I tighten my grip on her fingers. “I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I’m making the offer. If that’s the only way you’ll come back to me, I’ll do it, Jas. No regrets.”
There’ll be regrets. But I’ll rip out my tongue before I’ll ever let her know that.
“But the Bastards are your family. They’re your life—”
“No.” My voice is harsh, and there’s a hard, ugly knot in the middle of my chest. Is this her way of telling me she doesn’t want us to try again? I’ve tried to steel myself against that possibility, but standing here in front of her—it’s just too hard to face that this is the end. “Without you, they don’t mean shit to me.”
Her bottom lip trembles, and I’m dying. She presses her palm against my heart, and the warmth seeps into me, a desperate balm.Don’t push me away.
“You felt this way ten years ago?” There’s a husky note in her voice, as though tears block her throat, and the futile need to smash something rages through me.My fault.I should never have let her go.
But if I’d forced her to stay, she wouldn’t have gone to college.
Fuck…
“I should’ve told you. I always thought you knew.” I drag in a jagged breath.Keep it together. “I spent ten years trying to forget what we had. But no one’s ever come close. All those other girls—they didn’t mean anything. Because they weren’t you. They could never be you.”
Her fingers curl, and she grasps my shirt, which should be a good thing except she looks as though it’s the end of the world. “Are you asking me to come back with you to L.A.?”
Would she, if I asked her? It doesn’t matter because I’d never do that to her.
“No.” My voice is rough. “I’m moving here. Starting over.”
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She looks shell shocked. “But what about the Hammer?” she says at last. “Your brothers?”
“I’ve put a manager in the Hammer. I’ve plans to open a second club here. I’m only moving across states, Jas, not to the end of the world. I’ll stay in touch with my brothers.” The ones that matter, I will. The others can go to hell.
She cradles my jaw, and pleasure and pain collide low in my gut, but I don’t wrap my arm around her or kiss her like I’ve craved for the last three weeks. She hasn’t agreed to take me back yet, and if I taste her again and she rejects me, I’ll lose what’s left of my fucked-up mind.
“It was never your colors I loved.” There’s a wistful note in her voice, and I cover her hand, pressing her fingers hard against my jaw.
“I know that.” Just like I’ve always known, deep down, she’s the only girl I’ve had who could say that and mean it.
“I might not love the MC life, but I was always so proud of you, Ty. I know how much becoming a full member always meant to you.”
I’d sure talked about it enough. It’s no wonder she thought the club came first. “Priorities change.”
“I don’t want you to leave the Bastards. Not even for me.” Her voice is soft, and my chest aches at what she’s giving me. “Can you join the local chapter?”
“Yeah. That’s not a problem.” Even though I’m barely on speaking terms with Angie, Jett approved the transfer before I left.
“Good.” She offers me a small smile, and I’m goddamn drowning in those big brown eyes of hers. “So, put this back on, Ty Jenson.” Before I can stop her, she lifts my leather vest. And freezes. “Jesus.”
Her gaze is riveted on my arm, and I flex my fist. When I vowed to rid Viper from my life, I meant it. “It’ll heal.” It comes out like a growl, because part of me doesn’t want my skin to heal. Part of me wants it to scar, ugly and raw; a small price to pay for what Jas went through.
…
Jasmine
The viper that used to wrap around Ty’s wrist and arm is gone. I stare, stupefied, at the ink-free skin that slashes through the maze of tattoos. It was obviously removed by laser and is still healing…butwhy?
There’s only one reason why he’d do something like this.I’ve no idea how he found out, but that hardly matters. Nausea grips my stomach and I swallow, fighting it back. What do I say? After all this time, whatcanI say?
“Jas.” He slides a finger beneath my chin, breaking my paralysis. We’re close enough to kiss, and only now do I see the exhaustion etched on every feature. It’s like he’s aged another ten years in the few weeks we were apart, and I can’t stop myself. I cradle his jaw, and for one heartbreaking moment he grits his teeth as though my touch burns him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, like the words are acid in his throat, and his cut falls to the floor beside us. “If I hadn’t been such an asshole and let you think the club came first…” He drags in a serrated breath that flays my heart.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” The words haven’t been said between us. Maybe there’s no need to drag it all out into the open. He knows. Isn’t that enough?
