Chapter 10 #2
Leo dwarfed me. My head only came to the center of his chest, but I held him as tight as my arms would allow.
Maybe if I held tight enough, this would go away.
Like Dash had promised, today would be the end.
Leo wouldn’t be in danger of some violent retribution delivered at the hands of the Arrowhead Warriors.
All because he’d been drinking at The Betsy and had gotten a wild hair up his ass to punish Jeremiah.
Leo had told us that Jeremiah hadn’t been hard to find.
He’d been at a bar, playing poker—shocker.
Jeremiah wasn’t going to change. Leo had ordered a drink and hung out until Jeremiah had spent his chips, after two in the morning.
Then Leo had beat the hell out of him. I’d been spared the gory details.
Then he’d driven home, stopped at a gas station to wash up and come to my place.
“What’s up with that Shaw guy?” Leo asked, letting me go.
I shrugged. “He’s my temporary neighbor.”
“He likes you.”
“Maybe.” I suspected Shaw liked a lot of women and they liked him in return. “It doesn’t matter.”
Leo’s face soured and he glanced toward the shop. “He’s getting the bare minimum paint job on the bike Isaiah’s building.”
“Ha!” I laughed. “No, he is not. That bike is making us a lot of money, and it’s going to be in a movie. You’ll do the best damn paint job of your life on that motorcycle so that when the fictional Draven rides it down the street, it’ll be one the real Draven would have been proud to ride.”
He grumbled and shook his head, but he’d do his best work.
Leo loved Draven as much as I did, if not more.
It was the reason Leo’s drinking had increased ever since Draven’s funeral.
His nights at The Betsy used to be limited to two or three a week, but he went nearly every night these days. And Draven died three years ago.
Dash had tried talking to Leo about it. So had Emmett.
But lectures about drinking and women fell on deaf ears.
Besides, who was Emmett to talk? He didn’t flaunt it as much, but he partied too.
Leo’s crutch was alcohol. Emmett’s was women.
I heard the rumors about who he hooked up with on any given weekend.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked Leo.
“Are you?”
“Yes.” I’d said it automatically, but deep down, there was truth behind that word.
Leo winked and returned to work. I smiled at our customer and returned to my desk, taking a moment to face my screen and close my eyes.
What a damn mess.
Behind Dash’s closed door, I heard the low rumble of his voice but couldn’t make out the words.
I glanced up at the picture of Draven and his sons, wishing more than ever he was here. He’d fix things. Draven would straighten out Leo and take some of the weight off Dash. He’d tell Emmett to stop messing around so that when a woman with staying power showed up, he’d be ready.
But Draven was gone.
We’d buried him beside his wife in the cemetery. The service had been small, no more than twenty people invited to huddle around the casket.
Bryce and Dash. Genevieve and Isaiah. Emmett and his mom. Leo had stood by me. Nick and his wife, Emmeline, had been there with their two crying kids, who had adored their grandfather. Some of the former Tin Kings who still lived in town had attended.
Dash had attempted some words, but when he’d stumbled over them, Nick had taken over.
After he was done, we’d left. I’d gone home alone—Jeremiah had been in Ashton, vying for his position as a prospect for the Warriors—and cried all day.
No matter how many times I tried to imagine Draven’s death, it left me unsettled. Suicide? That hadn’t been his style. Draven had been the kind to go out in a blaze of glory, not hanging from a noose in his own home.
Was it possible that he hadn’t killed himself?
My thoughts were interrupted when Tyler came in with the customer’s car keys. I hurried to take her payment and smiled as she waved goodbye. Then the office was quiet again.
I hated the quiet.
I stared at Dash’s closed door, waiting for it to open. I didn’t have to wait long. He stepped out and looked . . . beaten. Dash Slater never backed down.
“Are you okay? How did it go?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered, coming to the chair across from my desk.
It was days like this when I wish Bryce still wrote her stories at the garage instead of at the newspaper. She’d know what to say to Dash. He’d confided in her about the club, things I’d never know.
“I think we’ll be okay,” he said. “I just don’t want to get a call one night from Paul at The Betsy, telling me that Leo is drowning in a pool of his own blood.”
My stomach turned. “Me neither.”
“Sorry, Pres.”
“If this is anyone’s fault, it’s Jeremiah’s.”
Dash chuckled. “I’m good with blaming him.”
“Me too.” I bit my lower lip, hesitating to ask the question that had been on my mind before he’d come out, but I had to know. “Can I ask you something?”
“Course.” He relaxed into the chair.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about your dad lately. With the wedding and the movie, he’s been on my mind. I need to know something. Was it really suicide?”
Dash’s eyes flooded with grief, and a pained expression crossed his face. “Pres, I—”
“Please? Tell me the truth. Trust me with it.”
He blew out a long breath, then shook his head. “No. It wasn’t.”
A stab of pain hit me in the chest, like I was experiencing Draven’s death all over again. Tears flooded my eyes and my lungs struggled to hold in air. Wasn’t I supposed to feel better, knowing the truth? Instead, I felt like I’d grieved the wrong way. Was that possible? To grieve incorrectly?
There’d been blame inside my grief. Resentment that Draven had left us behind. When really, there should have been anger and fury and revenge.
“Who?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“The Warriors?”
Dash stayed quiet, giving nothing away, which gave everything away.
“You should have told me. Did you think I’d betray you?”
“No, but you were marrying one of them, Presley. You were going there every weekend. It would have made things worse for you. I didn’t want that.”
“Except it’s worse now. I’ve spent three years asking the wrong why.” I took a deep breath, giving my emotions a minute to level. Then I raised my gaze and, this time, asked the right question. “Why? Why did they kill him?”
“He made an arrangement with Tucker to save Genevieve and me.”
“Oh.” My hand covered my aching heart.
Draven had protected his children. It made perfect sense because that was who he’d been. He’d sacrificed his life to save his kids from Tucker and the Warriors.
And because of me, because of Jeremiah, I’d brought Tucker back into Dash’s life. No wonder he’d looked so angry in the shop. That phone call was probably the last one he’d ever wanted to make.
“I’ll text Jeremiah and tell him it was my fault for Leo,” I said. “Maybe that will help.”
Dash shook his head. “Just leave it. I doubt it will do any good.”
“But will it hurt?”
“It might. Leave it. Leave him. With any luck, we’ll never have to see the guy again.”
“Okay.” I wanted to help defuse the situation, but if there was a chance I’d make it worse, then I’d take Dash’s advice.
He stood from the chair and walked toward the shop. Dash would go lose himself in a car for a while, then he’d go home to his family and be all right. He paused at the door, his hand on the knob when he glanced over his shoulder. “Happy Birthday.”
“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips.
I hated my birthday, something Dash and the guys knew. Emmett had winked at me this morning but hadn’t muttered those words. Leo had whistled “Happy Birthday” under his breath. Isaiah had brought me a latte from the coffee hut.
“Are you sure you don’t want to celebrate?” he asked. “I’ll buy you a beer.”
“I’m sure. But thanks.”
Dash left me to get back to work, and I treated the afternoon like any normal day. I paid bills. I got started on the month-end financial report. I bid farewell to the guys and locked up at five.
It wasn’t until the drive home that loneliness crept under my skin.
It happened every year on my birthday, and I was surprised it hadn’t hit me sooner.
I missed Scarlett. Today especially, I missed my sister.
Our birthday was something we’d always made special for one another.
It was the one day my mother would put us first. She’d make us a cake.
She’d spend hours cleaning so the house was spotless.
She’d let Dad give us our presents and take credit for buying them even though we knew she’d done all the work.
She’d bend over backward making sure there was nothing that might set him off.
It worked. I couldn’t remember a birthday when Dad had raised his hand to any of us. There were never any bruises or welts to hide the next morning.
My birthday used to be a good day.
Celebrating without Scarlett held no appeal.
I parked in the driveway and took out my phone, sending Scarlett the same text I sent her every year.
Happy Birthday.
There’d be no reply, but I’d sent it into the universe and hoped, wherever she was, that it found her well.
I scooped up my purse and opened my door just as Shaw’s shiny, black SUV pulled into the driveway next door.
“Hey.” He waved after getting out.
I waved back. “Hey.”
He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, his sunglasses in his hair. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” I shrugged, unable to move away from my Jeep and disappear inside. “You?”
“Good.” He waited for me to say more and when I didn’t, he took the first stair toward his porch.
“Shaw?”
“Yeah?” His foot backed down to the sidewalk, like he’d been waiting for an excuse to come closer.
I gave him one. “It’s my birthday.”
He crossed the lawn, a small smile toying at his mouth. “Happy Birthday.”
“I’m ordering pizza.”
“Pizza’s good.” Shaw grinned. “But I’ve been craving carrots.”
I laughed and nodded for him to follow me inside. “I happen to have some carrots.”