36. Clay

36

CLAY

T he gravel crunches beneath our boots as we approach the dingy motel, its flickering neon sign casting an eerie glow across our faces. Kip and Teller flank me, their expressions grim and determined. We’re here to set things right with Ayla, to clear the air and bring her back home where she belongs.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my frayed nerves. The tension hangs thick in the air, a suffocating weight pressing down on us. Kip’s hand rests on my shoulder, a silent show of support. Teller’s jaw clenches, his eyes fixed on the door ahead.

“We’ve got this,” Kip murmurs, his voice low and steady. “She’ll understand once we explain everything.”

I nod, swallowing hard. My mouth feels dry, my tongue like sandpaper. I want to believe him, but doubt gnaws at my insides. What if she won’t listen? What if we’ve lost her for good?

I rap my knuckles against the weathered wood.

The curtain twitches, and Ayla’s silhouette appears behind the dingy window, her back turned to us. She’s sitting on the bed, her shoulders hunched, her head bowed. Even from here, I can sense the tension radiating from her body, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her.

I knock again, louder this time, my pulse pounding in my ears. Ayla’s head snaps up, her body stiffening. She knows it’s us. I can see the recognition in the way she moves, the way her hands clench into fists at her sides.

The door flies open, and there she is, her green eyes blazing with a mix of anger and fear. “What are you doing here?” she demands, her voice sharp as a knife. “Go away!”

Ayla glares at us, her emerald eyes flashing with anger and something else - fear? Hurt? She crosses her arms defiantly over her chest, but I can see her hands shaking slightly. Her breathing comes fast and shallow.

“I’ll call the cops!” Ayla threatens, her words sharp as razors. But there’s a waver in her voice that betrays her. We all know there are no cops around for miles. This rundown motel sits on a lonely stretch of highway, surrounded by nothing but empty desert.

My brothers and I remain still. We know Ayla is just scared right now, feeling betrayed and confused. Her walls are up, the same ones she’s built over years of heartache. But we aren’t going anywhere.

“Ayla, we’re not leaving until you hear us out,” I say evenly, holding her fiery gaze. “I know we’ve given you reason not to trust us. But please, give us a chance to explain.”

“Ayla, please!” Teller pleads, his voice cracking with desperation. “Just give us five minutes. If you still want us gone after that, we’ll leave.”

I await her response, silently begging her to see the sincerity in our eyes, to feel how much we care for her. I would give anything to take away the pain and doubt swirling in those emerald depths.

Seconds tick by, tension thick in the air between us. Finally, almost imperceptibly, Ayla’s rigid posture loosens just a fraction. She uncrosses her arms and steps back from the door, allowing us fully inside.

It’s not forgiveness, not yet. But it’s a start. A fragile olive branch extended in the space between breaths. And for now, that’s enough.

Ayla gestures wordlessly to the worn chairs beside the bed, her movements stiff and guarded. As my brothers and I settle into the seats, I notice her fingers playing with the frayed edge of her shirt. A nervous tell. She’s putting up a strong front, but underneath, she’s just as anxious about this conversation as we are.

The stale scent of cigarette smoke and cheap cleaner clings to the room. She deserves so much better than this little room can offer her. She needs her room back at our home with her personal things and us to take care of her.

I take a deep breath, searching for the right words to bridge the chasm between us. “Ayla, I know how this must look to you. How it must have felt to find out about the club the way you did.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

Her eyes flick between my face and Teller’s, assessing, calculating. I can practically see the gears turning behind those guarded emerald orbs. She’s been lied to and disappointed by so many people in her life. I know she’s wondering if we’ll be just another addition to that list.

“We’re part of a motorcycle club, yes. But it’s not what you think.” Teller’s voice is low and earnest as he holds Ayla’s gaze. “We’re not involved in anything illegal. We’re the law enforcement for our town, the ones who keep the peace and protect our people.”

I nod, backing up my brother’s words. “The club is our family, our community. We look out for each other and stand up for what’s right.” I pause, letting the weight of our revelation sink in. “We should have told you sooner, Ayla, but we didn’t know how you would react.”

Ayla remains silent, her expression unreadable. The air feels charged, like the moment before a summer storm breaks. I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction.

“So let me get this straight,” Ayla says slowly, her brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re like... vigilantes? Taking the law into your own hands because the actual law enforcement isn’t doing their job?”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Is that really how she sees us? As nothing more than a bunch of renegades playing at being heroes?

I exchange a glance with my brothers, seeing the same flash of hurt and frustration in their eyes. We’ve worked so hard to build something good here, to create a safe haven for our people. The thought that Ayla might not understand that, might not see the heart and soul we’ve poured into this club... it’s almost too much to bear.

“It’s not like that,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “We don’t have police here, we keep everyone safe. They pay their taxes to us.”

Ayla’s eyes narrow, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “So you make people pay you to protect them and if they don’t, then what? You go in and break their stuff or threaten their families?”

“We would never do that,” Teller says. “We help our community and if they can’t pay us, we don’t turn our backs to them. Our town is our extended family, if anyone hurts, we pick them up and help them out. We want a place where kids can be kids and feel safe, where no one has to be afraid. ”

Ayla asks quietly, “But why didn’t you tell me any of this before if you’re not bad people? Why keep me in the dark?”

“We didn’t want to scare you off,” Kip tells her.

She laughs, but it lacks humor. “And how did that work for you?”

Teller leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he fixes Ayla with an intense stare. “I know we’ve hurt you, Ayla. And I’m sorry for that. But please, don’t let our mistakes be the reason you walk away from this - from us.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. I can see the tears shimmering in Ayla’s eyes, the way her lips tremble as she tries to hold herself together. It breaks my heart to see her like this, so vulnerable and uncertain.

But then, something shifts in her expression. A flicker of hope, a glimmer of the stubborn determination that I’ve come to admire so much about her. She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she looks at each of us in turn.

“That’s your five minutes,” she swallows, eyeing each one of us, a bit warily.

“So, what are you doing?” I ask. “Are you staying in this dingy motel? Or are you coming home with us where you belong?”

The word ‘home’ seems to do something to her.

She’s quiet for a long time. “Is there anything else you’re hiding from me?”

Kip shakes his head, “No, nothing else. We promise.”

Her eyes drift between all of us, needing to make sure she can trust us before a small smile comes to her face, and she blows out a breath. “I’m coming home.”

I smile, finally feeling like I can breathe again.