Protected by my Hogg Daddy

Tomorrow

Samantha

Samantha woke slowly to the familiar sounds of another morning unfolding beyond the walls of her hospital room. Somewhere down the hallway a nurse laughed softly before a cart rattled past, followed by the distant murmur of voices exchanging updates at the end of a shift. During her first few days in the hospital, the constant noise had felt overwhelming. Every sound reminded her that she was injured, dependent on strangers, and completely disconnected from the life she thought she knew. Over the past week, however, those same sounds had become strangely comforting. They were predictable. Reliable. Every day followed the same rhythm, and there was something reassuring about knowing exactly what came next. The realization unsettled her because hospitals weren't supposed to feel safe. They weren't supposed to become places a person dreaded leaving. Yet the knot tightening in her stomach whenever someone mentioned discharge told her exactly how she felt about it.

For the first time in years, Samantha wasn't waking up wondering what kind of mood someone else was in. She wasn't mentally rehearsing conversations before speaking. She wasn't calculating whether a simple comment might somehow become the spark that ignited an argument hours later. Looking back, she couldn't pinpoint exactly when she had started doing those things. The change had happened gradually, one criticism and one compromise at a time, until she no longer recognized the woman she used to be. There hadn't been a single moment when Travis took control of her life. Instead, he'd taken tiny pieces of it so slowly that she barely noticed. A different restaurant because he didn't like her choice. A different movie because hers sounded boring. Fewer lunches with friends because he complained whenever she went. None of those things seemed important on their own. Together, they had become the walls of a cage she hadn't realized she was building around herself.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts before Carla stepped into the room carrying a tablet and a paper cup that smelled suspiciously like coffee. The nurse greeted her with the same easy smile she always wore, then moved around the room checking monitors and updating charts. Watching Carla work had become oddly reassuring over the past week. She carried herself with a confidence Samantha envied. Every movement seemed purposeful. Every decision seemed certain. There was no hesitation in her, no second-guessing, no fear of saying the wrong thing. When Carla told her she was looking better, Samantha glanced down at the oversized hospital gown draped over her frame and raised an eyebrow.

"I think that's the first time anyone has ever complimented me while I'm dressed like a bargain-bin bedsheet."

Carla laughed. "Trust me, I've seen worse."

The sound pulled a smile from Samantha before she could stop it. Moments like that still surprised her. There had been a time when laughter came easily, before every happy moment felt temporary and every act of kindness came attached to expectations. Sometimes she wondered when she stopped being the woman who laughed without looking over her shoulder first. The smile faded slightly when Carla finished updating the chart and casually mentioned that Bjorn had stopped by again the night before.

The statement shouldn't have affected her as much as it did. She already knew he'd visited once. Carla had mentioned it after Diesel, Tank, Bones, and Rook stopped by earlier in the week. At the time she'd assumed it was simple concern from a man who happened to be involved in rescuing her. Hearing that he'd returned, however, complicated things. One visit could be explained away. Returning again suggested intention, and intention was far more difficult to understand. Samantha found herself sitting a little straighter against the pillows as questions immediately began forming in her mind.

"He was here?"

Carla nodded. "After you fell asleep."

The answer settled heavily in Samantha's chest. Bjorn wasn't showing up during visiting hours when everyone else came through. He wasn't stopping by when there were conversations to have or appreciation to receive. According to Carla, he was arriving before work in the mornings and after closing the shop at night, checking on her condition and quietly leaving again. The behavior didn't fit any pattern she recognized. Most of the men she'd known preferred to be seen helping. They wanted acknowledgment. Gratitude. Recognition. Bjorn seemed content to stand quietly in the background and disappear before she even knew he'd been there.

"Why?" she asked.

Carla's expression became suspiciously innocent. "He said he has something he wants to ask you."

That answer created far more questions than it solved. Before Samantha could press further, Carla smiled like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and escaped into the hallway, leaving her alone with thoughts she didn't particularly want. For the next hour she found herself glancing toward the door more often than she cared to admit. The behavior annoyed her. Bjorn Davidson was practically a stranger. A kind stranger, certainly. A very large stranger who somehow managed to look intimidating and trustworthy at the same time. Yet she couldn't stop thinking about him. Maybe because he didn't fit. Every lesson life had taught her suggested people helped because they wanted something in return. Every favor carried expectations. Every act of generosity eventually came due. Travis had spent years reinforcing that belief until it felt like common sense.

Around midmorning her doctor arrived, and for a while Samantha was grateful for the interruption. The conversation began routinely enough. He reviewed her chart, checked her injuries, and discussed her progress with the calm professionalism she'd come to expect. She listened carefully, glad for something concrete to focus on, until he smiled and said they would like to discharge her tomorrow. While he continued discussing medications, follow-up appointments, recovery instructions, and physical limitations, Samantha found herself trapped on that single word. Tomorrow. Tomorrow meant leaving the hospital. Tomorrow meant stepping back into a life she no longer recognized. Most frightening of all, tomorrow meant facing questions she had spent the last week avoiding.

The doctor eventually paused and looked at her more carefully. "Samantha, do you have somewhere safe to stay?"

The question hit harder than she expected because she honestly didn't know how to answer it. She had nowhere. No apartment. No car. No job. No plan. Everything she had built over the past several years had vanished with shocking speed. The apartment she'd once been so proud of renting was gone. She could still remember standing in the empty living room the day she got the keys, imagining how she'd decorate it. She remembered buying furniture one piece at a time because it was all she could afford. She remembered feeling independent, capable, and hopeful about the future. Somewhere along the way those feelings disappeared. At first it was small things. Travis preferred different curtains. Different furniture. Different restaurants. Different friends. She convinced herself compromise was normal because healthy relationships required compromise. Then one day she looked around and realized almost nothing in her life reflected her anymore.

After the doctor left, Samantha found herself staring out the window for a long time. Cars moved through the parking lot below while visitors came and went. Life continued exactly as it always had. People were heading to work, arguing with spouses, picking up groceries, and worrying about ordinary problems. The normalcy of it all felt strangely distant. She wasn't sure how to return to normal anymore. The hardest part wasn't losing Travis. It was losing the future she thought she had with him. She missed the version of him she believed existed. The man who made her laugh during their first dates. The man who brought her flowers for no reason. The man who talked about growing old together. That man had never existed, and realizing it still hurt because it meant she wasn't grieving a relationship. She was grieving an illusion.

As the afternoon wore on, Samantha found herself mentally taking inventory of her life, and the results were almost laughable. What exactly did she own now? A few changes of clothes that had survived the last week. Some personal items sitting in a hospital drawer. Whatever remained in her purse. Beyond that, she wasn't sure. The apartment was gone. Most of her belongings had been left behind. Even if she wanted to retrieve them, she didn't know how. The realization left her feeling untethered in a way she had never experienced before. For the first time in her adult life, she truly had nowhere to go.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts shortly after lunch, and her heart reacted before her brain had time to catch up. When Bjorn stepped into the room, she immediately pretended it hadn't. He looked like he'd come straight from the shop. His jeans carried faint traces of grease, and his leather vest rested over a dark Henley with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. There was something reassuringly solid about him. He looked exactly like the kind of man who knew how to fix things, which almost made her laugh because her life wasn't a motorcycle.

For several seconds neither of them spoke. Then Bjorn nodded. "Morning."

A smile tugged at her lips. "It's afternoon."

He glanced toward the window. "Shows what I know."

The response surprised a laugh from her, and for a moment the heaviness in the room eased. Bjorn seemed pleased by the sound, though he tried not to show it. He pulled the chair closer and sat down, leaving enough space between them that she noticed the consideration. Unlike most people, he didn't immediately start talking. He seemed comfortable with silence, which somehow made her less nervous. There was no pressure coming from him, no expectation that she fill every empty second with conversation.

Eventually he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "Doctor says you're getting discharged tomorrow."

The knot in her stomach immediately returned. "That's what he said."

Bjorn studied her quietly. "You got somewhere to go?"

The question should have been simple, but answering honestly meant admitting how completely her life had fallen apart. Samantha looked away toward the window and watched cars move through the parking lot below while the truth pressed against her ribs harder than any bruise.

"No."

The word came out softer than she'd intended.

When she looked back at him, there was no judgment in his expression and no pity either. Just understanding.

Bjorn nodded once, as though confirming something he'd already suspected. "I've got a spare room above the shop."

Samantha froze. "A spare room?"

"Apartment above Davidson Cycle Works. Two bedrooms. One's mine. The other is empty."

She stared at him, searching for the catch. The strings. The expectations. The hidden cost she had spent years learning to look for. Instead she found a man sitting calmly in a hospital chair, waiting for her to decide whether she trusted him enough to believe that kindness could exist without conditions.

And for the first time since waking that morning, Samantha realized the thing frightening her most wasn't tomorrow.

It was the possibility that Bjorn actually meant every word he said.