Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LAINEY
Another day, except it’s not just another day, it’s one day closer.
Just like every day has been. One day closer to my wedding.
One day closer to leaving my life behind as I know it.
One day closer to never falling asleep beside Gunnar again, something that I’ve for some asinine reason become accustomed to.
And then there is today. Today is just another mark on the list to get to the end.
Wedding dress shopping. It’s been three days since the bakery incident, since my brother came over.
And two days since I signed the contract.
I'm handing my bakery over to Dakota. I’m not as upset about that as I thought I would be.
I imagined I would fall apart and be devastated when everything was said and done when she took over my life’s work. But I didn’t. In fact, signing that contract Ivy created makes me feel the exact opposite. I feel relieved. And that, while it is a good thing, also makes me feel guilty.
I’m not sure I should feel relieved to sell the bakery. It’s everything I ever wanted to do. It has been successful in ways I never imagined. It’s my true labor of love, and now it’s no longer mine to claim.
Slipping out of bed, I make my way into the bathroom so I can shower and get ready for dress shopping. We’re going into the city today. Not all of the girls can come, but Dakota, Posey, and Millie will be joining me.
I have no idea what I want, and even if I did, I don’t think I would voice it. A wedding dress doesn’t feel exciting right now. I know what Paul looks like. He’s handsome and everything, but I’m going through the motions, unsure if I can trust anything about myself.
What I’m doing right now is panicking. I can feel my heart racing, and my hands are shaky. Every day that is one day closer stresses me out even more. And what is making me even more upset on top of all of that is how little Gunnar seems to show any emotion about it.
He’s so sweet, and we’ve been in this little routine, a bubble, that I don’t ever want to leave. But as each day passes, I know I’m getting closer to the end of this fantasy. And that’s exactly what it is—a fantasy I wish could come true.
But it won’t.
Once I’m showered, I wrap my towel around my body and stand in front of my closet trying to figure out what to wear. I’ve seen enough wedding dress television shows to know that most girls will wear a cute outfit and get all dressed up for a day like today.
I’m not on television, and I’m not most girls. Maybe if I were excited and happy about all of this, things would be different. I keep waiting for the excitement to hit me, or at the very least, contentment.
But I don’t feel it.
I thought I was content with my decision, but I’m feeling very overwhelmed with emotion. It is all feeling like a lot. A hell of a lot. I wish I could just close my eyes and make it all disappear.
But I can’t.
It’s real, and it’s happening.
Soon.
There is a knock on the bedroom door, and I turn my head to see Gunnar standing there.
He’s looking at me, but it’s not with his usual lustful gaze.
Instead, he seems concerned. His brows are furrowed, and his lips are pressed into a thin line.
I open my mouth and start to ask him if everything’s okay, but don’t get the chance because he begins to speak.
“Girls will be here to get you soon. You good?”
As much as I want to tell him that I’m not, I don’t. He clears his throat, not waiting for my response before he continues.
“I’m going to go to the clubhouse for a bit while you do this shit. Goose and Maverick are going to be with you guys. You can call me if you need me. You’ve got my number still, right?”
“Yeah,” I respond.
I want to ask him why he’s going to the clubhouse. I want to know why he’s not going to be with me. But I don’t say a word. Instead, I give him a smile—a fake one. I don’t have any real smiles left inside me, I don’t think.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
I watch as he turns around and walks away. I don’t ask him to stay. I don’t ask him to kiss me or fuck me. I don’t ask for anything. Instead, I shift my attention back to my closet and pull out a pair of jeans, a white bra, white panties, and a white T-shirt.
It takes me ten minutes to get ready for this appointment, which includes putting on my clothes, doing my hair and makeup, making my bed, and slipping on a pair of sandals. When I flick my gaze to my full-length mirror, I cringe.
I have put very little effort into myself and into this.
I’m a bit disappointed in myself because I feel like I should be doing more and feeling something other than…
dread. Even if I’m feeling just somewhat content, and my emotions are fairly even, deep down I know that the panic and trembling, the sensation of feeling as if I might choke at any given moment, that is dread.
I am dreading this.
And I promised myself that wasn’t possible.
Regret wasn’t possible. This was something I was doing just as much for myself as for the club, for my family.
But as the days inch closer and closer to this wedding, I am wondering if everyone else around me was right, and maybe this is something I shouldn’t have agreed to.
It’s too late now.
The doorbell rings, and I know it’s Dakota. Maybe I’ll feel better after I try on some pretty white dresses. Maybe then I’ll be able to envision the wedding, the life, the future—my future.
And then again, maybe I’ll feel worse about it all.
Walking out of the bedroom, I smile at the sight of Dakota standing in the living room. Gunnar has already let her inside. She doesn’t return my smile, though. Maybe she can sense that it’s fake.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
I bite my bottom lip and give her a single nod as I take a step toward her. Gunnar’s fingers curl around my wrist, flexing once before he releases his grasp, and his arm falls to my side.
“Call me if you need me,” he murmurs.
Then, without another word, he walks past me and heads outside. I watch as he climbs onto his bike, starts the engine, and then he takes off down the street with a roar. Dakota clears her throat, and I turn to look over at her.
“Let’s go shopping,” she says, but her voice sounds far away, as if she’s lost in thought.
VIKING
When I walk into the clubhouse, I don’t bother going anywhere else but the bar first. I need a fucking drink. Standing at the bar, I place my palm on the scarred top and tap it a few times. The prospect at the other end makes his way toward me, jerking his head as he does in a silent question.
“Beer,” I softly call out.
He pops a top and slides it toward me. Wrapping my fingers around the bottle, I lift it to my lips and take a long pull when a throat clears to my right. I know who I’m going to see there when I turn my head. It’s Shocker. He’s perched in his usual spot.
“You good?” I ask.
Shocker snorts, but thankfully doesn’t make me continue to ask anything. “I’m just fucking great, but you are fucked.”
I blink, lifting the bottle to my lips again to take another drink before I respond. “Am I now?”
When he hums, I really look at the old-timer.
He’s getting up there in age, and it makes me sad because he’s been a staple in our club for as long as I’ve been here.
He won’t be here forever, and he’s actually stopped even riding his bike the way he used to, choosing to stay perched on his barstool.
“I am not fucked,” I grind out.
Shocker snorts. “Brother, if you think you’re not fucked, then you’re in worse shape than I realized.”
“Wanna expand?” I ask as I lift the bottle to my lips, finishing the contents.
Before I set it down on the bar top again, I shake it in the air toward the prospect. He jerks his chin, brings me a new one, taps it on the bar, then sets it down and takes the old, empty one with him.
“That girl. You’re going to let her walk away?”
Pressing my lips together, I spin the cold bottle a few times before I turn to look at him.
He’s staring straight ahead. I take in his profile for a moment, then flick my gaze to the wooden bar top.
It’s scarred and old. It’s been here probably longer than Shocker.
It’s seen a hell of a lot over the years.
“She’s not mine to keep,” I point out. “And what? You’re a counselor now?”
I know I’m being a smart-ass, and without a doubt, I’m being a dick. But the fact that he’s telling me I can keep her, that I shouldn’t let Lainey walk away, is bullshit. He knows it, and I know it, but for some fucking reason, he thinks he’s got some goddamn authority on this shit.
“I just want the family to stay together. And I know you’re in love with her.”
I should probably be sad about the way he’s talking. Maybe he thinks that life is just that easy, or maybe he just wants everyone to be happy. Either way, it doesn’t fucking matter because rules are the fucking rules.
“There’s a contract involved. It’s no longer in anyone else’s hands. No decisions need to be made. They’ve already been made. And Lainey was the one who made them.”
Shocker grunts, shifting in his seat before he brings the shot glass in front of him to his lips and downs it. Obviously, he doesn’t agree with my answer. He turns his head, his eyes locking in on mine, and I realize he really doesn’t fucking agree with my answer.
“We’re all in control of our destiny, Viking. If you think that any part of your life is out of your hands, then you don’t deserve her.”
“Why the fuck do you care?” I demand.
Lifting my beer to my lips again, I turn my head and stare straight ahead before I drink half the bottle, and then I set it down again, waiting for him to respond. When he doesn’t say anything, I turn to look over at him.
Shocker is climbing down from his barstool and makes his way toward me, wrapping his fingers around my shoulder before he jerks me slightly.
“I’m dying, Viking. I’m dying, and I can’t stand to have someone else live the same life I did.”
“What the fuck?”
He shrugs a shoulder, a small, weathered smile playing on his lips, but I can’t focus on that because his eyes are so goddamn sad-looking.
“I let my Lainey walk away. She left and never came back because I thought that club rules were more important than love. They aren’t, Viking. They never will be.”
He shakes my shoulder one more time before he breaks eye contact with me, then hobbles away. I watch him, unsure that I’ve heard what I just have. Dying. Shocker is dying. Something shifts inside me, my insides squeeze, and my heart fucking cracks.
I love the old goat.