Page 44 of Where We Started

I just had to get in and out without being noticed.

It wasn’t until after I had snuck outside and crept around the privacy partition that I realized I never asked Red where Wesley was, or if he was home.

* * *

My shoes were stashed near the back of the house, on top of the gas meter. My tiny black ankle socks moved silently up the small set of stairs leading to the private patio. Once I was behind the lattice, I peered around and then tested the door. The handle held firm as I jiggled it.

“Shit.”

There had to be a key somewhere. When Wes and I lived together in the cabin, we’d always leave the key above eye level, simply because people always looked down when they were trying to find the spare key.

My hands moved along the surface of one of the beams, holding the awning in place, and sure enough there was a tiny scrap of electrical tape covering something shaped awfully similar to a key. Tugging it up, I smiled at the silver key in my hand then jumped down from the patio chair and slid the lock open.

This part of the club was renovated into his personal apartment, from the looks of it. I had assumed as much from the outside, but inside, there wasn’t even a hint that there was a chaotic motorcycle club on the other side of his wall. Hardwood floors ran beneath my feet, but it was the laminate kind. Still looked fresh with the light gray walls and dark, walnut-colored baseboards and trim.

“Why did he go this dark?” I mused out loud, taking in all the black-and-white photos on his walls, and the stainless-steel appliances in his kitchen. There wasn’t a single dish in the sink or the drying rack. The counters were clear, free of any clutter or personal items. It almost looked like he didn’t even live here. Just to be sure, I tugged on the fridge door that had a touch screen on the front. Fresh vegetables, beer, milk, eggs, condiments…nothing spoiled or out of date. He definitely lived here.

I moved past the dining room area, where the small table and four chairs sat, and past the living room with a leather sofa facing a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There was another door, leading out to the backyard, but I moved to the staircase.

Pictures of restored bikes covered his walls, but there were a few of him and my dad, him and Killian, along with him and a few other guys. None of any women so far, and for some reason I felt like I was holding my breath for the moment I came across something that would confirm that he’d moved on and had someone else in his life. With seven years passing between us, I already knew he likely had other girlfriends, lovers, whatever they were to him…but seeing evidence of it might be too much. I certainly never framed photos of any other boyfriends. I’d never even had another serious relationship after Wes. I had a few one-night stands, and one time a guy stuck around long enough to fuck me three different times, but that was it.

They all left, and I wanted them to. My heart had never recovered after Wes, and I didn’t see the sense in trying to fix it just so I could risk it with someone else. Once you love someone so thoroughly, there’s pieces of you they claim, and whether you work out or not, the tear in your soul can’t be mended. If Wes had been bad to me, or mean and abusive, then I’d get over him and release those feelings, but he’d only ever loved me. It was me who did the hurting when I told him to choose between me and the club.

Back then, it had gutted me, and I didn’t stick around long enough to challenge his words. But his lack of actions after I left told me enough of how much he’d meant them.

The stairs led to a small landing that held a bathroom to the left and a small open space to the right.

“Bingo.”

I walked toward the desk and began thumbing through envelopes and mail.

There was a laptop sitting there, and while I knew eventually, I might have to peek at it, I wasn’t ready to yet. There was no telling how much time I had before he came home, and I wanted to snoop first.

The drawers revealed files, but nothing outside of his legal garage business. He’d filed an LLC, and there were contracts and other legal documentation from the show he’d worked with. I was slightly curious if he was doing another season with them, and if so, when they’d start shooting. I recalled all the times I’d been brave enough to watch the show. There was never a single time I’d noticed anything familiar in the background or landscape when they’d roll the restored bikes out.

He was always in some high-end garage, surrounded by asphalt. Which likely meant he didn’t do any of the filming here. That made sense. Why would he invite the world into his super-secret hideout?

“Where would I keep secret stuff about my club?” I asked aloud, setting my hands on my hips as I looked around his makeshift office. I’d found nothing, and my eyes kept trailing down the hall to the open doorway where I knew his bedroom had to be.

Snooping in the open spaces of his home was one thing, but his bedroom…my stomach tilted at the notion of crossing that line. I knew Wes longer and more intimately than probably any other human on this planet, but a lot could change in seven years. What if he did have a girlfriend, and there was evidence of her living here, in there? What if seeing it destroyed me all over again?

What if Wes had changed and was now into illegal stuff?

My heart rammed against my chest as I slowly made my way down the hall. I was just about to push open the door when I heard one slam from downstairs.

My eyes went huge as I searched for a place to hide. There were no linen closets, just the bathroom, but it was too close to the edge of the staircase to run into. Which left his bedroom.

Hearing his boots hit the stairs, I quickly darted inside his room and pushed down the way my nose flared at his familiar scent. I tucked myself into the back part of his walk-in closet where a few garment bags hung. The carpet under my feet felt stiff and new, and the smell of leather invaded my nose as I carefully slid further behind his clothing.

He pushed through his bedroom door a few seconds later, and from the sounds of it, he had started the shower in his attached bathroom. I held my breath as I heard his movements bring him closer to my hiding spot. The closet light came on, illuminating the rows of shelves on the opposite side where he had his jeans and boxers folded, along with a few T-shirts. Below that were three different levels of shoes. He had nice shiny ones that he’d have to wear with a suit or tux, he had running shoes, and of course several pair of motorcycle boots. He had ties, watches, hats all arranged in hereas if someone had set all this up for him.

Knowing Wes, and how he used to keep his things, this wasn’t him. Someone had done this, and the sinking feeling in my chest only intensified as I let that realization roll through me. Wes was seeing someone.

He’d shed his shirt, and with his back turned to me I could see the ink he’d gotten since our breakup. Before, he had tattoos along his arms, a few on his wrists and across his chest, but his back was always bare. Now, under the strong muscles and broad shoulders were black lines that made up a skull with roses blooming from its eye sockets, marking the insignia for the MC he was now leading.

There was a deep part of me that wanted to trace the dark lines with my fingers and feel his soft skin again. My mind went back to what he’d said during our exchange outside of the cabin, and I tried to erect a wall of indifference.

Wes was staring at his phone, his back still to me, and my eyes drifted lower, to where the band of his boxers peeked out from the waistline of his jeans. I’d always loved the way his muscled back looked, but it was even more mouthwatering now. Strong, defined muscles all tapered into a narrow waist, and his ass was just as delicious as it always was.

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