“Listen up, you little bitch,” I say, stepping closer to him and feeling the last week’s worth of stress flowing through my veins. “You’re going to stay away from my wife. You’re going to stop sending her flowers and if you ever contact her again, I’ll fucking kill you. She’s not interested.”
He meets my gaze and grins as blood trickles from his nose. “That’s not what she said last night.”
Before I can even think about it, I swing and land a punch right to his face, satisfied by the crunch I hear when my knuckles connect with his nose. He moans in pain but Streak holds him upright, nodding to me to go again. I remember walking into the clubhouse and finding the photos everywhere as I land the next punch and when the one after that connects, I think of the message scrawled in red above the war room. On the fourth punch, the dreams I’ve been having where Piper’s picture is up there on those walls with Dina, Laney, and Sammy fill my mind and I land two more before Blaze grabs me and pulls me back.
“That’s enough.”
I shake him off and nod as Streak releases James and he falls to the ground, whimpering as he tries to crawl back up his steps.
“Dude, are you fucking crying?” Streak asks, looking down in disgust and jumping out of the way when James tries to grab his boot. A few people ride by on bikes, staring at us in horror and Streak kneels down next to James like he’s checking on him. “You all right, man? You need an ambulance?”
“Streak,” Blaze admonishes with a tired sigh and I glance over my shoulder as the couple on the bikes stops to see if he’s okay. I wave to them and smile and they watch me for a second before pulling away.
“We’ve got to go,” I tell Blaze, glancing around the neighborhood and he nods.
“Streak, get him back in his house.”
I hold up my hand and step forward before crouching down next to James and slapping his shoulder with just enough force to make my point. “You ever even think about coming near my woman again and I’ll be back. You can fucking count on that.”
“I’ll only stay away…” he says through clenched teeth. “If Piper wants me to.”
I flash him a smile with too many teeth as I squeeze his shoulder until he whimpers again. “Then, I’ll see you soon, friend.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Piper
My head pounds incessantly as I lean back in the dining room chair and close my eyes, taking a deep breath to try and fend off some of the pain. Rubbing my fingertips into my temples, I release a sigh as a wave of relief washes over me but as soon as it comes on, it’s gone again. My stomach rolls and I clamp my mouth shut, fighting the urge to vomit as I shake my head. Oh, hell, I am never drinking again. When I open my eyes, my gaze locks onto our wedding photo hanging on the wall and my chest starts to ache.
I’m mad.
I’m hurt.
And I miss my husband like crazy.
We’ve only been apart for twelve hours but in that time, I’ve been a wreck of conflicting emotions, bouncing from one to the next before circling back around as I spent the night over at Eden’s apartment, drinking way too much wine and bitching about Wyatt and his shitty ass behavior before I passed out on her couch. When I woke up this morning, I had three missed calls from him but there has been no contact since shortly after he left the studio last night so I have to consider the possibility that he is still mad, too. Not that he has a leg to stand on. I shake my head. He can’t honestly think that I am cheating on him, can he?
Last night, when he lobbed that accusation at me and threw our past in my face with hate shining in his eyes, I was hurt but as soon as he left and I had time to process everything that had happened, that quickly changed to anger.
Does he really think so little of me?
And why the hell did I even tell him the truth if I’m going to be punished for the lie for the rest of our lives?
I assumed that once he took some time to calm down, he would realize that it wasn’t true but his silence is scaring me. Tears sting my eyes as I remember him ordering me to pack my stuff and get out of the house last night but before they can slip down my face, the anger takes over again. This past week has been hell on him and I know that but I refuse to be treated this way, I refuse to allow him to use my past mistakes against me anytime something goes wrong. That is not the kind of marriage I want to have and I have a hard time believing that is what he wants either.
My heart jumps into my throat as the door handle turns and my head jerks up as Wyatt walks through the front door. We both freeze, our eyes locked, and all the pain and anger of last night arcing between us like electricity. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he sucks in a breath and flashes me a sheepish smile. Despite my anger, it feels like I can breathe again. The man standing in front of me is the one I love with every cell in my body, not the version of him I was confronted with last night.
“How are you?” he asks and I scoff.
“Pretty fucking shitty.”
He nods and sinks into the chair across from me as I grab my cup of coffee and lift it to my lips, taking a small sip. Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair and my eyes widen at his red, swollen knuckles.
“What did you do?”
Glancing down at his hand as he sets it on the table, he shakes his head. “Nothing. Just got pissed and punched a wall.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t break your goddamn hand,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at his poor judgment.
God…
Of all the stupid things…
He nods and leans back in his chair, meeting my gaze again as he drops both of his hands into his lap. “Can we talk?”
Nodding, I arch a brow and cross my arms over my chest, waiting for his explanation. I had to keep telling myself last night that I didn’t do anything wrong and I didn’t deserve the treatment I got. Something Eden had to remind me of repeatedly when I tripped up and tried to rationalize his behavior with the shit that has been going on with the club.
“I’m sorry…”
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Wyatt,” I snap, interrupting him as I lift my coffee cup to my lips and he nods, dropping his head. He meets my gaze again and I can see the weight of the burden he insists on carrying on his shoulders. My heart aches at the strain on his face and the haunted look in his eyes. It’s a face I recognize all too well and my worry for my husband grows every day. Leaning forward, I reach across the table and hold my hand out to him. He stares at it for a second before looking up at me with hope and slipping his hand into mine.
“I’m not just letting go of what happened last night. It was a shitty thing to do and we’ll talk about it in a second but I’m more worried about you right now.”
His head jerks back in surprise. “Me?”
“Wyatt, you’re not sleeping, you’re barely eating, and I can see you slowly slipping away from me. You’re starting to look like I did before I left.”
“It’s just this shit with the club,” he whispers, running his free hand through his hair. The move has always been his go-to whenever he gets stressed but I’ve been seeing a whole lot more of it lately. With a sigh, I abandon my seat and walk over to him before climbing into his lap and straddling his thighs so I can cup his face between my hands.