Chapter Seven #2
The thought settles like a stone in my chest as I watch Valkyrie. She loves him. Anyone can see it. But every time she looks at that little boy, her face cracks, something delicate and haunted flickering through. I’m pretty sure it’s because Manic had a child with someone else.
That kind of thing carves deep scars in a woman’s heart. Knowing someone else gave the man you love something you never could.
I don’t know every twist in their story.
Club drama is like a soap opera penned by emotionally stunted outlaws.
But I know enough. Valkyrie was infatuated with Manic.
Then, in true spectacular idiot fashion, the entire club managed to break both her and Birdie in one epic emotional disaster.
Pope sort of cheated, but also didn’t. Manic was with someone else, but apparently that doesn’t count because of technicalities and whatever brand of male logic excuses their chaos.
I don’t know. It’s a knotted mess, and if I dwell on what Birdie and Valkyrie have endured, my chest tightens with that heavy, suffocating ache. All I know is, regret runs deep in this club.
It’s wild when you really think about it. Anyone who’s seen Pope with Birdie would never guess he could hurt her like that. He looks at her like she’s air, like she’s the force holding him together, like she’s the axis his world spins on. I’ve never witnessed anything like it.
My dad loved my mom a ridiculous amount. Like ridiculous amount. But it was them and it was beautiful. That kind of love used to live in my head like a soft, glowing future I assumed I’d have someday.
Then Damon…stupid, abusive Damon…came along and smashed that fantasy into tiny, emotionally scarring pieces.
Now, I’m perfectly content loving someone the way Pope loves Birdie. The way Dad loved Mom. But letting someone love me like that? Oh, boy. That’s terrifying.
Scarier than walking through a pitch-black cornfield and hearing someone whisper your name even though you’re absolutely alone.
So you start running, because obviously you start running, and then you trip over your own feet like a tragic horror movie extra.
And you swear you hear something chasing you.
Branches are snapping, footsteps are pounding.
Your lungs burn, your heart tries to escape your ribcage.
But you can’t get up fast enough, and they’re getting closer.
So, you tell yourself that this is it. This is how you die.
In a corn field, all alone, hearing things that aren’t there, and you can’t even remember if you’ve changed into clean underwear that morning or not.
Yeah, it’s scarier than that.
Probably. I mean, I’ve never actually been stalked by cornfield demons, but it sounds utterly petrifying.
Hard pass, thank you.
Birdie turns to smile at me when I slide against the wall beside her. “Hey.”
“Hi. Figured you could use a hand holding up this extremely important wall.”
She laughs, and the sound is a rare treat these days.
People say she used to laugh all the time, before Pope shattered her heart, and life turned into an emotional wasteland.
Then came the no-good-son-of-a-bitch husband situation.
Tomcat’s description, not mine, but from what I’ve gathered, the man absolutely deserved whatever creative hell karma served him.
“I appreciate the company,” she says.
Her eyes wander back to her twins, a gentle warmth lighting her face before a hush of vulnerability slips in.
“Sometimes it’s still a struggle to find my place again.” Her hand drops, instinctively cradling the swell of her belly. “I’d never admit that to Pope.” She lets out a shaky laugh. “He’d either try to wrestle my thoughts into submission or haul us all out of town at the first sign of trouble.”
I snort softly. Sounds accurate.
Birdie lets the silence linger, then continues, her voice softer.
“Things are good. We got married. He finally claimed me his ol’ lady.
I made peace with an old friend.” She hesitates, almost as if testing the next words.
“But some days, I still feel… adrift, maybe? Like I’m just holding my breath, waiting for the next storm. ”
“If there’s anything I’ve learned,” I say quietly, my voice slipping into rare, unfamiliar seriousness, “It’s that you can’t live bracing for disaster.”
Hypocrite, Marigold.
I brush the thought away.
“If you do,” I continue, “you miss everything happening right in front of you.”
Birdie studies me, thoughtful.
After a pause, I ask, “Want to know what I’ve learned from watching you and Pope together?”
She smiles faintly. “Yes, please. Give me an outside perspective.”
“That man worships the ground you walk on. If you told him to get down in front of his club brothers and kiss your feet, his big ass would rattle the floor trying to drop fast enough.”
She bursts into laughter.
“I’d say he learned from his mistake, but he’s a man, so we both know listening isn’t exactly their strongest skill set.
” Birdie laughs again, shaking her head, and my eyes drift back to the twins.
“To be fair, I think Pope understands something most people don’t.
He knows whatever he thought he was gaining back then was never worth risking what he lost.”
“Yeah,” Birdie replies quietly.
I can see in her eyes that she gets it. She’s safe here. This place is hers. As long as that man draws breath, nothing will ever be allowed to threaten her again.
The mood lifts as we settle comfortably into our own little world, but soon the chapel doors burst open and a tide of people floods back in.
Birdie grins suddenly. “Oh my god, you’ll love this.
” My attention snaps back to her instantly.
“The other day I was in the laundry room folding clothes and listening to the kids in the living room,” she begins, already laughing, “and Lovelyn was saying that little rhyming thing…step on a crack, break your mama’s back.
You know what I’m talking about?” I nod with a smile, and she continues on.
“And then, Legend, I swear that boy is going to give me gray hair. Legend, out of the blue, starts to say, step on a stick and break your daddy’s dick.
But I yelled his name right before he got the last word out. ”
I choke on a laugh. “No.”
“Yes,” she cackles. “At first I thought maybe I misheard, but Lovelyn was giggling like a tiny menace, and Legend had this huge shit-eating grin that told me I absolutely did hear it right. So, I ask him where he learned that.” She pauses dramatically.
“Cyanide and Pope walk in about that time, and Legend points at his uncle. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother pale so fast,” she finishes with a huge smile.
Laughter slips out, but then I feel the weight of a stare, hot and achingly familiar. It slides over my skin like a touch I’ve known forever. My breath falters, nerves sparking before thought can catch up.
My gaze collides with his, locking for a single, electric heartbeat. There it is. That fucking look. That molten, possessive heat simmering in Tomcat’s eyes, barely leashed. Hunger flares in my stomach, a dizzy rush racing down my spine.
My knees threaten to buckle. Damn, that look undoes me every time.
A wild, reckless thrill unfurls in my chest, my body responding with humiliating enthusiasm. My muscles tense, pulse spiking, every instinct screaming to run to him and climb him like the beautifully lethal jungle gym he is.
I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.
Actually, I’m extremely confident he’d enjoy me taking a spin on his stripper pole.
Quite a lot.
Crap.
Nope.
Abort.
Those are not friendship thoughts. Those are very clear, Yes, Sir, thoughts, and we absolutely are not doing that right now.
I picture my brain as a windshield and my thoughts as the mess. Then I engage my mental wipers.
Swish. Swish.
Erased.
Friendship mask, engaged.
Boo.
A slow smile tugs at my lips as I give him a lazy finger-wiggle wave before turning back to Birdie.
Sort of.
Because honestly, it would be downright irresponsible not to keep him under at least a little visual surveillance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tomcat shifting, his body turning my way. The motion sends a wicked jolt of electricity through my chest.
He’s coming over here.
Ohh, this is promising.
Except Blackjack steps directly into his path, and in his hand is Sooty McSnuggleface.
Oh.
My.
Goddess.
Every nerve in my body sparks to life, a riot of fireworks exploding across my skin like New Year's Eve gone wild.
If I let myself clap with delight right now, I’d give everything away, wouldn’t I?
Yes. Yes, I would.
Pretending I’m not utterly obsessed with the scene unfolding across the room is so much harder than I thought. Even Birdie seems to sense it; her words fade mid-sentence.
Tomcat laughs when Blackjack hands him the plushie.
My brows furrow. That laugh is off-kilter, just enough to jab a needle of worry straight through my chest.
Is he embarrassed?
Birdie’s voice snaps my attention back, but I can still feel the searing weight of Tomcat’s gaze dragging across me again.
I refuse to look this time.
Don’t be suspicious.
Don’t be suspicious.
“Oh, he’s opening the note,” Birdie murmurs. “I think this is the most exciting thing to happen around here lately. Who do you think it’s from?”
I bite my tongue to keep from blurting out the truth. I know every word on that note by heart. I labored over each line, drew a tiny heart at the end so he’d never forget how deeply, how tragically adored he is.
“Look at his face,” Birdie whispers. “I think he might actually like it.”
My eyes fly to him. Could she actually be right?
I’ve spent years memorizing this man. Every micro-expression, every flicker of tension, every tiny shift in his posture. That blank, unimpressed mask he wears so perfectly?
Yeah, I see right through it. He likes it. He fucking loves it.