West (The Henchmen MC 19)

"How's that fine young man of yours?" Mae asked, giving me an eyebrow wiggle.

"He's divine," I admitted because I knew she would eat up the truth, wouldn't judge me for it.

"Then why do you look so sad?"

"I'm not sad."

"There's a little something under all that happy," she insisted. "I'm old. I've seen a lot of looks. I know this one. What did he do?"

"Nothing. Yet." I reached for a pair of diabetic socks, sitting down on the edge of her bed, rolling them into my hands to slide them on her feet. "He's only here for... business. He won't be staying here forever."

"Ah, I see."

"So I am just trying to soak up all the time with him I can. While it lasts."

"Well, my dear, there's no one forcing you to stay here if you want to follow him."

"But why should I have to follow him? My life is here. My family. My job."

"We would all miss you, Augustina, but I think we can all agree that a job is not a reason to stay someplace if something you want more is somewhere else."

"And family?"

"Your brother. Family is important. But eventually, he is going to settle down, start his own family. And then you won't be seeing him as much anyway."

"I don't think my brother will ever settle down."

"We always think that. And they always do."

"Maybe."

"You need to chase your own happiness. No matter where it takes you."

"We're not even that serious," I insisted, grabbing an extra blanket, tucking it around her, knowing she always felt like she had a chill.

"I can see the parking lot out of my window, dear," she reminded me, jerking her chin over toward it. "I see that man pick you up every single day. And kiss you like he hasn't seen you since he went off to war."

"That's a... physical thing."

"You know, sometimes we like to play things down in our heads in an attempt to save ourselves from the possible pain of the whole truth. Which is very stupid of us," she said with a firm nod.

"Who wants to unnecessarily expose themselves to pain?"

"The pain will be there regardless. It just might take longer to hit is all."

"You know what, Mae? You are a bit of a know-it-all," I accused, sending her a smile as I reached in my pocket for a piece of the diabetic candy I wasn't supposed to give her by orders of her nasty-ass family who seemed to believe she deserved no joy in the twilight of her life.

"What can I say, you learn a lot when you live to be this old," she said, waiting for me to unwrap the candy, knowing she struggled with small wrappers with her arthritis.

"Well, let's hope I live to be old and annoyingly wise too," I told her, placing the candy in her palm, and making my way out of the room.

It was a typical end to a shift.

Except the nice, sunny day had turned dark and rainy, squashing my plans to do a barbecue when we got back to the clubhouse. I'd left West with a list to get corn on the cob, green beans, and the various makings for potato and macaroni salad.

I guessed we were going to throw the frozen ravioli in a pot and call it a day.

"Heard the bike pull up ten minutes ago," Karl, the security guard on the lower level—now taxed with the job of turning away any visiting relatives, something that was clearly starting to wear on him, with his stooped shoulders and heavy-lidded eyes—told me as I stepped off the elevator.

"Oh, good. He's early. I want to get home before this gets any worse. Looks like we hit a break," I added, slipping into the very flattering yellow poncho I had brought for this very reason.

The guys had invested in new bikes, not cars. So even in the shitty weather, I had to ride out in the open. Why he wouldn't just pick me up in my car like I thought we had agreed when my pant legs of my scrubs were soaked through by the time I got to work, was beyond me. But, you know, men. Sometimes they forgot they participated in entire conversations just hours before.

"Have a good one, Karl," I called, pulling up the hood, and moving out the doors.

There was a steady trickle of rain on my poncho as I made my way down the lot, seeing West parked in the last spot. He was lucky to get one at all at this time of day with the shift change.

Nothing at all seemed off.

Not the bike.

Not the helmet.

Not the size and shape of the man on it.

Not the leather cut he was wearing over a long-sleeved shirt.

There was no clue that it wasn't West until I was within two feet. When my eyes went to the hands on the handlebars.