I should let her go. I should want her to go. But I don’t. My mouth moves before my brain can stop it, regret twisting instantly through my gut. “Why didn’t you wait for your dad to pass the other day?”
She freezes. For a second, I think she might turn around, that she might say something. My chest tightens painfully, waiting. But she just stands there, back straight, shoulders squared, her long curls cascading down to the waistband of those damn shorts. Then, without a word, she keeps walking, leaving me hollow and frustrated.
Coach Tompkins claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, his grip firm, knowing. “You have to use honey with that one.”
I scoff, shaking my head, bitterness lacing my throat. Honey? Candace? Yeah, right. She’s gasoline and a match.
We step into the locker room, and I turn to face him as I start unwrapping my hands, the tape peeling away, skin raw beneath. “How do you know Candace?” The question comes out more curious than I intend, betraying something deeper. Something I don’t want to acknowledge.Maybe I do care. Fuck.
Coach Tompkins grabs his bag, stuffing cash inside like it’s just another night, just another bet. “She used to train with me.”
That makes me pause. My fingers still on the wrappings, disbelief sinking deep into my bones. “You trained her?” The words feel foreign in my mouth, confusion swirling sharply through my chest.Candace? Fighting?
I squint at him, trying to piece it together. I’ve known Candace since she was ten, since her dad patched into The Outsiders. And not once,not once, have I ever seen her throw a punch. I knew she hated the club, hated what we did, but training with Coach? That’s something else entirely.
Coach Tompkins lifts a brow, clearly amused by my confusion. “Yeah, I did. She was damn good, too.”
Before I can ask anything else, he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door. Just that fast, he’s gone, leaving me with nothing but questions I didn’t know I wanted answers to, each one carving itself painfully into my chest.
I finish changing, deciding I’ll shower when I get back to the club. My mind keeps circling back to Candace, to the way she’s always kept herself separate, always watching me as if I’m the worst thing to ever exist. Bitterness coats my tongue.
She used to be around all the time. Back when she was younger, when her dad brought her to barbecues and patch parties and treated her like part of the family. But now? She’sonly been to the club once, maybe twice in the past few years. Never supported her dad’s ride-alongs. The other morning? She barely showed up long enough to flip me off before disappearing again.
I don’t know when the shift happened. When she stopped showing up, stopped laughing in the garage while Chuck worked, stopped looking at any of us as if we were still hers. Somewhere along the way, we lost her. Maybe that shouldn’t bother me. But it does. My jaw tightens. Something dark must’ve happened. Something she keeps locked behind those impenetrable eyes.
Then, uninvited, her voice cuts through the back of my skull, sharp as a blade.“You only see what you want to see.”
It was the night I took the president’s patch. I remember the way she said it. Quiet, steady, not meant to wound but landing anyway. Maybe she didn’t even realize the truth she was holding in her hands when she hurled it at me. Or maybe she knew exactly what she was doing.
I haven’t stopped hearing it since.
That moment? It clings. Not because I think she’s right. Not completely. But because some part of me wonders if I missed something. If there was more to what she saw that night than just resentment.
I shake it off, forcing the memory down. I don’t have time to chase old echoes. Not tonight.
I shove the thoughts aside, pulling on my cut, grabbing my helmet. Enough of this. I won tonight, and I’m damn well going to celebrate. Yet, my stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought, satisfaction elusive.
There’s no point trying to figure Candace out. She’s a puzzle with missing pieces, a storm that never settles. And whoever said women were hard to understand? Yeah, they definitely had a Candace in their life.
I’m about to pull out of the warehouse parking lot when I spot her. Candace. She’s standing near the curb with her friend, shoulders drawn so tight they’re nearly brushing her ears. Tension coils through her, visible even from this distance. Even as she pulls her mess of curls into a ponytail, there’s something about the movement, something effortless, something that makes my gut tighten.
I drag a hand down my beard, scowling at the thought. She’s a thorn in my side, always has been. But apparently, my dick didn’t get the memo. I cut my engine. I tell myself it’s just so I can hear their conversation, not because I actually give a damn, even as my pulse kicks up in my throat.
“We were supposed to party tonight,” Ruby whines.
Candace lets out a sharp breath, already turning away. “I don’t know where you got that idea. I said I was coming to the fight, then going home.”
Ruby stops at a yellow convertible, but Candace keeps walking, shoulders hunched as if the weight pressing down on her is heavier than exhaustion alone.
“Where the hell are you going?”
She glances back but doesn’t stop, shadows from the streetlight painting delicate hollows across her face. “I’m walking home. It’s only a couple of blocks.”
“What? No! I’ll come over, and we can hang out.”
A flicker of something flashes in Candace’s eyes, quick and barely there. Panic. My muscles tense instinctively, protectiveness rising hot and bitter in my chest. Then it’s gone, smoothed over as if it never existed. “No, it’s fine. Go party. I’ve had a long day, and I’m exhausted. Maybe tomorrow night, okay?”
Ruby sighs, clearly not happy about it, but nods. “Yeah, alright. You work tomorrow?”
