I shrug. “Just making sure this is real.”
She steps closer and reaches for my hands, threading her fingers through mine. “It is,” she says. “You don’t have to stay on guard tonight.”
I look at her, really look at her, standing here in this quiet room like she belongs to peace as much as she belongs to chaos. “That might take a minute.”
She squeezes my hands once. “Then take your minute. I’m not going anywhere.”
That's it. I feel a release inside me. I draw her close, press my lips to her hair, and breathe her in. She smells of soap, road dust, and home.
Later, she’s asleep, tangled in my arms, her breathing slow and even. Peanut is curled near her feet, twitching in her sleep. I stare at the ceiling for a while, letting the silence settle rather than fighting it.
That’s when I notice the porch railing outside our window. One board has pulled loose, with screws halfway out. The wood flexes when the wind hits it. Anyone leaning too hard could end up flat on their ass.
I shift carefully to avoid waking her, easing my arm free inch by inch. Syvannah murmurs in her sleep and reaches for me without opening her eyes.
“Where are you going?” she whispers, voice thick with sleep.
“Be right back,” I murmur.
She hums softly, already drifting again. “Knew it,” she murmurs. “Fix it, hero.”
I pause, smiling despite myself, then slip out of bed and grab my tool roll from the saddlebag without a second thought. It takes about ten minutes. I use fresh screws from my collection, working with a steady hand to make a quiet, precise repair. Once done, I leave the railing secure and wipe sawdust from my palms onto my jeans.
We spend two nights here. Two nights without engines in the distance. Two nights without radios crackling. Two nights where the only thing that needs my attention is the woman beside me and the cat who has decided the windowsill belongs to her.
Syvannah walks around in one of my shirts, her hair loose, her skin warm under my hands. She laughs easily here, a real laugh that fills the room instead of stopping short. She drinks coffee on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, while Peanut stalks birds she will never catch.
I don’t sleep much the first night. Not because I’m waiting for violence, but because I can’t stop looking at her.
Syvannah catches me staring and smirks. “You’re doing it again.”
“I’m married,” I tell her. “I’m allowed.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile is soft. “Then come here, husband.”
By the second night, my jaw isn’t clenched. My spine doesn’t feel coiled tight. My body remembers what rest feels like, without guilt crawling up my back.
In the morning, sunlight slips through the curtains, pale and quiet. Syvannah sleeps curled against me, her breathing slow and steady. I hold her a little tighter and let myself believe that peace is real.
Before we check out, I leave cash on the dresser with a note that simply says,Thanks for the peace.
Syvannah catches me doing it and arches a brow. “You fixed something, didn’t you?” I shrug, and she smiles, kissing my jaw.
My phone buzzes from the nightstand. I pick it up and read the text.
Capone: Bring your ass home. Tonight.
No explanation.
Syvannah props herself up on one elbow, eyes still soft. “Club?”
I nod. “Capone.”
She reaches for my hand. “Then we go home.”
The ride back feels different. The weight returns, but it settles rather than crushing. Syvannah’s arms stay wrapped around me. Peanut complains loudly at every bump. For the first time, I understand that responsibility does not have to mean isolation.
As we pull into the compound, the sun is dropping low. The clubhouse stands exactly where it always has. Loud even when quiet. Dangerous. Familiar.