“And you didn’t like that?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I grumbled in frustration.
“It does to me.” His response had me stopping short. I stared at him, his expression raging with conflict.
“Why?” I dared to ask.
He stared wordlessly at me with that unreadable expression I hated so goddamned much.
I let out a bitter laugh. “God! Why do I even bother asking? Why are you even out here with me anyway, Max? To torture me some more? Just go back to the party. I’ll walk it off. I’m fine.” I started walking again, only making it a few strides before I was gripped by the arm and spun around.
“Why would I torture you? What do you mean?”
I threw up my hands, letting the tidal wave of emotion I’d held back for so long rip free. “Because watching you with another woman makes me want to die. Is that what you want to hear? It makes me want to rip my own heart out and stomp on it since that would be less painful.”
Before I could utter another word, his mouth was on me. His lips took mine in a commanding caress that had my heart hammering and wetness pooling between my legs. He didn’t just take. He claimed. When his tongue met mine, my entire body hummed in response, wanting more, wanting everything. His large hands slid down my spine, cupping my backside with a throaty groan as he pulled me closer.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, relishing the feel of his firm body against mine. His hands moved up into my hair, pulling slightly as his teeth nipped at my lower lip. Kissing him was everything I’d imagined it would be. No, it was more.
Suddenly he broke away, as though I was made of fire. “Fuck, that was a bad idea, Wren,” he rasped. “We need to forget it ever happened.”
Euphoria turned to a living hell, one I was used to when it came to Max. I touched my kiss-swollen lips. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to forget,” I protested quietly.
He groaned. “We can’t, Wren. I’m older than you. I’m supposed to be trying to protect you, not tryin' to get in your pants. Your father would never understand. We just… can’t.”
I faced him, anger mixing with hurt running through my veins. “I’m not going to beg you, Max. But I will say that, yeah, you’re older than me. That mattered when we were kids. It shouldn’t matter now. And my father? He’d probably be pissed, but he loves me and wants me to be happy. He’d get over it. This is less about him and more about you,” I challenged. “If you don’t see me as worth fighting for, then you’re right, this was a mistake. Because to me, you’d be worth it all and then some.”
He looked at me, conflict raging in his eyes.
I swallowed back the tears threatening to clog my throat and gave him a sad smile. “Well, I should thank you, then. Because you confirming I wouldn’t be worth it? You just gave me the only real reason for me to get over you.”
And with that, I strode away from him, back toward the party.
“Wren…”
I didn’t turn at the sound of his voice. I couldn’t. I’d loved Max for so long—most of my life. It was finally time to begin to move on. And maybe, just maybe, be free.
Chapter 10
MAX
When I pulled up in front of the two-story home I’d lived in since the age of seven, when Jill and Cal had brought Emmie and me home and become our parents, I inwardly groaned at the sight of Ma waiting out front.
Jill was my aunt by blood, but had been my mother for all intents and purposes for as long as I could remember.
I’d missed the last two Sunday breakfasts. With the text from my pop this morning demanding my presence, I knew I either needed to show up or risk him knocking at my door. He would too. I’d never doubt it.
“Hi, Ma,” I greeted as I strode to the front door, helmet in hand.
She wrapped me in a hug, pulling back to look into my eyes. “You’re not sleeping,” she deduced correctly.
“I’m all right,” I assured her.
She bit her lip against pressing me further as she guided me inside. The house smelled like apples and cinnamon, like childhood, like home. “I made your favorite,” she shared, pointing to the muffins fresh from the oven. There were also eggs, sausage, and fresh fruit. She loved to put out a spread when we all came over to eat. “We’ll eat when Emmie gets here.”
“Mason not home from school this weekend?” I asked after my youngest brother. Mason had bucked family tradition and wasn’t interested in the club. Instead, he was playing college football. Despite Pop being the former prez and the club having been his life, he respected Mason’s choice and supported him. We all did.
“Next weekend,” she replied. “You’re going to his game, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” I replied, stealing a muffin and taking a massive bite as she slapped my hand with a laugh.
“Where’s Pop?” I asked with my mouth full.
“Working on his bike in the garage.”
“I’ll go see if I can help him out.” I nodded as she handed me two coffees to take with me.
“You tell him breakfast is in twenty, and I know damn well he already stole half of my first batch!” she hollered after me.
I merely chuckled, used to their banter, and headed for the garage. I found my pop squatted beside his bike, his hands and white tee stained with grease as he worked intently on his Harley. It was a familiar sight from my childhood, and I grinned, watching as he swore at the wrench in his hand.
“Need a hand?” I offered with a chuckle.
“You think your old man can’t fix his own bike?” he demanded, though his blue eyes were lit with humor. We both knew I wouldn’t doubt it for a second. At close to seventy, my pop still operated as though in his prime. And, if the women in town were any testament, the opposite sex still found him more than a little attractive. Fortunately, he’d only ever had eyes for my mom. He treated her like a queen, always had.
“You guys have a good trip?” I asked, handing him his coffee before sitting down on a nearby stool. They’d been traveling abroad.
He nodded. “Beautiful country, but you know me, I always like comin’ home.”
My mom was the one with the travel bug. He went along to make her happy, and because he’d never let her go alone. But I knew he’d be just as content to stay in Hawthorne.
“Cole tells me you’re off your game,” he commented in his typical no-nonsense tone. “That you’re angry and not yourself.”
“I’m all right,” I replied, providing my standard response.
He turned his gaze toward me. “Don’t give me that bullshit, son. What’s eatin’ you?”
I looked off to the side, unsure how to answer him. I’d always been able to talk to him about anything. But I wasn’t so sure I could talk to him about this.
“You always looked out for everyone before yourself,” he began when I didn’t respond. “You protected your sister. You were so fucking young, but you took that on as though it was your responsibility to own, even at seven years old. It took us years to get you to trust us to take care of her.”
I remembered that time well. My mother hadn’t been fit to take care of us. At four, Emmie couldn’t fend for herself, so I’d stepped up. I’d taken care of her until Cal and Jill had rescued us. It didn’t strike me as anything remarkable; it was what any brother should do.