9. Shadows of Doubt
Chapter 9
Shadows of Doubt
Liam
T he empty beer bottle dangles between my fingers as I stare out the shop window. Beyond the grease-stained glass, the setting sun bleeds across the sky in shades of purple and orange, painting Beaver in haunting hues that match my mood. The garage is silent except for the occasional ping of cooling engines and my own troubled thoughts.
I can still taste her on my lips. How willing she was to kiss me back.
Fuck .
The kiss replays in my mind for the hundredth time today—the softness of her mouth, the way she melted against me, the salt of her tears on my tongue. For one perfect moment, we were transported to the past, young and desperate and in love.
But that’s not us anymore. We’re both scarred now, carrying the weight of choices made and paths not taken. She needs time to heal, to find herself again after everything Charlie put her through. As much as I hate it. I understand. The last thing she needs is me complicating things by letting my feelings run wild. By pushing her too hard.
Telling her I still loved her a few weeks away was probably already too much. She’s not ready for that. Moving forward, I have to do better at keeping my feelings in check. I need to put her first. My wounded heart can wait.
I take another pull from my beer, grimacing when I find it empty. The familiar scents of oil and metal surround me, usually comforting but now just another reminder of all the ways I failed her. I chose this—the shop, the responsibility of providing for my brothers—over her. Told myself I was doing the right thing by encouraging her to marry Charlie instead.
Some ‘right thing’ that turned out to be .
The scarring on her ribs flashes through my mind, followed by the haunted look in her eyes when she talked about the baseball bat. My fingers tighten around the bottle until my knuckles whiten. She’s got way too many scars. How many are invisible? The urge to hunt Charlie down and make him suffer rises like bile in my throat.
But more violence won’t undo the past thirteen years. Won’t erase the scars or heal her trauma or give back the time I should have spent being a father to Cameron.
The thought of being a father still feels foreign. I’d reconciled years ago that a family of my own likely wasn’t in the cards for me. You don’t find a love like Hannah twice. I’d come to terms with the idea of not fathering my own kids. Of growing old alone and enjoying whatever nieces or nephews my brothers gave me.
And now… I have a son. A twelve-year-old son who’s seen more harm and hate in this world than any one person should ever see. Who may or may not let me be a part of his life. But I’m not going to give up. No matter what happens between Hannah and me, I want a relationship with him.
The sound of boots on concrete pulls me from my spiral. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Warren. I’d recognize that measured stride anywhere. His reflection appears in the window moments later, beer in hand and concern etched across his features.
“What’s up?” he asks, leaning against the workbench beside me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. In a way, I have. The ghost of the man I used to be, young and stupid and convinced I knew what was best for everyone. “Just... thinking.”
“Ah.” Warren takes a slow sip of his beer. “Hannah again?”
“Always Hannah.” The admission comes easier than expected. Maybe because Warren understands better than most what it’s like to carry regret. To wish you could go back and make different choices. “I can’t shake this feeling that she’s nowhere near done with Charlie. A divorce is not going to make him go away.”
The words taste bitter on my tongue. Charlie may be in jail now, but he won’t stay there forever. Knowing his family connections, they’ll find a way to get him out early. And when he gets out... I’ve seen the hatred in his eyes, the way he looked at Hannah in court. He’ll come for her again. Try to hurt her, to control her.
Over my dead body .
Warren studies me with that too-perceptive gaze of his. “You know that brooding doesn’t help, right? If you want to be there for her, just do it. But you can’t take all her burdens on your shoulders. She has to want it too.”
“Yeah, but...” I push away from the window, restless energy coursing through me. “This is different. She’s been through hell, War. You didn’t see—” I break off, the memory of her showing me her scars still raw. “The day’s coming when he’ll be released. I can’t sit back and do nothing.”
“Then make sure she knows you’re serious,” Warren says simply. “Be there for her. Be consistent. Be the rock she needs. This won’t be easy, especially when the past pops up.” He lifts his beer in a mock toast. “Just be prepared for whatever comes.”
The truth in his words mirror what I already told Hannah. But I’ve got to be more than words. I need to show her everyday that I’m not going to push her away or abandon her. I won’t make that mistake again.
“You’re right,” I admit.
Warren’s mouth quirks up. “I’m always right.” He drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle aside. “Now come on, you need to get out of this shop before you wear a hole in the floor with all your pacing. When’s the last time you actually relaxed?”
I have to think about it. Between running the shop, worrying about Hannah, and trying to figure out how to be a father to Cam, relaxation hasn’t exactly been a priority. “I don’t know. Before—”
“Before Hannah went into protective custody.” Warren finishes for me. When I don’t deny it, he continues. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Mac and Ash are over at Posey’s. Let’s go get a beer, play some pool. Get out of your head for a while.”
Part of me wants to refuse. To stay here surrounded by the comforting familiarity of engines and tools, where I can pretend to be productive while actually just brooding. But Warren’s right. I need a break from my own thoughts.
“Fine.” I concede. “One beer.”
Warren grins. “That’s what you always say.”
I grab my keys and jacket, following him out into the cooling evening air. The sun has almost completely set now, leaving streaks of deep purple across the horizon like bruises. A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature.
She’s safe . I remind myself firmly. Charlie’s in jail. Edge made sure her house is secure. She has people watching out for her now .
But the nagging worry remains as we walk to my truck.
Warren claps me on the shoulder. “Stop thinking so hard. One night off from being everyone’s protector won’t kill you.”
No , I think as I open the truck door, but it might kill someone else .
I’ll never forgive myself if Charlie hurts her again and I’m not there to stop it.
The familiar neon sign casts a red glow over the cracked sidewalk, and even from outside I can hear the muted thump of music and the crack of pool balls.
Thoughts of Hannah follow me inside like a shadow, refusing to let go even as Warren steers me toward the pool tables where Mac and Ash are locked in what appears to be an intense game. But maybe, just for tonight, I can stop thinking. Pretend I’m just a guy having a beer with his brothers, without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Maybe tonight I can just... breathe.
The familiar smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke wraps around me as we weave through the scattered tables. Country music plays from the ancient jukebox in the corner, barely audible over the murmur of conversation and occasional burst of laughter. It’s a slower night than usual—mostly regulars nursing their drinks and a handful of people gathered around the pool tables.
I pass Tanner Koch sitting at a table with someone he went to high school with. He nods as I pass. I nod back. A few months ago, our responses to each other would have been very different. Our greetings would have included name calling like “asshole” or “piece of shit.”
But now—thanks to Christian’s relationship with Amelia Koch—things between the Mutters and the Kochs are more cordial. We’re not friends, but we tolerate each other now.
We may have agreed to put that damn feud aside for the benefit of Christian, Amelia, and their newborn baby girl, but that doesn’t mean we’ve all forgotten generations of fighting.
Mac spots us first, his face lighting up with that infectious grin of his. “Well, look who finally crawled out of his cave! Warren, how’d you manage to drag him away from the shop?”
“Persistence and superior reasoning skills,” Warren deadpans, flagging down the waitress for beers.
Ash lines up his shot, tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration. “More like he wore him down through sheer stubbornness.” The cue ball clicks against the eight, sending it smoothly into the corner pocket. “Ha! Pay up, little brother.”
Mac grumbles good-naturedly as he digs out his wallet. “Best two out of three?”
“You’re on.” Ash starts racking the balls, then glances at me. “You want in on this, old man?”
The familiar banter helps ease some of the tension from my shoulders. This is normal. Safe. No complicated emotions or painful history, just brothers giving each other shit like always. “Watch who you’re calling old, punk. I taught you everything you know about pool.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ash waves dismissively. “Prove it then.”
Warren returns with four bottles of beer, passing them around.
“Now this is more like it.” Ash grins. “We just need Garret, Chase, and Christian. When’s the last time we all hung out?”
“Too long,” Mac says, taking a long pull from his bottle. “Someone’s been too busy being a responsible adult or whatever.”
I flip him off, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s not wrong. At least Garret, Chase, and Christian have good reasons for not being here. They’ve all found significant others to stay home with.
I, on the other hand, have been isolating myself, especially since Hannah came back. Throwing myself into work because it’s easier than dealing with all the complicated feelings her return stirred up.
“Hey, it’s not just me.” I argue. “Half you assholes have women now. I’m surprised your girlfriends let you out.”
“Sophia went to the movies with Clara,” Mac says, then he points to Ash. “This asshole probably pissed his girlfriend off again.”
Ash glares at Mac like he’s genuinely offended. “Why do you always assume that? Things are fine with Andrea.”
“And how’s your friendship with Clara?” Mac teases.
“That’s fine too. Unlike you assholes, she supports my relationship.” Ash takes his beer and downs half of it, clearly frustrated by Mac’s line of questioning.
I don’t blame him. We all give him shit about Andrea and Clara, but that’s only because we all want to see him with Clara. They’ve been best friends since childhood and would be perfect together.
Besides, I’m pretty sure Clara has been in love with Ash most of her life. It’s a situation I know all too well. Unrequited love. Nothing hurts worse than longing for a soul that’s not yours. I wouldn’t wish that heartache on anyone.
The pool game gets underway, Mac and Ash trash-talking each other while Warren and I watch from nearby stools. The familiar rhythm of it all—the crack of balls, the lazy sips of beer, the easy flow of conversation—starts to work its magic. I feel myself relaxing incrementally, the knot of anxiety in my chest loosening just a fraction.
Movement across the room catches my attention. Edge has just walked in, his imposing figure drawing eyes as always. The MC president carries himself with the kind of quiet authority that commands respect without having to ask for it. Our eyes meet across the room and he gives me a slight nod.
I excuse myself from my brothers and make my way over. Edge and I haven’t really talked since that night months ago when he explained why he helps women and children escape abusive situations. Why he took such personal interest in Hannah’s case.
“Liam.” He greets me with a handshake, his voice gravelly. “Good to see you out and about.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrug, settling onto the stool next to him. “My brothers can be persistent when they want to be.”
Edge’s mouth quirks up slightly. “Families are good for that.” He signals the waitress for a whiskey, neat. “How’s Hannah doing?”
The question sends a fresh wave of emotion through me—concern, protectiveness, lingering guilt. “She’s... adjusting. Taking it day by day.” I fidget with my beer bottle, picking at the label. “She told me what you did for her. Not just fixing the locks, but installing all new doors. I wanted to thank you for that. For everything you did to help her and Cam.”
Edge accepts his whiskey from the waitress, taking a thoughtful sip before responding. “No thanks needed. It’s what I do.”
“Still.” I turn to face him fully. “I’ve been meaning to ask—how did you know? About Hannah needing help? How did you know before the cops found out?”
A shadow passes over Edge’s face. He stares into his whiskey like he’s seeing something else entirely.
“It was by chance really, but it felt like I was in the right place at the right time.” He looks up at me before taking another sip. “You know what I mean?”
I nod, but don’t interrupt with words.
“Ran into the kid in Waverly several months before I got the call. Hannah was in some store, he was waiting outside. You learn to recognize certain things in this line of work—the way someone carries themselves, the look in their eyes.” He takes another sip. “Kid had so much anger in him. Rage. The kind that comes from watching someone you love get hurt and feeling powerless to stop it.”
My heart clenches. Cam shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that. Should never have been put in a position where he had to protect his mother from the man who was supposed to love her.
The man I sent her to , a treacherous voice whispers in my mind.
Edge continues. “I’ve only ever seen that look in kids when something like this is happening. So I approached him. Told him I understood. I gave him my number, told him if he ever needed help to call me. That I’d help no matter the time of day. That I specialize in getting women and kids out of dangerous situations.” He shrugs. “Months went by, didn’t hear anything. Then one day I did. I promised I’d help, so I helped.”
“Thank you,” I say again, the words feeling inadequate for the depth of gratitude I feel. “If you hadn’t been there—”
“But I was. As was Christian.” Edge cuts me off firmly. “No point dwelling on what-ifs. She’s safe now. They both are. That’s what matters.”
He’s right, of course. But I can’t help thinking about all the what-ifs. What if I hadn’t pushed Hannah away? What if I’d been there to protect her from Charlie? What if I’d known about Cam?
Edge must see some of this on my face because his expression softens slightly. “Look, Liam. You can’t change the past. But you’re here now. That counts for something.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Edge raises his glass in a silent toast, then turns back to his whiskey, clearly considering the conversation over.
Taking the hint, I head back to my brothers. They’ve started a new game, Warren and Mac against Ash. The sight of them laughing and joking eases something in my chest. This is what family looks like—not perfect, but present. Supporting each other through good times and bad. No matter what.
“There he is!” Mac calls out as I approach. “Done with your super-secret meeting?”
I roll my eyes. “Just saying thank you for helping Hannah.”
“Speaking of Hannah,” Ash says casually, too casually. “Heard you’ve been spending some time at her house. Fixing things.”
Of course they know about that—nothing stays secret for long in this town. Heat creeps up my neck. I’m not sure why exactly. I have no reason to be embarrassed because I help her. “Yeah, well. Place needs work. Figured I could help out.”
“Uh huh.” Ash smirks. “And that’s all that happened? Just... fixing things ?”
The kiss flashes through my mind again—the softness of her lips, the way she kissed me back like she needed the connection just as much as I did. But that’s private. Sacred almost. Not something to be dissected over beers and pool.
“Shut up and take your shot.” I grumble, grabbing my beer.
My brothers exchange knowing looks but mercifully drop the subject. The game continues, accompanied by good-natured ribbing and increasingly outrageous trick shots as the beers flow. For a while, I let myself get caught up in it—the simple pleasure of being with family, of not having to carry the weight of responsibility alone.
But even as I laugh at Mac’s terrible attempt at a behind-the-back shot, part of me remains alert. Watching the door, scanning faces, always ready. Because that’s who I am now—the protector, the guardian, the one who has to make sure everyone is safe.
Edge’s words echo in my mind. You can’t change the past. But you’re here now .
Maybe that’s enough. Maybe being here—for Hannah, for Cam, for my brothers—is all I can do. All I need to do. All I’m meant to do.
The thought settles something in me, makes it easier to breathe. To enjoy this moment with my brothers without drowning in guilt over the past or anxiety about the future.
For now, at least, I can just... be.
Mac lines up another ridiculous shot, this time trying to jump the cue ball over two others. “Watch this, I saw it on YouTube.”
The ball goes flying off the table, narrowly missing a patron’s head and causing a round of cursing. My brothers dissolve into laughter, and despite myself, I join in.
Tomorrow I’ll go back to worrying. Back to trying to figure out how to be there for Hannah without pushing too hard, how to be a father to a son I barely know, how to keep everyone safe.
But tonight? Tonight I’m just a guy having beers with his brothers, pretending for a few hours that the world isn’t quite so complicated.
The eight ball drops into the corner pocket with a satisfying thunk. Mac throws his hands up in victory while Ash groans dramatically. Warren catches my eye and raises his bottle in a silent toast.
Yeah. This is exactly where I need to be right now.