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My head swivels lazily to the side, where I see two of Atlas.
With a groan, I look accusingly at Mickey. “Did you tattle on me?”
Mickey ignores me as he pulls down Atlas’sEagle Rarefrom the top shelf. “About time you showed up. I play head-shrink enough with the brokenhearted—I shouldn’t have to do it with my MC regulars.”
Atlas sidles up to the bar, taking the bourbon Mickey offers. We sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping our beverages. It’s Atlas who breaks the ice. “Are you going to fill me in on why you’re fucking up your chances with a wonderful woman? Who hurt her beside your dumb ass?”
Fuck it.The alcohol has given me the courage to confess to my brother. I tell him about Opal’s past with her mother’s ex, not bothering to censor the ugliness. It’s wrong to share this private information without her consent, but I need to talk to someone, and Atlas will never break my trust.
The bourbon glass in Atlas’s hand shatters. My brother’s temper has a way of manifesting in destructive ways.
Mickey rolls his eyes, handing Atlas a dustpan. Fair is fair. The old man holds us accountable for our actions. It’s part of why the crew prefers his bar—structure and tidiness die hard with retired Navy men.
Cursing under his breath, Atlas sweeps up his mess, handing off the dustpan to the old man once he finishes.
Atlas rolls his shoulders, retaking his seat. “What’s his name?”
“She never told me. She’s too scared. Any chance I had of her confiding is long gone.”
Atlas’s leg bounces. If he paces, I’ll need to worry about him going full alpha, destroying the place. For the moment, I’m okay.
“Fine. We’ll figure out a way to track the fucker without a name. But none of this explains why you ripped out her heart.”
Disgusted, I stare at the walnut bar top. “Because of the similarities between me and the prick.”
Atlas does a double-take. “Come again? What similarities would you share with a pedophile?”
“The perp is eight years older than her. I’m eight years older than her.”
Atlas stares at me with an incredulous look. “Bro, the difference is she’s an adult now, a consenting adult who chose you. You weren’t hitting her up when she wasn’t legal.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, feeling vile. “Maybe I would have.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. She was a child.”
Shame floods my chest, my face falling into my hands. I want to cry at how disgusting I feel.
“Gauge, talk to me.”
My hands run down my moist face. “You see how hot she is, right? Like undeniably gorgeous.”
Atlas snorts. “I’m not falling into that trap. Besides, I look at her as family.”
I grab him by the shoulder to show him I’m not fucking around. “She’s a twelve on a scale of one to ten. We both know it. Opal has this box she brought with her. It’s filled with little mementos, pictures, and shit like that. She showed me a picture of herself. I made some suggestive comments about it, and then she dropped the bomb that she was only fourteen in the picture. Fucking FOURTEEN!”
Atlas sighs, catching on to my dilemma. “Gauge, you didn’t know. It’s not your fault. Many girls look like grown-ass women at that age. Opal isn’t the only one. But you’re comparing what you did on the same level with what he did, and it’s not—not even in the same ballpark.”
“I had inappropriate feelings for a teenager, Atlas. I’m no better than him.”
“Bend over so I can pull your head out of your ass. Maybe it will help you think straight. There is a vast difference. When she told you the age she was in the photo, what was your first thought?”
“That I was a pervert for thinking that about her when she was a kid.”
“Exactly! You knew it was wrong. Had you met her then, you would’ve backed the hell away from her. You understand how inappropriate a relationship would’ve been at her age. The bastard who hurt her didn’t back off. He went into it knowing it was wrong and not giving a flying fuck about the damage it would cause her. That’s not you, Gauge.”
I stammer, unable to believe his truth. “When she told me about what he did to her…all I kept thinking was how attractive she was in that photo, how I must be as sordid as her abuser.”
“You’re not,” Atlas states firmly.
