A laugh escapes me, but this is anything but funny. “Why did I open my stupid big mouth and lie?”
He blows out a breath. “He’s a biker,” he states, like that’s shocking information. “Am I lucky he didn’t rip my head off?”
I sigh, pacing to the window and back. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“If he’s leaving tomorrow, what’s the harm? You can tell him we broke up in a few weeks.”
I sigh heavily, giving a nod. He’s right. And if Kade finds out I’m single, he’d be trying to convince me to go back . . . and that’s not what I want.Is it?
I give my head a shake then force a smile. “You don’t have to stay over. I don’t even know why I said it. Just sneak out, he won’t know.”
He sits on the edge of the bed. “You wanna know what I think?”
I join him, tucking my hands into my lap. “You lied to stop yourself going back there. And if I’m here, he isn’t going to try his luck in the middle of the night.”
I scoff. “You clearly don’t know him. But you’re right, maybe I’m trying to protect my heart cos lord knows I don’t think I’ll survive him again.”
Peter takes my hand in his. “So, if this little white lie saves your heart, what’s the harm?”
KADE
I pace the room, my heart hammering so hard, it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.
Peter.
FuckingPeter.
Clean. Polished. Calm. The kind of bloke who probably owns matching mugs and irons his shirts. The kind of bloke who looks like he’s got his life lined up neatly, no blood under his nails, no ghosts following him into every room.
And he’s withher.
My Queenie.
Who the fuck gets with a pregnant woman unless he’s either a saint or a creep? Maybe it’s some kind of saviour complex. Maybe it’s a fetish. The thought twists my gut. and I shudder,disgust crawling up my spine, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m disgusted with.
Him.
Or me.
And now . . . now, he’s in there with her. In her bed. In the space that used to be mine.
My phone buzzes, and I snatch it up.
“D,” I mutter.
“Pres,” Diesel says. “How’s it going?”
“Not how I thought it would.”
There’s a pause. “That bad, huh?”
“Peter,” I say flatly, picking up a stuffed animal from the spare bed and turning it over in my hands. “Fucking perfect Pete.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Dare I ask?”
“Three months,” I snap. “That’s all it took. Three fucking months and she’s sharing a bed with some bloke who wears too much aftershave and looks like he’s never lifted anything heavier than a grocery bag.”
“No fucking way.”
