I blink back the tears threatening to spill. It’s hard for him too—I can see that. “I have to. I don’t want to upset her again, and...”—I lower my voice—“I can’t risk her telling my brother. She’s unstable, and frankly, she needs to heal. I don’t want to stress her out.” But deep down, there’s a part of me that hates giving in to her. I frown at the thought. It’s not fair, but I know leaving is the right thing to do. Still, it feels like I’m losing my home. This place has become my sanctuary, and I don’t want to leave.
“I know,” he whispers sadly, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.” He looks so defeated.
I have an urge to hug him tightly, but I don’t. Self-control is something I need to learn with him. I blink away the tears and force myself to keep packing. “I’m sorry too. I’m almost finished. I’ll be out of here. Hopefully, she’ll get better soon.” I pause, my voice softening. “Just be careful and don’t lead her on again.”
He flinches, and I hate myself for saying it, but it needs to be said. “It’s not fair for you to pretend to be with her just to make her happy. You shouldn’t have to give up your happiness for her.”
His voice breaks as he replies, “I can’t be the reason she hurts herself.”
I want to tell him that he can’t live his life miserable because of her manipulation, but I keep it to myself. Instead, I turn back to my suitcase and zip it closed. When I look up again, he’s gone.
I drag my suitcase downstairs, my heart heavy with every step. The clubhouse sounds quieter than usual, but a few people are still around. Bomber, Viper, Reaper, and Twitch are sitting at the bar. My brother spots me first, his eyebrows shooting up as he strides over.
“Where are you going?” Reaper asks, his tone curt.
I force a smile. “Home.”
“But why?” he asks, frowning. “This is your home too. You know that, right?”
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “I know,” I whisper. I try to keep my emotions in check as I step back. “Thank you for having me, but you know what I’m like.” I smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m an introvert. I like my quiet home.”
It’s a lie. I’ve loved staying here, surrounded by family. This place feels more like home than anywhere else ever has. But I can’t tell him that. Not now.
He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Okay, but you’re welcome back whenever you want. That room is yours.”
Warmth spreads through me. We haven’t been as close as we were before he left for war, but moments like this remind me that he still cares. “Thanks,” I say, my voice soft. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon anyway.”
I glance at the men at the bar. “See you guys later.”
“Bye,” they reply in unison.
“Sad to see you go,” Viper adds with a grin.
“Me too,” I admit quietly. “Night, everyone.”
I walk out of the clubhouse, suitcase in hand. The moment I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, the tears I’ve been holding back finally fall. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my chest aching with the weight of everything I’m leaving behind.
* * *
Twitch
I watchher leave from the bar, my drink untouched in front of me. The sound of her car starting and pulling away feels like a punch to the gut. I want to run after her, to tell her to stay, but I can’t. Not with Mercedez coming back. Not with everything that’s happened.
Reaper’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Are you okay?”
I glance at him, forcing a nod. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he takes a sip of his whiskey and turns back to the conversation with Bomber and Viper. I stare at my drink, the amber liquid catching the light, but I can’t bring myself to take a sip. My stomach churns at the thought of Milly leaving, at the thought of Mercedez coming back.
I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if it can be fixed. All I know is that I’ve made a mess of everything, and now I’m stuck trying to pick up the pieces.
The hours pass in a blur, and before I know it, I hear a car pulling up outside, signaling Mercedez’s return. I stand, my legs feeling like lead as I make my way to the door. The sweet butts picked her up because I was drinking today. When Mercedez gets out of the car, she looks fragile, her face pale, but once she sees me, her face brightens.
“Twitch,” she says softly.
“I’m here,” I reply, stepping forward to help her inside. She leans on me, her grip tight, and I can feel the weight of her dependence on me. It’s suffocating, but I don’t let it show.
As we step into the clubhouse, all eyes are on us. The room is silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I guide her to the couch, where she sits down, her hands trembling in her lap.
