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I was constantly consumed with thoughts of her.
I wanted to be consumed by her again.
I wanted to go back and take away every conversation with Words so I could have prevented losing Charlie. But at the same time, I’d gotten to know Charlie, and she’d gotten to know me, better than anyone else ever had because of those conversations, so I knew I would never regret them.
I would just always regret losing her; losing Keith.
I stilled when I felt a small body settle in next to mine, and slowly opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling of the living room before looking over at my side.
A huff left me when I saw long, flaming red hair spilling over my chest and shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“Graham asked me to come since you didn’t show up at Sunday brunch again,” she responded simply, then flopped one of her arms over my chest to try to hug me as tightly as possible.
I squeezed her forearm. “Thanks, Grey.”
“Exactly what you needed?”
“Exactly.”
She rolled onto her back again so she was facing the ceiling as well, and let the silence creep between us for a few moments. “Charlie won’t talk to us about what happened.”
The guys and Harlow said her name constantly, trying to get me to tell them what happened, trying to get me to go back to her and fix it . . . but hearing her name always made me feel as though I’d gotten the wind knocked out of me. I rubbed at my chest and grumbled, “I’m not gonna talk to you about it either. Graham shouldn’t have called you.”
I’d spent two weeks sleeping above the garage at work before I’d finally came home and had it out with Graham.
He’d been clueless about Stranger and Charlie’s thoughts that it might be him. Not that I’d thought he’d ever known—I’d just been pissed off at the thought of her wanting him. But all of it had been made more apparent when in the middle of our fight, Kate came running out of Graham’s room in nothing but his shirt.
Kate, who we’d all gone to school, and grown up, with.
Kate, who none of us had ever touched because she’d wanted nothing to do with guys like us.
Kate, the mystery girl Graham had apparently been in love with for years and was now finally dating.
Love . . . that fucking word.
Grey sighed. “Why did I have a feeling you would say something like that? And why are you both being so stubborn? You love each other, go fix—”
“No,” I said roughly. “No, I don’t.”
She twisted so she could look up at me, her face pinched in confusion. “What do you mean you don’t? I’ve seen you with her, Deacon. I’ve seen the way you talk to her and treat her. I’ve seen the way you loo—”
“I don’t love her, Grey. Simple as that.”
Disappointment radiated off of her. “Then why do you look just as bad as she does?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but she knew. She knew I didn’t believe in love.”
“And so that’s stopping you from being with her? The fact that you think you don’t believe in love is what’s causing the two of you to look like this for almost a month?”
A sharp, miserable sounding laugh burst from my chest, but I didn’t respond.
Grey just nodded, and sat up. “I have something for you.”
My eyes narrowed and darted to her, then over to where she was looking. If it weren’t for the baby in Jagger’s arms, I would have tensed in preparation for the ass-kicking I’d been waiting for all month.
But when Jagger passed Aly off to Grey, I did exactly that. I scrambled up and curled my hands into fists.
