Page 40 of Angel
I stare into my coffee. That one cuts deep because she’s right. Somewhere along the way, I tied my worth to being the man who fixes it.
The nights are the worst. The clubhouse never really sleeps, but there’s a stretch between two and four a.m. where it quiets just enough for your thoughts to get loud. That’s when the doubt creeps in.
What if she realizes life is lighter without me hovering, worrying, and trying too hard?
What if she decides she wants a future that doesn’t include compromise?
What if love just… isn’t enough?
I sit on the edge of the bed and press my elbows into my knees, breathing through the ache like it’s a wound that hasn’t quite decided if it wants to heal or fester. I open my phone. Her name sits there, bright, and dangerous.
Stevie??
I type out a message several times before deleting it and starting again. Finally, I settle on something simple.
Thinking of you. No pressure to reply.
I send it before I can overthink it. Then I set the phone face down and force myself not to watch it. Respecting boundaries feels like standing still while your insides are screaming to run. But I do it. Because loving her means trusting she knows what she needs, even when it scares the hell out of me.
Afew days pass. Then a week. We text lightly. Carefully. Like we’re relearning each other’s edges. No talk about babies or apologies rehashed. Just check-ins. A photo of the sunset, shesends me one evening. A dumb joke I send her about Tank nearly dropping a keg. It’s torture. And it’s necessary.
I don’t ask when she’s coming home if she misses me the way I miss her. I let her lead. And that might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
One night, lying on the clubhouse bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, I finally admit something I’ve been dodging for months. This isn’t just about her grief, but about mine too. I wanted that future—that child. The version of us I could see so clearly, it felt real.
I pictured tiny boots by the door. Her laugh echoing down the hallway. Teaching a kid how to ride. Showing them the bikes, the brothers, the code we live by. Losing that hurts more than I let myself admit. I’ve been so focused on being strong for her that I forgot I’m allowed to hurt, too.
Maybe that’s part of the problem; she never saw how much I wanted it and thought it was all her burden. And I let her carry it alone because I thought that was protection. But it wasn’t. It was silent. And silence is a slow killer.
A message buzzes on my phone. I reach for it way too fast. It’s her; my heart starts to beat a little faster.
Missed you today.
Three words. And my chest caves in. I stare at them for a long time before replying.
Miss you every day.
Simple. Honest.
No pressure.
She replies a minute later.
I’m not ready yet.
My jaw tightens; I force myself to breathe. I’m not angry, but I am scared. Scared she will never be ready.
Take your time. I’m here.
And I mean it. Because loving her isn’t about dragging her back into my arms before she’s ready; it’s about being the place she can come back to when she is.
I don’t know how long this space will last or what version of us will come out the other side, but I’m not going anywhere. Not because I’m afraid of being alone. But because I chose her.
For the first time since this all started, I stop trying to be the man who fixes everything and start trying to be the man who stays. That’s the only thing she needs from me right now.
I lie back against the leather couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of the clubhouse breathing around me. Centering me, knowing I have their support at my back.
Chapter Fifteen
