I leave the dishes for what they are and go over to her. “Hey, you don’t have to worry.” I press a kiss to her head.
“Too late,” she whispers and presses her nose against my chest.
My hand slips under her chin and I lift it. “Hey, honey. Everything that happened will not happen again. I promise.” My gaze holds hers as I say it.
“You can’t promise that.” She pulls herself away and walks off. She takes the throw blanket off the couch and crawls into the corner with it.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. I take a few steps and sit down next to her on the couch. “Sweetheart,” I mumble, but Rebel refuses to look at me. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” I pull her close and kiss her on the top of her head.
We sit together on the couch for a while until Rebel finally falls asleep. Meanwhile, Kyler comes home and gestures that he’s going to take a shower.
I place Rebel on her pillow on the couch and cover her with the blanket. Then I head to the bedroom. As I undress and put on my pajamas, I can hear the shower running. I crawl under the covers and turn on the television. With nothing interesting on TV, I settle for a movie, the flickering light painting patterns on the wall.
My thoughts drift to Connor. I’ve got so many questions for him, but none I can ask. And even if he were still here, I wouldn’t have the chance to ask him, because he hid everything so well from me. Questions like: Did you know what you were getting yourself into when you took the job? Did you know they would come after you? Did you deliberately put Rebel and me in danger?
So many unanswered questions, but at the same time, so many things that have fallen into place. The reason for his murder is most likely because he knew about the human trafficking, and I really hope that justice will be served and that whoever gave the order for his death will be punished. In whatever way possible.
Simultaneously, I’m grappling with entirely different questions. What happens now? Did I make the right choice back then? Is this all indirectly my fault?
I’m now uncertain about the decision I made regarding Connor. On the one hand, my heart screams yes, because without that choice, Rebel wouldn’t be here now. But I also wonder if I’ve ever been completely honest with Connor. And that bothers me.
“Hey, Lay.” I jump when Kyler walks into the bedroom with a towel around his waist and water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. He walks over to the dresser under the TV and rummages around in the top drawer.
“Ky, do you think I was truthful with Connor?”
He immediately stops what he’s doing and turns to me. “About what?”
Fidgeting with my fingers, I shrug my shoulders. My eyes are fixed on the comforter. “Our relationship. The reason I chose him back then. Everything?”
His footsteps are soft on the carpet, and then he sits down next to me on the bed. “I don’t know.” With a sigh, he runs his hand through his hair and then dries it with the towel. “I asked you a while ago if it was all that bad. Growing up here. The club.” His fingers wrap around mine. “I asked you ten years ago if you were sure, and even though you said you loved me, I always felt like it wasn’t enough. Not enough to stay.” He lets go of my hand and rises.
When he returns to the dresser, he says, “What you need to ask yourself is whether I’m right and, probably, whether you loved him enough to marry him. But you’re the only one who can answer that question, Layne. Not me. Not Connor, if he were still alive. Just you.”
And that’s exactly the point. Sometimes I’m afraid I made a mistake ten years ago. One that cost me Kyler and caused him unnecessary pain. One that deprived Connor of true happiness. Although I can never say for sure that the latter is true. And I still have to find out about the former.
Thirty-Eight
Mystomachflips,andmy chest feels hollow—like my heart just sank straight through me.
What the hell is she talking about? How am I supposed to know if she made therightchoice? It sure as hell didn’t feel right tome.
But hey, who the fuck am I, right?
Just the son of the Renegades MC president. The son of a criminal.
I press my palm to my forehead and stare blankly into my underwear drawer.
I’ve alwayssaidI respected her decision. I told myself it was her life, her path, her choice. But deep down?
“Why wasn’t I enough?” The words fall from my lips, too soft to be meant for her—but she hears them anyway.
The sheets rustle behind me, and then I feel her—hands sliding gently around my waist.
“That’s not true,” she murmurs. “Youwereenough.”
“Was I?” I turn to face her, jaw tight. “Because it never felt like it.” My voice drops, low and bitter. “I respected your decision, Layne, but only because I thought… I thought you didn’t love me enough to stay. If you had… you wouldn’t have left. And definitely not withhim.”
I pull away from her touch, but there’s nowhere to go—I’m still half-naked, standing in my own damn bedroom with nothing but a towel clinging to my waist.
