“Darla has something to say,” East declares, his voice leaving no room for dissent. “You’re all going to listen.”
The gravity of the moment crushes me. My heart races, a frantic, trapped bird pounding in my chest as I fight against the rising tide of panic. The heat of all their eyes burns against my skin. The silence of the room is so profound I can hear the buzz of the neon sign outside. I take a deep breath, but it’s like trying to inhale shattered glass.
“Some of you know parts of this,” I begin, my voice trembling, my gaze flitting nervously between Frankie and Nash. “Most of you don’t.” I suck in another shaky breath. “Seven years ago, East’s best friend, Declan, was killed. We were eighteen. We’d just graduated. That night… we were supposed to be celebrating.”
I have to tell it all. For the girls who never had the chance to know him. For the men who only saw the aftermath through East’s haunted eyes. “It was just supposed to be them, a guys’ night. I was hurt that they didn’t include me, so I followed them to this old warehouse lot. I was being stupid, a brat. Because I wanted to feel included.” The memory crashes over me. I can almost hear their laughter, see their carefree faces, feel the warm summer air. “They were being such idiots, laughing and throwing gravel at each other. So I started recording them on my phone, capturing the moment. Just to have it. To make fun of them later.”
My breath hitches, a jagged shard of glass lodged in my throat. “Then the car came. A shot. He was… he was shot. He was killed.” My voice cracks, and East’s hand tightens on mine. “AndI ran to him. I was the shape in the dark. I fell over him, trying to stop it, trying to hold on to him.” The recollection of collapsing under the weight of the moment, the coppery scent of his blood filling my nose…
“After it happened,” I force the words out, my voice thick, “I couldn’t bear to watch the video. But the day before the funeral, the ache of missing him was unbearable. I just wanted to hear his voice again, to see his smile. So I watched it. And that’s when I saw it. I saw everything.”
This is the moment. The point of no return. My heart is a hummingbird in my chest. Sweat coats my palms, and a cold dread makes me shake. I look at East. His face is a mask of stone, his eyes already dark with the ghosts of that night. This secret is the reason I let my father hurt me. Why I let him control me. It was my penance. It was the only way I knew how to keep East safe. If I stayed away, if I never gave my father a reason to look at him again, he might live. I lost Declan. I couldn’t lose East, too.
I finally look up, locking eyes with East. His gaze is dark, filled with our shared past, and his pain echoes in my chest. “I saw the car,” I choke out. “And I saw my father inside it. He had the gun.” The words hang heavy in the air. “But he wasn’t aiming at Declan. He was aiming foryou, East. Declan… he didn’t even see the car. He was laughing, bent down to pick up his phone… he tripped. It was an accident. He was in the wrong place by an inch, and he fell right into the path of the bullet.”
A wave of shock ripples through the room. My eyes dart to Frankie. I see the stunned hurt etched on her face, her eyes wide with a new, dawning horror. She’s piecing together the depth of the secret I’ve kept, even from her.I’m sorry,I try to convey with my eyes. It’s a desperate, silent plea for forgiveness.I’m so sorry.
Ruby finally breaks the stunned silence, her voice soft yet laced with a brutal innocence. “So… he was your boyfriend? And your dad killed him by accident?”
The question hangs in the air, laden with the assumption that I let my closest friends believe for years.
I tear my gaze from Frankie’s wounded expression and scan the faces of the women who have become my army. My voice steadies, stripped of emotion, delivering a single, devastating truth. “No,” I say firmly. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
I take a deep, final breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on me, and deliver the world-shattering blow.
“Declan was my twin brother.”
Absolute silence engulfs the room. It’s not just shock; it’s a profound, horrifying recalibration. I watch as realization dawns on their faces, as the pieces click into place. Ruby’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Candace lets out a small, broken sound, the parallel to her own father’s betrayal hitting her like a physical blow. Malachi, who had been a statue of cold fury, now just looks… devastated. The crime has transformed into something unspeakably evil.
But I’m not looking at them. My focus is solely on East.
The anger and betrayal from the woods have dissipated. What’s left is a dawning, painful understanding. He’s not processing who Declan was to me; he always knew that. He’s grappling withwhyI kept silent. I can see the moment he grasps the impossible weight I carried, the choice I made to protect him, even at the cost of my peace, my own friendships.
The promise he’s shouldered all these years was to watch over his best friend’s sister. I can see the truth land. The moment he comprehends he wasn’t just protecting the only other witness; he was being shieldedbyme. I was his guardian against a truth that could have thrown him back into the line of fire.
His hand, which had gone slack, tightens on mine again, his grip fierce and possessive. It’s not a rejection; it’s a claim. He’s not betrayed; he’s shattered. As I witness that raw, broken understanding on his face, the full weight of what my secret hascost both of us crashes over me like a tidal wave, making the room tilt. In the shattered quiet of the clubhouse, with his hand crushing mine, surrounded by my new family, I have never felt more terrifyingly, completely alone.
Chapter 31
Darla
Thesilenceintheclubhouse feels like a thick fog, smothering every breath and sound, as if the world outside has vanished. It’s the eerie stillness that follows a detonation, and I stand in the center. In the gaping crater of the aftermath. My confession lingers in the air, a specter that refuses to fade, leaving me exposed and fragmented, even with East’s fingers wrapped tightly around mine. The entire club is frozen, a tableau of shock etched on their faces, each one grappling with the monstrous truth that has just been laid bare.
The paralysis shatters with the scrape of a chair against the worn wooden floor; it’s jarring and painfully loud. James, the club’s elder with a weathered face and deep-set eyes, releases along, slow breath, as though he’s siphoning the tension from the room. He surveys the shell-shocked expressions, then turns to me, his gaze not filled with pity but a profound, weary empathy that cuts through my isolation. Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence.
“Well,” he rumbles, his voice low and gravelly, like gravel crunching underfoot. “Secrets that heavy can make a man hungry. I’m gonna go pull the grill out.”
The simplicity of his words acts like a lifeline, grounding us all in the mundane. It’s absurd how normal this feels, a non-verbal declaration: You are one of us. This is what we do. We don’t run. We rally. We eat. Maggie immediately steps up beside him, her hand slipping into his as they head for the back door, a united front. From his corner, Malachi gives a single, deliberate nod, an unspoken command that allows everyone to exhale, to reclaim their breath and movement. The room shifts again in a slow, tentative return to life.
I’m left standing there, utterly bewildered.Is this their process? Absorb an earthquake, then decide what’s for dinner?
Just as I’m trying to wrap my head around this surreal pivot, Ruby materializes at my side, her usual chaotic energy now laser-focused. She seizes my arm, her grip firm and unyielding. “Okay, the boys can play with fire. We’re on a dessert and sides mission. Frankie, you’re driving.” It’s not a question; it’s a command wrapped in urgency.
Candace, Sloane, and Frankie are already moving toward the door. They’re a current pulling me along with them, their determination infectious. They “kidnap” me, piling into Frankie’s vintage convertible, its faded paint a testament to years gone by. The top is down, and as we hit the main road, the wind rushes through my hair, a welcome, cleansing force that sweeps away the stale, oppressive air of the clubhouse. I canalmost feel the weight of the secrets lifting, replaced by the thrill of rebellion and the camaraderie of shared purpose.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the grocery store, the air buzzes with energy, a stark contrast to the chaos Ruby stirs in the snack aisle. Boxes tumble from shelves as she hunts for the perfect treat, laughter spilling from her lips like a promise of mischief. Meanwhile, Frankie and I retreat to the bakery section, where the scent of warm bread and sweet pastries wraps around us like a comforting embrace. The soft glow of the overhead lights casts a golden hue over the rows of freshly baked goods, creating a small oasis amidst the bustling store.
“Must be loud in your head right now,” Frankie observes, her voice steady and knowing, cutting through the noise around us.
