“What happened? What do I have to tell the police?”
“You sure you’re ready to talk about this? We have a couple more hours before any of the nurses come check on you.”
“I’m ready.” She goes to move, but her arm is back in a clean brace, and she winces. “God. Everything hurts, especially my shoulders and arms.”
“Let me help.” I place my hand under her armpits and take the weight as she sits upright.
“You won’t be talking to the police. You’ll be talking to the FBI, and you’ll tell them everything, little chick.”
“But what about you? I don’t want you all to get into trouble. You killed that man. You can’t go to prison, Spark. I won’t give information that leads to you being arrested.”
Spark shakes his head and looks down at the bedding. “You tell them everything about the people who took you. But only Saint rescued you and saved you from a fight between the Brotherhood and the Russians. We’ll go over the full story later.”
“Why Saint?”
“Saint. He . . . fuck. He’s an undercover ATF agent who blew his cover to save you.”
“Saint did?”
“Saint betrayed the club at a level I can’t even begin to explain. But . . . he gave us, you and me, this.”
“That was . . . brave of him.”
“I’m not ready to say that yet.”
Iris pats the mattress, and I shift from the chair to the bed, looping her fingers with mine. “You need to look after him. I don’t know what the rules of the club are when people—”
“We can’t talk about this,” I say.
“We have to. I’m asking you to promise me, Spark. I don’t know why Saint joined the club. I don’t want to know what damage Saint may or may not have done to the club. But I know he helped me when I needed it. And when the club and my family helped me, he took the fall so neither of you would end up in trouble for it. Promise me you’ll help him. Speak up for him if there’s a vote on what to do at the club. Defend the man whose life is on the line. He needs you.”
I sigh. “Helping him is going against my club.”
“Just be transparent. He saved my life. He saved your old lady. Surely that counts for something.”
I smile at that. “You progressing from my woman to my old lady?”
She shrugs, then winces at the action. “I’m progressing to living with you, bringing my brother home, being with you every day we can. Is that old lady, or is there something else?”
I touch my lips to hers, gently at first, then with more feeling. “I’m teasing. Old lady sounds real fucking good. And is it okay? To kiss you like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“After what you’ve been through. I wondered if . . . I don’t know . . . that it might be too much. Remind you of shit.”
She squeezes my hand. “I feel like coming back from this is going to be bumpy. But that was okay.”
“We use the word rain like always, yeah? Safety blanket for you if something . . .”
“Thank you,” she whispers and tries to blink away tears. “Did they tell you what . . . I mean . . . am I . . . was I? My injuries?”
“Cracked rib, fracture of your orbital bone. Your face is a mess of swelling. Hanging like you did messed with your rotator cuff and you’re back in that brace for another six weeks.” I fold her fingers over mine before kissing each one. “They did a rape kit. It was negative, and there were no obvious signs of rape or trauma.”
She swallows hard and looks down at the bed. “No obvious signs?”
“Hey.” I use my knuckle to lift her chin. “You’re alive. And that’s good news. But, when I start my stuff for PTSD next week, you’ll do the same. We’ll process our shit together and apart. We’re this good now, we’re going to be undefeatable in the future. I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she says, and it’s the first time I’ve seen the flicker of a smile. It buoys my heart.
I remind her every hour just how undefeatable we are.
I remind her when I pick her up and take her home to a house full of meals cooked by Tessa and Marlie and Gwen.
I remind her when she goes to see a therapist in town, and when I have an online consult with a PTSD specialist at the VA.
I remind her weeks later when we pick up Michael from Cillian’s for his first weekend stay, to help him adjust to his new and hopefully permanent bedroom.
I remind her when I cry in front of her for the first time. After I’ve handwritten letters to the families of those I lost that day in Kabul, saying what I needed to, and when I start to get responses that fix what’s broken inside. Responses that Iris assures me affirm everything she already knew. That I’m a good and caring man who made a positive impact on those he served with.
And I’m right. We are undefeatable.
Because we love each other.
It’s as simple as that.
EPILOGUE
TEN MONTHS LATER
“They’re looking at us like we want to kill their children and eat them,” Clutch says as a group of parents stand by the wall of the lot with their kids all dressed in their best party clothes.
I snort. “They do. But they’re making the effort for Iris.”
In my head, it was a bit more of a party than this. My brothers stand on one side of the lot, where the old ladies have done us proud with the spread. The scent of slow-cooked ribs is making my mouth water. Their kids are mostly hanging out in the clubhouse.
Michael is with Niro, asking him a million questions about barbecuing. To be fair to Niro, they’re actually the same three questions asked on repeat. Is it hot? Will it burn? Do you go ice camping? But Niro answers every time like it’s the first time he’s been asked. Iris once told me that Michael doesn’t always ask questions for the answers, but he does it for the interaction.
He’s been living with us full-time for five months and loves coming to the clubhouse with me, where he spends ages polishing chrome for anyone who needs it. They all pay him twenty bucks an hour because I told them to and because he works hard. Bikes have replaced trains as his big vehicle interest, but I’ve also seen so many snow camping videos now that I feel like a fucking expert. First snow this year, Niro and I are going to take him. I bought the tools, a tent, a portable fire. Iris thinks I’m mad, but also gave me the best fucking blow job when I told her what we were planning to do.
And on the other side of the lot are Iris’s students. Took me a fucking age to track them all down. Spoke to the principal, who helped me out. I went to each of their houses to hand out the invitations personally. Told the parents to keep it a secret from the kids because I know the fiercely loyal little blabbermouths would tell Iris for kicks if they saw her at the store during the break.
Once they are all here, I’ll have a surprise for them.
“Gwen told me Iris graduated from therapy. She good now?” Clutch asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Fucking proud of her, man. She’s dealt with that shit and has decided with her therapist that she wants to try and go it alone now, knowing she can always return if something triggers her.”