It’s as sickening as the way my sister’s husband steps up behind her and sets his hand at the small of her back. Sheblushes at his touch and leans into the safety and shelter that he offers with just that simple reassuring touch.
It makes something in the pit of my stomach ache for just a second before I banish it. I learned a long time ago that touch can harm far more than it heals.
“I’ll have a piece of cake,” I cave, because this is my nephew’s day after all, and contrary to what my father thinks about me, I don’t love drama and this sure as hell isn’t the time or the place to make myself the center of attention, which I’ve managed to do anyway by walking in and acting like a petulant child. “Thanks. And… sorry.” I grind the word grudgingly, more an afterthought than anything. It’s necessary though, so that no one here thinks I’m any more of a bitch than they already do.
“It’s alright.” Steph reaches out and grips my hand with both of hers. The divorce papers are mysteriously missing from either of those warm little palms and I nearly panic until I spot Adam walking away with the bundle.
Now that the show’s over, the crowd of people in the yard go back to what they were doing before I strolled in and wrecked the day. Laughing. Talking. Drinking beer. Helping themselves to burgers and hot dogs, chips, and the rest of the heaping piles of food laid out on three picnic tables pushed up against the back of the house. It’s a nineties construction. Nice enough. Freshly painted white with purple shutters.
Imagine. A house belonging to a biker in a small town of ten thousand. A town where everyone knows that it’s a biker’s house and that biker belongs to a club that people shouldn’t fuck with. A cute house with fucking purple shutters.
That’s just my sister.
And I guess that’s her husband.
Who loves her enough to let her have purple shutters.
That ache blooms in my stomach again, a thorny rose that pricks me from the inside out. It shreds me like broken glass, the happiness that surrounds this yard.
I amble off to the side, trying to make myself invisible. Children run past me, laughing and screaming again, shielded by their innocence from truly understanding the bitter shit that just went down. I settle up against the fence so hard that my back almost gets splinters from the rough wood. The house might be freshly renovated, at least from the outside, but the grayed-out wood could use a little work back here.
I nearly groan when I spot a dark head, rising above the rest. Steel, Prez of Steel Riders MC. His wife, a petite blonde woman, laughs at his side. They exchange a look that’s absolutely disgusting, full of shimmering mush, sappy enough to make bile flood the back of my throat and bitterness edge out any warmth in my chest. My eyes stray from them to the club’s VP, Edge, and his old lady, Steel’s daughter. I know her name is Harley, but I don’t know anything else about her.
Other than that she’s loved. I can tell by the way she leans into her husband, his arm wrapped tightly about her waist while they converse with Steel and his wife. The occasional glances she steals up at his hard face, the private looks they share between them, his protective stance, her private smile—it all speaks so loudly it’s like a roaring train barreling down on me.
I tear my eyes away and stare at the other couples assembled throughout the yard. Contrary to most clubs, The Riders don’t deal hard shit. They don’t trade in women. They’ve kept Helena safe for years. They pick up the pieces for themen they take in, give a family, and call their own. People talk about The Riders favorably, at least in Helena. Maybe even in Jacksonville, where I grew up.
It’s why I agreed to go to Tampa when shit went down. I brazenly looked Steel in the eye and told him my husband beat me. The club has some stupid rule about the members wronging each other and in return, my father avenged me by letting my brother beat the shit out of Gage. I was then shipped off to another city. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Never mind that The Riders still pay for the apartment I live in.
Never mind that everyone knows Gage never laid a hand on me.
Never mind that I came here to get a divorce so I can finally, finally be free of it all and live my life on my own terms.
Never mind all that because everyone is gathered there in my sister’s yard, to celebrate that little baby. I know his name is Ethan. Other than that… Yeah. I’m not going to win auntie of the year awards anytime soon.
Even my brothers shuffle about with women at their sides. My father looks happy. He’s softer since I saw him last. He looks at my sister like he actually enjoys being there. He looks at my nephew like the kid is the entire reason the world turns every single day. Then again, the kid’s a boy, so he has everything going for him where my father is concerned. He probably won’t be traded away in a package deal to ensure a bond between two rival clubs anytime soon. Not that I’m bitter or anything.
I let my eyes roam the crowd freely, unashamed to be caught staring, but then again, no one notices me now that I’veblended back so seamlessly into non-existence up against the fence.
My youngest sister, Leena, emerges from the house with Stephanie, carrying a massive cake. Her husband trails behind her, his hands out like he’s ready to catch the damn thing if she trips and drops it. He has that lovesick puppy look on his face too and I have to stop to wonder if there’s a single person here at this party who isn’t in love. Everyone looks so damn happy.
Even my brothers, and that was something they never were before, as if happiness was a bad STD.
Obviously, The Riders have been good for them. The Riders with their rules about how to treat their women, The Riders who seem to have an excess of boundless, thrilling love for their old ladies, for their wives, their children, and for each other, as brothers.
It’s a real family.
All of them.
The entirety of the people assembled.
This could have been my life, if I’d stuck around. If I’d swallowed my pride and come back. But I didn’t. I wore my pride like a mantle because it was all I had left. I never came back. Not to wallow or to beg or because this is where my family is and I need them.
Instead, I forged my own path and made it alone.
Even if I wanted to come back, which I didn’t—because I had something to prove to myself and to the rest of the world, I know that my life was never destined to be anything more than solitary. My hopes for a future, for love, for understanding, werestolen away nine years ago. A single night changed everything for me.
