I drop the towel before Taylor even closes the door behind her. I need to explain. I need to apologize. I can only imagine what the hell the messages on my phone say. Finding my jeans, I tug them on and fasten the button, looking around for my phone. Swiping it off the bed, my eyes catch on the indent of where our bodies laid, intertwined and together, only an hour before.

I glance down at my phone screen and scroll the messages, my stomach plummeting as each text from Texas appears on screen.

Texas: Griller thinks you’re an idiot. Giving up security for Taylor Clarke?

Texas: She’s going to fucking hate you when she learns the truth.

Texas: Does she know your role in her daddy’s gambling addiction?

Texas: The money isn’t going to be able to save your relationship so why take the risk?

Oh Jesus. She knows. She knows I was involved in her dad’s gambling. She knows, after everything she confided in me, that I helped pull the strings that led to Joe Clarke owing money to the MC.

I pull on my T-shirt, slide on my sneakers, and take off down the hallway at a sprint, screaming out for Taylor the entire time.

Once my feet connect with the pavement outside, I'm frantic. Where is she? Does she have money on her? Does she have a phone? Not that she'd take my calls, but can she contact someone for a ride? Is she alone? Where the hell did she go?

I run down the street, my eyes searching wildly for long blonde hair. I grab a woman by her shoulder and swing her around, only to be met with alarm and my stomach sinks; it's not Taylor. People stare at me, their bodies shifting away the closer I get to them, as if they're scared of me. I run, and I call out for her, and I search until it’s dark, and the stars illuminate a beautiful city that looks dreary now that Taylor's not with me.

Sitting on a park bench, I hang my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to think clearly, to sort my thoughts into something logical.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and a surge of hope swells through me. I pull it out, extreme disappointment slapping me at Denver's name flashing across the screen.

"What?" I answer.

"Man, you okay?" he asks, his voice heavy with concern.

"Not really. What do you need?" My tone is sharp and direct, even though inside, I feel completely lost. Untethered from reality.

"Carter, what's going on?" Den lowers his voice, and I hear the shuffling sounds of him placing a hand over the receiver. "I'll be right back," he says to whomever he's with. "Carter? What do you need?"

My throat clogs with stupid emotion for my brother, for his concern in a moment when everything seems to be spinning out of control because of me. Because of the way I handled the situation. Because I destroy every good person my life touches.

"Taylor," I say honestly.

"What happened? Where is she?"

"I don't know. We had…" I work to swallow. "We had a fight. I fucked up."

"How badly?"

"About as bad as it could be."

Denver curses under his breath. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know."

"Did you go to her house?"

Jesus. Her house. Why didn't I think of that? Of course she didn't stay around Savannah. She would go somewhere. Home or to Ria's are the most likely scenarios.

"I gotta go." I end the call and run back toward the hotel to pay the bill and find my car.

Then I start the ignition and drive like a lunatic out of the city and back to town.

The entire drive, my mind is whirling, racing, one thought tripping over the next.

Why was I so stupid?

What was I thinking?

I deserve this. I deserve to lose the best person I've ever met.

This is what happens when you act like a shithead for so long.

Do bad things, and bad things will happen.

I need to apologize. I need her to understand I would never betray her. I need her to know that I didn’t even know who her father was when I brought him to the MC game.

But does it even matter? I still brought him and made the introductions. I still lured him to the table where he lost thousands of dollars.

Why is the guy in front of me driving so goddamn slowly?

My mind runs on an endless loop until I'm seething at myself and desperate to fix things between Taylor and me.

It's late when I cut the engine in front of Taylor's townhouse. I'm about to wreak havoc on her front door; her neighbors will probably call the police, and I don't even care. I'm going to stand outside and bang on her door until she agrees to speak with me or I end up arrested, whichever comes first.

Slamming the car door shut behind me, I ring the bell. "Taylor!"

Nothing.

I ring again. "Come on, babe, it's me. Please, please just talk to me, Taylor. Let me explain."