The Apartment
Archer’s words resounded through my heart long after he departed.
But he needs you. Maybe more than you need him.
Brooks had done everything he could to put his past behind him. He’d taken the fall for a biker brother and severed his and Archer’s ties to the MC.
He’d dissolved his relationship with Gina a year ago. Long before he’d met me.
Why though? Had she asked for that? Or had he initiated it because he was truly determined to wrap up that part of his life, never to examine it ever again?
I tried to think about what it must be like, to live with those kinds of memories. To be haunted by them at night, plagued with them during the day. Did he have random flashes of his past—like the kind of post-traumatic stress disorder where a face appeared before his eyes?
I twirled the engagement ring around my finger as I thought.
And then my eyes went to the stone in the center. A symbol of the promise Brooks had made me for our life together.
But how was I supposed to handle this? Was it possible to compartmentalize it the way he had?
What if I’d never known this about him? Would I truly be happier? There was no way to answer that now because Ididknow.
I knew his darkness, his ugliness, his outlaw, criminal past.
My hands splayed across my belly. If Muddy was right—if I was pregnant—I would be forever tied to Brooks. Our baby would have half his DNA.
Was Brooks a killer?
In a world of black and white, yes.
But the world isn’t black and white. It’s gray, and we all live in one of its shades. Some, darker than others.
The way Brooks had been living his life with rigid control . . . was that his version of self-flagellation?
Dawn slithered through the curtains.
I looked at the window, wondering if he’d been awake the whole night, too.
I ached for him. Ached to feel his lips on mine, his body sliding into mine, making us one.
Making us whole.
Because like it or not, Brooks was the other half of my heart.
And his past made him who he was today.
He’d seen beneath the surface of my own hindrances and insecurities, and he loved me anyway.
Fully. Completely. Without reservation.
What would it say about me if I couldn’t love him back the way he deserved?
Who was I to judge the man he used to be?
It had been another chapter, a chapter written without me. What chapters could we write together?
I pulled myself out of bed and brushed my teeth. I splashed cool water to my burning eyes.
Numbness spread through my body, but my heart was a steady, rhythmic beat.
