Chapter Two
Haizley
I saw the man sitting in the corner drinking straight from the bottle. I recognized the cut he wore.
I knew who he was.
Why he was drinking.
Everyone in town knew Cash, VP of the Silver Shadows MC.
I had grown up in Diamond Creek. Just a few years older than Rachel, Beck, Micah, and Ryder. In fact, they were the reason I had chosen a major in psychology.
I had just graduated from high school when Micah ‘died,’ and the way Beck, Rachel, and Ryder had suffered through their grief inspired me to become a therapist.
My plan was to come back home and open up an office. Making myself available to the people in town.
Only, people in Nebraska didn’t do therapy.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They went to therapy at the bar in town. But actual therapy, nope. So instead, I offered appointments online and made Diamond Creek my home base. I’d lived here my whole life. No reason to change that now.
I watched Cash take another drink from the bottle, and I knew he was hurting. Rachel had passed away only a week ago. I didn’t know all the details, but I didn’t need to. It didn’t matter how a person died; the grief was always tough.
Decision made, I slowly made my way over to the booth he sat in. I confidently reached my hand out and rubbed it up and down his forearm. That confidence quickly faded when Cash grabbed my wrist and growled.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”
“I... I’m sorry. I was only—”
“Easy, brother.”
A giant of a man cut my apology off. Cash still held my wrist, but the pain and fear I felt when he grabbed me slid away as I looked at my savior.
His hand was on Cash’s shoulder, and I saw his fist clench, causing Cash to hiss and let go of my hand.
“Sorry, darlin’. Go get a drink at the bar. Tell the bartender to put it on my tab,” the man said.
Looking up at him, then back at Cash, all I felt was sympathy for the man who had lost so much. My lips parted to say something, but I decided against it. Instead, turning on my heel, I walked to the bar.
Grace was waiting for me when I sat down.
“Another rum and coke, Haizley?”
“Um.” I peeked back over my shoulder at the two men I left at the table. “The big one said to put my drink on his tab.”
I didn’t use his name, even though I knew it.
I knew all their names.
When I moved back home after graduation, the only thing that had changed was the motorcycle club that had moved in three years prior.
I wasn’t ashamed to say they fascinated me. For the last two years, I had done what I could to learn all about them. As a therapist, my red flag was my addiction to understanding why people did the things they did.
What made these men join a club instead of following a career? Were they criminals? Some of them were. A few had a 1% patch on their cut. But why didn’t they all?
I knew what that patch meant. Which brought more questions. Had they done time? Did they deal drugs? Prostitute women? Run guns? Why did they choose Nebraska?
I shook my head, trying to clear the questions that were plaguing me. Grace looked over my shoulder and nodded. A moment later, a drink landed on the bar in front of me.
Lifting the glass to my lips, I closed my eyes when the taste of rum washed over my tongue. Grace always knew just how to make it.
“So, what were you thinking?”
Opening my eyes, I looked at Grace.
With a heavy sigh, I set my glass down and shook my head.
“I don’t know. He just looked so sad. And I get it. He needs time to grieve.” I turned to look back again. “But he doesn’t have to grieve alone. I could help him work through it, so he doesn’t need that bottle.”
Grace’s head tilted to the side, and she gave me a small smile.
“I know. It was stupid,” I said. I didn’t need the pity in Grace’s stare to tell me what she thought.
Guys like Cash and Gunner didn’t talk to a therapist.
Like every other person in this town, all they needed to get by was a bottle of Jack or his best friend, Jim.
I should have taken Missy up on her offer to move in. Missy Jefferson was my best friend. We met freshman year of college and became thick as thieves. When we realized we were majoring in the same thing, we petitioned to switch rooms so we could live together.
For eight years, we lived, studied, and ate together. We became sisters. And for someone who was an only child, having a sister was everything.
We both studied psychology. She graduated and became a child psychologist in Oklahoma City. While when I graduated, I practiced general psychology holding sessions online back home in Diamond Creek, Nebraska.
What the hell was I thinking?
I was homesick.
I had been on my own since I was sixteen years old when my parents died.
Convincing the old sheriff not to force me into foster care was easy. I had Beverly next door. She was like a grandma to me, and she backed me up. I made a promise I would graduate from high school and go to college if he would leave me be.
He was old, and he didn’t really care if I was alone, as long as it meant less paperwork for him.
The current sheriff would have never agreed.
My parents left me a sizable college fund, and there was no mortgage on the house. So, I got a job, graduated with an associate’s degree through an accelerated program, and worked hard to get a full ride scholarship to the University of Oklahoma.
For the last twelve years, I busted my ass to become the person I was. Someone who would be there for others who were alone. Someone who was there for them when no one else was.
That was why I approached Cash.
I wanted to be there for him. The way no one had been there for me. When my parents died, the town council helped with the funeral. And the residents in town made sure I didn’t go hungry. But no one taught me how to deal with grief.
No one had taught Beck, Rachel, and Ryder how to deal with their pain.
Shouts from behind me had me turning on my stool. Two more members of the MC had come to take Cash home, despite his protests. Gunner followed them as they carried Cash outside. I couldn’t help the frustration I felt at the way things had transpired.
Cash deserved more than to be treated like a child throwing a tantrum. He was an adult. If he chose to cope in unhealthy ways, that should be his choice.
You don’t really believe that.
No, I didn’t. Sometimes I wished I didn’t have to be an adult. For the past twelve years, I’d had to make every decision in my life.
I was tired.
“You ok over here?”
“Yea.” I gave Grace a small smile.
“You know, Cash may have been a bust, but Gunner’s been watching you since he walked back into the bar.” Grace wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled out.
I looked to the end of the bar where Gunner was sitting. His eyes locked on mine. He winked, and I felt my cheeks heat.
Immediately, I dropped my gaze, embarrassed by how much that simple wink affected me.
He hadn’t even smiled at me.
Grace leaned over the bar and whispered, “Take a chance, Haizley.”
Grace was right. What was the worst that could happen?
I nodded and took a deep, fortifying breath. Hoping to inhale a little of the confidence I witnessed in others around the bar.
Grabbing my drink, I left my spot at the bar and allowed my feet to carry me over to his. His eyes never left mine as he said something to the man next to him, who quickly left his seat, making an opening for me.
Leaning into Gunner as I climbed on the stool beside him, I inhaled the scent of leather and men’s cologne.
“Hi.” As soon as I uttered the word, his head turned, and he looked straight ahead.
“Hey.”
Ok, so this is going great.
“Thank you. For stepping in, I mean.”
“Cash wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“I know...”
“How?” He turned to look at me, his brows scrunched together.
“What?”
“How do you know he wouldn’t have hurt you?”
“He’s grieving. People lash out when they’re hurting, but they don’t suddenly change who they are.”
Gunner stood from his seat and leaned his side against the bar.
His eyes bored into mine with contempt.
“You knew he was grieving and still tried to hit on him?” he bit out, shaking his head. He straightened up and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, throwing a few bills on the bar.
My disbelief at what he was accusing me of had my eyes widening and my mouth hanging open.
“I wasn’t hitting on him.” My voice went up a few octaves.
Gunner crossed his arms over his very large chest, tilted his head at me with a frown, and asked, “Then what the fuck were you doing?”
I narrowed my eyes at the giant, foul-mouthed ogre in front of me. Hopping off my own stool, I crossed my arms over my chest and sneered.
“I was trying to help him.”
“By sucking his dick?”
My arms dropped to my side.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. No words came to mind as I stood there staring at the man.
“Nothing to say? At least you’re honest.”
He started to walk away, and I latched on to his arm. He didn’t get to accuse me of something like that and then simply walk away.
“I’m a therapist, not a whore!” I snarled.
I grabbed my drink and threw the rest in his face. Unfortunately, because he was a freaking giant, it only hit his neck and shoulders. Turning on my heel, I stalked out of the bar and ran to my car.
As soon as I closed my door, I hit the locks. My hands gripped tightly onto my steering wheel. I took a deep breath and held it for five beats, trying to slow my rapid heartbeat.
When the door to the bar opened and Gunner stepped out, his gaze searching the parking lot, I started the ignition. When his eyes locked on mine, I threw my car into drive and peeled out of the lot.
I was too angry to go home, so I drove out of town, turning the music up loud to drown out the sultry voice that was on repeat inside my head.
“You knew he was grieving and still tried to hit on him?”
“I wasn’t hitting on him.”
“Then what the fuck were you doing?”
“I was trying to help him.”
“By sucking his dick?”
My nose burned with tears I refused to let fall.
My reaction didn’t make sense.
I didn’t know Gunner. I shouldn’t care what he thought about me.
But rejection hurt.
Especially when it came from sexy bikers who spent their lives fucking anything with tits.