I picked it up before I could talk myself out of it. The metal was cool against my fingers, solid and real. It wasn’t just some trick of light.
My mind scrambled for alternatives—for reasons as to why Harley would have a wedding ring tucked away in his drawer. Maybe it was his father’s. Or maybe it was his mother’s.No, it was too big to be hers.Maybe it was just some stupid thing he kept for no reason.
But it wasn’t carefully stored away like something you’d keep because it belonged to a deceased loved one. There was no trinket box or envelope. No, it was tossed in with the rest of his clothes, like an afterthought.
Like something he’d taken off recently.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My pulse pounded in my ears, loud and disorienting.
Harley was married?
Married…
The word twisted in my gut, cutting deep.
Holy fuck, Harley was married.
And that made me the other man.
My mind replayed every conversation from the moment I knocked on his door with brutal clarity. The secret phone calls, the avoidance of his past, the push for me to stay here.
And fuck me, Aidan had known.
Heat crawled up my neck. Not in embarrassment but rather with rage. With humiliation. With hurt. The slow, nauseatingrealization that, while I’d been building something with him, he’d been hiding a completely different life.
Was he ever going to tell me?
My stomach rolled violently. I stared at the band, searching for some sign that I’d misunderstood this thing I held—something that would make it less definitive. Something to show me that it wasn’t Harley’s.
Except there was nothing.
This was his drawer, these were his shirts, and that made this his wedding ring.
I felt so fucking stupid.
Harley was married.
God, Iwasso fucking stupid.
CHAPTER 70
harley
Whoever thought of making brownies in a mug wasn’t the brightest. The process wasn’t easy at all. Getting the ratios right was problematic. It didn’t help that there was no solid recipe online to help me make them. I’d remade the batter twice while making a mess of the counter. I told myself it was because I wasn’t used to baking.
It wasn’t.
I just sucked at this.
“I don’t think I made these right,” I said loudly when I heard Maverick’s footsteps in the hall. I hissed as I tried to pick up the mugs, promptly dropping them back down. “I’m not sure if they’re supposed to be—”
“Are you married?” Maverick cut me off.
My stomach dropped out.
Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
