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The truth is, the outfit I wore to the barbecue showed a lot of skin. The necklace would have been clearly visible if I had worn it. I didn’t want Rogue to see it on me and jump to any conclusions.
Like he’s probably doing right now.
His eyes narrow as he studies me. Shame washes over me as I realize he’s trying to decide whether I’m lying.
“It’s not a big deal,” I whisper. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
The words hang between us. I’d give anything to take them back, to have said something else, because they aren’t true. But I can’t think of anything else to say to make them sound better.
A couple seconds pass. Then Rogue nods, almost imperceptibly, and rolls me off of him. My heart sinks.
I need some coffee,” he says. “And some breakfast.” He stands. “You want any?”
Wordlessly, I nod, and watch as he turns and heads into the kitchen.
I go into the bathroom and clean myself up. When I come back out, the coffee maker is on, and Rogue is scrambling eggs. He clears his throat when he sees me.
“I need to tell you about what I learned at church. Everything Icantell you, anyway.”
Suppressing a sigh, I sit down at the kitchen island. “What does that mean?”
“This is club business,” he says soberly. “Intel that stays confidential among us. The Lords keep our shit close to our vests, for the safety of the club, and also of our families.”
“Okay. What can you tell me?”
As he cooks, Rogue tells me about the Wretched Souls leaving the pig roast angry. He says the woman who attacked me is Wrecker’s old lady, which makes sense why she was so mad seeing him pawing me. I may not have been around Rogue for thirteen years, but I still know him well enough to realize he’s a lot more worried than he’s letting on. Which in turn, makes me start to worry. But I try not to let it show.
Rogue pours me a cup of coffee — black with sugar, just how I like it. He makes us a big mess of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, and slides a plate over to me. I accept it gratefully.
“You know, I think this might be the first time you’ve ever cooked for me,” I remark as I pick up my fork. “I don’t remember you knowing your way around a kitchen.”
“Lotta time has passed,” he retorts a little sharply, then softens. “I live by myself. Can’t exist on takeout alone.”
“You’re right. A lot of time has passed.” I hesitate. “So, what did you do during all that time? What did you end up doing after... after?”
He shoots me a glance. “I fucked around for a while. Joined the military. Got sent to the Middle East.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. It was okay. Hot as a motherfucker, and boring as shit most of the time. What about you?”
“Not much. A couple semesters of college, eventually. I wanted to go for creative writing. You remember, I had dreams of being a fiction author.” I let out a little laugh.
But he doesn’t join in the laughter. “Yeah,” he nods. “I remember.”
It occurs to me that even after all this time, Brody still knows me better than almost anybody.
“Why didn’t you keep going with school?” he continues. “Why didn’t you graduate?”
“I didn’t have the money. I didn’t want to drown in loans, so I’d work for a while and save up, then go for as long as I could. After a while, I started to feel like it was stupid that I was spending so much money on a degree with such an uncertain career future. Then Mom got sick, and I had to take care of her.”
He does a double-take. “Didn’t your dad give you money for college?”
“Nope. Dad said he wouldn’t fund college if I majored in something frivolous like creative writing, instead of business like he wanted me to. So, he cut me off.”
“Damn. That’s some cold shit.”
“Yeah, well. I shrug. “Between me getting married to you, and then me siding with Mom when he cheated on her and dumped her, he was probably looking for reasons not to pay for it. Let’s just say, the years have taught me a lot about Dad’s brand of conditional love.”
