Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC #8) - Anne Malcom Page 0,125
as a question. She was saying it as if it were some kind of forgone conclusion. It scared me. That she could think such a thing. See such a thing.
“Of course I don’t,” I choked out.
Her eyes narrowed, and her face changed to an expression usually reserved for club girls who didn’t know their place. Cold. Calculating. Terrifying.
She stood, jabbing out her cigarette in the ash tray on the table.
“Where are you going?” I asked, slightly panicked to be without her company and to be on the receiving end of such a look.
“I don’t drink with liars, honey,” she admonished, showing her pack of smokes in her back pocket. “And you’re lying to us both.”
“I’m not meant to love anyone,” I blurted as she walked away.
She paused, back turned before she turned and made her way back to the table.
“What? You’re meant to sew up your pussy and your heart because you lost your Old Man?” she countered. “You’re too smart to think that shit,” she continued without waiting for me to answer. “You’ve been in this life long enough to know the ugly truths of this world. We’re not people who get fed bullshit about things like happily ever afters, one true loves and the American fucking dream. You forfeit your ignorance the second you made the decision to stick by your man. To become part of this club. You also accepted the fact that you might lose him one day. Whether it be to him thinking with his dick and working out his problems on club girls instead of talking through his shit or dying to protect the club.”
She poured us two more drinks before she sat down again. “It hurts in a way you can’t even put into words because we love differently here. We live differently. So our grief is deeper, more violent, it can eat you from the inside out. But we don’t try to mask it and get on with our lives. ” She leaned back, sipping her drink. “You’re too good of a mom to let this shit eat up you up entirely. You’ll grit your teeth and get through it for those kids. But you’re really gonna try to keep yourself the grieving widow for life?”
I sipped my own drink, needing the burn of the booze to take away the sting of the truth. “I’m betraying him somehow,” I confessed, voice quiet. “I know it doesn’t make sense. Maybe I feel this way because I don’t want to let him go. I don’t want him to be dead. Because if he isn’t really dead, in my mind, being with someone else, feeling anything for someone else, is cheating.” I looked at her. “In order to be with Kace, I first have to bury my husband, truly put him to rest. I have to feel all of that pain. I’m not strong enough for that.”
“No, baby. You’re not weak enough to believe that,” Evie countered. “We both know you buried your husband almost two years ago now. He’s gone.”
She was right. Ranger was gone.
It was well past time for me to understand that.
Chapter 21
“Did you have a good time with Evie, baby?” Kace murmured.
We were in bed. He’d waited up for me, because he was Kace. Also, I guessed, because he felt the threat wasn’t gone. Though I doubted whoever was doing this would wait this long between... attacks? If someone really wanted me dead, they would’ve tried a lot harder. Maybe they’d been scared off. Decided I wasn’t worth the effort.
Of course neither Kace nor the club were going to be taking any risks. So the two prospects had followed me home and walked me to my front door, which Kace had opened before we even got to it.
He’d left the porch light on.
The house was dark and quiet inside when I arrived, the kids asleep, Kace’s laptop on the coffee table, a glass of tequila beside it. Kace wasn’t a huge drinker, he enjoyed having a few beers with me, but never in excess. I’d never seen him drunk. Or tipsy. He occasionally had one glass of tequila at home. Maybe two. No more. Especially when he had the kids to look after. I wondered if it was because he always wanted to be prepared to jump on his bike at the sign of trouble or drama.
Surely, he was expecting it, surely his brothers had updated him on all of the chaos that befell the club in previous years.