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“If I’d known,” I whispered. “I wouldn’t have let that happen. I would never–”
I broke off, squeezing my fingers together so tightly that the skin on my knuckles cracked and began bleeding again.
“You would never allow your child to grow up believing they were unwanted and unloved,” Brewer finished for me.
I nodded, my throat thick.
“Then what’s stopping you from making up for lost time?” he added.
I clumsily wrapped some gauze around my knuckles. It would be easy to point the finger at Abby. There was a reason she kept me out of Cam’s life. I couldn’t imagine she’d be happy to see me barge in, demanding to know the child she’d raised on her own for the past sixteen years.
Deep down, this was on my shoulders. I’d missed out on Cam and Abby. And now I had to live with that.
Brewer placed a heavy hand on my shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.
“Think it over. Call me if you need to talk.”
I shoved the first aid kit aside and flopped back on the bed, my mind whirling with thoughts of Cam and Abby.
For the rest of the day, I stayed in that back room, turning the situation over and over, desperate to find a way I could make things right. If Abby lived in Merry Field, maybe I could track her down and talk to her. The thought of looking in her face again had my stomach twisted into knots.
I became familiar with the sting of rejection at a very young age in the foster system. Watching one kid after another get adopted. Seeing families pass me by again and again. For a while, I continued to cling to the fantasy that someone might take me home. As the years passed, that fantasy crumbled to dust, piece by piece, until I didn’t hold out hope anymore.
I couldn’t help feeling like that hopeful little boy now, torn between the fantasy that Abby might welcome me back into her life, and the reality that Abby had built a life for herself and her daughter just fine without me.
With a sigh, I flung my arm over my eyes, wishing sleep would take me under so my mind would stop spinning.
Eventually, the clubhouse emptied out and fell quiet. Sometime after midnight, the rumble of a motorcycle in the parking lot signaled the last lingering club member’s departure.
Alone with my thoughts and memories to haunt me, I was sure I wouldn’t get any sleep. But eventually, my eyes drifted closed and I faded into unconsciousness.
***
The clubhouse was always dead silent in the morning. Bikers didn’t have a reputation for being early risers unless they were on the road, riding to greet the sunrise. It was comforting to navigate the modest-sized kitchen alone, knowing an Alpha Rider could waltz through the door at any moment, claim a nearby chair, and strike up a conversation. Even if they poked around my business whether I liked it or not, they called me brother. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket and I pulled it out to see a text from Brewer.
Have you eaten yet?
Apart from the gurgle of the coffee maker, no, I hadn’t tackled food yet. I typed back a quick response.
Just coffee.
A moment later, Brewer sent another text.
Alexandra made extra sausages and eggs. Bringing some to you. Be there in ten minutes.
I shook my head and stowed my phone in my back pocket again. I should have known Brewer would tell his fiancée about my situation. He wouldn’t rat me out to the whole club unless I gave him the green light to share the information.
Alexandra was the exception to that rule though. And since she was making breakfast for me instead of slinging drinks behind the bar like she usually did, she wanted to ensure I kept my head on straight about this whole thing. Not drown myself in the bottom of a bottle.
Ten minutes later, as promised, the roar of Brewer’s bike approached. I headed for the parking lot but when I stepped outside, I skidded to a stop.
Big, garish red letters were spray painted along the side of the clubhouse, dripping like blood.
Brewer rolled into the parking lot and came to a stop behind me, staring at the graffiti that proudly proclaimed HOWLERS. He shut off his bike and dismounted, scrubbing his hand over his mouth with a grim expression.
“We’ve got trouble,” I said.
