Rosie

Present Day

Up until the past few years, I hadn’t been to many weddings. Scratch that, I’d been to one.

Ranger and Lizzie’s. And I was young then.

I barely remembered the actual nuptials. No, I spent most of my time perving on the various attractive men from various chapters who’d come in for the celebration of love.

Or more accurately, the party and the booze.

Though I wasn’t even legal, I did my level best to get myself wasted and laid.

I only got one of those.

Guess which.

You’d think getting laid in the middle of a biker party would’ve been as easy as getting wasted in the middle of the biker party.

That was not the case.

So instead of focusing on the magical taste to the air that only happened at weddings, I glared at my brother, sucked down beers and sulked.

I was a teenager, after all.

But all—kind of—grown up, I’d gotten to see that magic. Let it warm my heart that some of the best people in my life got to experience it.

Cade and Gwen.

Amy and Brock.

Macy and Hansen.

Mia and Bull.

Asher and Lily.

Bex and Lucky.

Killian and Lexie.

All of them, they got it. That wonderful magic.

And now I got to taste it, so strong it drowned out all the hospital smells, even chased away death for a short time.

“I do,” Lucy whispered from her spot propped up in bed, eyes twinkling. I’d never seen anyone look more beautiful. Audrey was right, happy girls were the prettiest.

“I fuckin’ do,” Keltan growled before the priest could even get the words out.

Then, after a pursing of his lips, either to restrain a grin or in disapproval, he pronounced them man and wife. I would’ve thought that with Keltan’s intensity, he would’ve snatched Lucy off the bed and kissed the shit out of her. I’d seen it before.

But he didn’t. He paused for what might’ve been either the longest moment in the world or the shortest one. Staring at Lucy like he was trying to imprint her every cell into his memory. Then he slowly, purposefully, leaned down, taking her face in his hands, and he kissed her.

It was sweet. Beautiful.

And so very private.

So I subtly stepped back, letting them have their moment.

They deserved it.

Heath was grinning as he did the same, though he wasn’t grinning at them. He was grinning at Polly.

She was scowling.

There was totally a story there.

Especially when she blew her distracted sister a kiss, winked at me, scowled at Heath once more and stomped out of the room. Heath stopped grinning and followed her, without acknowledging anyone.

I would’ve thought more on that if they’d been the only ones in the room.

My eyes went to him like a magnet. As soon as I locked with his, I knew he’d been staring at me the whole time. Though I’d known that the whole time. Which was why I’d made an extremely concerted effort to look anywhere but him.

Though my whole body repelled that idea. I needed to see him. Drink him up. Catalogue every change that had occurred in the year we hadn’t seen each other. Both marvel and despair at it.

But I couldn’t.

Because happy girls were the prettiest.

Heartbroken girls were not.

They were something sad and horrible and broken.

Lucy was not having sad and horrible and broken. Not on her wedding day that somehow still reeked of love and joy despite the lingering shadow of death.

It’d hurt.

It’d killed.

But I did it.

There was only so long I could do it for.

“Woo, congrats, you’re hitched!” I said in a faux cheerful voice, my eyes ripping away from Luke to see the lovebirds had detached.

Barely.

Their foreheads were touching and they weren’t even speaking. Just staring into each other’s eyes. It somehow didn’t make me want to puke. It made my heart swell in happiness for my friend that she got it, the ‘it’ that everyone wanted, pursued, even the ones who said they didn’t. Especially the ones who said they didn’t.

Me, for example.

So no, the moment did not make me want to puke with the saturated beauty and love of it all.

It did make me want to cry my fucking eyes out. Scream at Cupid for being such a prick to me that I’d love someone I’d never get to do that with.

I did neither of those things.

“Though the venue blows, and the lack of champagne is a bummer, it was a beautiful wedding,” I continued, still smiling bright. “I’m going to… go and just… go,” I said, unable to find an actual excuse.

Lucy frowned, but it didn’t really work. Someone who was that happy couldn’t physically frown. “You don’t have to,” she replied, glancing sideways at Luke, who I knew was still staring at me.

“No, babe, I totally do. It’s kind of the point to kick everyone out after the I dos so you can, you know, do the nasty.” I glimpsed at the priest. “Sorry, Padre.”

He smiled. “You’re quite all right.”

I winked at him, then gave Lucy and Keltan a smile. A real one. “I’m so very happy for you two,” I whispered.

Then I left.

I had to.

I expected to hear his footsteps chasing me down the hallway.

Dreaded it.

Hoped for it.

The footsteps never came.

* * *

One Month Later

“I’m in love.”

I sipped my wine, not even raising a brow at Polly’s dramatic proclamation. “Again?” I deadpanned.

She scowled as she sipped at her own wine, eyes dreamy. “This time he’s the one, Rosie. I know it. It’s different.”

I nodded. “I’m sure it is.” I did my best to sound genuine, but it was hard.

Polly, bless her heart, fell in love as often as I fell into trouble.

She was the ultimate romantic. Believed in the fairy tale. Which was funny, since both her sister and I had always been adamant that the fairy tale was a load of shit. The only thing true about all those tales was in Cinderella—the right shoes can change a girl’s life.

The wrong man can ruin it. Fuck, the right one will destroy it.

Polly had a lot of wrong men, yet somehow her life stayed intact. Well, her life was a hurricane, but it remained that way. As did her beautiful smile, unblemished by the bitch known as reality.

It should’ve annoyed me. On anyone else, it surely would have. But with Polly, it was different. I wanted to protect her delusion, not set her straight. I feared the day when she learned the hard way.

When some asshole showed her that.

Then I’d show him the sole of my size 9 Jimmy Choos.

“I know I’ve said this a few times before,” she said, draining her glass and pushing herself up.

I restrained my snort.

“But I think that every time before was leading up to this, you know?” she asked.

I nodded. I had no fucking clue what she was talking about.

But then my mind went to that moment with Heath last month, the intensity that saturated the room, not drowning out what was coming from Lucy and Keltan but operating on a different plane. Lucy hadn’t noticed because even though she had a stab wound and was wearing a hospital gown while getting hitched, she was on the love and rainbows and happiness plane.

You couldn’t taste the heartbreak and difficulty unless you were suffering from something similar.

It was safe to say I was.

So I noticed.

And I’d brought it up with Polly when she finally did get home late that night and I’d been on the sofa, watching Say Yes to the Dress and drinking martinis. In sweatpants, but also in full makeup because that stupid hopeful shred of me that hadn’t been killed—don’t ask me how—by the years before had thought that maybe Luke would turn up on his slightly tarnished white horse and save the proverbial day.

He did not.

Men on white horses, tarnished or not, didn’t exist.

Or maybe he had and I had killed him, and his horse too.

So she’d come in, face unreadable.Which was a change, considering Polly always wore her feelings on her beautiful face and her heart on her sleeve.

Both of those were hidden.

She’d been uncharacteristically quiet, and when I’d suggested that perhaps Heath was the reason, she uncharacteristically snapped at me.

I’d been so shocked at that, I’d let her stomp out of the room and slam the door before I knew what happened. It was her temporary room, since she spent most of her time at a loft apartment she shared with a handful of other free spirits I was vaguely worried about being in a cult. But she seemed okay, not planning on drinking any Kool-Aid.

She’d apologized the next morning, but nothing more was said about Heath.

So now, as she downed her wine and was declaring love and something being different, with the Heath thought in mind, I maybe believed her. Because whatever it was between them was different. The kind of different her very own sister had. But then again, right then, she looked too happy for that kind of different. Because the real, life-changing, heart-wrenching kind of love didn’t make you happy. Not at the start, at least. It made you miserable. Even well after the start, I was still fucking miserable. So I was confused.

Not that I dared speak Heath’s name again. I just waited for Polly to educate me.

She put her glass in the sink, then checked herself in the mirror before snatching her purse up from the table below it. She turned, her face beautiful not just from bone structure, excellent hair and an expert hand at makeup, but from happiness. However transient that may be. She was glowing.

“He makes me feel different. Like he sucks up all the air when I’m around him and I can’t breathe. I need him to breathe.”

I frowned. I didn’t like some motherfucker doing that, yanking a beautiful and kind girl into his orbit and bespelling her. And Heath, the way he looked at Polly, that told me he’d suck all the air out of his own body, forsake oxygen just to make sure Polly breathed easy.

“What’s his name?”

She beamed. “Craig.”

I frowned. No one should be beaming about a man named Craig. I itched to ask about the Heath situation, but previous experience told me I’d see it all soon enough. I really prayed my little hopeless romantic didn’t have car bombs or stabbings in her courtship.

We’d had enough drama.

For me to say that, it was legit.

“When do I get to meet him?” I asked, wondering when Lucy and I got to set his car on fire.

Polly smeared some gloss on her lips. “Oh, soon,” she said vaguely. “I’m just not ready to share.”

I pursed my lips. That meant she knew that we wouldn’t approve.

Not that we’d ever approved.

Her phone vibrated. She glanced down. “That’s my Uber,” she said.

I frowned again. “He doesn’t pick you up?”

“He lives all the way in the Valley, so it makes no sense,” she replied, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be staying there tonight, all going well.”

And like the hurricane she was, she was gone.

I chewed my lip. Then I got my phone. “Wire, I need info on a guy Polly’s dating,” I said without hello.

“Another one? Jesus,” Wire muttered.

This wasn’t the first, or even the fourth time that I’d gotten Wire to check on Polly’s boyfriends.

“It’s Polly,” I said in answer.

He sighed. “True. And I was getting a little bored. Was thinking of changing the nuclear codes just for fun.”

I laughed, but I didn’t doubt that’s what he would’ve done. Wire was crazy. Not a Lucky type of crazy. Nor a murderous borderline sociopath Gage type of crazy either.

He was a computer guy. That didn’t mean he didn’t know how to handle himself in the ‘real’ world. He only looked skinny because he was surrounded by men who resembled Chris Hemsworth’s more cut brothers. He was lean and kickboxed every day.

I knew that because whenever I was home, I trained with him. I had him to thank for a lot of my takedowns in Venezuela.

“His name’s Craig.”

There was a pause.

“Last name?”

“I don’t exactly have one.”

Another pause and sigh. “So you want me to look up a guy Polly’s dating who shares a name with approximately two hundred thousand men in the United States?”

I grinned. “Yeah, well I didn’t want to make it easy for you. If you can’t do it—”

“I can fucking do it,” he snapped. The tap of keys rattled behind the phone. “Just need some time.”

“Here’s hoping by the time you’ve got the information, Polly’s moved on to someone who actually picks her up for dates instead of making her Uber,” I muttered.

“Motherfucker did what?” Wire seethed. Another thing about being a Son. You respected women. There was a definite right way to treat them. And many, many definite wrong ways too.

They didn’t tolerate any of them.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

I had a bad feeling about this one. Something I couldn’t put my finger on, but the feeling was familiar, like before all the shit went down with all of the other women in my life. There was a taste to the air, something about the way Polly’s face looked.

Or maybe I was just being paranoid.

Though I had reason to be.

Maybe our life had reached its quota of disasters and rocky waters. Maybe it was time for some smooth sailing, finally.

Or maybe we hadn’t even seen rocky.

“On another note, you did good,” Wire said, jerking me out of my melancholy and grave premonitions.

“Oh I know. In life generally I do excel,” I replied. “Though what specifically are you referring to?”

Wire chuckled. “Your little disappearing act. You almost got me too. Didn’t even know about that third passport. And the diverting flight through Mexico. I taught you well, grasshopper. Too well. Almost.”

I gaped in the phone. Wire hadn’t just taught me how to kickbox, he’d also passed on some of his more basic hacking and counterfeiting skills too.

“I thought Cade said you couldn’t find me.”

“That’s what I told Cade,” Wire replied. “I hacked into the FBI before I started high school, do you really think I wouldn’t be able to find a rogue Rosie in Venezuela? I found you, kept tabs on you, made sure you didn’t do anything too stupid, like start the third world war, and then I left you to it.” He paused. “Figured you needed it. You don’t get much of that. Time. Peace.”

I laughed. “If you were keeping tabs on me in Venezuela, you know the time I spent there couldn’t quite be described as peaceful.”

“It’s all relative, chica. Chaos can be peace when wild is the way of life.”

I stuttered at this profound thought coming from the man with a serious Vitamin D deficiency and an addiction to Red Bull.

“Okay, I’ve got to go search through the Craigs. Try not to keep me too busy, okay?”

And without waiting for a goodbye, he hung up the phone.

Wire was pretty social considering he spent eighteen hours a day with only a computer screen for company, but that didn’t mean he was well versed in all social niceties. I liked that.

But I still didn’t like the reigning silence that followed the abrupt end of the call. Since the moment my plane landed, I hadn’t had silence. I had the hospital, all my ghosts screaming at me, I had my family in the waiting room. The family who, by chance had only just left after their second visit since I’d been back, with Cade promising he’d lock me up until I grew up if I got into any more trouble.

“You know I’m not ever growing up,” I’d said sweetly.

“That’s why I’ll throw away the key,” he’d grunted back, before yanking me into his hard and yet soft embrace, kissing my head. “Love you, kid. Don’t disappear again.”

I didn’t plan on it.

But the second it all stopped, and I had a moment alone to realize it, I wanted to. I wanted to run to the edges of the earth. The only thing that stopped me was that I knew the silence would follow.

There was another one too, but I was trying to convince myself that he wasn’t.

Because I hadn’t heard from him in weeks.

I’d dreamed of him pounding down my door, us having a screaming match followed by the craziest sex that had almost two decades’ worth of foreplay.

Dreams weren’t free. Not when they didn’t come true. They almost cost me everything.

Worse than that, I’d been scouring the gossip pages, as was my morning ritual now that I was back in civilization, and I’d seen it.

Luke’s hand on the small of a very small back. Almost brushing a very perfectly proportioned and toned ass, encased in couture.

On a red carpet.

Oh, did I not mention that she was one of the most famous actresses on the planet. I used to like her. Now I wanted to make a voodoo doll in her likeness and snap off her perfect blonde strands one by one.

I hated that. I’d always been one to support my fellow women, never blame them for the actions of a man.

With a few exceptions.

Ginger being one.

But that was necessary. That bitch had a hand in Gwen almost losing her baby, in my brother missing out on months of watching his daughter grow in her belly. Had to suffer while he knew Gwen was at home grieving the loss of her brother without him.

I bled during those months, watching the pain contort my brother into something almost unrecognizable. He went so close to that abyss that welcomed all brokenhearted men and women, when their love was taken from them. The one that Bull, before Mia, had resided in. A part of him was still there. I think a part of him would always be there.

Because I loved my brother, and loved my sister almost as much, I didn’t pull any punches with Ginger.

I’d let quite a few of them loose, in fact. With a promise to put a bullet through her skull if she came near my family again.

It wasn’t empty. I would’ve done it.

That memory, like most of mine, were connected with Luke, coiled up in my life, in the club’s life like barnacles on a rock. Most of them tried as they might to rid themselves of it, but it wasn’t going anywhere. Me? Even then, I would do anything for it to stay, no matter how much pain it caused.

I’d been icing my hand and salving my soul with a martini when the knock came.

I assumed it’d be Evie to drag me to the club to try and cheer Cade up. Again. Or Lucy to drag me to a bar. Ashley to suggest a girls’ night in. Maybe Lizzie to ask if I could babysit. All of those were common occurrences. Not that I would ever have it any other way.

But for the first time, someone foreign to my doorstep stood there. Someone I’d never expect. Someone I never knew how much I wanted to be there.

Last time he’d been there, it was as an officer of the law, ready to accuse me but not arrest me.

I didn’t say anything, I was that shocked. He wasn’t in uniform. Most of our encounters had him donning the clothes that blatantly highlighted our distance.

The white tee that clung perfectly to his sculpted torso and faded Levi’s jolted me for a second. Because he could’ve just been a man knocking on a woman’s door.

Simplicity.

But my life was never meant for simplicity.

Luke’s eyes fastened on my bruised knuckles, his brow narrowing.

“You want to tell me what happened there?” he asked.

I swallowed my hurt at the tone. The cop tone.

This was not just a man coming to visit a woman.

This was a police officer coming to interview a criminal.

Again.

“Who wants to know?” I retorted acidly.

“I do,” he almost growled.

I narrowed my own brow. “You, Deputy? Or you, Luke?” I pretended to pause. “Oh, wait. They’re one and the same. I bumped it, Officer. Didn’t realize that was a crime.”

Luke’s eyes turned liquid for a moment during my words, betraying something behind his façade. Not for long enough, though.

“Jesus, Rosie. You hurt your fuckin’ hand. I just wanted to know you’re okay.”

I pretended the visceral tone didn’t affect me. “I’m peachy, Luke. I’m always okay.”

It was a lie. One of many I told when Luke was around. I told most of them to myself.

Like the one I was telling myself right then that his moving a little closer so I could feel his breath on mine didn’t do anything to my heartbeat or my panties.

“You don’t have to be,” he whispered.

“Have to be what?” My normal tone was harsh against the soft air he’d created.

“Okay.” He searched my face and his gaze was somehow like a physical embrace, like we’d tumbled down some rabbit hole where Luke could whisper to me like that, where he could look at me like that. “You don’t always have to be okay, Rosie.”

I stared into his eyes, the welcoming water in them, urging me to show myself to them. Emotionally skinny-dip in them.

I almost did.

Even leaned forward slightly so our torsos brushed.

But then, even I wasn’t about to get into that much trouble.

I snapped my body back, so quickly I got emotional whiplash. “Whether I am or am not okay is not why you’re here,” I stated.

He stared at me with those liquid eyes once more before they solidified. “Saw Ginger this morning,” he said, his voice firmly back to professionally detached.

Though that was what I’d pretended I wanted, it hurt.

I didn’t let it show, of course.

“I hope you got yourself a course of antibiotics,” I said.

He chose to ignore that. “She was pretty banged up.” He looked pointedly at my hand, which I didn’t try to hide.

“Being a meddling and evil whore is a dangerous job,” I replied dryly. “You’re at risk of having all sorts of accidents.”

He pursed his lips.

“I’m guessing she didn’t make a statement?” I continued.

I knew she didn’t. She wouldn’t. No matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much she wanted revenge, she wasn’t that stupid.

“No,” he gritted out between his teeth.

I tilted my head. “Then I don’t exactly know why you’re here, if it’s not to arrest or accuse me. Not blatantly, at least. You’ve got no proof, no statement, so no need for handcuffs. I know you won’t like to use them in the way I like, so I repeat my earlier pondering, why are you here?”

Luke’s body was rigid, eyes glittering. He stepped forward and I itched to retreat, but I was too stubborn for that, so I let him come close, let his scent envelop me, his fury caress me.

“You know I’d never fuckin’ arrest you, Rosie,” he rasped. “You know.”

He pressed the weight of his last visit heavily on the air, without saying anything.

I breathed heavily, gazing at him through hooded eyes. “Do I, Luke? I would think it’d be a prize, arresting one of the big bad outlaws.”

“You’re not one of them,” he clipped.

I glared. “Yes I am. That’s exactly what I am. You just can’t reconcile that in your head. What do you want me to be, Luke?”

He stayed silent, eyeing me, not answering.

“Yeah,” I whispered, then stepped back, not caring about it being a sign of weakness at that point. “You’re so convinced that I couldn’t belong to something you think is so evil just because it’s not normal. It’s spectacular. Not always good, not always bad, never fitting into labels like that.”

My eyes found his cruiser, parked at the curb. I wondered how many people would see that, how long it would take to get back to the club. My gaze went to the perfectly manicured lawns beyond it.

“Look at it.” I thrust my hand outward.

“At what?” Luke’s eyes didn’t move from me, seeming like he wouldn’t move that gaze if the world was burning around us.

Or maybe that was just another little fantasy.

“This fucking lifestyle you’re trying to preserve,” I said. “This hamster wheel that begins with preschool, elementary, high school, college. Then a shitty entry-level job. Find a woman, one who maybe started out okay, but then due to constant demands, leaving the seat up, kids who ruin her vagina, a husband who ruins her identity, she gets shitty too. And then both of those people grow to hate each other, resent their kids, and hate themselves most of all. And they work at it, all of it, until they die.” I wrenched my gaze away from the yards back to Luke’s eyes. “And they’re all wearing masks. All so fucking unhappy. That’s what you’re trying to enforce. A life like that. You’re trying to destroy people who refuse to get on the hamster wheel, who refuse to settle for shitty and decide to look for spectacular instead. You’re trying to ruin that because it fucks with your status quo. It’s anarchy, and you live for order. You enforce order, so you have to destroy the spectacular. If I have anything to do with it, you won’t. Because that’s destroying me too, whether you choose to believe it or not. I’m anarchy too. You’re order. Let’s see who wins. I’m thinking it’ll be neither, but I’ll be okay with that.”

“Rosie…,” Luke said, his voice almost a whisper, all professional façade crumbling away with my words.

I didn’t react. “Get back in your cruiser, Deputy. To your order. You won’t find that here.”

He looked at me for the longest moment, too long. Too short too.

Then he turned on his heel and left.

Emerging from the memory, I sat there staring at the rapidly disappearing images of Luke and me, of the variety of interactions that had both broken and swelled my heart, if that was even possible.

I sipped my wine, hating that I was so fucking stubborn. Why didn’t I find him? He was in the same city, for fuck’s sake. It would be a lot better than sitting on my own, drinking a glass of wine and feeling sorry for myself like Bridget fucking Jones.

But then I thought of the image with that starlet. Of his life he was trying to rebuild that didn’t have broken girls with wild hearts and chaotic lives blowing everything up with the drama that came with her.

That was her.

That was me.

So I sat there, drinking my wine, pining after a guy I couldn’t have, like a million other women.

So fucking cliché.