“Don’t you dare ‘hey there’ me, Slayer,” she snaps, her voice vibrating with unshed anger. “I want an answer.” A tired but real grin tugs at my mouth when I see her standing there, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed to slits, refusing to give an inch. I’m not sure where she dug up this fire, this need to call me on my shit, but I’m damn glad she found it. When I open my mouth, she holds out her hand and warns, “Do not tell me it’s club business. We should’ve at least been told that you weren’t found lying in a ditch… dead!”
“Not dead,” I mumble, though the way my ribs are screaming at me, I’m not entirely sure that’s a state I’ll be maintaining for long.
“I can see that for myself, asshole.” My eyes widen in shock at her. I can’t believe she called me that, she never uses words in vain when it comes to another person, unless it’s her folks. I’ve heard her call them some unsavory things when she and Britton get going, but to have that aimed at me? It’s unexpected.
She’s vibrating with a righteous fury that makes her look twice her size. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides, and the dawning trust I saw on the porch that morning has been replaced by a wall of hurt. Behind her, Carolina is hovering, her eyes wide and lips trembling as she watches the confrontation. I’ve managed to do the one thing I promised I wouldn’t—I’ve brought the instability of my world into the one safe place they had.
“I had to handle it, Jersey,” I say, trying to find a voice that doesn’t sound like I’m one breath away from collapsing. Every word feels like it’s scraping against broken glass in my throat. I shift my weight, and the movement is a mistake; a fresh wave of agony rolls through me, making the world tilt on its axis. My vision swims, the edges turning a fuzzy gray as I clutch the porch railing with a white-knuckled grip just to keep myself upright.
“You’re hurt,” she gasps, her hands flying to her face and covering her mouth, her previous fury evaporating into a cloud of unadulterated terror. She moves toward me, her eyes frantically scanning the way I’m hunched over, tracking the stiffness in my movements that I can’t quite hide.
“Been better, but it’s not too bad,” I state, forcing the lie through clenched teeth even as my ribs scream in protest. I slowlyrelease Boston, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before ushering him toward Carolina. The two of them watch us with wide, worried eyes. I make my way closer to Jersey, every step agonizing, but she needs me as much as I need her. “I’ve been recovering, baby. It’s the only reason I haven’t been in touch. I didn’t want you seeing me like this.”
“What happened?” she asks, her voice trembling as she reaches out for me. She doesn’t wait for an answer, instead gently wrapping her arms around my waist as she walks me through the door. She guides me over to her recliner, her small hands providing a surprising amount of leverage, and helps me slowly lower myself into the cushions. The relief of sitting is nearly enough to make me pass out, but I keep my eyes on her, knowing that the physical pain is nothing compared to the explanation due to her.
“Can’t talk about it, but know it was necessary,” I inform her as I settle in.
“Necessary,” she whispers, tears forming in her eyes. She scoffs and pivots on her feet, marching into the kitchen, mumbling about ‘club business’ and ‘neanderthals’ underneath her breath. “Have you taken anything for the pain?”
I can hear the cabinets slamming in the kitchen, sounding like small explosions in the quiet trailer. Boston and Carolina are huddled on the sofa, their eyes darting between me and the kitchen, clearly unsettled by the storm brewing between us. I offer them a weak, reassuring thumbs up, but my focus remains on Jersey’s anger, I can see it in the way her shoulders are hunched and her movements are too deliberate that her feelings far exceed that emotion. She’s terrified for me, and the fact that I can’t, or won’t, tell her exactly what happened is just adding fuel to the fire.
“Yes,” I answer, even though it was over the counter and is barely touching the pain. Nevertheless, I did take something and am not due for another dose for another two and a half hours from now.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Jersey
The absolute malarkeyof this situation is beyond anything I can fathom. It’s… it’s, bullshit. For the better part of an hour, I’ve been forced to watch the agonizing way Slayer tries to find even a shred of comfort. I’m spitting mad, an emotion that used to be foreign to me but is becoming a common occurrence whenever it involves Slayer and the internal politics of his brothers.
“Jersey girl,” Slayer rasps, his voice rough and commanding. “Where’d you go?”
I snap my gaze back to him and lock my arms across my chest, my shoulders hunched with the weight of my irritation. “I haven’t moved an inch, Slayer. I’m right here.”
“I beg to differ,” he counters, a smirk tugging at his bruised mouth. “You’ve been over there huffing and puffing like a steam engine instead of actually using your words with me.”
Leaning forward in my chair, I let my breath out in a jagged hiss. “I’m beyond mad, Slayer. I’m livid.”
“I figured that out for myself, babe. But I need to know if you’ve got the strength to handle that fire without it consuming us both.”
“Oh, I’m navigating it just fine,” I snarkily reply, my tone laced with the trademark sass I’ve finally found the courage to voice.
He glances up at the ceiling and mumbles something I have a hard time deciphering, his jaw tight as he fights to keep his composure. The kids shuffled off to their room an hour or so ago, exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of his return, leaving us here alone in the dim light where I’ve been seething in silence while he tries to find a comfortable position that doesn’t exist. “Talk to me, then,” he rasps, his gaze finally dropping back to mine, heavy with an exhaustion that goes bone deep. “Lay it all out. Don’t hold back.”
“What do you want to talk about, Slayer? You want me to tell you how Boston was beside himself for seven straight days, not knowing if his Bubba was even alive? Want me to tell you that Carolina has been sweeping the floor with her feet as she paces until her ankles are swollen, not sure how to settle her man when he started having a meltdown because he thought you’d abandoned him?” I stand up, too restless to stay seated, and begin pacing the narrow confines of the living room. “I had to be the one to look them in the face and lie, Slayer. I had to tell them you were ‘busy’ when I didn’t even know if you were in the clubhouse or a hospital.” My voice cracks, the weight of a week’s worth of forced composure finally shattering. “I had to pretend everything was normal while I was falling apart inside, wondering if you’d been hurt or if you’d just decided we weren’t worth the trouble anymore. You brought them here because they needed a home, but you can’t have a home when the foundation disappears without a word.”
He rears back as if I’ve slapped him in his face. The color drains from him, leaving the bruises on his face looking even more vibrant and localized. He winces as he tries to shift in the chair, a low groan escaping his lips that he can’t quite catch in time. He looks at me with a mixture of pain and a deep, churning regret. “Feel guilty enough, Jersey.”
“Good!” I snap, though the word tastes bitter in my mouth. I stop my pacing and face him, my hands shaking so hard I have to tuck them into my armpits to keep him from seeing. “You should feel guilty. You left us in a limbo that was worse than the facility they came from. At least there, they knew the rules. Here? Here, they have nothing but your word, and you took that and vanished the second things got hard with your brothers.”
He closes his eyes, his head dropping back against the cushion of the recliner. The silence in the trailer is thick. I can see the toll the week has taken on him—the way his ribs are protesting with every scant move, the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. My fury is still there, a hot, pulsing thing, but it’s being crowded out by the sight of him so broken.
“I can handle your anger, Jersey, but you need to watch what you say to me. The accusations you’re making are bullshit.” His voice is a low rumble, laced with a warning that makes my skin prickle. He’s defensive, his own guilt ever-present and weighing on him, but I’m not backing down. Not this time.
Flinging my hands up in the air, I ask, “How am I supposed to know that? All I’ve had is my imagination to work with!” The words erupt from me without further thought. “I’ve spent every night listening for your bike, every morning checking the porch, and every single second of the day trying to convince your brother that you hadn’t just decided we weren’t worth the trouble. You left us in the dark, Slayer. You didn’t give me achoice but to imagine the worst possible scenarios because the truth was a luxury you didn’t think I deserved.”
“Low blow,” he whistles.
