"Either way, you’re one of us. You’re a mom, and you know that they become a part of you. You’re not just on your own. You’ll always be split in half."
"Or thirds. Or fourths," she agreed, "depending on how many you have."
"Cyan’s more than enough of a handful. I don’t know if I could deal with more than one of her right now," I told her, knowing I was lying. Storm had been the one who didn’t want more kids. Not me. "She’s Storm’s kid through and through. I was a good girl."
MaryCat pulled a face. "I wasn’t. Digger didn’t sound like he was a good kid either."
I snickered. "Something to look forward to."
Our eyes clashed, held, before we both started giggling.
Her grin, when it made an appearance, was genuine, and I was glad to have broken some inner tension inside her.
As our laughter died, I told her, "You’re safe here, MaryCat."
"Do you know who my dad is?"
"Irish Mob, isn’t he?"
That had her mouth gaping. "How do you know that?"
"I hear things. Storm talked business when he was at home." I corrected, "Not with me. Just on the phone. I used to listen in."
"Do you know how powerful the Irish mob is?"
"I can imagine," I said softly. "But you’re in Ohio—"
"It’s not exactly the other side of the world, Keira," she rasped, hefting Maddox higher against her chest to burp him after he’d finished feeding and I’d handed her a soft cloth from the diaper bag. "They could come for me at any time."
"And if you think the Sinners will allow that, you’re nuts." I grinned at her. "Honey, you might as well be in Timbuktu."
She didn’t look convinced, but before I could try to comfort her more, I heard a phone ringing.
"Is that yours?" I asked, twisting around, but when she shook her head, I got to my feet, and realized it was the landline on the desk.
I knew I shouldn’t pick it up, but I didn’t want it to disturb Maddox further, so I held on tight to my big balls, feeling ridiculously brave as I lifted the receiver.
"Hello? Storm isn’t here right now, but I can take a message."
"Keira?"
I stiffened. "Rachel?"
Rachel Laker was the club’s lawyer. We’d always had a prickly relationship, mostly because Rachel had that kind of effect on most people.
Some might call her an ice-cold bitch but, when my daughter had been abducted, Rachel had been the one to hold my hand while I waited for some news about Cyan. In all honesty, she’d kept me from losing my mind.
She’d also been the only person who’d ever told me the whole truth about Storm. Not just as my husband, but as a man. That meant that anyone who called her an ice-cold bitch in my presence would have to deal with me afterward.
"Yes. I—" She heaved a sigh. "Storm isn’t there?"
"No. He’s in church."
A soft sound escaped her, one that had my brows lifting.
Was Rachel crying?
What the hell was going on?
Tension flittered through me as I thought about all the shit that had happened in the club’s recent past. God, I—
Then it hit me.
Tears welled in my eyes. "Bear?" I choked out.
She let out a sob. "Yes."
Pressing my fist to my mouth, I tried to hold back the tears but it was impossible.
While I didn’t know West Orange’s last Prez as well as I had his wife, especially since her death when he’d been AWOL for so long, I knew what he meant to Storm. Knew he’d been like a father to him.
Oh, God, this was going to destroy Storm.
First Rene, now Bear…
"Rachel, I hoped—" My words waned with grief, and when I shot a look at MaryCat, noticing she was cuddling Maddox a little more than before and that her eyes were wet too as she read between the lines, I covered my face with a hand.
"We all did," she whispered, her voice raw and gritty, like she’d been crying for hours. "I-It happened on Christmas Day. Rex is..." She gulped. "He’s gone missing. We don’t know where he is, so everything kind of got—" A choked cry escaped her. "Tell Storm I’m sorry."
"Is Rex back?"
"No," she whispered. "Not yet."
"Do you think he’s coming down here?"
"I don’t know. He could be anywhere." She swallowed. "Would you mind telling Storm? He’ll probably take it better coming from you."
Even through my tears, I grimaced, but nodding, said, "I will. I’ll tell him."
Her voice was husky as she whispered, "Thanks."
"Not a problem." I pressed my knuckles along the curve of my cheekbone to gather the tears that were falling. "When’s the funeral?"
"I’ll let you know. There’s going to be an autopsy—"
"There is? Why? Isn’t it obvious what killed him?" God, the blast at the clubhouse had torn him limb from limb.
"They’re… they think there might have been foul play."
For a second, I couldn’t process what she was saying, but when it resonated, I couldn’t hold back the words as I blurted out, "You’re saying the cops think Bear was murdered?"
Dear Diary
Senior Year
This sounds so dumb, but we looked at each other today.
I’ve been waiting to see him again, hoping he’d show up at school, and he did.
He looked so tired again, so sad.
Does nobody else see that?
I felt like I was the only one who noticed.
Most of the guys were just drooling over his ride, and the girls were drooling over him. Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty to drool over, but how can’t they see his sorrow?
I wish I could unsee it.
It makes me think about him all the time.
I downloaded ‘Love Story’ the second I realized he makes me think of that song. Which, actually, is pretty hilarious. No way should a biker make me think about Taylor Swift songs, ha.
I think I might make a mixed CD. I watched this really old movie the other night, Say Anything, and it seemed like such a cool idea to give to someone. I’d never give him the mixed CD, but instead of thinking about how sad he looks, maybe I could think of songs for him?
Gah, that sounds dumb. So dumb.
His smile… I wish I could forget it. Forget him.
Some people, though, are just unforgettable.
Dear Keira
Your name is as beautiful as you. I looked it up. It means ‘little dark one.’
Why can’t I stop thinking of you?
You saw me watching you tonight. You probably think I’m a creep, a fucking lech, but I’m not. I don’t mean you any harm. You’re just so pure that it hurts to look at you and because I’m a masochist, I can’t stop.
I’m going to see you every morning and every afternoon, and it’s going to be bittersweet.
It’s going to hurt.
Maybe that’s the kind of hurt I need though.