Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC #8) - Anne Malcom Page 0,30

dimmed all these years. “I’ll make you forget everything but the feeling of me inside of you,” he growled.

I didn’t forget about everything.

But I did still feel him inside me when I found out he was dead.

Part II

After.

Chapter 1

I didn’t sink down to my knees and scream when Brock told me Ranger was dead.

I’d thought such news was meant to bring you to your knees. That’s what I’d imagined I might do. And I’d imagined this moment many times. Sure, a regular person might have horrible fantasies every now and again about how it would feel to lose their husband. It was human to dwell on our fears. To a certain extent. It was also human to brush them aside, burying them, because we couldn’t very well go dwelling on how we would feel if the love of our lives was killed.

Unless the love of your life was in a line of work where he faced the very real possibility of death every single day.

Like a police officer.

Firefighter.

Member of the Sons of Templar MC.

Though the Sons wasn’t a line of work. It wasn’t even a lifestyle. It was a marriage. One you couldn’t divorce yourself from. It was for life.

I’d married Ranger knowing that meant I was marrying the club. I’d grown up with the club. Loved it. Hated it. Resented it. Counted my blessings to have it. Raised my children within it.

All of it.

And his death was a moment I’d been preparing for.

After Laurie, when there was more blood than usual, I’d prepared. Knew it might be my husband soon. I’d accepted it because I’d had no other option. I’d just prayed to whatever god was listening that my husband would come home.

And he did.

Sometimes covered in blood that wasn’t his own.

Sometimes needing me to tend to wounds.

Other times with ghosts in his eyes, with a stranger residing in his soul.

He would wake me with his hands, with his mouth, desperate to feel something. Feel alive. Or he’d just held me. The worst of times were when he’d come to bed smelling of whisky and turn his back to me, erecting a cold shield between us.

But we’d gotten through it all.

The club was legit now, so I’d let myself lapse into a false sense of safety. Stopped preparing myself for the prospect of my children growing up without their father.

Silly me.

It hurt.

Brock’s eyes had sucked everything out of me. Everything good, everything bad, everything in between. I was a hollowed-out shell, drained of life and hope in one sentence.

I stared at something Brock was holding in his outstretched hand. It caught the light. Sparkled.

Ranger’s wedding ring.

The one he’d worn on his finger for years, even through the toughest of times.

Now it was laying lifeless in Brock’s palm. Shiny. Too shiny. Ranger had always taken good care of himself. But he spent a good amount of time in a garage working on cars, and no matter how much he scrubbed, the dirt and oil stained. Blood was much easier to wash off.

“I want to see him.” I was surprised at how normal my voice sounded. How could it sound the same when I had no insides? When there was nothing left of who I was moments ago?

Brock’s face tightened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lizzie.”

I regarded him. He was the same age as me. We’d gone to high school together, but he’d always seemed older. Even though he was a joker, smiling easier and talking a lot more than his president, he was born to wear this cut. Though most of the time he was approachable, kind and funny, there was something that changed in Brock when need be.

And there was a need for him to change then.

Cade was in the hospital.

It was bad.

Half of the club crowded the hospital waiting room while the half that wasn’t here was at the clubhouse, holding a wake. Brock was taking over as president, because there wasn’t a guarantee that Cade would pull through.

Though I’d known all of these men before they’d put on the cut, I’d always gotten a little bit scared when they put on their masks.

But I wasn’t scared anymore.

And I sure as hell wasn’t about to bow down.

“Brock, I’m not sure I give a fuck about what you think is a good idea,” I replied. “I’m not asking your permission. I’m telling you to take me to my goddamned husband.”

Brock’s eyes flickered to the side, to his wife who stood beside me, holding my hand so tight