Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
Charlotte
‘I’m just trying to love you.’
The words scatter around my buzzed brain. And I find myself dissecting the truth behind them—if there is any.
How could this man, who once looked at me like I’d committed the most heinous act in the club’s eyes, ever come to believe in loving the same girl?
Of course, my innocence changed his perspective. But why is he adamant that his actions go beyond the regret and shame of what they did?
I think back to the day he stormed into my Craven Ridge apartment all those weeks ago. The way finding me unharmed was presumably an anchor for him.
What had changed in the last two years that he believed his feelings reached for love and not forgiveness?
My cheeks flush as I stared around my space. The coffee table, the rug, the fully-stocked kitchen. How do I even separate this from the clear act of guilt and not love?
How can I look at his tattoo not as a beautiful, haunting reminder of pain but of utter self-restraint?
Why does the heat of his gaze keep inching me closer to questions instead of erecting walls around my peace?
Why the hell does it seem like he’s mooring me to the shore while I’ve been adrift… healing?
Suddenly, my thoughts swerve.
Sarah.
I need more information about that. Why? I don’t know.
I jump up from the couch, unsteady on my feet. “You… when did you start… deluding yourself into believing that you’re in love with me?”
Pain. That stupid pain twists every single inch of his face—again.
“I knew I had feelings for you about…” He sighs defeatedly. “About a month before you came back here. I… I thought it was guilt making me stay near you. Wanting to protect you—”
I scoff, but he continues.
“—but then…” His frame locks, fist clenching, like he’s debating whether to tell me or not.
“What?”
“I-I saw you, okay?” he says quietly, not looking at me. “I saw you with someone on a date and…”
Ezra. He saw me with Ezra.
“…I couldn’t bear to see it. You keep saying that I’ve deluded myself into believing I love you, but Charlotte, I had deluded myself for months… about my feelings being nothing but guilt!”
“It is!” I almost scream, making him flinch.
“It’s not,” he grits out, jaw clenched. But his anger isn’t directed toward me. “It’s absolutely not because guilt made me run around and beg for forgiveness. It made me relentlessly chase you to Craven Ridge while you kept shutting the door in my face.”
He gets up, pacing in the narrow area between the couch and the coffee table. “Guilt, Charlotte,” he says, halting abruptly. “Guilt made me selfish. Entitled to your presence until I could force that forgiveness out of you. But…”
His chest moves with ragged, heavy breaths.
Panic washes over his face like he can’t believe he’s voicing any of this.
“But it also allowed me to watch you. Watch over you. It allowed me to open my eyes to the person you are—the woman you were becoming, without any of us weighing you down. I… fell. Slowly. Reluctantly. Eventually it was because of that same fucking guilt that I never actually burdened you with my… my feelings.” He almost spits out the last word like it disgusts him—or it would perhaps disgust me.
“So, no,” he whispers, shoulders sagging. “It isn’t guilt. It’s love. Not the selfish kind. And it’s yours even if you don’t want it.”
I stare at him. My jaw slack with a mix of shock and rage. How dare he?
“Sarah.” I spit out. “Weren’t you with her? Huh? This whole guilt versus love thing fails with that one single name, asshole!”
He flinches, squeezing his eyes shut. Her name shoves us both into a silence so suffocating and draining that I almost fall back on the couch.
“She was a symptom,” he croaks, voice cracking. “I didn’t think I deserved you, Charlotte. I don’t. How can I?”
The resignation in his voice makes my chest cave in.
He exhales heavily, rubbing his palm over his chest like it hurts. “So… Sarah was it. The meaningless on-and-off cycle was it. That’s all I deserve. Toxicity. Not peace.”
Peace. That word keeps making an appearance.
I shift to look away from the mess of devastation reflecting in his face. It’s not for me. It’s probably for the version of me he thinks he’ll never see—the one who forgives him. But how can I?
How can he be the same man who blindly followed the club and never gave me a chance to prove myself?
The air in my lungs feels sour. Every breath feels like I’m struggling to mend something inside me that keeps breaking apart. My words, my instincts—they’re all failing me.
“But you deserve it.”
I startle, not expecting him to drag out any further words from his mouth. Ones that I’m not sure will make sense of my scattering thoughts, or just decimate them.
“You deserve peace,” he says simply, nodding to himself.
“So that’s what I’m focusing on. Your peace.
Finding it. Building it. Creating it even if I’m not a part of it.
And I know I’m not, Charlotte.” His voice fully breaks, thick with whatever he’s holding back.
“I’m not—God! I know that. But I’ll do whatever the fuck to give it to you. ”
He looks up, his gaze unfocused. He’s looking around the room helplessly, scanning the sanctuary he built for me. “I’m helpless against this… this instinct. Nothing else makes sense to me.”
His fevered panic stutters when I step closer to him. Eyes struggling to sharpen on me.
“I know I deserve peace. Which is why I left!” I snap, my eyes stinging.
But his turned red-rimmed and wet so many minutes ago. I had been forcing myself to not notice them, but from this distance, it’s damn near impossible to ignore.
“I found it,” I spit out, voice climbing an octave. “I built it. And you all took it away. This club took it and I can’t… how will I…” Defeat echoes into every single word.
How will I find it again in Craven Ridge when I’ve started building it here instead?
Finally my voice gives up on the clog hanging in my throat. God, I hate this. I want to rage, that my heart still hurts because of the things I never got from this forsaken place.
Not love. Nor loyalty. Not the barest of their protection. Not even peace.
Now it’s all sitting in my lap and I have no clue what to do with it. The thought burns my gut while my eyes annoyingly blur.
I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine.
I collapse back on to the couch, my words having drained me.
Ruin does the same, rubbing a shaky hand over his face. His knuckles are pale, the ink stark against them.
“When all of this is over,” he says, voice hoarse. “And we’ve made sure you’re safe, I’ll take you back myself. Back to Craven Ridge. Back to your… real life. I promise.”
Real life.
My head drops into my hands, my elbows digging into my knees. When I clutch my hair at the temples, I barely register the sting.
I want to tell him that it’s the only thing keeping me here. The promise of eventually leaving the shrine of my nightmares. The place where I felt invisible for years, until finally getting noticed, destroyed me.
But when I look around, I don’t see it anymore. It doesn’t feel like the same club anymore. The fact that I’m even able to sleep in the same room I was dragged out of is a testament to the little peace I’ve gained. It’s far from my sanctuary, but it’s still something.
I reluctantly accept that the man sitting beside me is the architect of it. I recall his words and somehow start to believe them. That this wasn’t guilt. His actions weren’t just regret.
A part of me knew—had already felt—the difference between the cottage Wolf gave me, and this club apartment. They were both driven by a different feeling.
And I feel a bit silly even admitting that it’s because of Ruin that I’m able to make that distinction.
He has somehow become the person I have started to feel safe with.
I first had that dreadful realization when Wolf asked me to step away from him in the basement.
How my body froze, reluctant to leave the space he always carries for me.
That unseen bubble where I can see the relief in his eyes that I’m near and his paralyzing anxiety when I’m not.
But what if he chooses to hurt me again? What if the club and his loyalty to it end up destroying me—again?
The questions rise up in my mind inescapably. I try to shake them off, but it doesn’t work.
“I don’t…” I start, but a resigned sigh escapes me instead. “I don’t trust this change. You all may have had two years to adjust to it. But this is all very sudden to me, Ruin.”
He doesn’t look up. Instead, he frowns, gaze locked on his hands in his lap. Then he nods slowly like the gesture is too tedious for him.
Suddenly, he looks up. A small, dejected smile on his face. “I like the nicknames you give me. But I like you calling me Ruin more.” Almost imperceptibly, he adds, “I like you calling me Theo way more.”
Shock renders me frozen. My eyes widen as I stare at him.
Why would he say that? Only Ol’ Ladies or family members can call the brothers by their legal names. And I’ve faced the repercussions of that firsthand.
‘Dane!’ I had cried out to my brother that night, and he just stood there while the prospect shackled my hands behind me.
Now Ruin wants me to say his given name? Why?
Another revolting memory surfaces. But I push it down, my head shaking. “Why?” I snap, my gaze hardening. “What would I call you that? Only Ol’ Ladies and—”
“I just… that’s not—fuck, listen,” he says quickly, hands raising. “I’m not propositioning you, Charlotte. I know I don’t even deserve to. I just want to hear my name on your lips. In case this war—well, in case the time isn’t on our side. Just say it once?”
I’m shaking now. The room tilts on its axis as I try to banish that unwanted memory I’d just pushed down. All while the implications of his words start to sink in.
‘If you wanna act like a club slut, I’ll fucking sign you off as one.’
My hands tremble, and I clench them on my knees.
Then Wolf’s words slither through, and my chest gives a painful thud against my ribs.
‘I’ll become a good brother too. One day. Just need to keep us alive first…’
Alive. Will we be? Is that what’s going to happen?
“Please, Charlotte. I…”
I flinch slightly. My gaze drifting from him to the door of the bedroom.
‘You don’t ever step foot in my room again. You hear me?’
“Please, baby.”
‘Theo—p-please—’
My own voice from that night seeps in. Cracking the same way his is now.
I find myself nodding. And I’m drowning in the terrifying truth that I want to say his name. In case…
‘In case the time isn’t on our side.’
I open my mouth, staring at his gleaming, hopeful eyes that are still crawling with some remembered devastation.
Just once, Charlotte.
“Th—”
My throat closes, jaw snapping shut involuntarily.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You can say it. Just say my name. You know it. It’s Theo.”
His voice is wrecked. “Say it, baby. T-Theo.”
My lips won’t move. Not because I don’t want to. But because I can’t. They’ve locked up like rusted steel.
His voice, from years ago, slams into me like a bat to the chest. ‘Don’t you fucking dare say my name out of that mouth.’
My gaze lowers to his throat. And I feel the phantom pressure of his hands on mine.
It’s not real. Not now. But it doesn’t matter.
The memory tastes like blood in my mouth.
He shifts closer, eyes glistening. “Please, Charlotte,” he whispers, like it’ll undo all the damage. “Just once.”
I look up at him, aching to say his name. But I don’t say a thing. I can’t.
When the words finally come, they’re not the ones he wished for. But they split our world into two regardless. “I can’t,” I whimper, voice cracking. “You… you told me not to say your name out of this mouth.”