Missed Call
PIERCE
“What do you mean she’s at the clubhouse, Tank?” I growl into the phone at my brother.
It’s not his fault that my mood’s terrible. Lexi didn’t falter for a second as she walked out of the house with a look of defeat on her face. I wanted to go after her. Watch her the way I used to, but Harlow made it clear that she needed time to process.
Lexi isn’t like the rest of us. She’s good in every sense of the word. Her revealing what she did didn’t change anything for me.
Am I pissed that’s why she broke my heart all those years ago? Hell, yes! But is it enough for me to walk away from the woman I love? Not in the slightest.
“Maybe we’re too broken to repair.”
Her words gutted me. Because if that’s what she thinks, I’m terrified I’ll never get her back.
Tank’s words filter back in, “She just showed up. Then she started crying and asked if she could stay. You know how I am with women, especially when they’re all emotional and shit. What was I supposed to do?”
I want to yell, “Send her home!” but she wouldn’t have listened. She wasn’t coming back while I’m still here.
I should pack up my shit, trade her spots, and let her come home.
She shouldn’t be at the clubhouse. It’s no place for a woman like her.
The guys are… well, they’re guys. And while I trust them with my life and my brother’s would never do anything to cross that line with her, I don’t know who else is there.
“Who’s all there tonight?”
“Just me and a few brothers, no outsiders, and we’re locked down for the night. I gave her your old room, and she shut herself in there. I made sure it was locked.”
“Thanks, man. Just let her rest. I’ll handle it.”
“You got it.”
The line goes silent, and I continue pacing across the living room floor. If time and space are what she needs, I’ll give it to her, but only for so long. She let us lose six years of life together. I won’t let that happen again.
She’s at the clubhouse.
Tank says she’s good for the night, but send Harlow to get her in the morning.
I’ll be out of the house by the time she gets home.
I don’t expect a response from Silas; it’s nearing four in the morning, and they only just left an hour or so ago after we dealt with the mess I made. But I should have known better when it comes to his baby sister.
She’s on it.
You headed back to the clubhouse?
Yeah. She needs space from me. Better for me to be there than her.
She’ll come around, man. Just give her some time.
Another text pops up from a familiar number. Of course, Harlow needed to add her two cents in.
Just not too much time. She’s stubborn and doesn’t know what’s best for herself sometimes. We can’t let her slip through our fingers again.
Don’t I fucking know it.
One Week Later
Lexi. Please talk to me.
Just let me explain.
I was trying to protect you.
I can look past what you did all those years ago if you just talk to me, baby, please.
Okay, I get it, you need space.
But like, how much space are we talking about, because I won’t lose you again.
Don’t forget to eat.
How was your first day at the salon?
Don’t work too hard today. And don’t skip lunch.
Please just talk to me, Princess.
I miss you.
You know it really fucking sucks that you’re doing the same thing you did all those years ago. I don’t know how many times I can tell you I’m in your corner, you’re it for me, and have you ignore that.
Disregard that. I’ll tell you every day until you hear me. I’m not going anywhere.
Fuck I miss holding you.
How are you feeling?
Princess. I love you.
I’m losing my mind. She won’t call me back.
The string of texts I’ve sent over the last week still sit unanswered.
The only reason I haven’t broken my self-imposed quarantine from her is that I know she’s okay.
Harlow’s been checking in, keeping an eye on her, and relaying that information to me, so I don’t break.
But it’s been a week of absolute silence, and it’s killing me.
I check my phone one last time—ten o’clock. Her shift at the salon started thirty minutes ago, and she won’t be back until six. I waited down the street in the opposite direction, watching her pull out and go about her morning like it was any other day.
Sitting on my bike, the early summer sun beats down on me as I look up at the townhouse. I have no reason to go in there. I moved out. Gave her back her space. But if I can’t be close to her right now, this is the next best thing.
I kick down my stand and throw my leg over, heading for the front door. The code goes in without issue.
She hasn’t changed it. That’s a sign, right?
The deadbolt whirs around as it magically unlocks, and I push inside.
The house looks the same as it did when I left that morning.
I shouldn’t expect any different, but when it feels like your entire life has been torn to pieces because the woman you love won’t give you the time of day for the second time in your life, it fucks with your head a bit.
My feet move of their own accord, drawing me through the house, straight toward her bedroom, but it’s the wide open door to the spare that catches my attention. It’s empty, completely cleared out. Cans of paint and all the supplies are huddled in the middle.
A tightness pools beneath my collarbone, the heavy weight of sorrow spreading like a rampant disease.
We were supposed to do this together. She’d pick the color, and I’d do all the heavy lifting, while she inevitably bossed me around from the corner.
She might not have changed the code, but she’s moving on without me, and it snaps something into place.
A week isn’t a lot of time in the big scheme of things, but it’s apparently enough that she’s started projects by herself.
Fuck it, what more do I have to lose at this point?
When I step back and eye the space, I know it’s possible.
Every muscle in my body aches, as if someone replaced my bones with rebar overnight. My shoulders feel welded stiff, my back’s one long knot, and my hands are raw from hours of gripping a paint roller.
Who knew painting four measly walls could wreck a person like this?
Not that the mattress helped. Spending another night on this worn-out clubhouse bed—the one I swore I’d never touch again—was like wrestling a pile of rocks.
Springs dug into my ribs with every shift; the whole thing sagged to a pit, constantly rolling me to the middle.
It’s nothing like Lexi’s mattress. Hers always felt like it cocooned us, especially when she curled in close, her hair brushing my chin.
That memory alone makes the ache sharper.
I groan into the hollow room. It doesn’t feel like anything anymore, let alone home. Just four walls that smell faintly of stale smoke and loneliness.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, my chest tightens with that stupid flicker of hope. Maybe this time. Maybe she gave in and called. I swipe the screen open.
No calls. No missed texts.
The silence cuts deeper than I want to admit. My thumb hovers over her name like it always does, itching to type something—anything—but I already know how that’ll go.
Instead, I fire off a quick text to Harlow, confirming Lexi’s schedule for the day, then shove myself upright, peeling out of the death trap I used to call a bed.
The day’s already waiting for me. The sooner I pick up the order from her registry and haul it into the nursery, the better. Maybe if she walks into that room and sees it ready, it’ll count for something.
The drive across town feels longer than it should. The boxes of furniture are packed like a jumbo game of Tetris in the bed of the truck I borrowed. By the time I drag everything inside Lexi’s place, sweat’s rolling down my back.
Unboxing the crib is its own special kind of hell.
Cardboard guts spill across the floor, and tiny pieces of Styrofoam squeal under my boots.
The instructions unfold into some cursed treasure map that you need a specialized degree to decipher.
A hundred and eighty-seven pieces scatter across the hardwood floor.
I stare at them until the lines begin to blur.
I need backup.
“Then we just have to screw in the two end pieces and it’ll be good to go,” Vik confirms, crouched over the frame like he could do this in his sleep.
“Thanks again, man, for coming out to help. I’m sure you had better things to do today.”
“Don’t sweat it.” He sets the screwdriver down and smirks. “When I told Josie what I was up to, she got all sappy about it. Said Lexi’s been a sad mess at work this week, too. Y’all really need to work your shit out before this baby comes.”
I gesture helplessly to the half-built crib and the chaos around us. “What do you think I’m trying to do here?”
Vik snorts, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Looks more like you’re keeping your head in the sand, doing everything around your girl without actually having a conversation to move forward.”
“She won’t call me back. Just ignores my texts.” The words leave me weak. I rub a hand over my face. “And man, there’s been a lot of texts.”
Vik leans back on his heels, gives me that look only a friend can get away with. “And you think sneaking into her place instead of showing up when you know she’ll be here is the answer? Fucking buck up, man.”