every woman has her limits. Every woman finds her time. You seeing him, hearing him, knowing he moved on, has kids, is doing okay, that was it for you. So that’s good.”

She was right. That part was good.

For Logan.

But I didn’t care or, more aptly, was determined to move toward not caring.

However, that thought was a good one to have.

I’d think of him that way, rather than the total asshole he’d been.

I’d think of him doing okay. Enjoying his kids. Being with his brothers.

And I’d find my things to enjoy.

Like beef Stroganoff.

“You’re right, Dottie,” I replied. “Now, I gotta add the mushrooms and steak to the sauce before it gets too thick.”