wasn’t looking forward to the pitying looks I was sure to receive.
And the person I wanted to see most wouldn’t be there.
Ankh.
He’d been killed halfway through my prison sentence. And now I’d never get a chance to show him the man I’d become. I’d never get a chance to thank him for all he’d given Tex and me. I hadn’t even been able to attend the funeral, or the later memorial.
Sometimes I thought I would’ve taken a sentence double the length if it meant I could’ve attended the funeral.
But I couldn’t change the past, no matter how badly, how desperately I wished I could. The only thing I could do now was try to live a better life—to be a better man. To be a man Ankh would’ve been proud to call his brother-in-arms. To be a man Tex will be proud to have at his side, even if it’s not the way I’d always fantasized about. To be a man I can be proud of.
I revved my engine and picked up a little speed. Tex glanced over his shoulder, grinned, and did the same.
After about an hour of riding, Tex took an unexpected exit toward a truck stop. We parked outside a beat-up old diner with a buzzing neon sign, and Tex dismounted his bike and took off his helmet. Sweat gathered at his temples and hairline, and when he turned to pull his Stetson from saddlebag, his neckline was stained dark with it as well. His pale, freckled skin always flushed pink after riding in the heat like this, and my fingers itched with the desire to touch the nape of his neck and trail along the damp collar of his t-shirt.
He fixed his hat on his head again and shot me a grin. “Thought you might want to get some food before we head all the way back.”
“My first meal outside of prison and you take me to a goddamned truck stop?” I shook my head fondly. “Always the charmer.”
“This place is great,” Tex said. “You should be thanking me.”
He led me through the door of the diner and took his hat off respectfully as soon as we were inside. He’d worn it for thirty seconds, maximum, after getting off his bike. That thing was like his security blanket. Fondness flooded me with warmth.
We sat across from each other in a corner booth. Tex ordered two tall, cold pilsners—my favorite beer.
I nearly sighed when the drink arrived, pale in color with a foaming white head threatening to spill over the edge of the glass. “Look at that.” I trailed a finger through the condensation on the glass. “Ice cold.”
“Told you this place was good,” Tex said. He raised his glass. “Cheers.”
“What are we cheersing?” I asked.
Tex paused thoughtfully. “To us,” he said, finally. “To old times.”
Old times—old times were what I was trying to leave behind. I was ready to start a new chapter of my life. But if Tex wanted to linger in the past for just a little while longer, I was more than happy to indulge him.
I clinked my glass against his. “To old times.”
We ordered food from the disinterested, aging waitress: nothing fancy, just cheeseburgers and fries, but after three years of prison meals, it looked like a fucking Thanksgiving dinner to me. I was grateful to be here, easing back into civilian life, instead of driving straight back to Elkin Lake to eat pizza at Ballast. I hadn’t thought I needed this—a slow re-entry—but now, I wondered if jumping right back into the club would’ve been too overwhelming. Tex always had an idea of what I needed, even before I did.
His letters had kept me updated on the goings-on the club, from the Viper’s Nest, to the human trafficking ring, and even the new relationships in the club. Logan had cracked something open in Blade, and Blade’s new open-heartedness seemed to be trickling down to the rest of the club. Gunnar and Raven had finally gotten their heads out of their asses, and Coop had even started shacking up with a cop.
“Got another update for you, since my last letter,” Tex said. He stole a fry off my plate even though he had an entire plate of his own.
“Oh, yeah?” I took another sip of the beer. It was so cold, and so light on the tongue, and I got to have it with Tex. Probably the best beer I’d ever tasted. “Did Crave finally show his face again?”
“No, that coward’s still