23. Posie
CHAPTER 23
Posie
L ast night had been the distraction I needed for what was to come. However, it had also become a dangerous intrusion into my thoughts as I drove to Boston to confront some demons.
After collecting my car from the club, I went home to shower, change, and spend breakfast with Bentley and Amy. Before I left again, I promised Amy I’d be home by early evening.
I hadn’t been in Boston since I ran away. I wasn’t willing to risk taking Bentley to the same city where his father is more than likely still living. It saddens me that I can’t yet bring him to his grandparents’ graves.
I’ve told him a lot about them, but I’ll never be able to bring him to this place. It’ll never be safe. It’s a gamble even for me to come, but I had to pay my respects to them on their anniversary. Six years has been too long.
I keep to the outskirts of Boston on my way to the cemetery, and it brings back so many memories. I’ve come a long way from the lost girl looking for validation. I had Bentley, became a mother, and found purpose beyond myself. I never understood the sacrifices my parents made until I became a parent myself, and even then, it didn’t feel like a sacrifice, just a change.
I take a moment to center myself as I get out of my car. Moving between the headstones, I carry a bouquet of lilacs because they were my mother’s favorite. I come to a stop at their graves and let out a shaky breath.
It feels strange being here after all this time. It’s been eight years now since their boating accident. It was only because I was adamant about staying at a friend’s house that night for a sleepover that I wasn’t with them.
For months after I got the news of their deaths, I found myself wishing I’d been with them. I’d never have experienced that gut-wrenching feeling of losing everything all at once. Of not knowing left from right or regretting all the stupid fights or horrible things I called them.
I was a spoiled brat.
I guess it’s why I was so susceptible to Bobbi’s influence shortly after their funeral. I’d made mistakes in my grieving but snapped out of it quick smart for Bentley’s sake.
I smile sadly, thinking about that as I crouch to put the flowers down. They’d always told me I had a fiery temper but a heart of gold. And they constantly lectured me about the fights I’d get into at school if someone was disrespectful to my friends.
I’d forgotten all those things about myself as if they’d happened in another life. It’s only recently that the temperamental bratty part of me has come to the surface again, and I blame that on a certain asshole who intentionally draws it out of me to wind me up.
My mind immediately flashes to last night—his hands on me, his lips on mine. I try to push the thought away as I sit down and prepare to update my parents on the last six years.
“He’s five now. Can you believe that?” I tell them. So much of me wishes they were here to spend time with him, to play with him, and to have Sunday meals with him. I wish my father could teach him things like fishing and my mother could spoil him with sweets.
I wrap my arms around myself. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m as good a parent as they were. I can’t help but feel like I’m failing at times. I can’t fill every role Bentley needs in his life. But I still try to be all of those things for him. I’m a good mother, but what if one day I can’t answer his questions or guide him in the best way possible?
I sigh. My parents made parenting look so easy.
“You were right about one thing,” I say. “Paying bills sucks.” I laugh sadly, remembering our last argument a week before the accident. I’d announced I was going to move out and live my life the way I wanted to. I didn’t realize in a few weeks I’d be doing exactly that… without them being there as a safety net.
I stayed with my aunt for a few weeks after my parents died, but she and I never got along, and soon, I fell into the wrong crowd with the Boston Delinquents. She practically disowned me when she found out, and I became a part of their family instead. My aunt passed away from cancer when I was eighteen, and I was too caught up in my own business that I didn’t so much as visit her when she was sick.
I’d been selfish.
I’d been grieving.
But eventually, I found myself.
And I make sure not to hold any of those things too deeply. Because I know too well how crippling the weight of grief and regret can be, so, it doesn’t serve Bentley or me to be living in the past when all I have to do is look forward to our future.
“I can’t believe you actually came,” a voice says behind me.
I furrow my brow, turning around as I stand. I don’t recognize the man. I do, however, recognize the leathers and patches he’s wearing. I immediately start scanning the cemetery, making sure he’s the only one here.
“Oh, he’s not here. But he told me to hang out here for the day in case you showed up. And you did,” he says smugly.
“What are you, Bobbi’s lackey or something?” I ask snidely.
Fuck .
This is not good.
I didn’t want to run into anyone here, but I didn’t think he’d actually remember what today meant to me. When I found out I was pregnant with Bentley, he threw cash at me and told me to get rid of it, and I never saw him again. It’s been six years since then. I thought enough time had passed that he would’ve moved on.
The error was in my own sentiment: I needed to come back. Digging into the past never brought anything good.
“I’m not his lackey!” he shouts, offended. “I’m one of his really good friends.” This guy looks like he’s barely twenty.
I scoff. “Bobbi doesn’t have good friends. He has people who he uses and takes advantage of.”
“What was that, bitch?” he says, squaring up.
Fuck, this is bad.
I don’t carry guns with me, and I can’t hide behind the bat that’s stationed beside my door at home.
I’m not scared of men, but I know when standing alone in a graveyard with one who’s double my size and potentially on something, I’m not going to win that fight. Not without my bat, anyway.
My fiery temperament aside, I don’t take chances of never returning to my son.
So I make the split-second decision to run to my car.
“Hey! Get back here!” he yells.
I run as fast as my legs will take me. I pass through the metal gate, grabbing my keys from my pocket. As I round the big oak tree, I run into someone in leathers.
My heart pounds from fear and the exertion of running. I shove at them as they try to grab me. Terror grips me like a vise, and I punch them in the face, the key scratching them across the cheek as I shove them off. They grab me again, and I thrash in their arms until a familiar voice cuts through the haze of panic.
“Posie.” Dutton shakes me, and I stare at him wide-eyed, and terrified.
He looks over my shoulder as the man comes around the corner, and he immediately shoves me behind him.
“Who the fuck are?—”
Dutton’s so fast that I take another step back, tripping over the roots of the tree and falling on my ass as I watch in horror.
Dutton punches the man, causing him to fall to the ground, and within seconds, Dutton is on him, laying into him so the man can’t even get back up. There’s no fight from the man when Dutton’s pure, unleashed rage overpowers him.
Blood spatters as Dutton hits him again and again. It takes me a while to stand on shaky legs, and I am completely surprised by the last few minutes. The shock of the situation begins to lessen, and I find my fire once again.
“Dutton! You’re going to kill him!” I lean against the tree. “Dutton!” I yell. Not because I care about the other guy—I’ve seen a handful of men killed—but because of the repercussions it might have on Dutton.
I understand he has connections, but the motorcycle club is savage, and no matter the reason, they will defend their own, especially if an outsider kills one.
Dutton kicks the guy’s face in. The guy chokes on blood, barely conscious.
“Dutton!” I scream, picking up a rock and throwing it at his back. He turns then as if noticing me for the first time since his rage took over. His hair is a mess, and his eyes shine so brightly in the day that they’re a vivid, icy blue.
He blinks once and then twice. He glances down at the man who’s barely moving and then takes two long strides toward me. One hand cups my cheek, and his other hand rests on my hip. “Did he hurt you?”
I’m shocked by the concern in his voice. It’s so different from his usually controlled and clipped tone. I’m shaking my head before I can speak.
“No, he didn’t touch me.”
“Good. Get in your car and drive back to Manhattan. I’ll clean up here.” He goes to pull away from me, but I grab his hand.
“No, you can’t kill him. You don’t understand the repercussions.”
“Oh, I understand the repercussions,” he says savagely. “I’m going to make an example out of him.”
“Please, Dutton.” I bring his hand back to cup my cheek as if that might be the only way to stop him. To anchor him. I’m not one to beg; the adrenaline is running so high right now that I don’t even know what I’m doing or saying. All I know is we must leave in case someone else is watching. “Please. Leave this as it is.”
“What are you even doing here?” he whispers accusingly. I flinch at his tone and take a step back. Then I really look at him for the first time since he miraculously arrived. He’s wearing leathers. When I glance at my car, I notice a motorcycle that might be his parked behind it.
“Did you follow me here?” I ask.
“Yes. And had I not, who knows what might’ve happened,” he all but growls. He’s bleeding across the cheek from where my keys cut him.
“What the fuck?” I shove him back. “Are you out of your fucking mind? How did you even know I was here?”
His expression darkens, and I can sense his ice wall erecting between us once more, pissing me off. All the fear, adrenaline, and emotional shock of the day spills over. I shove him. “Are you fucking kidding me?! You don’t want to answer me when you stalked me all the way here?” I shove him again, and he barely budges.
“You should be thanking me,” he grits out.
I scoff. “Thank you? For tracking me? How are you any different from the asshole on the ground over there?”
“First of all, I’m not on the ground with a broken face,” he says pointedly.
Smack . His head swings to the left as I slap him across the face. He grinds his jaw, and I’m sure he most likely could’ve stopped me. “Oh, you’ll release that temper on me, Mostriciattola , but not the asshole you were just so fearfully running away from?”
“Stop calling me that!” I growl. I don’t know what mostriciattola means, but whatever it is, I don’t like the way he can use it on me while we’re fucking and when I’m losing my shit at him.
“What are you scared of? Or who are you so scared of?” he asks pointedly.
I turn to walk away, but he grabs my wrist. “Let go of me,” I grit out with so much rage that I’m unsure what I might do if he doesn’t. As if sensing my anger, he lets go of my wrist.
“We’re not done here,” he says, but I’m already striding quickly toward the car.
“I swear to God, if you kill that man, I’m quitting right now. I mean it,” I tell him over my shoulder. Because if Dutton does kill him, the motorcycle club will hunt him down by any means necessary. And I refuse to draw close attention to my place of work or myself because that would lead them to Bentley.
It was a mistake coming here today.
I get into my car, slam the door, and scream as I pound the steering wheel.
I thought six years would’ve been enough to escape Bobbi’s reach, but I feel no less trapped now, knowing he’s still looming over me in some way. I’d become too comfortable, and letting my emotions bring me back here was a mistake. And I hate Bobbi for having this power over me when there’s nothing I can fucking do about his influence in these parts.
All I can do is run again and make sure to keep my son safe.
No matter the cost.
I take a breath and push my hair back, trying my hardest to rein in the trapped fire that’s spilling out from my seams. I start the engine. I hate Dutton for tracking me, but a small part of me is glad he was here. I’m mortified to know he saw that fearful expression on my face as my demons caught up to me.
But I’m not going to stay to confront them.
No, there are some things that are best left in the past.
And I’ll face the new ice monster when I get home because that motherfucker has a lot of explaining to do.