Lift.
Lower.
Lift.
The strain builds fast. My back tightens, scar tissue pulling the way it always does when I push too hard. There’s a line of pain that runs down the center of it, a reminder that skin doesn’t forget fire.
Good.
Pain is a distraction.
Pain is simple.
I rack the bar and sit up, wiping sweat from my face with the hem of my t-shirt. Through the open door I can hear the low rumble of the clubhouse. A few brothers are still awake.
I think about my club brothers. They’ve built lives here. Tyrant and Lark, Raiden and Ella, Atlas and Willa, Dravin and Kael, Lynette and Bullet, Crow and Tarynn… The list goes on.
I’m not jealous.
That’s not it.
But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to walk into a room and not feel like I’m trespassing in it. To have someone look at me and not turn away in disgust.
You don’t deserve that. You’re a waste of space.
And there it is. My inner snark reminding me who I am. They’re deserving of it, but who would look at me that way? Mymom was right. The scars just act as a warning. But Fawnie saw beyond it…
Hero worship. That’s all it is. She’ll realize you’re a mess soon enough.
Dammit. I grab the bar again and press harder than I need to, like I can burn the memory out through muscle and strain. Let the pain drown everything else out.
I don’t know how long I’ve been doing reps when the door opens behind me.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
It’s Carver. Another brother who found his happy ending. Preacher keeps telling me I should speak to him. That he might understand some of what I’m going through. He hid away too, until Dravin and Kael crossed paths with him. He thought he was a monster. We’re both scarred, but in different ways. I wonder if Preacher sent him.
For a moment I panic and wonder if Fawnie told her father about what happened the other night, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have.
I don’t bother turning right away. “Thought you’d be home with Bronte and Elowen at this time.”
“Got a meeting with a new client tomorrow. Easier staying here, than having to wake the whole house up early.”
I sit up and glance over. He’s got that same stiffness in his posture he always has. He’s a sculptor and a slab of stone crushed him a few years back. He was pretty badly injured and shut himself away from everyone. Including Bronte. He never knew he was a father, he was too wrapped up in feeling sorry forhimself to care, and from what I’ve heard, she was too worried about him to tell him.
He grabs a pair of dumbbells and starts working through curls like he’s not about to stick his nose in my business.
“You’ve been quiet the past week,” he says.
“I’m always quiet.”
“Yeah, but it’s different.”
I shrug. No one knows my story. Well, they didn’t. Now Preacher knows I wasn’t burned in a car wreck but after rescuing his daughter. Part of me wants to tell someone what a fuck up my life is, but that’s not who I am. “Didn’t feel like talking.”
Carver watches me for a second, then says, “You’re allowed to want things, Shadow.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Is that what this is about?”
