But I’d finally found something worth more to myself than the need to run, to start over countless times. I’d been running from happiness for far too long, afraid of the possibilities. I didn’t have to run anymore. Maybe Wilder didn’t want me in the bone-deep way I did him, but he cared for me, and that was enough. But I had to tell him I wanted more for us, that I’d fallen hard for the Preacher boy who stole to survive and lived life on the edge.
And so I stepped around the corner of that house and came to an abrupt stop as I watched Wilder all but tear out the back door. He looked frantic, wild as he looked around the yard. He had on no shirt, his sweats were pulled up to right below his hips, that cut V of muscle showing in startling clarity, and his car keys hung from his fingers. He had on a pair of running shoes, and just looking at him, the way he trembled, the haphazard attire he had on, told me he realized I wasn’t beside him, had probably literally jumped out of bed, and had come looking for me.
And then his eyes landed on me, and I sucked in a breath at the wild energy I saw reflected back at me. I lowered my gaze to his chest wound, saw a darkness start to spread from the center of his bandage and seep outward, and my chest ached horribly. He was hurting but still had come looking for me.
I felt like a worthless asshole. I’d been about to leave him without so much as a goodbye, a letter explaining anything.
He was by me before I comprehended it, had his hands wrapped around my shoulders and stared down at me with that same feral and intense focus. He slid his palms up the sides of my neck to cup my face and then smoothed his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears that still fell.
“Where were you going?” I heard the fear in his voice, the very real fear that I now felt myself.
The air left me violently as I let all these emotions crash into me like water against the ocean shore. I shook, cried harder, and finally Wilder pulled me not the hard embrace of his chest. I felt his warmth, sensed the soothing aura that always came from him when we were near. I let him hold me, stroke my back, whisper things I’d wanted someone to whisper to me my entire life.
“Why were you leaving?” he asked softly against the crown of my head. “I know I’m not a good man, Zoey. Shit, I’m a professional fucking thief.” He pulled back and cupped my cheeks in his big, strong hands again, his thumbs still moving back and forth, wiping away my tears.
I couldn’t stop no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how much I wanted to be strong. He stared into my eyes, the raw emotion on his face so startling it took my breath.
“I know all of that, know that scares the shit out of you, but I want to be a better man. I want to be better for you.” He seemed so earnest, so damn desperate. “I just need a chance to prove that. I need a chance to prove I’m worthy of you.”
I cried harder, hating how weak I felt, but at the same time, I felt liberated, stronger than ever. He didn’t have to prove anything to me. He was a good man. I felt that in my heart. We may have been thrown together in the most fucked up of ways, and it may have only been fourteen days we were locked in this limbo of... whatever it was we felt for each other. But it was real and raw and so good.
“I was afraid, but not of you,” I whispered, forcing the tears to slow, forcing myself to be strong. “I was afraid of what I felt, that my emotions were the first real thing I’ve ever felt. My first instance was to run from it, because it terrified me.” He stared into my eyes, that rawness still covering his face. “I’m sorry I was just going to leave without so much as a word, without telling you how I felt. What we shared, experiences together... it’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my life, Wilder.” He closed his eyes and shuddered, as if my words destroyed him in the best of ways.
When he opened them again, I sucked in a breath at all the unspoken words I saw in his eyes. And then he leaned in and claimed my mouth as I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him hold me tightly, so tightly the pain coalesced with the pleasure I felt. I never felt so complete in my life than I did when I was with Wilder. I don’t ever want to let the feeling go.
He pulled back, and we both breathed the same erratic tempo. He rested his forehead against mine, and I felt his body trembling.
“You don’t have to change for me,” I said and pulled back, and now I was the one cupping his cheeks. “I want you just the way you are.” I swallowed roughly, could hear the emotion in my voice. “As long as you want me just the same as I am.” He groaned softly and kissed me. “I don’t know what the future holds for us; that scares the hell out of me, but if you’re willing to take that chance, Wilder, I want to be by your side.”
He pulled me in for a tighter embrace, and I rested my head on his chest, right over his heart, hearing the strong, steady beat.
“Let’s go back inside so we can change your bandage.” I hated that he was hurting again because of me, not just emotionally but physically too.
He took my hand and led us inside, and it felt like this was exactly how things should be.
I’d known from the moment I looked into his too pale face in the back of that SUV that there was something between us. It had just taken me breaking down and reality slapping me in the face to realize this was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Frankie
Two months later
Hollowness.
That’s what I felt.
That’s what my life was. It was an endless cycle of back alley fighting, being a professional fucking thief, and watching each one of my brothers drop like flies in the name of falling in love.
I sat on the couch with nothing but a layer of sweats on, staring at the TV that wasn’t even on, my sixth beer nearly empty. I brought it to my mouth and finished it off. The buzz I had going on was the only thing making anything fucking bearable.
My brothers and their women. Fuck, they had something that I’d had once.
Once upon a long fucking time ago.
I reached for another beer and cracked it open.
I thought about my brothers and how they were happy now. I was glad for them. They deserved to have a strong, good woman by their side.
Dom had been gone for a good while as soon as he found “the one”—aka the one he kidnapped, and they fell in love and lived happily ever after. Cullen too, although I was sure his story was a lot more fucked up, because, well, it was Cullen.
And after the two eldest Preacher brothers found the women they were going to spend the rest of their lives with, of course they wanted their own space to do just that.
It had just been Wilder and me living in the house we’d grown up in since then. For months, we’d been on our own, an adjustment since it had always been the four of us, but it hadn’t been bad. I had my twin, and life had been good. The four of us were still a unit, still pulled jobs, made bank, and were good at being the bad guys who probably weren’t so bad at all in the grand fucking scheme of things.
But now, that had all changed.
Wilder had gotten his own place with Zoey. And I understood that’s how life worked, but it didn’t make it less shitty. Just because I understood didn’t mean I liked it.
Because being alone meant that hollowness came up full force.