"MC and drugs, don’t they go together like a horse and carriage?"
Though I smirked at her play on words, I merely said, "Prince’s death was nasty."
"What happened?"
"It might not have been meth-related, but Bear blamed it all the same. This, man, I don’t even know what it was, but it burst in his brain."
"An aneurysm?"
"No. I don’t think. Blood came pouring outta his nose like it was a fucking fountain." I grumbled. "It was pretty sick. Unfortunately, it happened at one of the family BBQs, in front of all the kids."
"Jesus."
"Yeah. It left an impression watching him keel over into the grill like he was a sack of potatoes."
"He fell onto the hot grill?"
"Uh-huh. Smelled like bacon." I made an oinking sound which had her gagging.
"Ewww."
Despite myself, despite the situation, I had to grin. Even if it died shortly after, I’d smiled. That was Keira for you. She always did make me feel lighter.
Talking about the grimy shit that fell in our laps on the regular wasn’t something I ever did with her, either. Maybe she could ease the burden if I trusted her with it.
"He didn’t really," I corrected apologetically. "But the blood stuff, the nose stuff, that was true."
"Still sounds gross."
"It was. Left enough of an impression for Bear to turn into the MC’s personal alphabet agency." I shrugged. "Maybe I was the reason for that too. He made me go cold turkey."
"How?"
"Tough love."
"Not sure that works."
"He had the sheriff arrest me."
"On what grounds?"
I wafted a hand. "Something dumb. Parking tickets or some shit. Two weeks in county jail before I got bailed out. It was obviously a setup. The sheriff’s always been in our pocket. By the time I got out, the withdrawals were over."
"That’s a hard way to get clean," she choked out.
"The hardest. Taught me a lesson, though."
"Until the next time you scored."
I winced but found myself surprised by the lack of accusation in her voice. "Mom got out of jail. That was the next time. She scored some for me. I think she liked that we were both weak."
She gulped. "God, I’m so glad that I never met her."
"Me, too, honey. Me fucking too."
"How did you get clean?"
"Rex."
"What did he do?"
"He wasn’t as kind as his dad. Locked me in the Fridge when shit got really bad."
"The Fridge?"
"It’s where…" I winced. "…things disappear."
"Oh." She blinked. "Ohhh."
I hummed. "Been in there more fucking times than I can count over the years."
"They just left you there?"
Smiling a little at her indignation, pleased because those occasions had been hell on earth, I told her, "Nah. Someone always stayed with me. They just camped outside."
"How many times have you gotten clean?"
"Four. But the last time, I didn’t get clean. I transferred addictions."
"What does that mean?"
"When you go clean, and you do the twelve steps, you’re not supposed to have sex or drink or anything like that in case you switch addictions."
"I guess that makes sense."
"It does."
"You didn’t listen, did you?" Her voice was sorrowful.
"No. I didn’t."
"You’re addicted to sex, aren’t you? Because I’ve seen you with booze. You don’t drink that much."
"I drank more at the bar at the clubhouse than I did at home, but never to excess. It’s not my vice."
"Fucking whores is, though, huh?"
Her bitterness raked at me worse than Bear’s passing did. I closed my eyes, and admitted, "I didn’t want them, Keira."
"You still fucked them."
"I didn’t want them. I always wanted you."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she snarled. "Is that supposed to make everything okay? I was goddamn there, Storm. I was there." Her anger faded. "Why didn’t you— I was there." She gulped, and I knew she was holding back her tears. "I was there," she repeated. "You put me on some kind of pedestal. I see that now. I just don’t get it." She shook her head. "That night, after we got Cyan back, and I saw the tattoo, you said that you think I’m an angel. I’m not, Storm.
"I’m just a woman. I’m not perfect, I make mistakes. I don’t have wings. I don’t pretend to be holier than thou. That’s not who I am. You put that label on me. You did. Nobody else. I’m flesh and blood."
I wasn’t surprised when she got to her feet, the stool scraping against the floor as she shoved it back.
Her words resonated with me in a way that didn’t make me feel bad, just angry. It wasn’t her fault. None of this was, but that didn’t lessen my anger.
As she started to walk away, I snatched her hand and hauled her against me. She yelped in surprise because I never touched her in anger, ever, and when she slalomed into my side, her other hand came up against my chest. As she pushed, I didn’t let go. I held on tighter. Not letting her budge.
"You are perfection," I rasped. "You are everything that is beautiful in this world. You are a goddess," I snarled. "Don’t you dare ever say anything less in my presence."
In the lowlights from beneath the kitchen cabinets, I saw her wide eyes, saw her mouth tremble, and it would have been so easy to press my lips to hers.
I didn’t.
But I didn’t let go either.
"I’m not a goddess. I’m not perfect. I’m not everything that’s beautiful in this world," she replied miserably. "I was a stupid girl who gave everything up for a man who fucked his way through a soccer team of clubwhores rather than be with his wife, a stay-at-home mom who somehow messed everything up so bad that her daughter willingly got into a pedophile’s car—"
My brain whirred as I thought about how she looked upon what I’d done. She was taking it as if it were her failing, but it wasn’t.
It was mine.
All of this was my fault.
What had I done that made both my woman and kid blame her rather than me?
"Keira, you need to listen to me," I growled, unable to bear hearing her talk shit about herself. "Cyan was groomed. That’s what pedophiles do. She didn’t get into that car because she hated you or hated me. She got into that car because those bastards are clever. They’re fucking smart.
"For years, Kevin lived under the MC’s radar. He was so goddamn arrogant, so fucking sure of himself that he raped Sinners’ kids. If anyone is gonna be more street smart than the regular kid, it’s ours. But they didn’t say shit. They never said anything until it was too late. Because they get groomed.
"These fuckers are good at what they do because they have to be. Cyan didn’t want to run away—"
"She wanted to be with you. She thought he was going to take her to be with you. I could have stopped all this if I’d just come here when you asked," she whispered, but I heard the tears that were coming. "Why did I have to choose that moment to be independent?"