I race after him. “Saint, wait!”
“Leave him, Lo.” Galen pulls me back as Saint climbs behind the wheel of his Land Rover. “He needs to process this his way.”
Pain stabs me in the chest. “I don’t want him to be alone.”
“He isn’t.” Galen bundles me into his arms. “He has us. He knows that, and he knows we’ll be waiting for him when he’s ready to talk.”
CHAPTER 35
“LO. STOP PACING and come sit down,” Galen says, patting the empty space on the couch beside him.
“He should be home by now.” I ignore Galen, continuing to wear a line in the floor. “It’s almost eleven. I don’t like him being there by himself.”
“We know where he is, and he’ll come back when he’s ready.” Theo attempts to reassure me, and the more they attempt to calm me down, the more irritable I become.
“You’re sure he’s still at the bar?” I inquire, walking to the table where Theo is seated.
“Yes. Look.” He points at the little red dot on the screen. “That’s where his cell phone has been for the past few hours. He hasn’t moved from Molly’s Bar.”
“This is how Saint processes,” Galen explains.
“And it’s better than him going after Sinner because who the fuck knows what he’ll do to him now he knows the truth,” Caz adds.
“Stop it!” I roar, losing the tenuous hold on my emotions. “Stop making excuses. Stop acting like this is okay, because it’s fucking not okay! Ugh!” I pound my fist on the table repeatedly until Theo bravely intervenes.
“We know you’re worried, and it’s not that we’re unconcerned,” he says, uncurling my clenched fist.
“It’s just what Saint does,” Galen adds.
Drawing a deep breath, I try to calm down. “I understand it. I do, because that’s what I usually do too, but things are different now. He has me, and he doesn’t need to be alone with his destructive thoughts.” I never should’ve let him leave by himself. I should’ve listened to my gut. I knew it was a bad idea.
“I can’t believe your mom has known all this time and she said nothing,” Caz says, deliberately sidestepping the topic. He tosses a couple more logs on the fire, fanning fresh flames.
“It’s clear Alisha knows a lot more than we realized,” Theo adds, kissing my knuckles before sitting back down in front of his tablet.
“Whether she remembers is debatable.” Galen kicks his socked feet up on the couch when he realizes I’m too wound up to sit still.
Even after a lengthy run around the grounds, I’m still a mass of restless energy, and I won’t relax until I know Saint is okay. This edgy, anxious feeling is disconcerting and new. I don’t think the guys get it—this is as much about me, as it is about Saint.
Saint’s pain is my pain.
I share in his frustration and his rage. My heart hurts in sympathy, my soul is bruised, and my mind is clouded with disappointment and uncertainty. I’ve never loved any man—besides my dad, and that was a different kind of love—before I met my guys, so these reactions, these emotions, are different for me too, and I hate feeling so helpless, so powerless, to support him in his time of need.
“And I’m not defending her,” Galen continues. “I’m fucking pissed. At Sinner. At her. At my dad, because presumably he was there too, but she’s fucked in the head. Drugs have fried her brain. Most times, she talks gibberish, and I never know whether to believe what comes out of her mouth.”
“Or maybe she blocked it out because it was too painful,” I suggest.
I know I’ve buried shit rather than face up to it in the past. Before I realized that is how tormentors continue hurting their victims. The only way to take back power, to regain control over your life, is to face your demons head-on. Alisha has spent her life denying the things she’s been witness to and the things she’s done. She’s weak, and it’s no surprise she’s turned to alcohol and drugs to blot reality and fuel her addictions.
“Or she realized the truth would only hurt Saint more,” Theo suggests, setting his tablet down.
“In her own fucked-up way, she thought she was protecting him,” Caz adds, running with Theo’s train of thought.
“She doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” Galen roughly exhales. Resting his head back on the arm of the couch, he closes his eyes. I know this is hard for him too. It’s one thing for Alisha to hurt him. Quite another to hurt his cousin.
“It doesn’t matter now,” I say, because the time for talking is over. “We can’t change the past. But we can deal with the here and now, and I’m done waiting.” I snatch up the keys to my Lexus and head toward the door. “I’m getting my husband. You can come with or stay here, but I’m not twiddling my thumbs a second longer. Saint needs me. Needs us. Whether he knows it or not.”
Still wearing my yoga pants and running top, which is no protection from the elements, I snag a hoodie from the hooks by the door, sliding my arms inside the long sleeves. Saint’s scent swirls around me as I zip up his hoodie, rolling the sleeves up until my hands are poking out. The guys trail me as I step out into the icy-cold night air, and no words are spoken as we pile into the Lexus and hightail it out of there.
_______________
THE BAR IS busy for a Monday night, packed to the rafters with bikers, laborers, and scantily clad women of all ages. Molly’s is located on the other side of Prestwick from the grungy biker bar Darrow favors, which is a blessing, because if I ran into my asshole ex tonight, in the mood I’m in, I’d probably slit his throat.
Disregarding the eyeballs glued to my body, I push my way through the people crowding the bar, searching for Saint’s head. My lips curl into a possessive snarl when I finally spot him sitting on a stool at the end of the bar with a bottle of JD and several empty glasses in front of him.
Two girls are vying for his attention, one on either side of him. Saint is ignoring them, shoving the brunette’s hand off his arm when she tries to latch on, keeping his head down, his fingers gripping his drink so tight it’s a miracle the glass doesn’t smash. The woman with the bright blue hair thrusts her tits in Saint’s face, smirking at her friend over his head, as if it’s a competition and he’s the prize.
Charging my way through the people in my path, I have singular focus. Anger rises like a tidal wave inside me as I watch the woman smush Saint’s face into her chest before he even realizes what’s happening. A snarl rips from my mouth, and I lunge for her.
Grabbing a fistful of blue hair, I yank the bitch away from my husband, slamming her face into the counter and pressing my arm across the back of her neck to keep her in place. She cries out, and it’s music to my ears. “You fucking dare to touch my husband without his permission?” I press down on her head when she attempts to straighten up. Blood flows from her nose, and tears leak from her eyes as she whimpers in pain.
Saint tips his head up, fixing me with a look loaded with dark intensity. Raw aggression exudes from his every pore, and his sexy ass radiates danger by the bucketload.