“Do you want children?” Khloe asks as she blows the top of her coffee.
“I did,” I answer honestly. “Now, I can’t even think about—”
I frown as I look at them.
“Now I don’t know,” I rush out.
“You’ll know when you’re ready.” Emmalyn sets down her coffee cup as she stands. “How about we have some real fun?”
Misty groans, but she stands as well. We all follow Emmalyn through her house, and seconds later, we’re stepping into a craft room that would rival anything Martha Stewart could imagine.
“Holy crap,” I mutter as I step inside.
The walls are lined with shelves filled with canisters of different crafting materials. The far-right corner is a sewing station with four different types of machines.
“I can never stick to one thing at a time,” Emmalyn confesses as she walks toward the huge table in the center of the room.
“Last month it was quilts and learning to knit,” Misty whispers, but she keeps her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Now she swears this diamond painting mess is relaxing. I find it only hurts my eyes and makes me feel twenty years older than I actually am.”
“Diamond painting?” I ask. How rich are these people?
“Diamond painting,” Khloe confirms. “And it is very relaxing.”
She points to a canvas with color-coded little squares all over it.
“These are called drills.” Emmalyn points to several baggies with tiny pieces of plastic in them. “It’s sort of like paint by numbers, but it’s 3D, and the end product is magnificent.”
“So you’ve heard,” Misty interrupts her friend before turning back to look at me. “She hasn’t actually finished one yet.”
“We just got started,” Khloe says in defense of herself and her friend. “It’s going to be amazing.”
“Interested?” Emmalyn asks as hope fills her eyes.
“A nap would be better,” Misty mumbles. “Or that book I was telling you girls about.”
“My entire life is a fairy-tale,” Emmalyn says with sparkles in her eyes. “I don’t need to read about a happily ever after when I’m in the middle of my own.”
Misty shrugs, and it seems she can’t argue it either way. Not for her friend or for herself.
I try not to feel bitter. I try not to judge them for the things I’ve suffered. I wouldn’t wish what happened to me on another living soul, but not everyone lives a fantasy. Not everyone gets to have a fairy-tale happily ever after. Some people are hurt and broken. Some people fight demons daily, never knowing if they will overcome them at all.
I take a deep breath, resigning myself to spending time with these women even though I feel even more like the odd man out. I try not to feel like a charity case, like the lost girl who needs attention.
I pull up a stool, with my opinions changing of these women, and start to attach the little plastic pieces to the sticky canvas. I can’t be friends with them, no matter how genuine their smiles.
I’m pitying myself and hating that I’m here in their perfect world and in their perfect house with thoughts of their perfect husbands filling my brain when Emmalyn opens her mouth and smashes all of those preconceived thoughts with a single sentence.
“My first husband beat me for years before I was able to escape.”
I listened with tears in my eyes as she spoke of being alienated from her entire family, so the man who was supposed to love her could control and hurt her.
Then Misty spoke of her religious upbringing, of her parents’ willingness to disown her, and how she sat at the clinic, mere moments away from aborting her first son Griffin before she realized she could have a different life.
Khloe spoke about losing her best friend in the Middle East, and how she downed a bottle of pills because she didn’t see another way of moving on.
Then they talked about Diego, Morrison, and Dustin, the men of the Cerberus MC that arrived at just the right time to change everything for them, and I feel kindred with these women because that’s exactly what happened for me with Ryan. And as the day goes on and the conversation continues, I allow myself to think of a future. By the time evening rolls around and the diamond painting has transformed from a sticky mess to a sparkling piece of art, I’ve forgiven myself.
I forgive myself for smiling at the stranger at the mall.
I forgive myself for not fighting harder when I had really bad days at the compound.
I forgive myself for hurting, for staying in bed longer than I should have, for being afraid because what happened to me was terrible.
And when Emmalyn offers to let me stay in her guest bedroom so I won’t be all alone in the clubhouse, I agree because there’s safety in numbers and these women aren’t different from me. The only thing that they have over me is time. They’ve had time to heal, time to accept that they deserve more than they were initially offered, time to love those that love them.
They deserve it.
And I deserve it, too.
Chapter 17
Scooter
I’m distracted more today than I have ever been.
I’m distracted by the scent of her on my t-shirt that I refused to change when I woke up.
I’m distracted by the warmth of her skin I swear I can still feel on my lips from when I pressed them to her forehead before crawling out of bed.
I’m distracted by the need to run back to her even though we’ve only been in South America for a handful of hours.
“You’re distracted,” Jinx says as he walks up to me.
I chuckle with his observation. It’s like the man is in my head.
“Distraction is dangerous. Distractions will get you killed,” he adds.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Distractions can get me killed,” he continues, rubbing his hand along his scruffy jawline. “I’m too pretty to die, so you need to get your head in the fucking game and leave New Mexico and Mia behind until this mission is over.”
“I’m fine,” I snap.
When my phone chimes in my pocket, he raises an eyebrow when I reach for it.
“You’re distracted,” he repeats before walking away.
He isn’t telling me anything I haven’t already thought of myself but hearing concern for his own safety and anticipating that I’ll be the cause if something goes wrong makes me take a step back and reevaluate.
The text is from Mia, the very first one she’s sent me since I programmed my number into her cell before leaving. I’m turning my phone upside down, trying to figure out what in the hell the glittery thing is in the image when another text comes in.
Mia: I’ve been diamond painting with the girls today.
“Diamond painting?” I mutter.
“Em loves it.”
I nearly drop my phone when Kincaid sneaks up on me.
I won’t get into trouble for getting a text message, but I stow my phone back in my pocket because I don’t want my boss to come to the same conclusion both Jinx and I have.
“Em also says that Mia stayed at our house all day while they worked on it, and she’s agreed to stay the night there as well.”
This news calms some of my fears. I was terrified she’d have a nightmare, and there’d be no one there to comfort her, or worse, she’d end up leaving because I was gone.