Clara pressed her hands against the couch cushion. "Wh-who did you kill?"

Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he ran a hand across his face. He was losing her.

He wanted to tell her everything in a big rush to get the truth out there for her to digest, but he forced himself to slow down.

She was a good woman who'd lived through the worst thing possible. He expected too much from her. She'd already gone through hell and didn't deserve to hear him rehash Thalia's murder when she lived with the burden of knowing the details. No one in their right mind would condone his behavior, no matter how much he tried to explain himself.

"I killed the man at the truck stop." He willed himself to stand still. "The woman, whatever her intentions that night, was...was scared to death. She fought. She yelled, and the man wouldn't let her go. I saw Thalia in here." He tapped his fist against his head. "I imagined her fighting. I imagined her screaming for me. I imaged Thalia struggling for her life knowing that man was going to kill her in the process of raping her. Next thing I knew, I was standing over his body. The man had a bullet in the back of his head. The woman was long gone. And, I had a pistol in my hand."

She covered her mouth.

"I got scared." He looked away and sucked in a breath. "I couldn't think of what I was supposed to do. I couldn't even remember shooting him. I couldn't go to my mom because she was always drunk. I couldn't go to Mr. and Mrs. B because they'd just lost their daughter and I would not put more pain on them."

"What about the Notus members?" she whispered. "They would've helped you."

Her confidence and trust in the men who'd saved her weren't misplaced. He'd seen with his own eyes and heard with his own ears how they would do anything for her. They'd saved her life by capturing Roy Jenkins, and Thad had the pleasure of extracting justice on Thalia's killer and Gracie's abductor. As a club, they'd committed vigilante justice in honor of many victims.

"Wayne, Thad, Glen, and Chuck were all twenty years old, too." He slowly walked forward and sat on the coffee table in front of her. "I couldn't handle what I'd done, and I knew they couldn't either. Hell, we were kids acting like men or at least trying to find our way. So, I went home. Afraid every second a cop would be knocking on the door ready to arrest me for murder. When that didn't happen right away, I went over to Chuck's mom's house. I don't know if I had planned to confide in him or how long I stayed. He tells me we fought—I don't remember. Next thing I know, I'm halfway across the state of Washington on the side of the road, out of gas, and scared shitless. I don't know how I got gas to go on, but I made it over the border into California. I can't tell you the places I went, how I got there, but I can tell you that the moment I realized I was standing in the Komoon clubhouse, I wanted a drink."

Gracie opened her mouth and closed it again. Her lack of judgment worried him. He'd prepared for shock, hurt, and fear from her. Instead, she simply stared. He had no idea if he should continue talking or stop.

"It destroyed me not to remember killing the man or the chunks of time afterward that are just gone...blank. I lost something inside myself. There was nothing—not one little piece of me—I could grab on to and drag myself up to accept that I'd killed a man in cold blood. I killed him when I was sober, and the only way I could take myself out of my head was to drink. If I kept drinking, I was incapable of taking care of myself, much less kill someone else. When the alcohol wore off, I wanted to go home. I wanted Notus. But, I was scared of blacking out again around one of them. We fought like all guys do, and what if I took it too far? What if I got angry? Would I have killed one of them, too?"

Gracie closed her eyes.

He waited until she looked at him again. "The only way I could make sure I protected my MC brothers, their parents, and everyone I had in my life that meant everything to me was if I stayed away." He rubbed her leg, unable to not touch her any longer. "I couldn't trust myself. I feared killing someone else if I checked out, maybe another innocent person, because I couldn't...I was so fucking angry and scared, and those emotions consumed me until I couldn't control myself any longer."

She took the pillow off her lap and grabbed his hand, leaning forward. "That's how you knew what to do when I panicked and thought you were someone else trying to hurt me."

"Yeah, honey." He brought her hand up to his lips. "When fear overwhelms you, you slip back to the time that gave you fear. For me, it's anger. I've lived with anger my whole life. It kills me, knowing you go through the same thing. It's unfair and if I could do something to make sure it never happens to you again, I will. I don't understand why it happens—"

"There's a medical term for it. It's brought on by extreme emotions, more than the mind can handle, and causes a short-term fugue state. The way my doctor explained it, for me, any type of panic or terror where I'm reminded of what happened to me can set me off. Like you laying on top of me." She squeezed his hand. "There's medicine. Anxiety medicine that can calm you, so you don't black out. I needed to take it after being abducted and hated how it made me feel. So, instead, I carried the pistol, secured my house, and made sure only to go out in the daytime, to ease my fears. But, that doesn't mean I won't take medicine if I need it. I took a pill when you first moved in."

His heart raced in his chest. "I scared you."

"The situation scared me. I was once again put into a vulnerable position of having a strange man—a drunk man, living with me. But, I owed Notus. I wanted to help them." She gazed at him. "When was the last time you've blacked out and lost time?"

He shook his head. "It doesn’t happen when I'm drinking."

"You could go to the doctor," she said quietly.

"And, explain how I'm a murderer?" He shook his head. "I'm an alcoholic, honey. I can't take any medicine."

"You self-medicated by drinking," she said.

"Yeah, and I know what an alcoholic looks like, and it's not something I ever wanted to be."

She scooted forward and brought his hands to her chest, holding onto him. "You do realize that you saved the woman who was attacked, right?"

"I don't see it that way because I had no control over the situation."

Not knowing how much Gracie understood the purpose of Notus Motorcycle Club, he could only talk about his situation.

The Notus members controlled their actions. Every justice they served was done when all avenues were exhausted. Wrong in the eyes of the law, appreciated by every citizen who takes their safety for granted.

What he'd committed was murder.

"Excuse me." Gracie let go of him, stood, and walked out of the room.

He got up from the coffee table and walked over to the window. Having never been in a situation where he put every dark deed and fear on the table to a woman he'd begun to love, he was out of options.

He gave her the truth.

What she decided to do with that was up to her. She could tell him to leave, call the police, or hate him for what he'd done to her.

He walked over and grabbed the cup on the coffee table, spitting his tobacco out. Unable to stay away from Gracie, he went into the kitchen, threw away the cup, and got a long drink of water.

His sober days were few and far between over the years. He'd tried not drinking while with Komoon. He'd go a few days, sometimes a few weeks, and something would drive him back to tipping the bottle. During those straight days, his desire to come back to St. John's, to his brothers, to his family, were strong. Strong enough he knew he couldn't bring his shit back and dump everything at their feet.

Gracie walked down the stairs. He turned to her, and she stopped in front of him. Fuck, she was everything to him.

He never expected to fall in love. He wasn't looking for a woman. Little by little, he noticed the things she'd done for him.

The meals she cooked like clockwork.

Her hurry past the guest bedroom door at the beginning.

The way she took her phone out of her pocket ten seconds before her sister called as if she knew Clara would be calling.

When she'd bought him cans of chew, he could've kissed her. He was dealing with his MC brothers, wanting a drink, and she had seen past the asshole behavior and tried to comfort him.

He warmed and cupped her cheek. She had no idea how much he felt the generosity of her gift. She'd fought through her fear to be with him.

Then, she'd nailed him straight through the heart when she'd shared her story. In all his years of living, he found a place where he belonged because he'd connected and understood Gracie.

"We'll never see eye to eye on your past," she said softly.

There were things he could work on—his sobriety, communication, stability. He tensed, preparing for the worst.

His past remained. He couldn't change history.

"Men and women are judged in everything they do, but other people's reactions fall into two categories. Right and wrong." She closed her eyes, gave a small shake of her head, and gazed up at him. "The world is unfair."

He couldn't agree or disagree. He'd checked out of living in society a long time ago and instead lived in the bottle.

"We judge ourselves the harshest." Her hands landed on his stomach.

Her palms warmed his skin through his shirt. A warmth he'd only begun feeling since Gracie came into his life. A warmth that had him unafraid to live through tomorrow, because she'd be with him.

"That woman that got away at the truck stop could've been me. It could've been my sister. It could've been Ingrid, Lena, Erikka," she whispered. "Every day, when just walking out the door terrifies me, I remind myself that my situation could've been worse. Notus Motorcycle Club saved my life, and I believe that's a good thing."

"It is," he whispered back.

Her gaze softened. "What you did was good, too. There's a woman out there who wakes up every day and is thankful she has a life to live. She is thankful that a twenty-year-old boy, angry over losing someone he loved, lost his mind, but understood the severity of a situation, whether it was right or wrong."

He brought his head forward and placed his lips atop her head, inhaling her sweetness. "I don't deserve you."

She tipped her head. "But, I deserve you."

Nailed him.

Right in the heart.

He stroked her face, amazed that this woman gave everyone in her life so much when someone evil had taken so much from her. Cupping her face, he brought her higher, and he lowered himself, capturing her lips. Drained of words, he wanted to give her everything he was feeling.

The promises.

The hope.

The security.

The love.

Swept up in the taste of her, he pulled back needing to gain some balance after the last twenty-four hours. She trailed her hands down his arms and twined her fingers with his. Thankful for the locks on the doors, he wanted to shut himself in with Gracie for at least the next seventy-two hours before reality invaded.

"You're exhausted." She brought up his hands and kissed each one. "You need to sleep."

He kissed her hard. "Lay down with me."

She smiled and stepped back, tugging his hand. He went with her, willing to follow her anywhere.