Sayer grunted, pushing himself upright with one hand. “I’ve done worse for less.”
“I know. I’ve heard the stories.”
She poured him a mug without being asked, then crossed the short space and handed it off. Their fingers brushed as he took it, the heat from the ceramic seeping between their hands.
“Thanks,” he murmured, gaze lingering on her a second longer than it probably should have.
Diamond sat on the edge of the bed while he sipped. They didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. The quiet between them wasn’t heavy—it justwas. Comfortable.
He glanced toward the window. “Place is quiet. Feels weird.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “But good, weird.”
“Good, weird,” he echoed, and let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closing for just a moment. “We should do this more often. Wake up with coffee. No pipe wielding assholes. No chaos. Just… quiet.”
She looked at him for a long beat, then said softly, “Yeah. We should.”
And for the first time, it felt like maybe—maybe—that was something they could have.
By the time they were both dressed, early morning had slipped into late morning. The sunlight outside had shifted from soft gold to something sharper, more direct. They both knew it was time to get back on the road.
“Teller had my bike moved to the clubhouse,” Sayer said, grunting as he tugged on his boots, careful not to strain his side.
Diamond nodded. She already knew that. She also knew Sayer wanted more than just his bike—he wanted a sit-down with Teller, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be a friendly one.
“I’ll drop you off there before heading back to Quebec City,” she said, grabbing her jacket off the hook.
Sounded good to him. She didn’t need to know he planned to set his president straight about sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Once he handled things in Montreal, he’d head to her for real recovery—his kind of recovery. Quiet. Her.
“It’d probably be best if you just headed home,” he added casually. “Let me handle the business with the chapter.”
She studied him for a second, but didn’t push. She had her own responsibilities waiting. “Yeah,” she said with a nod. “I need to get back anyway. Things at the chapter aren’t going to secure themselves.”
They moved around the small space in quiet sync—packing up what little they’d unpacked, doing a final check of disconnecting the hookups, closing cabinets. It was routine, muscle memory, but something about the silence between them felt a little heavier now.
Not bad. Just full.
When she climbed into the driver’s seat, Sayer eased in beside her, shifting carefully, wincing just a little.
Neither of them said what they were really thinking.
That when they split ways at the clubhouse, it might be days—or longer—before they saw each other again.
When they arrived at the Royal Bastards clubhouse in Montreal, Diamond wasn’t convinced things between her and Sayer would go the way either of them wanted.
She didn’t shut down the rig when she parked it in the side lot. The engine idled, a soft hum beneath the tension stretching between them. She just sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, eyes drifting to Sayer. He stared out the passenger-side window at the clubhouse like it might bite.
“You okay over there?” she asked.
“Yeah,” his voice was quiet, thoughtful. “I guess sitting here won’t get things done, will it?”
“Nope.”
She unbuckled and opened the door, climbing out—not with her usual leap to the ground and boots thudding against pavement, but a slower, quieter departure. Like she was trying to stretch the moment a little longer. Delay the goodbye.
She walked around the front of the truck and met Sayer as he climbed down. She waited until he closed the door before saying anything. He stood a full foot taller than her—something that had always made her feel safe wrapped in his arms. Now it madeher feel small in the worst way, like she had to tilt her chin just to hold eye contact.
She wanted to grab his face, to kiss him like a parched man drinks water after a week in the sun. But she didn’t.
