Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC Book Book 8) Read online

  Scars of Yesterday

  Sons of Templar Book Eight

  Anne Malcom

  For Ember Rose Urruela.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Part II

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Anne Malcom

  Copyright © 2020 by Anne Malcom

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Simply Defined Art

  Editing: Kim BookJunkie

  Prologue

  This story doesn’t have a happy ending.

  It’s better I tell you that now.

  I’m a sucker for happy endings, there’s a romantic inside of me that has refused to die, even after all these years. Even after being married to a man who was patched in to one of the deadliest MCs in the country. There was nothing romantic about it, despite what popular culture likes to tell you.

  Especially during those bloody years. Before the club steered in a more legitimate direction.

  There were losses. Deep cuts that left me with my scars of my own. Wounds I helped my husband tend to. The husband who wore a Sons of Templar MC cut.

  He was buried in that cut.

  But that’s jumping to the end of the story before hearing about the beginning. Which is good. Because now you know what’s waiting for you at the end of this story.

  You can make the choice to escape all of this pain, loss and grief. The choice I couldn’t make.

  Part I

  Before

  Chapter 1

  “Can I carry your books for you?”

  I looked up and lost my breath.

  He was standing there staring at me like such a request was commonplace. Like it was normal for Cody flipping Derrick to ask me, Lizzie Kirkpatrick, to carry her books.

  And he didn’t even give me time to answer—like my answer would be anything but a dreamy yes once I regained the ability to speak. He just leaned forward, smelling like body spray and hair gel, and took them out of my arms.

  Took my books out of my arms.

  Our bare skin brushed for half a second, and my whole face warmed as I blushed. My whole body seemed to blush.

  He grinned, flashing teeth that were white and almost straight if not for one crooked tooth making that smile something other than perfect.

  Something beautiful.

  “English next, right?” he asked.

  Again, he didn’t give me time to answer, he just turned and walked in the direction of my English classroom. I was so shocked I just stood there, like an idiot, watching him walk away with an armful—and he had more than capable arms—of my books. He didn’t look back, of course. He was Cody flipping Derrick. He didn’t need to look back. Not with those burnt caramel eyes, those muscled arms, broad shoulders, and five o’clock shadow that he’d had for the past year. Though we were only a couple of months into his last year of school, he’d already turned eighteen.

  I slammed my locker shut and jogged to catch up with him. Because of my slow reaction, we were already halfway to my English class which meant I’d wasted precious time.

  Cody grinned at me as I fell into step with him. That grin. It was cheeky, genuine and hot as balls. Everything about him was hot as balls. He had really freaking good genes. He hadn’t gone through that awkward, teenage phase, all gangly limbs and acne. I knew that because I’d known Cody all my life, and I’d crushed on him since I could remember.

  We were friends, even though he was one grade above me. Amber was a small town, and there were few kids our age, so most parties were a mishmash of about three different grades. There wasn’t exactly a hierarchy at our high school either. No ‘popular’ kids, jocks or nerds. No cliques. People were raised different here, maybe.

  “You look pretty today,” Cody said as I walked beside him mutely, trying to figure out something to say.

  His words hit me almost as hard as the sideways glance he sent me. The one that made my insides all melty. A good quarter of the girl’s hearts at this school were his because of that melty look. The other three quarters were spread amongst Cade Fletcher, Brock and Zane—despite the fact that Zane and Laurie had been going steady since forever.

  They were all in my grade, and Laurie was one of my closest friends, which meant I was around Zane, Brock and Cade a lot. Zane only had eyes for Laurie, but Brock and Cade had eyes for everyone.

  They did not seem like they had any interest in going steady with anyone, working their way through the beautiful girls in our school.

  I’d never really considered myself beautiful. Cute? Sure. But my boobs hadn’t seemed to have gotten the memo that I was a young woman, I had too many freckles, and my hair was a dirty kind of blonde that couldn’t be described as anything but plain.

  I was good with makeup. Skilled at adding a light touch that emphasized my eyes and lips, my two best features. I loved fashion, and I’d gone through all sorts of phases in high school, usually inspired by movies or books I was reading at the time. I was currently in my Edie Sedgwick phase, so today I was wearing a swing dress and over the knee boots. My earrings almost touched my shoulders.

  Suffice it to say, my father had raised his brows at breakfast this morning, but as was his way, he left it to my mother to say something. Luckily, she had long given up on trying to make me into a little pastel wearing daughter.

  She had just sighed, handed me coffee and complimented my earrings.

  I looked kick-ass.

  And I knew it. Sure, I might not have been the prettiest girl in the school, but I had the best style. The kind other girls complimented but guys definitely didn’t understand.

  But here was Cody Derrick, calling me pretty. Which, in my opinion, was much better than calling someone ‘hot’.

  A flush crawled to my forehead. “Ah, thank you,” I said awkwardly.

  He grinned wider, his eyes flickering up and down my body. “Like the boots.”

  Something about the way he said that electrified me. His words travelled all the way up my legs and... right there. Most of my girlfriends had already lost their virginity. I wanted to. Had no illusions about the first time being special or romantic. I was well aware that it was going to be sloppy, painful and awkward, no matter who I was doing with it. And there had been plenty of chances. Parties where I was drunk enough to make out with some guy who would’ve jumped at the chance to get laid.

  But I was never drunk enough to let stuff go past second base.

  Because I was waiting. Like an idiot. I was waiting for Cody Derrick to notice me, re
ally notice me. I was waiting even though I knew I’d never get what I wanted but wasn’t ready to give up the fantasy just yet. It happened in the romance novels I’d been devouring since I was fourteen. Yes, they were just books—trash if you listened to my mother, which I didn’t since she considered Good Housekeeping to be fine literature—but they had to be based on something, right?

  “Why are you walking me to class?” I asked instead of addressing the comment about my boots and the fact that his eyes had caressed my legs as he did so.

  He stopped just shy of my English classroom, not making a move to give me my books back. I glanced toward the classroom where Laurie and Zane were making out right in front of the doorway, not seeming to notice that there was anyone else in their vicinity, or anyone else in the world, maybe. That was typical of those two. They belonged in a romance novel. It was hard to believe what they had—that kind of love wasn’t meant for teenagers. It felt adult, forever. And that was just based on what I saw from the sidelines.

  My gaze moved from them because my head moved. Cody’s thumb and finger were gently touching my chin, moving it so I was looking at him again.

  Every inch of my skin flamed with that single, gentle touch. He was doing it casually, like he touched me every day, like it was natural.

  “Because in those boots, someone else is gonna to try and do a lot more than just walk you to class,” he said, voice rough. “And then I’ll have to do something like pick a fight with a guy who I have no problem with beyond the fact that he’s stupid enough to think he can walk you to class.”

  I blinked. Cody wasn’t exactly a man of few words like Cade was. He was boisterous, funny, loud and conversational. Confident. But he had never spoken to me like that before.

  “Okay, that is not an answer. Nor does it make sense. Like, not even for a second,” I said. “My boots are cute, for sure. But not that cute.” I waved my hands between us then glanced at the class that was slowly filling up, not wanting to be late. I wasn’t exactly the ‘good girl’, but I didn’t like getting in trouble either. I’d tried to balance out going to parties and getting drunk while telling my mother that I was at a sleepover by keeping my grades up and not getting in trouble at school. I still wanted to go to college, after all. I had to go to college. My parents never let me forget that they’d worked hard and sacrificed many things in order to get my college fund to its current balance. And as much as my mom pissed me off, I didn’t want to disappoint her. Or my father. Especially my father.

  Cody grinned. “That cute?” he repeated, waving his free hand between us, still holding my books hostage. And he was holding me hostage with that smile.

  I bit my lip. I would definitely be the last one in class now. It bothered me. Slightly. But not enough to move. Not enough to actually do anything about it. No, I would stay right here, feeling awkward, excited, happy and aroused for as long as Cody was grinning at me.

  I scowled, or at least tried to. Wasn’t I meant to play hard to get? Willow, my best friend, had assured me that such things were vital in getting a guy interested, and most importantly, to get a guy to stay interested. She should know. She was never single for longer than twenty-four-hours, and in a town as small as ours, that was impressive.

  “You know what I mean,” I replied, folding my arms.

  To my annoyance, he smiled even wider at my tone which was meant to sound snotty and superior. Then again, I didn’t exactly have much experience being snotty or superior. I was—I liked to believe—a nice person.

  “I do know what you mean,” he agreed.

  He didn’t say anything else.

  Maybe this was some kind of game of emotional chicken. Whoever spoke first would lose the upper hand. Willow always talked about the upper hand.

  So I waited. It was uncomfortable. Cody was just standing there, staring at me, acting like the situation wasn’t weird at all. I tried not to fidget, but it was hard when the guy you’ve been crushing on since forever stares at you like that.

  The halls were empty now, no stragglers, no giggling, laughing, shoving or hurrying to class. Even Zane and Laurie had detached. Aside from the slight murmur coming from my soft-spoken English teacher, nothing could be heard. Other than that, dead silence. Although Cody’s presence had a sound. His smile echoed through the halls of my mind.

  I swallowed roughly, my palms starting to get clammy. That was not cute. No matter how important it was to play hard to get, to win at emotional chicken—or whatever the heck this was—I wasn’t going to get a tardy slip and turn into a sweating mess in front of Cody.

  “Are you going to give me back my books?” I asked, unable to stand the silence any longer.

  His smile went away. He looked more serious now, as serious as I’d ever seen Cody Derrick look, at least. “Only if you promise I’m gonna carry them from now on.”

  I blinked. Slowly. Just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. But no, Cody was still here. “Why would you want to carry my books around?”

  “Because, babe, I want you. And in this high school, me carrying your books is just one of the ways I can communicate that you’re mine. I’ll be doing that in other ways too. Especially if you’ve got more of those boots.”

  Holy. Crap.

  He just said all of that. No one talked like that in real life, did they? Sure, they did in books, but most of those books were written by women putting their wishes of how they wanted men to talk to them down on paper.

  Before I could figure how to get my breath back, how to reply to such a statement, my books were back in my arms, my arms grasping them on reflex more than anything. Cody got close enough to smell, proving that he wore the same body spray that most of the boys in his grade wore, but mixed with something that smelled different and uniquely him.

  “I’ll be waiting for you outside class,” he said. “We’ll go get shakes. Then I’ll take you home. Talk to your dad if he’s home. If not, I can do that tomorrow night. But for now, I don’t want you getting in trouble for being late.”

  “Why do you want to talk to my dad?” I asked, grasping on to one thread of what he’d just said because I didn’t think I was capable of handling the rest in one sitting.

  “Plan on doin’ this the right way, Lizzie,” he replied. “Your dad will likely respect his daughter’s first boyfriend more if I come up, shake his hand and promise him I’ll take care of his daughter. Your dad gotta shotgun?”

  I slowly shook my head. My dad was large, gruff man of few words. He was also a pacifist who did not believe in violence. My mother, on the other hand, owned a gun. I wasn’t about to tell him that, though.

  “Good, wouldn’t wanna get shot before I can even take you on a date,” he smirked, guiding me toward the door to the class I was incredibly late to.

  I followed, on instinct maybe or because I already couldn’t stand to be away from him.

  “I’ll see you, babe,” he said with a wink followed by a lingering glance to my boots before he walked away. I watched him for too long, making me even later to class. But the disapproving look from my teacher nor the curious ones from my classmates didn’t affect me.

  I was too busy reliving that entire interaction in my head. The one where Cody said the word boyfriend.

  It wasn’t complicated.

  Not at first.

  It was almost like my romance books. Cody treated me with respect, like I was the most precious thing in his world. Like Zane treated Laurie.

  Cody was true to his word. He came to my house and spoke to my father with no visible nerves. Then again, it wasn’t my mild mannered, quiet and kind father he had to worry about. It was my constantly disapproving, not at all quiet, judgmental mother.

  Somehow, he handled both with ease. My father looked to me when they started speaking, as if searching for my silent happiness. Which there was a lot of, it was just buried underneath the pile of nerves that I had been living with the entire afternoon.

  After seeing whatever he saw on my face, my father no
dded, shook Cody’s hand, and that was that.

  Things with my mother were not as simple. She drilled him about his parents—the only part of the interaction where he seemed even the slightest bit uncomfortable. Everyone knew that he was raised by a single mother who worked as a nurse at the hospital in the next town over. I’d seen her in the grocery store a couple of times, and she had a kind smile, sad eyes and always looked tired. She was pretty, though, kind of ageless. I hadn’t heard of her having a boyfriend since she’d moved here with Cody. And if there was one, my mother would’ve pounced on gossip like that. In our small town, , a woman moving with her son without a father was gossip worthy. At least to my mom it was.

  She already knew everything there was to know about his mother, and there was nothing to know about his father. As far I as I knew, Cody never talked about him, and he wasn’t in the picture.

  Cody handled it well, though, with manners that my mother—in my opinion—didn’t deserve.

  “It’s just me and my mom, ma’am. She works hard and is the only parent I need.” He said this with such firmness that it moved even my mother off the subject, which earned a look of approval from my father who had been trying to master that art their entire marriage.

  Of course, it didn’t mean he was completely off the hook. Mom continued to drill him about his grades—good but nothing special—about his college prospects—none as of yet—his part time job working at the Sons of Templar MC garage—yeah, my mom got a real kick out of that—and her demand that he get me home by curfew.