Chapter Eight
MEADOW
Imperfections breed doubt. Or is it the other way around?
~Meadow, journal entry
My fingers slid over the tattoo on my ribcage, the other on my hip, the morning light casting shadows along my skin. They were flowers and vines, two inconspicuous tattoos that had been for me, not for anyone else.
The one on my other hip, however, had been lasered off.
I had been stupid and young and not even eighteen when I had Coby’s name tattooed on my hip. He’d asked me to put it there, wanted his name on my flesh where no one else could see. That way, I would know I was his property. That I was always his.
I could still see the scar, the marks. But I couldn’t see his name. And that had been enough for me. It had been healing.
Because I no longer bore the name of the man I’d thought I loved but who really only wanted to own me. Instead, I boasted the scars of my decisions, not ones of ownership.
Beckham had seen my tattoos, my scars. But he hadn’t said anything.
Had he known that Coby’s name had been on my hip? Had he realized that the mark had been erased by a laser because I was ashamed of where I came from? Or the fact that I had actually done it so I could become myself rather than who Coby wanted me to be?
Beckham had known. At least parts of it.
This entire time, he knew.
And I didn’t know what to think about that.
He had been part of Coby’s crew, although he’d said that he hadn’t been part of it when I was there.
But Trace had been. Trace had always been Cliff’s old lady, just like I had been Coby’s.
And since Trace and Coby were twins, she had been my sister. In a weird sort of way that had nothing to do with love but rather ties that no one wanted to break. That others constantly told me could never be broken or severed.
I had hidden from her earlier at the bar, hadn’t said a word, and that was my shame. Far beyond what Beckham had said, or what he had done, I carried the weight of my own decisions and truths.
I had hidden. I didn’t want the others to know I was there.
I could blame part of that on shock. Surprise that they were at the bar and that they knew Beckham.
Shock that Beckham had known things about who I was and hadn’t told me.
I curled my fists at my sides, trying to calm my breathing.
Why did it feel like such a betrayal? I hadn’t been honest either.
And that was my issue.
I’d been to countless therapy sessions and yet I don’t think I could pull anything from those to figure out the answers to why I hadn’t been honest. I’d found my self-worth, but I hadn’t been able to find my courage. Not all of it.
Beckham had known about me, but I hadn’t known about him.
And neither of us had said anything.
We weren’t truthful—not at all.
Instead, we had lived in this odd vacuum where we tried to make our own happiness that was pillowed on a cursed bed of lies.
While neither of us had said anything, Beckham had known about me, while I hadn’t known about him.
But what was worse?
I didn’t know, so I couldn’t face him. I could barely face myself. But I was forcing myself to do that now.
I looked in the mirror one last time and then reached down to pull my shirt over my head.
I didn’t need to look at my tattoos to know they were there. But I always did.
I didn’t have to touch my scars to know that they existed on my body. Because they had been woven through my soul long before they were etched onto my skin.
And then I remembered the ink on Beckham’s skin and the fact that I had touched every inch of him.
I remembered the scars beneath my fingertips, and I’d wondered where they came from, even though I had known they came from his past. Those scars had come from his club ink.
The fact that it had been lasered off. Painfully.
Perhaps even brutally. I hadn’t realized how intertwined our paths had truly become.
And not only what was in front of us, but where we had come from as well.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I mumbled to myself and then shook my head.
That seemed to be standard for me lately, and I didn’t feel like I knew what I was doing.
I hadn’t spoken to anyone since I left, although Cameron and Aiden had walked me to my car.
I’d smiled, nodded at them in thanks, and then driven home.
I’d locked the doors behind me, keeping my security system armed, and wondered if the club would find me.
Not that they were looking. No one knew where I was. And I hadn’t thought my parents would mention it to anyone. Honestly, it wouldn’t have done them any good. They only wanted me for money. And if I were pulled back into that life, I wouldn’t have money for them.
So, maybe they were smarter than I gave them credit for.
The doorbell rang, and I looked over at it, frowning.
If it was Beckham, I didn’t know what I would do. If it was someone else, someone from my past, I honestly didn’t know what to do there either.
I looked down at my phone, at the camera on the security app, and let out a shuddering sigh of relief when I realized it was the girls.
I didn’t know what I planned to say to them, though I knew I couldn’t lie.
They would likely want to know why I ran, and not only because Beckham had come clean.
Plus, I didn’t want to hide anymore. I was so tired of it. It just left me feeling like I was losing it when, sometimes, I felt like I didn’t have much of it to begin with.
So I put my phone in my pocket and went to the front door, taking my time turning each lock as I did.
It was as if I were getting closer and closer to baring my soul with each snap of the lock, and I didn’t know if I was strong enough to do it.
Violet, Harmony, and Sienna walked in, hugging me tightly as they did.
I smiled at them and then closed the door behind them, locking it tightly once more.
“Hi,” I said, my voice soft.
“Hey,” Harmony replied. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. You guys didn’t have to come over this morning.”
“Yeah, we did,” Violet said.
“And you need to tell us what happened. Maybe explain why you have those locks on your door. Why you looked so scared when those people came into the bar. And why you didn’t look at any of them straight on. Oh, and why you ran.”
Violet and Harmony glared at Sienna, and I shook my head, a smile playing on my face. Of course, Sienna would be the one to cut right to the chase. But they all had to wonder. And I was tired of lying. Of hiding.
“It’s a little too early for wine, but I guess once I’m finished, you might want a glass. I know I will.”
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,” Harmony said quickly. “And even though Sienna’s the one that blurted that out, we didn’t mean to come over here and make you feel like we were attacking you.”
“Hey,” Sienna said.
“Don’t worry about it. I was thinking about how to tell you exactly what was going on anyway. You three coming over here made it easier for me and was so helpful.
“So, hi. My name’s Meadow.”
Sienna snorted. “Okay. We’re going to start with that. We love you, you know?” she said quickly.
“Thanks.” I let out a shuddering breath, my heart beating quickly even as my body warmed at that.
“We lost a friend because we didn’t ask the right questions,” Violet said softly. “And I know this is a completely different situation, but we’re here for you. Okay?”
A tear slipped from her eye, and she quickly wiped it off her cheek. I nodded and then gestured for them to follow me into the living room. “Let’s sit down. I’ll try to explain. Just don’t hate me after, okay?” I added quickly.
“I don’t think we could ever hate you, Meadow,” Harmony said.
“You don’t know who I was.”
I thought about the scar on my hip, the ones on Beckham.
And I knew that scars dug themselves in deeply.
The path you traveled left evidence behind.
I needed to figure out where I was at the end of my journey, so while the scars might remain, I would still be able to figure out what I needed to say.
“I knew the people that came in and recognized Beckham.”
“Okay,” Violet said. “Did you know that Beckham knew them?”
I shook my head. “Let me start from the beginning.”
“We’re here,” Harmony said, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “We’ll always be here.”
And that’s why I could say what I needed to. Why I could do this.
I’d never had friends like these before. The people in my old life hadn’t been like this. Some in the club and on the periphery were able to form connections, but not me. I’d thought I had something with Coby, but that had been an unhealthy relationship that led to nothing but pain and heartache.
The girls in front of me deserved more. And I needed to be better for them.
So I’d tell them where I came from, who I’d been, and hopefully they could see who I was now.
Even if I wasn’t always sure who that was.
“I knew them because I was one of them once upon a time.”
“You were a biker?” Sienna asked incredulously, and I shrugged.
“That’s part of the culture. I didn’t have my own bike. I rode bitch. First behind my daddy when I was little, and then behind the boy I thought I’d fallen in love with.”
“Oh,” Violet said, looking at me wide-eyed.