Chapter 2
Kayla
Roman should probably take note; I am not in the mood to be anyone’s fucking sunshine this morning.
Cracking the eggs into the bowl, I stir them with probably a little more force than is necessary.
The whisk clinks angrily against the ceramic as I beat the mixture, my mind replaying last night’s party in vivid detail.
Naomi’s smirk. The other women literally turning their backs to me.
Roman laughing with Naomi, like they shared some private joke that I’d never be allowed in on.
My hands are shaking just enough to be annoying as I melt a knob of butter in the skillet, the sizzle the only sound in the otherwise quiet kitchen.
Outside, the sun is coming up gold and clear, lighting the frost on the grass and the last of the summer flowers.
It’s all so bright and cheerful that it makes me want to scream.
I pour the batter in a little too fast, making three uneven ovals that ooze together.
Just like my thoughts keep congealing into a messy, ugly mass.
I’m still stuck in the same cycle I was in when we got home last night: (1) I hate that I care, (2) Naomi’s a bitch, (3) Roman let me down, (4) I hate that I care. Repeat ad nauseam.
The stairs creak, and then Roman appears, bare-chested, hair sticking up in wild black tufts, the dark scruff of his beard shadowing the sharp line of his jaw. He’s always so unfairly beautiful in the mornings. Sometimes I think he does it on purpose.
He pauses at the foot of the stairs, watching me. I know he’s watching because I can feel the heat of it, prickling along my skin. He doesn’t say anything right away, just takes in the kitchen with the table set for two.
“Morning,” he says, his voice still raspy from sleep.
“Hey,” I say, not turning around. Instead, I slide the spatula under the pancakes and flip them.
Roman’s bare feet make barely any sound as he crosses to me. He bends and kisses my neck, slow and deliberate. “You making me breakfast, sunshine?”
I want to say, “Fuck off,” but I don’t. “It’s almost ready.”
His palm spreads flat across my stomach, warm and steady. “You sleep okay?”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the pan. “Sure.”
He lingers, mouth grazing my shoulder, then lets me go and moves to the coffeemaker. He pours a cup, then leans against the counter, watching me with an expression I can’t read.
“Still moping, huh?” he says, not unkindly.
I slide the pancakes out onto a plate. “Why would I be moping?” I spread a pat of butter on each of them, watching as it melts and drips off the edges of the cakes.
“It was a fantastic night. I spent the evening being ignored by everyone; Naomi harassed me, and my husband pretended not to know me for three hours. What’s not to love? ”
Roman takes a slow sip of coffee, blue eyes steady on me. “I doubt Naomi harassed you.”
“She literally called me a daisy in a field of thorn bushes and told me I wasn’t built to last.” I drop the spatula into the sink with a clatter. “But you’re right, maybe I just misheard her while I was busy being so delicate and fragile.”
“She’s blunt, Kayla. She doesn’t sugarcoat shit. But she’s not out to get you.” His tone is flat, and clearly in his mind, that should be the end of it.
“Are you serious right now?” I stare at him, letting the silence stretch between us. “That’s all you have to say?”
Roman just shrugs. “The club has always been wary of outsiders, especially ones who don’t play by their rules. None of them know you yet. It’s not personal.”
“Not personal.” I grab the serving plate, set it on the table with a little more force than necessary. “God, it’s like talking to a brick wall.”
He stands and closes the distance in two strides, catching my wrist before I can walk away. “Hey.” His grip is gentle but unyielding. “I know they’re not the warmest bunch. But I’m grateful you tried. I am.” He looks at me like he means it, but I’m not in the mood to be soothed.
“Your breakfast is getting cold,” I tell him, twisting out of his grasp.
He lets go and sits, unbothered. He eats with every evidence of enjoyment, as if his wife wasn’t sitting across the table trying to murder him with her eyes. It’s almost admirable, the way he can compartmentalize. Like last night never happened.
I sip my coffee and ignore my food. He glances up, waiting. He knows me well enough to know I’m not finished.
I decide to just say it, the question that’s been eating at me since last night. “What did Atlas mean?” I ask. “When he said you know better than anyone that Naomi can be depended on in a fight?”
Roman’s fork stills mid-bite. He sets it down and looks at me, all warmth gone. There’s a different kind of tension now, something taut and dangerous under the surface.
“Why are you asking?” he says, voice low.
“I just want to know.” I try to keep my tone even, but I can feel the shake under it. “What happened between you two?”
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It’s club business, Kayla.”
“That’s it?” I say, voice climbing. “You’re not even going to give me a real answer?”
“That is the real answer.”
I swallow, hands clenching under the table. “You’re my husband. I think I deserve a little more than ‘club business.’”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “There are things you don’t want to know.”
“How would you know what I want to know?” I say, hating how desperate I sound. “You don’t even try to tell me. You just shut me out.”
“I said it’s club business.” His voice is sharp with impatience. “That means it stays with the club.”
There’s a clear warning in his voice to back off, but I’m too angry to let it stop me. “So, did you and Naomi kill someone together? Or… I don’t know, was there some kind of gang war? Were you in danger? You could have died and I—”
Roman’s laugh is sharp, almost mean. “Jesus, Kayla, you don’t know when to quit.”
“You think this is funny?”
He shakes his head, finally dropping his arms to the table. “No. I think you don’t get it, and I don’t know how to make you get it. Whatever Naomi and I did has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m your wife, Roman,” I say, hating the way my voice trembles slightly. “How can we build a life together when half of you is locked away where I can’t reach it?”
“That’s how it has to be.” His eyes soften slightly, but his tone remains firm. “Some parts aren’t for sharing.”
“Except with Naomi, apparently,” I mutter, dropping my gaze to my plate.
I hear him inhale sharply, but he doesn’t respond.
He eats the rest of his breakfast in silence.
When he’s finished, he shoves back from the table and drops his plate in the sink before disappearing upstairs.
I scrape my own untouched plate into the trash before dropping it into the sink as well.
When Roman reappears a few minutes later, I’m leaning back against the counter, sipping another cup of coffee and staring blankly out the window.
He’s now wearing a tight black t-shirt and his leather cut, and his hair is neatly combed.
He’s clearly already mentally out the door.
Yet, he lingers by the entryway, keys in his hand. “I don’t want to be an asshole, Kayla.”
I put down my coffee cup and turn to look at him, arms crossed. “Then stop acting like one.”
He sighs, running a hand over his beard. “There’s a lot of darkness in my life. More than you know. You’re the one thing that makes it worth it. My ray of fucking sunshine, even when you’re pissed off at me.”
“I’m tired of being shut out, of other people knowing more about what it is you do every day than I do,” I say. “I want to be part of your whole life. Not just the nice parts.”
He steps closer, just enough to brush a knuckle along my cheek. His hand is rough and warm. “Sometimes that’s not possible.”
I meet his gaze, refusing to look away. “Find a way to make it possible.”
He bends and presses his mouth to my forehead, the gesture unexpectedly tender. “I’ll see you tonight.”
He leaves without another word. I stand in the kitchen until I hear the motorcycle start and then fade into the distance.
The house is now so quiet, I can hear my own heart pounding.
I look around our sunny kitchen and think of the life we’ve built together.
It all suddenly feels like a stage set, a pretty facade hiding the ugly truth — my husband lives in a world I’m not allowed to enter, and I’m running out of patience waiting for an invitation.
I’ve always known there were things he didn’t, couldn’t tell me.
I’ve always accepted this. It was my compromise.
But last night reminded me that he’s not alone in that world that he shuts me out of.
There are others there with him, others who know my husband better than I do, who are the ones who get to stand with him, who get to be his true partners, who share a bond with him that I will never understand.
Others like Naomi. And now I’m wondering how long I can accept that.
“Find a way, Roman.” I whisper to his ghost, still lingering in the kitchen. “Or I’ll have to find my own.”