Epilogue
EPILOGUE
PUNK
A s I ride along on my hog, The Killers come on the radio. My fingers swiftly snap out to switch the station. Too many memories are tied to the group’s music, memories I’ve been trying to outrun for a long time. Used to love the band. Knew every song by heart. Now, I can hardly stand listening to them without a flood of emotion hitting me like a tidal wave in the chest, sending me crashing into depression.
Secret time: Even though I can’t listen to the music, I still have every song of theirs downloaded on my phone.
Every. Fucking. One.
We’re talking about music that released after my heart was ripped out. Never heard most of it. It’s too painful to listen to. Yet still, I downloaded it.
Why?
A part of me wants to say it’s because I plan on listening to it someday, but that’s a lie.
The truth?
It’s how I stay connected to her .
Every guy has that one girl, that one girl they never forget. She’s the one who has you in the palm of her hand. She could be the one who got away because you didn’t have the balls to ask her out. She could be the one who gave you a shot, but you epically screwed it. She could be the girl you met in passing on a trail who steals your breath with a single look.
Or maybe she’s the new girl. The girl next door. The girl you shared every single secret with in your darkest moments…
For some lucky bastards, you get to keep that girl. Marry her, raise a family, and grow old together.
Let’s face it—not all of us are lucky.
There are a few women in my life—past and present—who I love.
One—my mom. She was a wonderful woman who had too big of a heart for her own damn good. Sheila Cunningham was a queen among women, and braver than any man I’ve ever known. She lost my dad to a convoy ambush when I was still in her womb. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for her to grieve while birthing me. For nine years, I was the luckiest kid in the world till I wasn’t. There’s not a day I don’t miss her.
Two—Jo, the sister I should’ve had instead of the twat half-brother I got. Our relationship is one similar to siblings, confiding to each other on a level few can relate to. Jo knows me better than most, probably more than Chase. I’ve laid my life on the line for her, and I’ll do it again because she means that much to me. She’s my spa treatment, rom-com Sunday buddy.
Then there’s Mama Bear Holland, my other adoptive brat sister—Simone—and the rest of the Mercy Raven MC women. They all hold a special place in my heart, all of them wonderful in their own ways.
Loving a woman is easy. It’s falling out of love that’s difficult.
And there’s only been one girl—one woman—I fell for. She who I refuse to talk about.
I shake off the memories as I cruise on my hog, refusing to ride down Memory Lane. But her name dances on my tongue…
Nope. Not going to say it. My lips are sealed.
My fingers drum over the grip of my handlebar, my heart jackhammering as her precious face enters my mind .
Fuck. Fine.
Natalie Devoux.
My Nat.
The only woman I’ve given my heart to. All was good in our relationship until she took our love and flushed it.
She was my everything . And for a time, I was hers, too—at least I like to believe so. It’s too painful to think I may have meant nothing to her when she was my whole damn world.
There’s not an hour in the day when Nat doesn’t infiltrate my thoughts. She’s my personal cancer, slowly flooding my body until I’m consumed with grief.
It’s been four years since I last saw Nat, rubbing her hand over the swell of her baby-bump. Damn near tore out my heart to walk away from her, but if she wanted Chad, I wouldn’t get in-between them. No matter how it made me feel, her happiness came before mine.
Some old ass poet named Kahlil Gibran once said, “If you love someone, set them free; if they come back to you, it was meant to be.”
Fuck that poetic prophet and the horse he rode in on.
For years, I’ve hoped she’d come to her senses and seek me out. When that stupid thought floats into my head, I go out and find a hot, willing woman to sink my cock into. The release is only temporary before my mind floats back to Nat like the tide going back out to sea.
Unrequited love is life’s greatest torment. For me, it’s a living hell.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my chosen family. My biker brothers and the women they call their old ladies are the family I choose, but I can’t help thinking, What if?
What if I’d listened to Nat before leaving for overseas and took her to Vegas to get hitched? Would it have made a difference?
I had the goddamn ring on me. Why didn’t I get down on my knee before boarding my flight and ask Atlas to marry us?
Fuck! These what ifs always drive me insane. I put on a brave face for others. But it’s a chore. Every day I suffer in silence, watching my brothers getting married and raising families .
That could have been my life if I eloped with Nat.
But she’s Chad’s girl now. She gave Chad everything, not me.
Of all the losers she could’ve picked, she picked him. Asshole extraordinaire. My little brother.
Unbelievable.
Flustered, I shake my head as I ride, opening up the bike to speed away, hoping my feelings stay behind on the highway for once. I nearly forget I’m not riding solo. Chase—my best friend—speeds up to keep pace beside me. Brothers don’t let brothers ride alone. It’s an unwritten rule in our club.
Chase is a good dude, always has my back. He suggested we ride when he saw me getting antsy at headquarters. We’ve been digging into my step-father’s private life from the moment I swore I saw him at the Aspen flesh trade auction back in November. I know it was him I saw fleeing the scene of the crime—know it deep in my fucking bones. Yet the more we dig, the less we find. I was ready to yeet Chase’s computer monitor across his intel cave when he grabbed me by the back of my cut, pulling us outside to our bikes.
We cruise around the outskirts of Fort Collins for a while before rolling up to Mickey’s Pub. I’m not much of a day drinker, but fuck it. I need one strong beverage in my system to put on the happy routine before heading back to all the happy couples at headquarters.
Not that I need to pretend around Jo, but it doesn’t help when her husband, Atlas—the club president—is all over her. Their happiness always hits me the hardest. Seeing how openly affectionate they are together twists my insides. They’re like how Nat and I had been. Another memory I don’t need to dwell on.
“I’m going to break the seal,” Chase says when we enter the pub. “Order my usual, will you?”
“Sure thing,” I mutter as he heads for the restroom.
I’m not even bellied up to the bar before Mickey, the elderly owner, is in my face. “Thank God you’re here, man. Your visitor is attracting a lot of attention. I’ve had to throw three patrons out. They were getting too chummy with her, if you know what I mean. ”
What the fuck is Mickey talking about? “Say what?”
“The strawberry-blond knockout who’s been waiting for you for the past few hours.”
His comment has me reeling back. I purposely avoid strawberry-blonds. Hits too close to my feels. My immediate response is to get snarky—my typical defense.
“If you’re going to talk out of your ass, Mickey, at least turn around so I can hear you better.”
Mickey raises a gray, bushy eyebrow at me. “Be serious for once, Punk.”
“I am being serious. Don’t know what the hell you’re going on about, Mickey.”
The old man throws his towel down on the bar with a huff, disappointment etching his wrinkled skin. “She’s with a kid, for Christ’s sake—in a biker bar! You fuck someone you shouldn’t have, Punk? Didn’t take you as the type of man to run away from your problems.”
Now I’m seeing red. I’m as noble as they come. Accusing me of impregnating a hookup is a slap in the face. I’m a lot of things, but I’m no deserter. I wouldn’t remain with the woman romantically, but I would take care of my responsibilities if I created any.
It’s all crazy talk anyway. There’s no way I knocked up anyone. I glove up and pull out—double safe.
There’s only been one woman I never wore protection with.
And just like that, my mind is right back on Nat, adding to my building anger.
Pissed, I grab Mickey by the collar of his plaid shirt, practically dragging him over the bar. “The fuck you accuse me of, old man? Want to repeat that shit to my face?”
This isn’t me. I don’t manhandle old men without a damn good reason. But boy, am I livid.
“East!”
I freeze. All the sounds around me fade to white noise as her voice rings crystal clear in my ears.
No one calls me East —only her .
Naw. It can’t be.
Have I been thinking about her so much, I’m imagining her calling out to me?
“East,” she says again, her voice softer this time, more timid.
Well, shit. It’s finally happened. I’ve snapped. Reality and Delulu Land are one and the same. But her voice…it sounds too real to be imaginary.
With my heart in my throat, my head slowly turns to the source. When my gaze lands on her forest green eyes, I’m done.
Stunned, I release Mickey from my grasp. He hits the floor on his face with a hard thump .
“Punk, you damn punk!”
Aw, shit. I swiftly bend to help the old bartender to his feet. “Sorry, Mickey,” I mumble, my eyes not swaying away from Nat. Still as pretty as the day I last laid eyes on her.
She’s here. She’s really here. My girl came back to me.
My feet are moving forward before I halt to a stop.
A little boy with mop-top blond curls peeks up at me from behind her thin jean-clad legs. His mother’s eyes stare back at me in his cherub face, beseechingly.
Nat has returned, bringing more than I could’ve bargained for.