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Ham’s deep voice was warm and comforting. Something I could honestly sit and listen to all day. He was crouched down behind Harlyn, showing her how to grip the baseball bat in her hands. She nodded, her brow creased in concentration as she listened to every single word Ham told her. She chewed her lip as he helped her pull her swing back, and then forward before making corrections.
The helmet she had on was way too big for her, and kept slipping down over her eyes, making me smile. It was Macy’s birthday, and we were at this place a few towns over where they had a mini Putt-Putt course and batting cages along with a water play area. I tell you, you’ve never been to a kid’s party until you’ve seen ten or more tattooed bikers out of their leathers wearing swimming trunks and running through water sprinklers like they were children.
The sounds of laughter and play were addictive, while old ladies and club friends chatted around the barbeque area preparing lunch and admiring their men.
Try not to smile.
It was impossible.
“Since Hadley and Leo’s wedding, Harlyn has been a little obsessed with your man.” I jumped as Chelsea took a seat at the picnic table beside me, a gentle smile on her face. “You might have a bit of competition there.”
I grinned and shook my head. “She’s in luck. He’s not my man.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes so dramatically, I thought they might roll straight out of her head. “I think you’re delusional.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.
Instead, I focused on where Ham was stepping away, and moving back to the pitching machine which was set up at the other end of the cages. As he walked, his hand went to the cut on his hip, and there was a slight hobble in his walk.
He should have stayed home, the stitches had barely been put in a few hours ago, and he was out here helping the girls swing bats and shit. He was going to fucking hurt himself, and I was getting increasingly agitated, ready to walk in there and pull him out by the ear. But then I would have to get close to him, and I’d have to admit that I actually cared.
Although, he was probably already onto me with that one.
Going to the hospital this morning was a mistake.
One touch, and it was like everything I’d fought for over the past few months had turned to shit, and I was back to fucking square one.
I was like an addict who’d been to rehab.
Followed all the rules, fought hard to get to a place where I wasn’t breaking down regularly, and bam. One taste, and I’ve fallen off the wagon, and I’m fighting to keep myself afloat again.
He hadn’t fucked Jess.
It wasn’t him I’d seen.
Sure, he could have been trying to get himself out of the hole he’d dug, but I saw it in his eyes.
No, it was much more than that.
He was completely right.
I knewhim.
I’d spent so long just watching him, fascinated with the way he moved, the strength he held, and his dedication to the club. I loved him long before we even spoke a word to each other. That sounded horrifically stalkerish, but he was right, I did know him.
He wasn’t lying, and the sad part was, that should have made me want to jump into his arms. I should have been begging to come home, so we could start things again where we left off.
But it wasn’t an instant fix.
We were still broken.
The both of us were still hurting.
And I don’t think either of us was really sure how to fix it.
“Why don’t you just sit down and talk to him,” Chelsea urged, following my gaze, her face lighting up in a wide smile as Harlyn swung her bat and connected with the ball. Ham threw his arms in the air and hollered excitedly, but the second he got them above his shoulders he cringed and folded over in pain.
I hummed in annoyance, he was ignoring his body. I could tell from here how much he was struggling.
