The park had just opened for the day, and there was no one else around. Ricky still led me to an out-of-the-way corner, where we could enjoy a view of the pond and the ducks without much danger of interruption.

We were settling in on the rocks when I noticed scrapes and bruises on his knuckles. I caught his hand as he reached into the bag of food.

“Trouble last night?” I asked.

“Mmm, yeah. Minor resistance.”

He busied himself pulling out breakfast sandwiches and a cardboard carton of coffee.

“Did it go okay?” I asked. “You seem quiet.”

“It went fine.” He paused, holding the coffee carton in one hand, the cardboard cups in the other. “Well, the negotiations did. After that . . . I kinda quit the club.”

“What?” My gaze shot to his leather jacket, set on a rock beside us.

“It was temporary. I stormed off, cooled down, went back, and talked to my father. We worked it out. No big deal.”

“Um, yeah.” I took the coffee from him and set it aside. “You quit the club. Even if it didn’t last an hour, that’s an hour too much. I know what the Saints mean to you and what your dad means to you.”

I rubbed my fingers over his shoulder, where he had the Saints patch tattooed on the back.

“Some people will bluff and bluster to get their way,” I said. “Threaten to end a relationship. To quit a job. To drop out of a group. That’s not you.”

He dipped his chin, gaze sliding away from me. I snagged it back. “I’m wrong, right? You were bluffing. Showing Don how angry you were.”

Ricky exhaled. Then he shook his head. “I wanted to show him I was serious, but I wasn’t bluffing. I wouldn’t do that. I was ready to walk away.”

“Wh-what?”

“Shit.” Ricky grabbed my hands and tugged me onto his lap. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk about. Hell, I wasn’t even going to tell you. I planned to come out here and talk about what happened yesterday. To you.”

I twisted to look at him. “If you were seriously ready to quit the club because of our relationship, then we have a problem.”

“The situation just kept escalating, Liv. It’s like putting out tiny fires and, somehow, you’re fanning the flames instead. By not resisting my dad’s interference, I was proving that you weren’t important to me. When I did resist, he gave me an ultimatum. Choosing you was the only way I could say, ‘I’m serious,’ and if that cost me my patch . . .” He went quiet. “I just really hoped it wouldn’t.”