Chapter Thirty-Six #2
That knowledge gnawed at me daily, guilt weaving itself through my every interaction with her.
I’d watch Miranda laugh with Cesar around the kitchen table, her eyes shining as she teased him about his old-world manners, and I’d feel a hollow ache inside.
Anxiety pressed against my chest when she reached for my hand in the dark, her trust a weight I wasn’t sure I deserved.
As the lie between us grew heavier with every passing day, I wondered how much of us would survive its exposure.
I often found myself recalling the night my brothers, Miranda, and I sat together sharing a rare moment of peace beneath the stars.
We’d laughed until tears ran down our faces, passing a bottle of wine and memories between us, secure in the illusion of being whole, being safe.
That night, I remembered thinking that happiness was possible, even after all we’d lost. But every time I looked at my wife now, I was reminded of how fragile that happiness truly was.
If Miranda discovered everything before we were ready—before we had justice for our parents and could finally tell her the truth ourselves—then our family might not survive.
Not just the trappings of power and position, but the love and sense of belonging we had fought so hard to keep alive.
That was the real cost of my deception, and it was a price I was terrified to pay.
A phone ringing made me look up as Miranda smiled warmly, answering it as she placed her phone on her dresser, hitting the speaker button. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Likewise, sis. I miss you,” I clearly heard her brother, Jackson, on the other line and stiffened.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, his tone worried.
“Everything is perfect, Jackson. I’m studying for my upcoming finals, and I’m thinking of joining a sorority. It’s all so surreal, but amazing,” she replied, glancing at me before quickly changing the subject. “What about you?”
I hated that she had to lie to her brother, to her family, but with everything going on in the biker world and with the threat to her still lingering here in Chicago, Cesar and I agreed the less her family knew the better.
It wasn’t right, and she detested lying, but in the end, she agreed for the safety of her family.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just wanted to check in with you. Needed to hear your voice.”
“You’re still coming to graduation, right?” she asked, keeping her voice light. When Jackson didn’t respond, she frowned. “Jackson, are you alright?”
“Yeah, just tired,” he eventually replied, his voice rough. “I will be there. Just... stay safe, okay? Keep your head down, focus on your studies.”
“I love you, big brother.”
“Love you too, sis. Baby, I need to go. Duty calls.”
“Night, Jackson.” Her voice drifted across the bedroom, gentle as the last rays of honeyed lamplight stretching over the wood floor. The faint scent of her vanilla perfume mingled with the distant aroma of rain on warm concrete wafting in through the open window.
“Sweet dreams, baby girl.”
“Will you zip me up?”
I paused, heart stuttering just a little, and looked up from knotting my tie.
My wife stood at the foot of the bed, her dress shimmering softly in the lamplight, back to me—her bare shoulders peppered with goosebumps.
She glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes caught mine, glinting with mischief and the kind of love that had carried us through storms and late-night laughter.
Rising, I crossed the worn rug, the familiar creak of the old floorboards echoing the rhythm of evenings spent in this very room.
My fingers brushed her spine as I gently gathered the silky fabric and pulled the zipper up, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my touch.
I pressed a tender kiss to the hollow just below her ear, breathing in the scent so achingly hers.
“Let’s stay in tonight,” I murmured, my lips brushing her skin as I spoke.
A smile tugged at my mouth, memory crowding in, a month after our wedding when she talked me into spending the day in bed with takeout and spilled wine, laughter echoing off the walls.
“We could celebrate by turning the bed into a masterpiece again.” I let out a soft, playful chuckle, fingers tracing idle circles on her hip.
She laughed—a sound bright and true, filling the space between us. Turning, she met my eyes, her cheeks still rosy from my kiss. “We did that last night.” Her hand slipped up to rest against my jaw, thumb brushing lazily over my cheekbone—a gentle, grounding gesture that I’d come to love, rely on.
“And I plan on doing it again tonight.” I grinned, letting the silence linger for a heartbeat.
In the quiet, the soft tick of the clock and the distant clatter of silverware from the kitchen downstairs reminded me we weren’t alone—that this night was different, wrapped in celebration and surrounded by the accomplishments she worked tirelessly to achieve.
Tonight wasn’t about me, but about her.
She sighed, but her lips curved in amusement. “Everyone is waiting downstairs. Cesar went all out—reserved the whole club. He said he invited everyone.” She squeezed my hand, her wedding band cool against my skin.
“That’s his problem. Let him play host,” I grumbled, unrepentant, as my arms wrapped tighter around her, unwilling to let go just yet.
Her laugh, low and familiar, rumbled softly against my chest. For a moment, my world narrowed to the two of us—her heartbeat against mine, and that should have been enough—but the lie I kept hidden from her refused to give me relief.