Joker (Hell's Ankhor #8) - Aiden Bates Page 0,66

gut.

“What do you mean?” Coop asked, confused.

“The spelling,” I said. I pressed the heels of the hands against my eyes, because I couldn’t bear to see their faces as I asked. But I was already so rattled, I had to know for sure I hadn’t ruined it. “Is it fucked?”

“No, it’s fine,” Coop said, his voice still deeply confused. “Of course, it’s fine. It was just a stupid joke. Why do you ask?”

Relief washed over me. Thank fuckin’ God. I lowered my hands, and at my side, Jonah nodded minutely.

I guessed this was it. The moment of truth.

“I suck at reading,” I said, in one quick breath. Had to say it all before I lost my nerve. I looked at my shoes, because I couldn’t meet my club’s eyes. “I had to leave school real young to work more hours to help keep food on the table, because the medical bills were so high my parents couldn’t handle it alone. So I… I pretty much can’t read. So when you said it was misspelled, I freaked. Because I thought it was right, but I couldn’t be sure.”

The room was still quiet. My heart hammered in my chest. So there it was. Out in the open. My greatest insecurity, hanging there in front of my brothers. I swallowed hard and braced myself—for laughter, the teasing, the disbelief, the eyerolls. And then—

“Jeez, Joker, I had no idea,” Coop said. He wrung his hands a little. “I’m really, really sorry. Never would’ve said anything like that if I knew.”

My brothers nodded, murmuring in agreement. Standing with my club around me, I felt like a weight had been lifting off my chest. I hadn’t even realized how heavy it had been. I’d put in so much work making sure no one found out—making sure my brothers-in-arms didn’t realize I was struggling. I didn’t want anyone to know I struggled, because it was easier to handle it alone, rather than risk being rejected or ignored again.

“I know,” I said with a nod. “I know you didn’t mean anything bad by it. I just—I wanted to explain why I flipped out a little. It wasn’t just me trying to be an ass.”

Gunnar broke the quiet atmosphere first. He stepped forward with a big, shit-eating grin and pulled me away from Jonah and into a headlock. “Come on, Joker, what’d you think we were gonna do? Kick you out? Just because you’re bad at reading doesn’t mean you’re not a member of this crew!”

I squawked as Gunnar rubbed his knuckles roughly into the crown of my head, and then I couldn’t help it. I started laughing. It was relief, more than anything—relief that I’d finally told them, and relief that, apparently, I was going to be treated the same.

“Gunnar’s right,” Blade said. “Doesn’t change a thing.”

“Gunnar finished school and still wouldn’t recognize a book if I threw one at his head,” Coop said with a stern nod.

“Hey!” Gunnar said, finally setting me free and clapping me on the back. “All right, maybe that’s not entirely untrue.”

“And you know,” Jonah said, “if you did want to look into lessons or something, we can help you look for resources.”

“I know people at the community college,” Heath said with a nod. “There are definitely options.”

I bit back a smile and rubbed my eyes roughly again. I’d always figured this was my own personal failing, and my own problem to fix. And as the years passed, and I got older and older and never “fixed” it the way I thought I should’ve, the shame had only worsened. Until it became harder and harder to ever imagine asking for help, ever learn more than I knew now.

I’d thought my brothers would think I was an idiot for not figuring this out earlier—and every day that passed, that fear grew. And made it harder and harder to actually tackle the problem. But I realized now, with Jonah and Heath smiling at me, Gunnar and Coop bickering, and Blade watching with warm, proud eyes, that they were never going to think that about me. I was only projecting what I’d thought about me. And now that everything was out in the open, maybe I really could move past this.

And I wouldn’t have to do it alone. Not if I didn’t want to.

“What about Brennan?” Heath asked. “Do you want to tell him, too?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. I raked a hand through my hair. Exhaustion ran through me now—telling that secret felt like I’d