"You didn't know me before I moved here."

"I knew you before—"

"I don't want to talk about that time in my life."

It took him a few minutes to put voices to people. Rich kept his eyes closed listening to Chuck and Gracie. He'd thought they were alone. Him and Gracie.

They'd had sex.

He stayed in her room.

What the hell was Chuck doing with them?

His pulse thrummed, and the urge to move his arms made him uncomfortable. He remained still, wanting to hear more.

"I'm just sayin'...Clara hooked up with Wayne from day one. You never seemed interested in getting together with any of us in the club," said Chuck. "You became our friend."

"Stop before you make me mad."

"Why does that piss you off?"

"God." Gracie sighed. "I don't know one woman who wants to be put in the friend category."

"Then, why didn't you get with one of us. Everyone was single. You partied with us. We all had time alone with you," said Chuck. "Rich shows up in the slammer one day, and you're fucking him. That doesn't make sense to me. I can't help but think it has something to do with what you've gone through over the last four years."

Gracie groaned. "I'm starting to feel sorry for Erikka. I have no idea why she loves you. I think I'll buy her flowers and have them delivered. She deserves to be recognized for her sainthood for putting up with your ego."

"Fuck..." mumbled Chuck. "Why can't you see what I'm saying?"

"Because you're being an asshole." Several seconds passed and Gracie continued. "What I do or don’t do has nothing to do with Notus. Period."

"Okay, I'll take that. But, damnit, Gracie. You're not comfortable around others. Rich is a stranger to you."

"Do you trust him?" she asked.

"With my life." Chuck blew out his breath. "Not with yours."

Rich couldn't continue pretending he slept listening to such bullshit. He wanted to put a stop to Chuck's fucking pity party trying to get Gracie to feel guilty over her choices, and then he planned to get a drink to forget about putting Gracie in the position to defend her choices.

He opened his eyes, recognized the living room of Gracie's house and pushed himself to his feet. His stomach rolled, and he grunted, walking across the room. He banged his shoulder against the wall when his vision tilted and he pushed off, heading to the downstairs bathroom.

Leaving the door open, he had his belt undone and his jeans unzipped by the time he lifted the lid. He unloaded, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back on his shoulders. Jesus Christ, how much had he drunk?

He finished and walked back out to the living room. Chuck and Gracie hadn't moved away from each other.

"Can Notus give a former brother some cash?" He eyed the bottle on the coffee table to see if there was at least a swallow left to knock the stiffness from his body.

"What do you need money for?" asked Chuck.

He tucked in his shirt. "What? You want a warning this time? I'm heading out."

"What's your plan?"

He swept his hair off his face and looked between Chuck and Gracie. "I'm not looking for anything here. There's no use hanging around."

Gracie frowned, a flash of pain settled in her eyes, and she looked away from him. He stepped toward the stairs and Chuck grabbed the back of his shirt. He remained loose, expecting the punch, and let his body slide down the wall as his head snapped back in force.

He squinted and shook his head, regretting the extra movement instantly. "You've always had a problem controlling your fist."

"Only with fuckers who are trying to kill themselves." Chuck stood over him. "Get up, because I'm not done."

He pushed himself to his feet and laughed at the idea. Chuck had never gotten the best of him. Not when they were six years old, sixteen years old, or twenty years old.

Rich worked his jaw and then said, "You haven't changed. You've always been a pussy."

"And, I never thought you'd turn into your mom," said Chuck quietly. "How's that working for you?"

Rage filled him. His fingers curled.

Chuck stepped toward him, nose to nose. "Don't hold back now, brother. Do it."

He stepped down from fighting back, reached into his back pocket, found his can of chew, and proceeded to put a pinch underneath his lip. He'd like nothing more than to take his frustrations out on Chuck. Except, he felt like shit.

Gracie walked out of the room. He watched her ass swish side to side until she stepped out of sight. Then, he brought his gaze back to Chuck. "Will Notus give me some cash or not?"

"Not." Chuck stepped away from him. "We're not going to pay for your alcohol when you're trying to kill your liver."

"Does Wayne know you're making decisions for the club without taking a vote?" he asked.

Gracie returned and held out a Red Silo cup to him. He met her eyes and the confusion and pain in her gaze reminded him of what she'd been through, what she'd gone through with him living in her house, what she'd gone through with him.

"Thanks, honey," he said softly.

The skin around her eyes flinched, and she escaped to the other side of the room without saying anything to him. He spit into the cup. His stay in St. John's had gone on too long. All he'd do is end up hurting everyone more the longer he continued to live with Gracie.

She needed to heal and find comfort in her life. Not be reminded every day of who he was, what he'd gone through losing Thalia, and having Notus up her ass.

Notus needed to continue their work finding missing persons.

He needed to get away from the reminders of how life was supposed to be before he'd gone off-rail and had to leave.

Finding out how Notus Motorcycle Club dealt justice to those who harmed women and children only multiplied his reasonings for skipping town. If they knew the truth that he was no better than the sick fucks they'd taken out of the world, it would kill everything they stood for.

He was supposed to be one of them. Same youth, same experiences, same dreams.

If he could go back and change what he'd done, he'd go in a heartbeat. He couldn't tell them. The truth would make them question their loyalty and impact them in ways they couldn't go out and do good for other people.

Even if they understood, they'd question their choices. He wouldn't lay that guilt on them.

A knock came from the front door. He looked up and watched Gracie let Wayne in.

He wondered who called Wayne. Gracie or Chuck?

It mattered.

He spit in the cup and wished he had a drink to take the edge off of what was coming. Gracie needed him gone. As much as he wanted to stay with her, for her, any of the Notus members were better men for her and could give her what she needed.

He would've trusted any of them to take care of Thalia if she had survived. In the end, he learned he wasn't the right man for Thalia if she would've lived. And, as much as he wanted to be the one to shelter Gracie, he wasn't going to put himself in the position of hurting her more.

Wayne widened his stance. "Stay sober, fix Gracie's spare bedroom, and we'll give you the cash to go to hell."

He scoffed and pushed down the wad of tobacco under his lip. They used the excuse of fixing up the destruction he'd caused during the dark days of withdrawals to keep him in town longer.

Or, maybe they wanted to punish him by keeping him near Gracie so he could see what he couldn't have. She was too good for him. Too special.

"Tomorrow, one of us will bring over a truckload of sheetrock and everything you need to put the room back in shape." Wayne folded his arms across his chest. "It's probably going to take you a couple of weeks. Fuck it up or drink yourself stupid, and you can push your Harley down the street and keep going."

He was surprised Wayne wasn't a dad already the way he set the rules as if he'd come home too late and broken curfew, he'd be grounded. Keeping his mouth shut, he dipped his chin in acknowledgment. He'd repair the room. For Gracie.

"How long have you been an alcoholic?" asked Wayne.

He tightened his lip over the chew and laughed harshly. "Have you found religion since I left, cause if I remember right, you and the others could match me drink for drink back in the day."

"We work a forty-hour week bustin' our ass at Port Loaders and having a few drinks or getting our buzz on over the weekend is done on our time. None of us have ever found ourselves passed out on the sidewalk in front of a police station with a black mark from another MC." Wayne inhaled deeply. "We've given you time to get your balance, and you've fucked up again."

"Yeah, well if you're keeping track, you should know I have a long list of fuck-ups." He spit into the cup in his hand.

"You hated your mom drinking," said Wayne. "She cut her life short by living inside a bottle."

"Did you miss her funeral because you were three sheets to the wind?" Chuck rubbed a hand over his shaved head. "Did you even know she died before finding yourself dumped in St. John's?"

"Shut the fuck up." Nausea rose in his throat. "You've said your peace and I agreed to fix the damage in the room. You've taken enough from me."

"We've taken...?" Chuck stepped forward and pounded his chest with his fist. "Every fucking day, we searched for you. Most days, we fought against the thought that you were dead. You're imprinted on each one of us. Losing you was as bad as losing Thalia all over again, except you were gone for twenty-five fucking years and we hoped you were alive. Think about that. You had no problems letting us suffer, mourn, and live without answers, hoping someday we'd find you. Thad's parents lost a daughter, and they lost a son in you when you—"

"I had to leave," he yelled, wanting them to shut their pie holes. "Bitch all you want, but you're better off without me."

"Bullshit." Wade's arms uncrossed. "You're a part of us. It was you who kept us together growing up. You wanted Notus Motorcycle Club to be the family that you hadn't received from your mom, and we swore we'd be there for you. You can't tell me that you wanted to leave. Something drove you away, and it's about damn time we got some answers."

"Fuck off," he said. "I don't owe you anything."

"Same damn thing." Chuck walked toward him. "Hide everything from us, you motherfuck—"

"Stop." Gracie surged forward between them with her arms out to her sides. "Stop. Please. Just stop."

Breathing heavy, Rich removed the wad of tobacco from his mouth and set the cup behind him on the bookcase. He'd go up against them both to get them to stop. The emotional tears in Gracie's voice smacked them all down.

"Wayne. Chuck. Leave." She walked over to the door. "I'll call if I need you."

Wayne dipped his chin and refused to move. "Gracie..."

"This is my home." She opened the door and leaned against the handle as if she'd fall to her knees if she let go. "If you want to take Rich back to your house and punch and yell at him, feel free. But, you asked me to do you a favor and let him stay with me, and I won't have you hitting and yelling here. I don't need this."

Chuck walked over to Gracie and whispered too low for Rich to hear. She shook her head, and he kissed her forehead before walking out of the house.

Wayne pointed at him. "This isn't over."

Rich picked up the cup he'd placed on the bookcase and walked out of the room. In the kitchen, he heard the front door shut. He tossed the Solo cup in the garbage under the sink and found two empty whiskey bottles with the rest of the trash.

He wasn't an alcoholic. He didn't have a problem not drinking. He just preferred to numb his fucked-up life.

Gracie walked into the kitchen when he turned from the sink. He studied her from top to bottom and up again. Her eyes burned into his and her body shook. He stepped toward her, and she transformed instantly, stopping him. Her body straightened, strengthened, and she pivoted, marching out of the room and to the stairs.

"Gracie?" he said.

She kept going. A door upstairs closed and he exhaled loudly, sweeping his hand out in anger and knocking a drinking cup off the counter.

The glass shattered on the floor.

What the hell was he doing here?