Protected by my Hogg Daddy

Upstairs

Samantha

The drive from the hospital to Davidson Cycle Works took less than twenty minutes, but it felt much longer. Samantha spent most of it staring out the passenger window while Oklahoma rolled past in a blur of traffic lights, storefronts, and familiar roads that somehow felt different than they had a week ago. Every time she tried to focus on the scenery, her thoughts drifted back to the same unsettling reality. A week ago she had still been living with Travis. A week ago she believed she knew what her future looked like. She had plans. Expectations. A life that felt stable, even if she now realized much of it had been built on lies. Today she was leaving the hospital with a single bag and moving into the apartment of a man she barely knew. If someone had described the situation to her a month earlier, she would have assumed they were talking about somebody else's life.

The truck remained quiet for most of the drive, though the silence never felt uncomfortable. Bjorn didn't seem like the type of man who talked simply to fill empty space, and Samantha found herself oddly grateful for that. Several times she considered saying something, only to realize she had no idea what words would even fit the situation. Thank you felt too small. I'm terrified felt too honest. Instead, she sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap while the city gradually gave way to an area filled with warehouses, repair shops, and industrial buildings. When the large sign for Davidson Cycle Works finally appeared ahead of them, her stomach tightened. This wasn't a temporary stop before she figured things out. This was where she would be living.

The shop itself looked exactly like what she would have expected from a successful motorcycle business, yet seeing it in person somehow eased some of her anxiety. Large garage doors lined one side of the building, and a row of polished motorcycles sat parked near the entrance beneath the Oklahoma sun. Customer vehicles occupied spaces throughout the parking lot, and even with the truck windows closed she could hear the sounds of work happening inside. Air tools whined. Metal clanged against metal. Someone laughed loudly enough for the sound to carry outside. It wasn't a clubhouse full of men wasting time. It was a business. A real one. For reasons she couldn't quite explain, that detail mattered. Businesses required responsibility. Structure. Routine. Those things felt reassuring after the chaos of the past week.

Bjorn parked near the side of the building and climbed out before coming around to open her door. The gesture should have felt unnecessary. Samantha was perfectly capable of opening a truck door herself. Yet when he offered his hand, she found herself accepting it anyway. The moment her fingers touched his, she became annoyingly aware of how large his hand was compared to hers. Heat immediately crept into her cheeks, and she silently scolded herself for noticing. He was helping her out of a truck. That was all. Unfortunately, her brain seemed determined to make things more complicated than they needed to be.

"You okay?" Bjorn asked.

Samantha realized she'd been staring at the building again. "I think so."

His gaze followed hers before returning to her face. "It looks more intimidating than it is."

That earned a small smile despite her nerves. "That's reassuring."

Bjorn looked unexpectedly pleased by the response, and before Samantha could spend too much time wondering why, the front door burst open and a familiar voice echoed across the parking lot.

"There she is!" Of course it was Tank.

The large biker crossed the distance between them with enough enthusiasm to make Samantha wonder if he'd consumed an alarming amount of caffeine. Behind him came Diesel, Bones, and Rook, all moving at a considerably more normal pace. The sight of them eased some of the tension she'd been carrying since leaving the hospital. It was strange how quickly familiar faces could become comforting. A week ago these men had been complete strangers. Now they felt like some of the safest people she knew.

"You're out," Tank announced proudly.

Samantha looked down at herself before lifting an eyebrow. "Excellent observation."

Tank immediately pointed toward the others. "See? She's healing. Hospital Samantha would've been too tired to make fun of me."

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "Hospital Samantha wanted pain medication."

"Fair point."

Laughter rippled through the group, and Samantha found herself joining in. The sound came easier now than it had during those first terrifying days in the hospital. For a brief moment she forgot about discharge papers, uncertainty, and the fact that she was standing in a motorcycle shop parking lot preparing to move into a stranger's apartment. She was simply laughing. The realization was startling enough that she almost missed the way the men around her seemed pleased by it.

After several minutes of conversation, Bjorn finally stepped forward before Tank could begin another round of questions. "She needs to get upstairs."

Tank immediately looked offended. "We were welcoming her."

Bjorn lifted an eyebrow. "You were interrogating her."

"I was being friendly." Tank smiled.

"You asked her six questions in thirty seconds."

Tank looked genuinely thoughtful as he considered the accusation. Diesel glanced toward the sky as though silently counting, while Bones folded his arms and waited. Even Rook looked interested in the outcome.

After several seconds, Tank sighed dramatically. "Okay. Maybe I was interrogating her."

The admission earned another round of laughter. Samantha laughed too, and for reasons she couldn't explain, the sight of four grown bikers arguing about whether Tank had been overly enthusiastic made something inside her feel lighter than it had in days.

Bjorn grabbed her bag and motioned toward a staircase running along the side of the building. Samantha followed him carefully, her body still recovering enough that every step reminded her she wasn't fully healed. The sounds of the shop gradually faded behind them as they climbed, replaced by a quieter atmosphere that felt increasingly private with every step. By the time they reached the top landing, Samantha's heartbeat had picked up for reasons that had very little to do with the stairs.

The apartment door opened, and she found herself hesitating on the threshold. Accepting the room at the hospital had been one thing. Walking into the apartment where she would actually be living was something else entirely. Until now the arrangement had existed mostly as an idea, a solution to a problem she hadn't known how to solve. Standing here made it real.

The space that greeted her wasn't what she expected. Not because it was luxurious, but because it wasn't. For some reason she had imagined something larger than life, something that matched the intimidating reputation Bjorn carried so effortlessly. Instead, the apartment felt warm and lived in. A comfortable couch sat facing a television. Bookshelves occupied one corner of the room. Framed photographs rested on tables and shelves throughout the space. Nothing looked staged. Nothing looked designed to impress anyone. It looked like a home, and that realization loosened something inside her chest she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"It's nice," Samantha said before she could stop herself.

The compliment slipped out before she had a chance to reconsider it. She hadn't intended to comment at all. Yet the apartment deserved honesty. It felt comfortable in a way she hadn't expected, and for the first time since leaving the hospital she could almost imagine herself existing somewhere without constantly looking over her shoulder.

Bjorn looked unexpectedly relieved by the comment. "Yeah?"

The single word caught her attention. Why did it matter whether she liked the apartment? Why did he suddenly look like he'd been waiting for her opinion? The question lingered in the back of her mind, but before she could examine it too closely, Bjorn motioned toward the hallway.

"Your room's down here."

Something fluttered uneasily in Samantha's chest as she followed him. Accepting the room had been one thing. Walking toward a space that would actually belong to her was something else entirely. For the first time since agreeing to stay, the reality of what she was doing settled over her with surprising weight.

Samantha followed him down the hallway and stopped in the doorway of the spare bedroom. The room wasn't large or extravagant, yet something about it immediately stole the words from her mouth. Sunlight filtered through the window above the bed, illuminating freshly washed sheets and folded towels resting neatly on top of the comforter. An empty dresser waited beneath the window, and when she glanced toward the closet she found clean hangers lined up in careful rows. The adjoining bathroom held unopened toiletries arranged neatly on the counter. None of the details were remarkable on their own. Together, however, they told a story she hadn't expected.

Samantha folded her arms across her chest and looked around the room again. The fresh sheets, the folded towels, the empty dresser drawers, and the hangers waiting neatly inside the closet suddenly seemed far more significant than they had a few moments earlier. None of it looked rushed. None of it looked accidental. The room hadn't been cleaned because she was arriving today. It had been prepared because someone thought she might arrive days ago.

Her eyes drifted back to Bjorn, studying him more carefully than she had a moment earlier.

"You already had this ready."

Bjorn shifted his weight and glanced toward the doorway. "It needed cleaning." The answer was so vague that it was almost suspicious.

Samantha folded her arms more tightly across her chest and looked around the room again. The fresh sheets, the folded towels, the empty dresser drawers, and the toiletries waiting in the bathroom suddenly seemed far more significant than they had a few moments earlier. None of it looked rushed. None of it looked accidental. The room hadn't been cleaned because she was arriving today. It had been prepared because someone thought she might arrive days ago.

"No," she said softly, turning back toward him. "It was already ready."

For the first time since she'd met him, Bjorn looked genuinely uncomfortable. His gaze shifted toward the hallway before returning to the room, and he rubbed the back of his neck as though buying himself a few extra seconds to come up with an answer. The gesture looked strangely awkward on a man his size. Everything about Bjorn usually seemed steady and self-assured. Seeing him caught off guard was unexpected.

"When?" she asked.

Bjorn frowned slightly. "When what?"

"When did you do all this?" The question lingered between them. For a moment she wondered if he might avoid answering altogether. Instead, he exhaled slowly and glanced toward the bed.

"A few days ago."

The answer settled heavily in Samantha's chest. He had done all of this before she'd agreed to anything and before he'd had any reason to believe she would accept the offer. While she had been lying awake in a hospital bed worrying about where she would go, Bjorn had quietly prepared a place for her without asking for anything in return. The realization stirred something uncomfortable and unfamiliar inside her. Gratitude was part of it, but not all of it. Beneath that was something softer, something she wasn't quite ready to examine because it had been a very long time since someone had thought about her needs before she had to ask.

For several seconds neither of them spoke.

Finally, Bjorn shrugged and looked toward the hallway as though the conversation had somehow become less intimidating if he wasn't looking directly at her. "I figured if you said no, I'd still have a clean guest room."

Samantha almost laughed.

The explanation sounded perfectly reasonable on the surface. It was practical. Logical. The kind of answer someone could give without revealing anything personal. Unfortunately for Bjorn, it was also complete nonsense. She looked around the room again and immediately spotted all the evidence. Cleaning a guest room was one thing. Buying new toiletries was another. Folding fresh towels onto the bed, clearing dresser drawers, and making sure the closet was empty weren't the actions of a man preparing for the possibility of company someday. They were the actions of a man preparing for a specific person.

Bjorn had known it too. That was why he suddenly found the hallway so interesting.

A smile tugged at the corner of Samantha's mouth. She could have pointed it out. She could have called him on the excuse and watched him struggle to explain himself. Instead, she let him keep it. Whatever reason had motivated him to prepare the room, she wasn't entirely convinced he understood it himself.

As she looked around the space again, the smile softened into something more genuine. The room wasn't extraordinary. It wasn't expensive or luxurious. There were no designer furnishings or breathtaking views. It was simply a bedroom. A clean, comfortable bedroom waiting for someone to occupy it. Yet somehow that made it feel even more meaningful. Every detail represented time, effort, and thought. Someone had taken the time to make sure she would have a place to land before she even knew whether she needed one.

For the first time since her life had fallen apart, Samantha felt something inside her begin to loosen. The feeling wasn't dramatic enough to call healing, and it certainly wasn't strong enough to erase the fear and uncertainty still living inside her. But as she stood in the doorway of a room that was somehow already hers, she realized she could breathe a little easier than she had the day before.

Bjorn remained near the doorway, giving her space to take everything in. He didn't rush her. He didn't ask what she thought. He simply waited, his hands tucked into his pockets, while she looked around the room. The quiet understanding in that simple act touched her more than she wanted to admit.