Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Hattie Lynn
Papaw’s eyes dropped to mine as I ducked under his arm and snuggled in close.
“What’s up, Babygirl?” he asked, turning his attention from Red and Eagle to me.
Winking at Sondra, I tipped my head back and pouted out my lip, giving him my best puppy dog eyes. “I’m ready to go home.”
His lips twitched. “You are?”
“We are,” I amended as I glanced around the room. The party was still in full swing, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to last as long as everyone else. Sondra probably had a little more gas in the tank than I did, but not by much.
After performing a two and a half hour show two nights ago, flying from Chicago to Nashville, ending things with Shawn, and then hopping back on a plane to Odin, I was running on fumes.
And I didn’t want to be here when Weston got back and took one of the club whores to his room. I couldn’t stomach seeing that.
My eyes went to a woman straddling Gator’s lap. Her skirt was hiked up over her ass, and her tits were out for everyone to see.
Gross.
The second the kids went home for the night, they showed up.
That’d been a fun topic to explain to Sondra. “Ignore the mostly naked women, they’re just here to fuck and suck the men that are single.”
My lips twitched just thinking about her calling them the ladies of the night.
“Leavin’, girl?” Red asked, beer halfway to his mouth.
I covered my mouth, fought back a yawn, then answered, “Yeah. It’s been a long couple of days.”
He smiled softly, pity written across his face.
The news that my engagement to Shawn was over was everywhere.
Tabloids, news headlines, gossip rags, the radio.
Everyone knew. “You’re better off without that fucker.
” Then his eyes scanned the room. I knew who he was looking for.
Nobody had been shy about their opinions that Shawn wasn’t right for me and a certain biker was who I should still be with.
I just wanted to yell at them all. “He was the one who ended us!”
I wouldn’t do that of course. They all meant well enough.
“Alright, darlin’. We’ll see you soon?” he asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
Nodding my head, I moved out from under Papaw’s arm and went to Red, wrapping my arms around his back. “I promise. I won’t leave without saying goodbye again.”
I hadn’t realized all the people I’d hurt when I took off eight years ago. That had never been my intention. I was hurting, and I had to get out of Odin. I hadn’t said a word to anyone but my grandparents. There was no notice, no party to send me off. I ran like a coward.
No, that’s not true. My heart had been ripped in half, and I ran because I didn’t think I would survive if I stayed.
Red grunted. “Good.”
Pulling free, I glanced over my shoulder at Papaw. “We’ll be at the truck.”
Sondra linked her arm in mine and together we headed for the door.
By the time Papaw pulled up to the farmhouse, I was ready to crawl into my old bed and sleep for a week.
“I’m heading up,” I told Sondra, who had sprawled across the couch with her shoes already kicked off, looking like she’d run a marathon instead of dancing with half the club. “You good down here?”
“Mmhmm.” She didn’t even open her eyes. “Your cousin Journey’s friend—the one with the tattoo of lips on his neck—he’s picking me up tomorrow to show me the boardwalk.”
I snorted. “Journey’s not my cousin, and I have no idea who you’re talking about, but okay.”
“Details,” she mumbled, waving a hand in the air, already halfway to sleep.
Grinning, I shook my head. She was a nut.
Leaving her there, I headed for the stairs, trying to be quiet since Granny had already gone up.
“Headin’ up, Babygirl?” Papaw asked from his spot in the recliner.
“Yeah,” I said, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Night, baby girl.” He didn’t look up from the TV, but I caught the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was happy I was home.
“Night.”
Just as I grabbed hold of the banister to head up, his phone rang.
Fishing it out of the inside pocket of his cut, he glanced at the screen, and frowned. “Yo.”
I stood there listening, knowing I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but the way he went rigid had my hackles raised. Something was wrong.
“Where?” Papaw’s voice dropped. “How bad?”
My stomach dropped straight through the floor.
“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Sandman’s out of town, visiting his mama in Georgia. Y’all are gonna have to bring him here.”
Sandman. He was a member of the Kings. He used to be a medic or something in the military.
I can’t tell you how I knew, but I did. Someone was hurt.
“Yeah. Yeah, I got bandages and shit here. Just get over here in one piece.” A pause. “Alright.”
He ended the call and set the phone down on the arm of his recliner, and for a second, he just sat there, staring at the muted television.
“Papaw?” I asked carefully. “Is everything okay?”
He glanced up at me, and something in his expression made my chest go tight. “You should head on up to bed, baby girl.”
“Who’s hurt?”
“That’s club business,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes when he said it, and that scared me more than anything.
Sondra had roused from the couch, sitting up now with her dark eyes wide and worried, flicking between me and my Papaw.
I swallowed hard. “It’s Weston, isn’t it? He’s the one who got hurt, isn’t he?”
I knew it down to my bones. Something happened to him.
Papaw had his poker face locked down tight, but he’d never been able to hide anything from me. The way his shoulders tensed, the slight tightening around his eyes—it confirmed everything I was thinking.
Oh my God. What if he was dead?
The room felt like it was spinning. No. No, no, no. I gripped the banister to keep myself upright.
What if something terrible had happened?
What if he was bleeding out somewhere, and I never got to tell him that I was sorry for being such a bitch to him today?
He’d tried to talk to me earlier, and I shut him down completely.
Maybe he was trying to extend an olive branch, and I’d been too stubborn and hurt to see it.
I’d loved him since I was thirteen years old, since the day he’d punched Tommy Morrison in the face for pulling my hair and calling me an orphan.
He’d been my whole world, my first everything—my first kiss, my first love, the first boy to tell me I was beautiful.
And when he’d ended us, it felt like he’d taken half my soul with him.
But standing there, thinking he might be seriously hurt, all that anger and hurt felt so stupid and small. So what if he didn’t love me anymore? We could be friends. We could at least be civil to each other.
What if I never get the chance to find out?
The loud rumble of a motorcycle pulling into the driveway ripped me out of my spiraling thoughts.
Without even thinking, I spun on my heel and sprinted for the front door, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break free. My bare feet slapped against the hardwood as I tore through the house, Sondra calling my name behind me.
I didn’t stop, though.
I burst through the screen door just as he was swinging his leg over his bike.
Thank the gods! He was here and he was in one piece.
Relief hit me like a sledgehammer, threatening to take my legs out.
“Weston,” I breathed, tears streaming down my cheeks as I took in every inch of him, checking for damage. That’s when I noticed he was holding his left shoulder, and there was a dark stain on his shirt that had to be blood.
Shit. He was hurt!
“Weston!” I cried out, flying down the porch steps.
His head snapped up at the sound of my voice, his eyes going wide as I launched myself at him.
He grunted at the impact as I threw my arms around his neck, forgetting all about his injury because I needed to feel him.
“I thought something awful happened to you,” I sobbed against his throat, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and motor oil.
His good arm came around me, pulling me tight against his chest. “I’m fine, baby,” he murmured into my hair, his voice rough. “It’s just a flesh wound. It barely grazed my shoulder.”
I held him tighter, my fingers fisting the hair at his nape. “Don’t do that to me again! I thought I lost you!”
The words were out before I could stop them, but I didn’t care.
I thought I lost him again, this time for good.
Losing him the first time broke me, but if something happened to him— I squeezed him tighter.
They’d have to put me in the ground with him.
I couldn’t live in a world where he didn’t exist.
He pressed his lips against the top of my head, and something inside my chest cracked wide open.
Lifting my head, I let my eyes rake over every inch of his beautiful face. “I thought—” I croaked, shaking my head as another wave of tears fell.
His eyes held mine.
“I’m okay,” he promised, his eyes dropping to my mouth.
Suddenly the air crackled between us.
And then, like gravity was pulling us back where we belonged, he leaned down and kissed me.
His lips were just as soft as I remembered, just as perfect. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like he was afraid I might pull away.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
His tongue glided over mine and I whimpered, sliding my hands up to frame his face.
The porch light above us started flickering.
We both pulled back and started laughing at the same time, breathless and a little stunned. “Think he’ll come out with his shotgun?”
My lips twitched. “I’m all grown up now, Weston.”
His eyes warmed. “You are.”
Leaning forward, I pressed another kiss against his lips. I didn’t know what any of this meant, but I was afraid at any second he would change his mind and rip it all away again.
“I need to get this stitched up, baby,” he said softly, wincing as he moved his shoulder.
Shit! I’d been so in my head that he was in one piece that I’d completely forgotten he was hurt.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I said, immediately unlocking my legs from behind his back.
He carefully set me on my feet, but I didn’t let go. “Are you okay? Does it hurt? What happened?”
He smiled at my rapid-fire questions, that crooked grin that had always made my stomach do backflips. “I’m okay, Songbird. Come on, let’s get inside so Pete can patch me up.”
My mind was reeling as I helped him up the porch and into the house.
Weston was the one who kissed me.
What did that mean?