Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aero
The ride back is a blur of asphalt and noise.
Tires on pavement, wind in my ears, the occasional grunt over comms. No one talks much.
Not after a night like tonight. We did what we came to do, but it doesn’t feel like a win.
Not when the rage is still there, grinding behind my ribs.
Not when I’ve got this void in my chest where she used to be.
We roll into the clubhouse near dawn. The sky’s that ugly gray tint, like the world can’t decide whether to light up or fade out. I kill the engine, swing my leg off the bike, and head inside without a word.
Dog trails behind me, his paws silent on the concrete, ears drooped low.
Even he’s off. He has been ever since Lacey left, just like I have.
He used to curl up at her feet, but now he doesn’t settle anywhere for long.
I don’t blame him. It’s hard to sleep when the only thing bringing you peace is gone.
I bypass the others, heading straight to the bar. I twist the cap off a half-dead bottle of Jack and take a long pull. No glass. No pacing myself. Just whiskey. The burn numbs the edges just enough.
Footsteps approach behind me but I don’t look to see who it is.
“Starting already?” Surge asks, his voice low and flat.
“Never stopped,” I mutter.
He leans on the wall across from me, his arms crossed like he’s been waiting for this moment. “You gonna keep drinking, or you wanna throw a few punches?”
I take another swig. “What’s your fucking problem?”
“My problem?” He laughs, but it’s got no humor. “My problem is watching my Prez self-destruct in slow motion because he’s too fucking stubborn to admit he’s not bulletproof.”
I slam the bottle on the bar. “You got something to say, say it.”
“I already did.” Surge pushes off the wall, steps in. “You sent her away like it was the only play. Like she was some weak link. You didn’t trust us. You didn’t even trust yourself.”
“I trusted myself to keep her alive.”
“No,” he snaps. “You trusted yourself to ruin her if she stayed.”
That hits bone-deep.
“You don’t get it,” I growl, stepping toward him, my fists balling at my sides. “I know what kind of men are out there. I know what they’d do to her if they ever got the chance. I’ve seen it. Hell, I’ve done it.”
Surge doesn’t back down. Not an inch. “Then trust your fucking club to stop it. Trust me. Trust all of us. We bled for this club and we’d bleed for her, just like you would for any of us.”
The tension snaps taut. My breathing is ragged. I’m two seconds from throwing a fist just to let something out.
“I’m not gonna swing on you,” Surge says, his voice lowering. “Not because you’re my Prez. Because you’re my brother and I know you’re hurting.”
The silence thickens between us. Grizzly shifts near the hallway but doesn’t speak. The rest keep back. Letting it play out.
“If you want guarantees,” Surge adds, “you’re in the wrong line of work. We don’t get those. None of us. Not when we live like this.”
I stare past him. The wood grain of the bar. A crack in the floor. Anything but his face.
“She’s not safe, Surge. Not with me.”
“No,” he says. “She’s not safe without you.”
I close my eyes. That ache is still there. Deeper than bone. Thicker than blood.
“You sent her away,” he says, “but you can’t let her go. And she damn sure didn’t let go of you.”
I say nothing.
He steps back, giving me space. “So if you’re done pretending the bottle’s gonna fix it, maybe get your head out of your ass and go get your girl.”
Then he leaves me there. Alone. With the burn of whiskey and the truth ringing in my ears. Dog lets out a low whine and curls up near the bar, watching me like he’s waiting for me to finally do something right.
I slam a fist into the wall. The drywall caves around my knuckles. Pain blooms up my arm like punishment. The rage is endless. I’m downright ruined without her. Instead of holding her, I’m holding a bottle of Jack and drinking myself senseless.
Hours bleed by. The world narrows to the feel of the bottle against my lips, the sting in my busted hand, Dog’s quiet breathing, and the ghost of her lingering through the clubhouse that’s still too full of her to feel empty.
I drift from the bar to the hallway like a shadow of myself, whiskey soaking through my veins until I can’t feel the weight of her absence.
I lose time. Lose sense. I pace. I drink. I sit and stare at the floor like the answers might carve themselves into the boards. Dog follows me halfway down the hall before giving up, letting out a quiet huff and curling back onto the floor. Smart bastard knows I’m not worth chasing right now.
Somewhere in the haze, I hear her soft laugh. That low, husky kind of laugh she only let out when I said something that pissed her off but made her smile anyway. The sound curls through the hallway like smoke, like she’s waiting for me in her room.
I turn toward her door. I see her for a second, just a glimpse, sitting on the edge of the bed, hair loose, one leg crossed under the other, wearing nothing but my shirt.
"You gonna brood all night, or you gonna come take what's yours?" she asks, smirking.
My heart lurches. But the room’s empty when I step through the door.
The bottle’s in my hand. Half-empty. Then gone. Her scent is still in the air. It’s on the sheets, in the clothes crumpled on the floor. I lower myself onto the bed like a man crawling into a grave, the fabric warm from memory and stained with the past. Her voice echoes in my skull.
"You don’t always have to fix everything. Just hold me."
I try. God do I try. I press my face to her pillow but she’s not here.
And the worst part is, I’m the reason why.
Then everything fades. Darkness takes me. And I let it.
I come to slowly. My skull feels like it’s splitting down the middle.
It’s thudding with every heartbeat, like someone’s taking a hammer to the inside of my head.
My mouth’s dry, my tongue thick and sour.
I don’t even remember lying down. I can’t even say for sure how long I’ve been here.
I close my eyes to hide from the emotions warring within me.
The sheets are twisted around my legs, her scent still clinging to the fabric. It punches straight through me.
I roll over, groaning, one arm dangling off the side of the bed. The afternoon sunlight cuts through the blinds, harsh and judgmental. My body feels like it’s been dragged behind a bike for miles.
Her clothes are still on the floor. One of her bras half-buried beneath a shirt I must have dropped when I threw her stuff in a bag. Her boots are still in the corner like she might come back for them. She didn’t really leave. Just enough to break us both.
The whiskey’s a rock in my gut. My limbs ache with something beyond fatigue. This is soul-rot. Slow. Suffocating.
I push myself up, my legs shaky, my palms bracing on the mattress. Guilt thickens in my throat. This room is full of ghosts and I’m the one who put them here.
I stumble into the bathroom and grab the counter with both hands, leaning in.
The man in the mirror looks like shit. Hollowed-out eyes.
Bruises darkening under them. My jaw is thick with wild, unkempt stubble.
My cut is still on, but twisted off one shoulder like I don’t deserve to wear it.
I look like a man who lost everything and still won’t admit it.
Maybe Surge was right. Maybe they all were.
I have to get my shit together before I lose everything that means something to me.
I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face. It doesn’t help much. I grab the towel off the hook and drag it down my face. Her scent hits me again, her soap clinging to the terry cloth like a whisper against my skin.
Fuck.
I drop the towel and as I bend to pick it up, something catches my eye. A glint of blue and white in the small wastebasket beside the toilet. Something out of place in a bin full of tissues and cotton swabs.
My gut clenches. My heart stops. Is that what I think it is?
I crouch lower, reaching in with fingers that don’t feel steady anymore. I flip it over in my hand.
Two pink lines stare back at me.
My knees weaken like the floor dropped out from under me. My mouth goes dry again, but this time it’s not from the hangover.
The reality of it slams into me harder than any bullet ever has. My stomach hollows out. My heart hammers so loud I barely hear over it.
She’s pregnant and didn’t tell me. Had she tried or did I not give her the chance?
I told myself I was doing the right thing. That I was protecting her, sparing her from the war I carry on my shoulders. But I left her to carry this alone.
I stagger back, bracing myself against the sink. My heart’s slamming into my ribs. My brain’s spinning too fast to catch a thought. There’s a ringing in my ears like the universe itself is screaming at me.
What the fuck am I doing? She’s having my kid and this is who I choose to become? A hungover and half-alive bastard.
I grip the sink like it’s all that’s holding me up. My vision swims. My chest cracks open but I’m holding the proof of everything I refuse to face. Lacey is mine. This kid is mine and I’ve fucked it all up.
I storm through the clubhouse, my boots thudding like hammers on the floor, the pregnancy test clenched in my fist like a loaded weapon. Every step stokes the fire burning in my gut. My head’s splitting open. All I see are those two pink lines.
I sent her away without even a goodbye. I told her I didn’t love her. God I’m such an idiot. No wonder she didn’t tell me.
But someone knew.
I round the corner into the common room like a wrecking ball. Emery’s there sitting cross-legged on the couch, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. Calm. Like the world isn’t fucking spiraling out of control.
I stalk across the room stopping so close to her she has to cram her neck to look up at me.
“Did you know?” I bark, my voice low and cold.
“Know what?” She sets the coffee and the phone aside, standing up in front of me, though still coming up short to meet my penetrating eyes.
I hold the test out between us. She barely blinks.
“Who do you think gave her the test?” She quirks like that thought should have occurred to me.
My jaw tightens. “You should have told me.”
“I promised Lacey I wouldn’t.”
“Not only am I the father, I’m the damn president of this club. I had a right to know. You had an obligation to tell me.”
“Respect’s not a title, Aero. It’s earned,” she fires back. “And you’ve been burning yours to the ground one bottle at a time.”
My fingers curl tight around the test.
Emery pushes closer, making me take a step back.
“You think this is just about you? Lacey cries into my phone every night. I’m too far to hold her hand.
Too far to wipe her tears. Because you sent her away.
How stupid can you be, Prez? You’re not just breaking yourself. You’re breaking her. And this club.”
Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose heat. “We’re a family, Aero. All of us and that includes Lacey and this baby.” Her eyes drop to the test still clenched in my fist. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
I stand frozen, every muscle in my body locked. My fists clenched so tightly they ache. Then something breaks open in me. I step forward and pull Emery into a hug. Tight, rough, like I’m grounding myself in her honesty.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For saying what no one else would.”
“Someone had to.” She hugs back.
I step back. My world is shaken but it’s never been more clear. I’ve never felt this alive.
“I’m going to get her,” I say. “I’m bringing Lacey home.”
As I turn to leave, Surge’s voice cuts from behind me.
“I’ve been telling him the same damn thing for days.”
Emery snorts. “Guess I’m the Aero-whisperer.”
For the first time in days, my mouth twitches into the start of a real smile. It doesn’t fix everything but it’s something.
Dog falls into step beside me, his tail wagging like he already knows what this means.
I’ve got a woman to bring home. And a hell of a lot to make right.