When I get back three hours later, I’m not surprised Hope’s gone.
We successfully delivered the girl into Ulfric’s hands, and I washed my hands of the whole thing. Turns out she was shacked up with one of Loco’s guys. I explained the ridiculous situation to Ulfric—which included the words ‘kidnap fantasy,’ mind you—right in front of the girl. Her mortification didn’t lessen my irritation in the slightest. I feel for Ulfric, though. He cashed in a big favor—or rather had me cash in one—on what amounted to childish bullshit. He’s pretty fuckin’ embarrassed.
I’m as gracious as can be for a guy who just torched his engagement.
Yeah, I basically dared Hope to leave, and if anything, my stubborn girl never backs down from a challenge. Her fucking ring sits on the dresser, mocking me.
I shove it in a box and stuff it in the back of one of my dresser drawers.
She left a note tucked under my pillow. Too numb, I fold it up without reading it and stash it in my nightstand.
After the shit I pulled, there’s no way she’s coming back tonight.
If she comes back at all.
Why did I have to go and fuck up everything with the only woman I’ve ever given a shit about?
I should call her.
My gaze catches on her bookshelf, everything still in its place. A glance in her closet helps the knot in my chest loosen. My messy girl’s clothes are thrown everywhere. Like always.
Maybe we’re not doomed after all.
As I drop onto her lounge chair, her scent wraps around me. Somehow it makes me more miserable. Something digs into the side of my thigh, and I yank it out. The book she’d been flipping through when I barged in and acted like such an asshole.
Except it’s not a book.
It’s her wedding album.
Fuck. Do I… should I… open it?
It’s heavy in my hands. White with scrolling gold designs on the front.
The first shots are all Hope. So fuckin’ young. All wrapped up in white lace and satin, she made a beautiful bride—no surprise there. Her face is fuller, but I recognize a lot of the same expressions she makes now. There’s an older woman who looks a lot like Hope that I assume is her mother. In every picture of them together, the tension in Hope’s face is clear.
Sophie doesn’t look much different than she does now. She’s in most of the shots, helping Hope get ready. I recognize Lilly by her rack. Mara’s there too. Clay’s sister looked like a bitch even back then.
It’s hard to look at the photos of Clay, knowing what’s comin’ for the poor bastard in a few short years. Knowing I’m in the shadows waitin’ to steal his wife.
Fuck.
Through all the chaos of the day, they seem happy together.
The last photo is the newlyweds standing nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes
That one’s the hardest.
Something slips out of the back of the album, fluttering to the floor. Snatching it up and turning it over, I freeze.
Even a guy like me knows what a fuckin’ sonogram picture looks like.
Kendall, Hope in unmistakable black and white, right next to a very clear date. I flip to the front of the wedding album.
She was pregnant when they got married.
Did they get married because she was pregnant?
Obviously something happened. I try to think back to when we first met. I’d wondered if she’d been with her husband for so long, why didn’t they have any kids?
I remember when I proposed, how anxious she was about the possibility of not being able to have children. She worried I’d end up hating her.
Has she suspected all along she might have some problem? I don’t think so, because she seemed surprised in the hospital. Why wouldn’t she confide in me about this? I’ve tried telling her how much I don’t care. She’s all that matters to me.
I stare at the picture again and a spark of anger lights in my chest. After what we went through together—she almost died—why the fuck didn’t she tell me about this? Did she think I wouldn’t want to hear about something that involved Clay? Does she think I’m really that much of a jealous dick?
Christ, I think of all the times she’s busted my ass over being honest with her.
But she’s been hiding this from me since day one.
Over the last week, I’ve picked up the phone to call Rock dozens of times.
But I never follow through.
I leave the tracking app installed on my phone. He knows where to find me.
After spending so much time at the clubhouse, being back in my house again is quiet and lonely.
Work suddenly picks back up. Adam has some cases he needs me to help him with, and it feels good to have something else to focus on.
Coming home every night is dismal. It doesn’t feel like home anymore. Any happy memories have been tainted by all the sadness I’ve gone through since Clay died. I know it’s time to let it go because it just feels empty. I’ve never been so alone. Even after Clay died, I was wallowing in so much grief at least I didn’t know how alone I was.
Now that I’ve had Rock in my life, a taste of what it’s like to be part of a family, the loneliness is prominent.
Every day, when I come home from the office, I expect to find Rock waiting in my driveway. He never is, so I spend the rest of my nights convincing myself I’m not disappointed. I’m scared I might have finally irrevocably pushed him away.
I struggle to keep moving forward. I don’t know what to do. Should I call Rock? I can’t bear the thought of him rebuffing my attempt to make things better.
What does he want from me?
Even worse, does he want me anymore?
“Jeez, Hope. Would it kill you to answer your damn phone once in a while?” Mara scolds me Friday night.
Crap. “Sorry, Mara. I’m a bad friend. I don’t know why you put up with me.” And I don’t. Calling people, maintaining friendships, has never come naturally to me. I hate to bother people or burden them with my problems.
Mara has a beautiful baby girl to take care of. She doesn’t need to hear me whine about my broken engagement.
Besides, I hate needing people. You get used to it, and then suddenly they’re gone.
Rock was different. He needed me to need him, so after getting over my initial awkwardness, it didn’t seem so odd.
Then I screwed it up, so once again, I have no one.
“Hope, are you there?” Mara snaps me back to the present.
“I’m here.”
“Good. I need some adult girl time. You up for it?”
There’s no sense in isolating myself further. “I guess. What did you have in mind?”
“Gee, don’t sound so enthusiastic.” Her aggrieved voice makes me laugh for the first time in days.
“Sorry. Yes, Mara, that sounds awesome! There, is that better?”
“Not really. What’s Sophie up to? Maybe we need her to spice things up.”
“I don’t know. I spoke to her a little while ago, told her what happened, but haven’t heard from her since.” I just assumed Sophie was sick of dealing with my drama, so I hadn’t wanted to bug her anymore, but I keep that to myself.
Mara’s soft chuckle is comforting. I’ve missed her. While Sophie was my wild friend in law school, the one I went to concerts and barhopping with, Mara was my study buddy. There are definitely some classes I wouldn’t have made it through if it hadn’t been for her. All those late-night sessions in the library forged a pretty strong friendship, even if we don’t always keep in regular contact. When we do get together, it’s always as if no time has gone by.
“Anyway,” she says, breaking into my thoughts again. “Damon is taking Cora to visit his mother this weekend. How about a girls’ night?”
“Why aren’t you going?”
“Because I’ve been a good girl and my reward is not having to visit Mrs. Oak,” she says without any laughter, but I envision her biting her lip not to giggle on the other end. I forgot how much Mara doesn’t care for her socialite mother-in-law. I imagine that makes life difficult for Damon, but he always seems to put Mara’s needs first.
Saturday night, we dress up and go to the movies of all things. It’s fine because I’m so inside my head, I don’t have the energy to keep up a conversation. I should know better, though. Mara is a master at interrogation when she wants to be. She should have been in the military.
We’re back at her house and on our second glass of red wine when she pounces.
“So did you call Rock yet?”
“No. He knows where to find me.”
She gives me a withering look. “It’s not like you to play games, Hope.”
“I’m not. He ended it. I’m not going to grovel for him to take me back.” That’s a lie, though. I’d do anything to be back in his arms.
“Did he end it? Or did you shut him out until he didn’t know what else to do?”
That feels uncomfortably close to the truth, so I ignore it.
Her two French bulldogs, Bing and Macy, jump up on the couch. Bing snorts as he makes his way into my lap. I can’t help scratching behind his big bat ears, making him snort even louder.
“He loves you,” Mara says with a chuckle.
“I missed these little guys.” Bing curls into a ball and falls asleep in my lap. I keep petting him absently as he snores. “How do they feel about Cora?”
“Oh my God, they love her. They follow her everywhere. Mostly because she leaves a trail of food in her wake.” She rubs Macy’s plump tummy affectionately. “But I think they’re enjoying the peace and quiet.”
“I can imagine. What about you?”
“I never thought I’d like being a mother so much, Hope. But even so, I need some peace and quiet too every now and then.”
“Think you’ll have another one?”
Her mouth twists into a smirk. “If Damon has his way, yes.”
I’m happy for my friend. I can’t help feeling a little sad about my own defects in the baby-making department, though.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Hope. I know you think you’re strong and independent. And you are. But you of all people aren’t meant to be alone. You’re so sweet and so full of love. You need someone to share it with. Beyond that, you need someone to anchor you and push you when you need a push.” She says it all in a rush, but each word reaches me like a pinprick in my heart. At the word “anchor,” my hand automatically reaches up and my fingers trace the pendant Rock gave me. An image of the tattoo with my name inked on his hip flashes in my mind, and I almost choke on my wine.
I snort to cover up how vulnerable her words make me feel. “Yeah, he pushed me right out the door.”
Mara flings a don’t bullshit me scowl at me. “I’ve known you a long time now. Clay never challenged you. Rock seems like he’s good at that. Even more so, he seems to understand the real you. What you need.”
“You don’t think Clay did, do you?”
Mara sighs and looks away. “Honey, I’m not going to speak ill of Clay. I liked him. He was always nice. I know he cared about you. But I don’t know. You two always seemed so independent of each other.”
“We had demanding careers.”
“I have no right to judge. I don’t know what you had behind closed doors. No one does but you. You pretend to be hard. To be a lawyer, you have to be as tough as the boys are. Believe me, I understand that. But you’re so soft under that tough exterior. You should be with someone who gets that about you.”
I pfft into my wine glass. “Rock says that’s what he likes about me. His friend Wrath says Rock needs my softness.”
“See? And you need his hardness.”
I burst out laughing.
Mara holds up her hand. “Let it pass, Hope,” she demands with a regal but teasing expression. Once we have the giggles under control, she continues. “He’s hard and demanding. But from what you’ve told me, and what I’ve seen, he takes care of you. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re soft, but you’re not weak.”
“I feel pretty damn weak.”
“I understand that. I do. But it’s not weak to need someone. It’s okay to let him take care of you. He needs to be needed, and you need to feel wanted. Together you’re—”
If she says “complete,” I’ll burst into tears. “Is this some sort of strength through submission lecture?”
From her doleful eyes, even my alcohol-addled brain recognizes that was a pretty rude thing to say.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s okay. A couple years ago, I probably would have felt the same way.” Her downcast voice shames me even more.
“It just feels very one-sided.”
Mara shakes her head, red-gold curls bouncing from side to side. I’m relieved she has a more cheerful expression back in place. “It’s not, though. Those kinds of men are enriched by having someone to take care of. Besides, I bet there are a lot of things you do for Rock that you don’t even realize.”
My mouth quirks up.
“Besides the obvious.”
“I don’t know about that.”
But I remember our trip to Sway’s clubhouse. Besides the scorching sex, he said I made things better for him just by being there. “Maybe.”
“Hell, I’m pretty much talking out of my ass here. Feel free to blame it on the wine.”
I reach over and squeeze her hand. “No, you’re not.”
“You gave the ring back, huh?”
“Of course.”
“How much of your stuff had you moved into his place?”
“I don’t know. Just clothes. Some books. I keep waiting to find everything dumped on my doorstep.”
She arches a brow at me. “You left stuff behind?”
“Yeah.”
She makes a happy humming noise.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She pins me with her courtroom stare. Thank God we’ve never been on opposite sides of a case before. “You ever going to get rid of your house?”
“What?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Just seemed like you were half in, half out with Rock. Probably drove him nuts.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Were you planning to have him move into your house?”
“No. That would probably be uncomfortable for him. We never—no.” Thinking over the last few months, one thing pops in my head. “He did ask me about it a while ago, but I said I wasn’t ready.”
“Let me guess.” She sighs knowingly. “He never mentioned it again?”
“No.”
“You probably hurt his feelings.”
“What? I doubt it.” I shake my head. No. That’s not possible.
“Goddamn, you’re dense. Just because he’s a hard ass doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings.”
I want to snap at her, except she’s right and I know it. “When he proposed, he brought me to a site he picked out on the club’s property to build a house on,” I whisper.
“Wow. That’s awfully romantic. You’re an idiot. He wants to build you a friggin’ house. Build a life with you.” She shakes her head and finishes her wine.
I wave my free hand in the air. “You moved into Damon’s house,” I point out like a whiny child.
Mara of course calls me on it. “Nice try. But he’d only lived here a few months and never with another woman.”
Bing lifts his head and snorts at me. Jeez, even Mara’s dogs are judgmental.
“You remember how excited Clay and I were when we finally were able to afford our own house?”
She nods. “I remember, honey.”
“Both of us moved around so much when we were kids. We so badly wanted to put down roots somewhere.”
“I know.” Suddenly, she sits up and takes my hand. “Your memories of Clay aren’t in that house, honey. They’re in here”—she taps my chest—“and here.” Then she taps the side of my head. “Selling the house won’t take away those memories.”
“I keep telling myself it’s a bad market.”
“It’s a terrible market,” she agrees.
“I finally gave away Clay’s clothes and stuff a few months ago. I felt like a real bitch.”
She rolls her eyes, lightening the mood a bit. “Why? Were you planning to wear them?”