“Because she’s a sweet girl who doesn’t know how to be mean.”
Pati sighed. “And yet you think she’ll be mean to you if she sees you? Maybe it’s time to let it go.”
Let it go.
As if I could just forget the nightmares. The ones where I relived it over and over. Grace being dragged out the door, screaming and fighting, begging for help. And me, frozen. Useless. A sixty-eight-year-old woman who couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. Watching as he hit her, the way her body dropped to the floor.
“Nana, seriously,” Tyler piped up from the backseat. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack if you keep stressing.”
“Mind your business, young man.”
“Just saying.” He went back to his phone, and I caught Pati’s knowing look in my peripheral vision.
She didn’t understand. None of them did.
Grace had beentakenfrom the bakery. Ripped away while I cowered behind a counter. And now I was supposed to show up at her baby shower with a smile and a cake like nothing had happened?
Like I hadn’t failed her in the worst possible way?
The clubhouse came into view, a sprawling brick building with motorcycles lined up out front like soldiers at attention. My stomach twisted into knots so tight I thought I might be sick.
“This is a mistake,” I said.
“Too late now.” Pati was already opening her door. “Come on. Help me with this cake before I drop it.”
I killed the engine and climbed out, my knees protesting the movement. Getting old was a bitch. Tyler bounded out of the backseat, eyes wide as he took in the motorcycles. “Whoa. These are sick.”
“Don’t touch anything,” I warned.
“I’m not five, Nana.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Pati carefully lifted the cake box, and I grabbed the bags of cookies and pastries from the trunk. My contribution. My apology in sugar and butter.
As if baked goods could make up for what happened. As if chocolate chip cookies could erase the memory of her terror.
The front door swung open before we reached it, and King stood there with a smile on his face.
“It’s good to see you, Trudy,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“Hello, King,” I managed, though my throat felt tight.
His eyes softened. “Grace is real happy you came. She’s been talking about it all week.”
Guilt. More guilt. Piling on top of the guilt I already carry like a second skin.
“Where should we put this?” Pati asked, nodding at the cake.
“Kitchen’s through here. Follow me.”
We stepped inside, and I was immediately struck by how... normal it looked. In the almost seven years since the club had moved to Diamond Creek, I had never been to the clubhouse. I’d expected something dark and dangerous; all leather and chrome and cigarette smoke. Instead, it was clean and well-lit, with comfortable furniture and pictures on the walls.
“Trudy!”
I turned, and there he was.
Stephen.
