Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC #8) - Anne Malcom Page 0,117

lock the fucking door.

“I had a fight with Amy,” I muttered.

Kace looked taken aback, still pissed, but surprised. He’d most likely been expecting me to argue with him, since that was what I did about almost everything.

“Okay, that sucks, babe. But you still need to lock the fuckin’ door when you’re in here.” He grabbed a hold of me so I was standing, supporting most of my weight. Which was good, since I was pretty sure I might’ve fallen over if I’d been forced to stand on my own.

His lips went to my forehead. “You’re precious,” he murmured. “All of you. And this world is full of assholes who like to steal and tarnish precious things. So I’m gonna need you to set the alarm and lock the fuckin’ door. ‘Kay?”

I nodded, although I should’ve been pissed that he was ordering me around. He wasn’t wrong, though.

“What did you and Amy fight about, baby?” he asked after a beat, all anger gone from his voice.

That was Kace. He had been pissed. Really pissed. Now he wasn’t. He wasn’t going to hold it against me, act like an asshole all night. He said what he’d had to say, and we were moving on.

On to a topic I really, really did not want to talk about.

“Are you a math genius?” I asked instead of answering.

He blinked in surprise again. “A math genius?” he repeated.

I nodded. “Like Rain Man.”

He smiled now. “Rain Man was not a math genius, he was an all-around genius. But I’m not any kind of genius. Just good with numbers. Shit with words. Always get them jumbled up. Now I know it’s dyslexia, but shitty public schools and foster parents who didn’t give a shit just thought I was stupid or a troublemaker. Which I was, since I got too frustrated, embarrassed that I couldn’t do the work. No one wanted to help me. Fuck, even if they did, there were too many kids that needed help, and just one underpaid, exhausted teacher to try and stretch herself across them.”

I thought of my childhood. Of the small classrooms in our small town. Mostly caring teachers. Very few speed bumps. Reading came easy. Math didn’t, but I had a father who sat with me after dinner and talked me through all of my homework, rewarding me with ice cream my mother only let me have on weekends.

I’d had plenty of people around me who cared, who had wanted to help when I was struggling, pick me up when I stumbled.

Then I thought of my kids, who had the same thing. Or had up until a year ago. Since then, there were nothing but speed bumps. But even then, they were surrounded by people who loved them.

My heart broke for young Kace, without parents, extended family, with adults all around him who ignored him at best and mistreated him at worst. Then I marveled at the man he’d become.

“Math was the one thing that came easy to me. That felt steady.” He shrugged. “I liked being good at something. And, like any kid who came from nothing, I quickly figured out the best ways to make money out of it. When I patched in to the club, I shared this ability that I’d honed. Figured out ways to make money in legit ways. Not legal by any means, but criminals wearing ten thousand-dollar suits commit those same crimes in broad daylight, so the world has figured out a way to palette that shit more.”

“And you’re making our club money?” I clarified, my champagne drunk brain having trouble following on with all of this information. Realizing that Kace was so much more than he seemed. So much more than a hot guy who was great in bed.

Kace shrugged again. “You could say that.”

I stared at him, really stared. “You’re amazing,” I whispered. “What you’ve come from. What you’ve made of yourself. You’re truly amazing.”

Something moved across his face, something serious. Intense. “Babe, I survived foster care, most kids do that. Patched in to an outlaw motorcycle club. Wouldn’t call any of that amazing.”

There was something about the way he said that. Not humility. Vulnerability. He truly didn’t believe me. Why would he? He’d had a lifetime of people treating him like he wasn’t worth something. That he wasn’t somebody. I’d been sleeping with him for months now, yet I’d been too deep in my own head to realize that he needed things. That he wasn’t as strong as he appeared to be.