Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC #8) - Anne Malcom Page 0,54

mother brought in because she was lonely.

So I told the women, and myself, that it was nothing. That he was just being friendly. I definitely did not tell them about him mowing my lawn. Gwen thankfully kept her mouth shut too.

“You look amazing!” Gwen squealed, getting up to hug me.

“I’ll have to second her on that one,” Mia winked, giving me her own hug, followed by the rest of the group.

Laura Maye placed a drink in front of me as soon as my ass hit the stool, squeezing my shoulder.

“There you go, honey. That’ll solve all your problems. For the time bein’ at least,” she joked in her trademark country twang.

Laura Maye had been in Amber for over ten years. Maybe longer. It was hard to remember what life was like without the beautiful, buxom, Southern woman who wore leopard print, faux fur and leather and hair out to there.

I’d known her for years and had yet to see her without perfectly applied makeup. I knew she had a sad story, but she’d never told any of us. You could see it in her eyes sometimes. In the wisdom she always shared with women when they were going through hell. The kind of wisdom that only people who had made that journey could give.

We’d all gently tried to pry it out of her, but she was as stubborn as she was strong, intent on keeping her past where it was.

I got that. In fact, I envied that. There was no option for me to do that here in Amber. Not with everyone knowing my story. I couldn’t erase it. Couldn’t ignore it. Just had to find a way to live with it,

Laura Maye’s cocktails certainly helped.

It was bound to happen.

As kind and understanding as my friends were, they were also pushy bitches. They were not going to let me sit down and bleed quietly without helping.

Or at least trying to.

“How are you, Lizzie?” Mia asked. “Really. Before you say fine or give us some other bullshit. We know you’re not fine. Your husband is dead, and your world is nothing like it should be. Like you deserve. So how the fudge are you?”

My first instinct would’ve still been to lie. To pretend to be brave and strong and act as though I’d been handling life with a semblance of sanity.

As it was, Laura Maye’s cocktails didn’t just soften the edges, they loosened my tongue.

“I used to tell myself all kinds of stories about what would happen if I lost him,” I mused, swirling my drink. “Not that I wanted to invite those kinds of things in, but with Ranger being involved in the things he was, me loving him as much as I did, there wasn’t really a way not to think about the worst happening.”

The women around the circle nodded, their eyes dark with the possibility of how easily they could’ve been me. How they still could be one day.

“I figured I’d be a mess,” I continued, taking a sip. “That I wouldn’t get out of bed for months. I wouldn’t brush my hair or eat or breathe without crying.” I took another sip. Amy was right about one thing, Laura Maye’s cocktails were definitely strong enough to dull most of my feelings.

“But that’s not how it’s gone,” I continued. “I’ve been brushing my hair, getting out of bed, eating every meal, going about life.” I paused. “But I’m not okay. Not by a long stretch. But I’m also not broken how I thought I’d be. And that scares me.”

“Oh sweetie,” Lily frowned, moving to squeeze my hand.

“We all like to tell ourselves stories about how life’s gonna turn out,” Laura Maye said, sipping her own cocktail. She’d long shut down the bar and kicked out the rest of the patrons in honor of girl’s night. And also to “reduce the risk of kidnappings.”

“But the thing is, we’re not the ones writing our stories, not really,” she continued. “Yeah, Ranger’s story is over. He got his end, however premature it was. But your story is far from finished. You, my dear, are not someone to be broken and battered down by even the most horrible of things.” Her eyes moved around the table, at the women who had been through hell yet managed to carry own. Still managing to create beautiful lives.

“You, my dears, are far more complex than a simple love story, as amazing as those stories may be. Yes, without that great love, your story feels a