Chapter 8 Willa
Willa
“You’re back late.” I giggle as I trip over my own foot.
Thankfully, Dean catches me before I face-plant in the hallway. “And you’re drunk.”
“Mm-hmm.” I cling to his arm so I don’t fall over while he unlocks the door to his bedroom, which is when I notice how sparkly his shirt is. “You’re covered in glitter.”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Ah, so you weren’t at a strip club getting rubbed down by naked women?” I lift an eyebrow, striding past him when he swings the door open for me.
He opens his mouth to explain or argue, but I hold up a finger, stopping him.
“Never mind. Don’t answer that. Drunk me doesn’t care what you were up to tonight, but sober me might never stop overanalyzing anything you say right now.”
Dean lets it go, not taking his eyes off me as I strip out of my shorts and shoes and climb into his bed in my T-shirt and underwear.
The first night I was here, I did it to be sexy, but now I’m just too drunk to care.
Especially after he’s probably been staring at women wearing way less than this all night.
I expect Dean to leave after I get tucked into his sheets like he usually does, but he stays tonight, shutting off the light and stripping down to his boxer briefs.
Moonlight draws out every muscle in his arms and chest. The strength in his thighs as he walks to the bed is practically obscene.
I’ve never cared about thighs, but something about his gives me all sorts of inappropriate ideas.
He climbs into bed, and I’m barely breathing.
While most of the bikers at the club are covered in tattoos, Dean only has a few, all of which mean something to him.
The Twisted Kings skull and crown stretch his back. His mom’s name is written in calligraphy on one side of his ribs. Then there’s the brand for Ironside Ridge on his chest above his heart.
Dean rests his arm over the pillow between us, and I almost laugh at the fact that it’s still there. It’s the most ridiculous thing—a joke from the first night. But neither of us has moved it.
He’s silent for a while, breathing steadily. So quiet I almost think he’s asleep until his voice cuts through the silence. “I wasn’t getting a lap dance if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I was trying not to think about it, remember?”
“How was that working out for you?” He pushes the pillow between us down, his gaze snagging on my frown.
“I don’t care what you were doing,” I remind him.
“I know. I’m just saying the glitter isn’t from a lap dance.”
He lets the pillow go and looks back up at the ceiling. But now, I can’t stop the wheels in my head from turning, so I shove the pillow down again.
“What was it then?”
He grins, like he’s won. “Two of the strippers got in a fight. Had to pull them apart.”
“How valiant of you.” I roll my eyes. “Good thing they have you hovering at the strip club twenty-four seven, tending to their needs.”
“I’m not there twenty-four seven.”
“You’re barely here.”
Dean rolls onto his side, grabbing the pillow and tossing it off the bed.
“Hey—”
He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Do you want to know where I am when I’m not in bed with you, Willa?”
“No.”
“Liar.” He grins. “All you have to do is ask. I’m not hiding anything from you.”
“Even if you were—”
“It wouldn’t matter. Right?” His teeth clench. “When are you going to stop lying to yourself?”
“I’m not lying about anything.” I roll my eyes when his narrow. “Fine, where are you when you’re not here at night?”
“I’m at the bar talking to Venom or shooting shit with Legacy on his front porch. Or riding back and forth across Vegas trying to get my head on straight because I can’t do any of the usual shit I rely on when I’m stressed.”
My eyebrows pinch. “What’s the usual shit?”
“Fucking someone.” He doesn’t mince his words. “Getting drunk or getting high or getting head. I’m not picky so long as it’s distracting.”
Dean releases my chin, but I stay on my side, facing him. “So not much has changed then, huh?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means, Dean. Even when we were teenagers, you refused to face what was really bothering you. You drowned yourself in distractions.”
“We’re not talking about back then.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I know.” My eyes roll. “God forbid you address what’s actually bothering you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, and so am I.” I cross my arms over my chest, and he frowns at me. “If I’m getting in your way, I can just leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t it. A few words, but they hold a lot of weight. I want him to explain further, but I’m too scared to ask what he means by that, so I stare up at the ceiling, letting him shut down like he’s good at.
Apparently, some things never change. He’d rather drown in distractions than face his problems. He fights so hard for his club, but he doesn’t fight for himself. And he doesn’t fight for me.
Even back then, he simply let me go. What I did was unfair, but he accepted it as if I didn’t matter.
I stare up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast across it.
“I was surprised when Kincaid said you were fighting him for the ranch. After you left, I kind of figured you’d let that part of your life go.”
He shrugs, shifting the mattress. “My grandpa wouldn’t want that. He built a place for people—for our family. For the community. Tate and Kincaid only see dollar signs. They don’t care about legacy.”
“But you still do?”
“Apparently.”
“Have you just talked to your brother directly? He used to listen to you.” I turn to look at him.
“We both know Kincaid isn’t the one making the decisions.”
He’s right, and there’s no point asking Dean if he’s tried talking to his stepdad because I know he wouldn’t bother with that. Their relationship was always bad, but it worsened when his mother died.
The meaner Tate became, the more Dean rebelled. It was a vicious cycle that kept
escalating. There was no winning. And while I hoped Dean would have chosen a different path when he left Texas, that clearly wasn’t the case. The trouble he’s gotten into with his club surpasses anything back home.
“How did you end up in prison?” I ask when maybe I shouldn’t.
But I can’t help it. Kincaid had a lot to say about his brother getting locked up. So did Tate and my father. Only, the picture they painted doesn’t line up with the man in the bed beside me. A man with more layers than they ever gave him credit for.
Dean sighs. “You have a lot of questions tonight.”
“Maybe it’s the alcohol.” It isn’t, but at least it gives me an excuse to pry.
“Well, I’m pretty sure the media highlighted the exciting parts.”
I frown when he looks at me. “I don’t want what the news said. I want your story.”
“It’s not interesting.”
“Tell me anyway.” That softens his expression the slightest, even though he looks back up at the ceiling, avoiding my gaze.
“It was a simple run, and shit went bad. We had a rat we didn’t know about and got heat we weren’t expecting. The cops showed up, and I made sure to pull them away so my brothers had time to go the opposite direction.”
“You took the fall for them?”
“Figured it made sense. It’s not like I wasn’t in on it. I was as guilty as they were.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s what we do for each other.”
“You could have spent the rest of your life behind bars.”
“Better than Legacy, who has a fucking kid. Or any of the others.”
It’s hard to argue the Legacy angle because, if he is a dad, I get why Dean would be protective of that. But the way he diminishes the value of his life in comparison to theirs is something I don’t understand.
“You always did that,” I grumble.
“Did what?”
“Put everyone else above yourself. Your grandpa. Your brother. Me. The only time I ever saw you do anything for yourself was when you left. Or, at least, that’s what I thought. Turns out you just found another cause to commit to so you wouldn’t have to think about your own well-being.”
“I’m a selfish asshole, Willa. Don’t try to paint me as the good guy.”
“I’m not saying you’re the good guy. But you put everyone else first. You can lie to your club, and you can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. You’d throw your life away for them like it doesn’t even matter because that’s what you think.”
“That’s what I know.”
My stomach knots because he clearly means it. Dean’s life never mattered to him; it’s why losing his mother was the final straw. After that, he had no sense of self-preservation. She loved him unconditionally—the first person to do so. And she was gone.
“You matter to me.” I glance at him, staring him in the eyes. “I wish you mattered to yourself, but I can’t force that on you. So just know that you matter to me.”
He searches my face, not arguing. Not agreeing either. He simply stares at me for a long time, considering what I said.
“I respect what you did for your club,” I say finally, breaking the silence. “But I’m glad you got out. That you didn’t spend the rest of your life there.”
“Me too.” He clears his throat. “Thanks for the letters, by the way. Surprised you wrote to me.”
“You got my letters?” My eyebrows pinch, and he nods.
After I heard Dean was in prison, I couldn’t shake the guilt over how we left things.
I had so many regrets and no way to get them out.
So I wrote him a few times, not saying much, but just making sure he knew someone was still thinking about him in case he needed a reason to fight through whatever he was going through.
“You never wrote me back.”
“I know.” He swallows hard. “Didn’t know what to say.”
“That’s okay. I’m just glad you got them.”
He nods, resting his hand beside mine on the bed. Our fingers brush, but we don’t cross that line, even when every part of me wants to. Even with alcohol swimming in my system, I know better.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. And as I drift to sleep, I swear I hear him say, “Thanks for thinking of me.”
The sun is barely cresting the horizon as I take off into the desert. This is my favorite time of day on the weekends. When my first chores of the day are done, and I get a break before breakfast.
Wind whipping through my hair.
Hands raw from how hard I’m gripping the reins.
Out here, I’m free.
Out here is the only escape from the yelling that’s become a constant in my house. Dad yells at Mom. She gets drunk and yells at me. It’s an endless cycle, while they both praise Eden. Because God forbid anything ruin her day.
I ride the property line, aiming toward the road when a car pulls over. No one pulls over out here because there’s nothing but endless ranches. I tug on the reins to slow my horse as a familiar dark head of hair pops out of the car.
Dean Graham.
He’s too hot for his own good.
Solid muscle from working on the ranch his whole life. Sun-kissed skin. A smile that leaves me breathless. Once, he held my hand when I tripped on a slippery spot in the school gym, and I still can’t stop thinking about his touch. Callouses that tell stories I’d like to know.
While his brother is relentless in his pursuit, I just want to get to know him.
Dean pays the cab driver and then pats the roof. He starts down the road as it pulls away, finally spotting me.
“That a new horse?” He angles his chin at her.
“Yes, I got her a couple of weeks ago.” I brush my hand down her black mane. “Dean, meet Nightmare.”
“You named your horse Nightmare?” His eyebrow hitches.
“Felt like her.”
Dean laughs. “Whatever you say, Willa Elliott. It’s fitting. You riding around on a nightmare. I always knew you were secretly nothing but trouble.”
“Says the guy getting dropped off a half mile from your ranch.” I hitch an eyebrow, hopping off my horse and walking beside her. “Why did you have them drop you off here?”
“So I don’t have to explain where my car is.”
“Where is it?”
“The impound lot.”
My eyes widen. “How did that happen?”
Dean drops his chin, but it doesn’t hide his grin. “I might have gotten arrested last night.”
“Dean Graham!” I storm over, smacking him on the arm, and he laughs. “What did you do?”
“Camden and I filled the principal’s car with horse shit. We almost got away, but that dude runs too fucking slow. So I stopped and let them catch me.”
“Why not just let them get him?”
“He’s got a scholarship. A family that expects things out of him. Figured it was better I take the fall than let them fuck up his future over a stupid prank. Besides, it was my idea.”
“Of course it was.” I roll my eyes. “Why’d you do it?”
“Got bored.” Dean shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets.
Since I moved here, Dean Graham hasn’t been a stranger to getting into trouble.
But it’s gotten worse the sicker his mom gets.
What started as a joke around town, with everyone referring to him as Chaos, is slowly becoming a reality.
I’d like to talk to him about why that is, but I know he’d just shut me down like he always does.
“You’re such a troublemaker.” I cross my arms over my chest.
Dean steps close, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You know you like it.”
I wish he were wrong. But more than that, I wish he’d face what’s making him spiral before it gets him into real trouble someday.