CHAPTER EIGHT
(Eight Months Later)
Slipping out of bed in the dark, I stare at the bedroom door for a while. My chest still rises and falls with each heavy breath. A quick glance at the clock shows me it's three in the morning. I didn't really need to see the clock. The darkness surrounding me is so familiar by now I could have easily guessed the time.
Every day is like being punished for living, while Clay is in the ground. I want to sleep. It's all I want to do. All day, every day. Sleeping takes me away from the misery of being alone.
Stretching out my arm, I fumble with my bedside lamp. The damn thing looks pretty, but it's useless. It takes a few seconds for me to find the switch and click it on. With the weak glow, our bedroom comes into focus. I've barely set foot on "Clay's side" of the room since he died. I can't bear it.
I lied to Sophie about my mother and stepfather sticking around to help me out. My mother hasn't been "motherly" in almost twenty years—she's not going to magically start now. All this grief belongs to me and I can't stand being a burden on anyone, not even my best friend. Clay's sister only stopped by to give me grief. Eventually she got bored and went away for good.
While going through his things, I discovered he'd taken a very large life insurance policy out right after we got married. That, coupled with the large insurance policy payout from his employer because he died on the job, means I don't have to go back to work if I don't want to. After struggling for so long to be financially secure, the money is like some sort of cosmic joke. The fact that I came into it under the worst possible scenario is almost too tragic to think about.
I crawl out of my grief stupor long enough to pay off Clay's car, sell off my old shitbox, and pay off the house and my student loans. After that, I have no obligations, so I am free to bury my head under the covers and let the world carry on without me. I pay the electric bill when they send me those fancy yellow notices that warn me they're going to shut the power off. The cable gets turned off, and I don't even notice for a few weeks. The car insurance and cell phone have been directly debited from our account for years. Not that it matters—I almost never leave the house anymore.
Friends call to check on me, but after a while they stop. Probably because I am rather unpleasant to talk to and not very good at returning calls. I decline every invitation, and eventually people stop bothering me.
I'm so fucking angry. I'm pissed at Clay, but I can't be because it's not his fault. In fact, he made sure I'd be well taken care of in case something like this ever happened. Good thing, too, because I'm a mess. He knew me well. He knew how hard it had been for me as a teenager going from one rat-infested apartment to another because my mother couldn’t get her shit together after my father died. I swore I’d never live that way again, which is part of the reason Clay and I both worked so hard.
One day bleeds into another, and before I realize it, weeks and weeks have gone by. I barely eat. I barely get out of bed. The pain is relentless. I almost wish I drank so I could dull the agony. I keep telling myself tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll do something. Go back to work? Buy some groceries? Wash my hair? Tomorrow I'll do something. I just don't know what that something is.
For months, I exist like this. Then one afternoon, out of the blue, Sophie stops by. Dear, sweet, patient Sophie who just can't take a hint and leave me the fuck alone. The look on her face tells me how appalled she is by what she finds.
"Oh, honey."
I don't even care enough to be embarrassed.
She cooks a simple dinner of spaghetti. It's the first real meal I've eaten in months. I know it's good because she’s a wonderful cook, but I barely taste anything.
"Honey, you need to see a doctor."
I grit my teeth and push my plate away. "I'm fine."
She purses her lips but, bless her soul, doesn't push me any further.
After her visit, I try a little harder. I pull myself out of bed each day before noon for an entire week. The first trip I make to the supermarket is loud, bright, and makes me want to curl up in a ball on the floor. As I drag the groceries into the empty house, I burst into tears.
I want to check on Hope, but I also know she needs space.
One year.
I said I’d give it a year, but it’s the longest damn year of my life.
The MC lacks the excitement of the previous year. Earnings are good all around. Even in a bad economy, or perhaps because of the bad economy, people are desperate for any escape. My clubs provide that escape for many people.
For some ridiculous reason, I tell myself I'm not going to be with any other woman until I can be with Hope. I guess I want to see if I'm still cut out for monogamy? I don’t want to waste her time or mine if I can’t learn to control my dick. Besides, I peg her for the type of girl who would rip mine off if she ever caught me with another woman.
There is this piece of me that demands if I can't have Hope, I won’t have anyone. I don't discuss my decision to only self love for the foreseeable future with any of my brothers because they'd probably strip my patch. This decision creates all sorts of new opportunities for me. Once my mind isn't clouded by an endless parade of available pussy, I find I have a lot of time to get shit done. I grow my custom bike business. I spend a lot of time training at Wrath’s gym punching things.
It’s an oddly freeing feeling, to not have my dick make all the decisions for a change.
My plan could be for nothing. For all I know, Hope’s out banging guys left and right to ease her pain. Except…I know her. She loves hard. The likelier scenario is she’s still reeling from her husband’s death. It’s part of why I want her so bad. The decent guy inside of me recognizes that a year may not be enough time for her to deal with her grief. I ignore that guy—he’s a dick.
After asking around, I determine she hasn't gone back to work. She appears to be off the grid entirely. Oddly enough, I don't drive by her house anymore. I'm afraid I won't be able to stop myself from doing something stupid like knocking on the door. Or kidnapping her. I do have one of the prospects check on her from a distance to make sure she’s safe.
Over the last six months or so, I’ve scaled back my role at Crystal Ball dramatically. Since I’ve imposed this bizarre vow of celibacy on myself, being surrounded by hot, naked, down-to-fuck chicks all the time is a hazard I don’t have patience for. But, there are things that need to be done, so I still spend time there once or twice a week. I choose the busiest nights because I figure there will be less downtime to give in to any temptation.
An interesting guest comes into Crystal Ball one night. I almost don't recognize her at first. She's so fucking hot I think she must be here to audition for a job, but she and her boyfriend take a seat in the back corner of the club. Lots of couples come into Crystal Ball to add some spice to their relationship. Usually the woman is completely freaked out and nervous. Not this girl. She’s not catty toward the dancers either. She seems secure in her relationship. This isn’t some last-ditch effort to keep her man.
It bugs me that she looks so familiar, though. Maybe they’ve been in here before, but, that doesn’t feel right. I’ve met her in a different situation. Then I realize it's Hope's friend, Sophie. My eyes scan the dude, and I realize he looks familiar too.
How's your rock star? Hope’s words pop into my head, and now it's clear why he looks familiar. He's the singer for a semi-famous rock band. Heck, some of the girls even dance to his songs from time to time.
My feet are headed in their direction before my head knows what’s on the agenda.
"Sophie, right?"
She looks up, instant recognition crossing her face. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t tell me to fuck off either. It doesn’t dawn on me right away, but she’s not surprised to see me.
She turns toward her boyfriend. "Jonny, this is a friend of Hope’s. Rock."
Jonny nods but doesn’t offer to shake my hand, which is fine with me.
"Hope’s in a bad place right now," Sophie says with no other niceties. This girl is no bullshit, a quality I appreciate.
I pull a chair over and sit at their table. One of the waitresses—Willow, I think—sashays over to ask what I want.
"Scotch neat, babe." I pull her close and whisper, "Whatever they’re drinking tonight is on the house, got it?"
Her eyes dart to the couple and back to mine. "Sure, boss."
After Willow drops off my drink, I tug her close again. "Have Lexi dance to ‘Hold On,’ okay?" Willow, bless her heart, looks confused but agrees.
When she leaves, I nod at Sophie. "I imagine things are tough for Hope."
"No. Not tough. She won’t get out of bed. She’s not eating. Won’t talk to any of her friends. I wanted to respect her wishes and give her time to grieve, but I finally muscled my way in to see her Friday, and she’s in a bad way."
It’s distressing to hear this, but I’m not sure what Sophie expects me to do. I know what I want her to ask me to do, but I’m not about to suggest it first.
"Where’s her family?" I ask.
Sophie snorts out a laugh. "Her mother is useless. And you remember her sister-in-law?"
Yeah, I remember the bitch wailing at the funeral as if everything revolved around her.
"Okay, why are you telling me this?"
Sophie tilts her head and pins me with a sharp but not unkind stare. "Don’t dick me around about this, okay? Do you care about Hope at all? If you don’t, just say so and I’ll figure something else out. No judgment."
I flick a glance at Jonny. While his gaze is focused on the stage, I get the impression he’s still invested in our conversation.
Fuck it.
"Yes, I care about her. It kind of seems like an inappropriate time to do anything about it, though."
She twirls a chunk of hair around her finger while she seems to contemplate what she wants to say next. "I’m not saying you need to proposition her or anything gross. Look, I know what you did for her after the funeral. Taking her mind off things for a little bit. I also know what went down between you two before that." She pins me again with her perceptive blue eyes before shifting her gaze slightly to the right of me and raising her eyebrows.
What she’s focused on is the hallway that leads to my office. So, apparently Hope told her about our encounter—the searing kiss that even a year and a half later I can’t get out of my fucking head.
Jonny eyes my cut, specifically the President patch, and puts his hand over Sophie’s. "Babe," he warns.
Shaking my head, I hold up my hand. "We’re good, man."
The opening notes of "Hold On" blast through the speakers. Jonny lets out a groan and shakes his head. "Fuck," he mutters. Sophie bursts into a fit of giggles.
I’m coiled so tight with tension I can’t stand the distraction, even though I caused it. We were close to something huge, and I need Sophie to focus on what she came here to do. "What’s on your mind, Sophie?"
Ignoring her boyfriend’s discomfort, she leans toward me. "You’re right. It’s still too soon for her. But the one year anniversary is in a few months, and I don’t want her to be alone."
Sophie’s pretty, red lips curl into a smile.
Something is brewing in this chick’s head, and fuck if I don’t like how her mind works.