“I don’t like that he hurt you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t like that he waited.”
“I know.”
“I don’t like how much I understand why.”
That one surprised me.
Edge looked toward the glowing windows, where Dylan stood inside with Nate and Callum, laughing at something while still watching the porch like his body knew where I was even when his eyes were elsewhere.
“He was scared,” Edge said. “Doesn’t excuse it.”
“No.”
“But fear makes men stupid.”
I huffed a wet laugh. “That seems generous.”
“It makes men dangerous too,” he said. “To themselves. To women who love them. To futures they think they don’t deserve.”
I stared at him.
For a moment, I did not see the untouchable man everyone else saw. The club legend. The father with blood on his hands and loyalty carved into his bones.
I saw the man who had once loved Mandy, lost Regan, lost years, carried guilt, and somehow found his way back to us all.
“He loves you,” Edge said.
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“You trust him?”
I looked through the window.
Dylan had turned toward us again. His eyes found mine through the glass.
Not impatient.
Not afraid.
Just there.
“I do.”
Edge nodded once more.
“Then I’ll learn to live with it.”
That was probably as close as Edge would ever get to throwing rice at a wedding.
I leaned into him.
For one second, he froze.
