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

  It was the cocktails.

  It had to be the cocktails. Laura Maye put something in them to cause these thoughts.

  While I was thinking about all of this, apparently the drivers and passengers had been divvied up.

  “Lizzie. You good to go with Kace?” Brock asked.

  I blinked. This was not happening. I was already having weird feelings about his hair, no way should I be riding with him. But I definitely did not want to cause a scene about it. I couldn’t complain about the man giving up his Saturday night in order to drive the poor drunk widow home.

  Plus, it’s not like it would be just us. And whoever else went in the car was going to sit in the front seat, of course, so she could do all the talking.

  “Sure,” I shrugged, trying to force a smile or at least seem more sober than I was. The kids were having a sleepover at Amy’s now; she had asked me if it was okay earlier in the night. I’d said yes, then proceeded to down the cocktails. Since Ranger had died, I hadn’t spent a single night without my babies—not counting my breakdown night. Nor had they said anything about wanting to be away from me.

  Both of them were understandably afraid of having their one remaining parent away from them for an entire night. They had the memory of their father putting them to bed then waking up to the news that they’d never see him again.

  So this was a big step for them. I’d had to say yes, support my children in growing, healing, despite the thought of being alone in my house making me physically sick.

  I went through the motions with everyone started hugging, kissing and making plans for hangover brunches.

  “Do you want me to come and have a sleepover with you tonight?” Ashley offered once she let me go.

  My throat clenched at the offer, at the softness in her eyes. The kindness. The pity. “No, sweetie. I’m good. Promise. I might even be able to sleep past six in the morning.” I winked.

  She furrowed her brows ever so slightly, obviously not believing me but not going to push me on it.

  “Ready?” Kace asked me once the obligatory, drunken goodbyes had been made.

  It seemed he was only talking to me. “Wait, what? No one else is coming with us?” I looked around me for help, momentarily tempted to grab onto the nearest body, refusing to let go until I found a suitable buffer for the ride.

  “Well, everyone whose husband isn’t here lives on the other side of town, Asher’s taking them. You alright with that?” Somehow, there was a challenge in his gaze, his tone. Or was I imagining that too?

  On the off chance I wasn’t, there was no way was I about to back down, admitting any kind of weakness, especially where Kace was concerned.

  “Of course,” I snapped. “Let’s go.” I stormed forward so I didn’t have to risk falling into step with him and to make my point. I think the point might’ve been made a little better if I hadn’t stumbled so much.

  The air outside was balmy and thick compared to the air-conditioned bar. Especially when I stopped on the sidewalk because I had no idea which car I was meant to be getting into. That, of course, gave Kace time to catch up to me and get close enough for me to smell his cologne.

  “It’s the red one. On the right.” There was poorly hidden amusement in his tone.

  I looked to my right, where a Camaro was parked in front of Asher’s SUV.

  “Really?” I scoffed.

  He shrugged. “I like cars.”

  It hit me then. The vast majority of the Sons of Templar men were married with children. They drove Harley’s, of course. But their second vehicles were SUVs or manly trucks capable of hauling furniture their wives bought, bikes their kids rode or the charred remains of a playhouse that Mia and Zane’s boys had set on fire.

  But Kace didn’t have children or a wife to worry about. He was a young, single man in a motorcycle club with a decent amount of disposable income.

  I was getting in the car with an unattached man with nice muscles, I was drunk, and hadn’t had a warm body beside me in over a year.

  This was dangerous.

  But I had no other choice.

  I got in the car.

  Chapter 8

  The ride wasn’t awkward.

  I wanted it to be.

  Somehow, it would’ve been easier if it was awkward. It would’ve been good. It would’ve helped if whatever I thought I felt toward this man was imagined or brought on by the strong cocktails. Sure, the fact that I was tipsy helped make things less awkward. But mostly it was just... Kace.

  We didn’t speak. He seemed content with that. Then again, we’d done plenty of speaking the first time we’d met.

  I stared out the window and thought about nothing but the rumble of the engine and how pretty the town looked at night. I was thinking about how clean his car was. How much I enjoyed the ride. The comfortable silence between us. It was like I was insulated from all responsibility. All of my pain.

  This was a magical car. It stole away everything I’d been feeling and replaced it with... nothing.

  But the problem was, Kace was driving me home from a bar that was ten minutes away at most. There was no traffic and Kace liked to speed. So we were in my driveway in five.

  Everything in my body tightened with the proximity to my home, my empty home. Not counting the torturous memories lurking there.

  I was bracing for impact.

  And right now, I was far too scared to do something insane like go inside my house.

  So after he parked in my driveway, I stayed where I was. Seatbelt on and all.

  Kace kept the car idling, not commenting on the fact that I hadn’t spoken or made a move to leave the car.

  “Do you believe in moving on?” I asked him, staring at the porch light I’d left on. Ranger would do that on the rare nights I was out and he wasn’t on the list for picking me up.

  More often than not, he’d be waiting up with whisky and a book, and he’d hear the car, at the door waiting for me before I even made it to the porch.

  He’d never wait for me again.

  I’d never meet him at the door again.

  “Moving on from what exactly?” Kace replied. “Because moving on from a cheating girlfriend? For fucking sure. From a terrible past? Also for sure. From some really bad bleached tips in high school? Definitely. But I figure you’re not talking about any of those things.”

  I bit my lip. “No, I’m talking about from death. Do you think there is such a thing as moving on after your whole life was ripped apart? Do you think there’s a chance of... something else?”

  Kace didn’t answer me straight away. Didn’t automatically try to reassure me with false placations like ‘time can heal everything’. Kace was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar. Despite barely knowing him, I knew that.

  “I definitely think there is a possibility for something else,” he answered finally. “Maybe not what you would expect. Definitely not what you have ever had before. Because you’re a different person now, right?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He was looking at my porch light in a way that told me he wasn’t really seeing it.

  “Yeah, I’m a different person,” I agreed.

  We didn’t say anything else. Not for almost ten minutes. We just sat, looking at that porch light. Then I got out of the car. Without a goodbye. Without an acknowledgement of what the fuck this was. Because doing that would be far too terrifying.

  Even more terrifying than walking into that empty house.

  Which I did.

  What did you buy a girl who had everything?

  Isabella was Gwen’s first girl and first child. Gwen was a self-confessed shopping addict; she’d even opened a store here in Amber which did amazing considering how often she bought her own products. Her closet was the size of a small apartment, the contents of it likely costing the same as a car or the deposit on a home. She came from money, had a lot of it, dressed like it, but never acted like it. She was not the type of person to look down her nose at anyone. She was kind, generous and loved giv
ing people gifts.

  I’d even taken to slipping money into the cash register at the store when she wasn’t looking because of the discounts she gave me on some of the pricier items.

  So it stood to reason that Isabella wanted for nothing. She had a bedroom to die for, nicer clothes than me. All the best toys. Despite this, she was not a spoiled child. Not bratty or whiny.

  She was quiet. Kind. More like her father than her mother. Her large, gray eyes watched everything intently, with a concentration that a child shouldn’t have.

  Of course, her brother, Kingston was a hellion—though such a word lost its meaning once Mia and Bull’s sons were born—to balance it all out. I was sure Kingston could’ve been a nightmare for a young girl without patience or empathy. But Isabella adored her younger brother, ignoring him when he tried to get a rise out of her.

  I’d settled on a beautiful, illustrated version of The Secret Garden, one of my favorite books, one already sitting on Lily’s bookshelf. One of many.

  It was somewhat of a tradition for me to get books as gifts for all of my friend’s children. Of course, I usually included some cheap plastic toy to appease them since most kids weren’t that excited about a book when they were young. Isabella, on the other hand, was quite like my Lily. Intense. Soulful. So she always loved the books I gave her.

  This birthday was no different. She gave me a beautiful smile, a heartfelt thank you and a hug after opening it. Even with all the things she had, the way she was spoiled and adored, she had been raised by two parents who were already ensuring that she would turn her into a remarkable young woman.

  The party was, of course, extravagant. Tables were piled with beautiful food with fresh flowers everywhere. The entire place was decorated in a butterfly theme, but not the kind of plastic butterfly tablecloths or paper plates that most kid birthday parties would have.

  No, this looked like what I imagined a Kardashian would do for their child’s birthday party. Everything was tastefully decorated, ornately designed, wooden and crystal butterflies scattered around the house. The party spilled outdoors, onto the patio where the theme continued. It was like some kind of garden party, but not the stuffy, pretentious kind where the kids were hushed quiet and not allowed to have fun or get dirty.

  No, the kids roared around, playing various games that Gwen had set up. There was a rotation of parents watching over them, mostly just to make sure Zane and Mia’s kids didn’t try to set anything on fire or blow anything up.

  This party was full of light and love and happiness. My kids had run off in two different directions as soon as we’d arrived, And I probably wouldn’t see them for the rest of the afternoon.

  I could make it through this. All of the birthdays, parties and gatherings. The happiness. Surely, I’d be able to really feel the smile plastered on my face instead of just faking it. Eventually.

  “Fancy seeing you here.”

  I had just grabbed another beer from a tray set up beside a table full of cupcakes, definitely needing it. I looked up, even though I knew the owner of the voice. I shouldn’t have recognized it after only a couple of interactions. And I sure as shit should not have had any kind of reaction to the voice. It was the alcohol. It had to be. Even though I’d only had a few beers. I hadn’t eaten lunch, though. Yes, that was it. It was the beers today, and it had been those fucking cocktails last week. I’d imagined whatever feelings I thought I’d felt. I’d convinced myself of that.

  I didn’t smile at him. That would send the wrong message. To the both of us. And to everyone at this party. Most importantly, to the women with eagle eyes and romantic hearts.

  “Why did you come and talk to me at the club that day?” I asked, toying with the label of my beer.

  His eyes went first to my fingers then to my eyes. “You were alone, figured you might want someone to talk to.”

  I stared at him. “I’m pretty sure I remember that everything about me that day communicated that I did not want or need anyone to talk to.”

  He smiled. In that easy way of his.

  “Ah, but you most likely didn’t want or need anyone to talk to that knew you. Anyone who had expectations, for better or for worse, of you. Sometimes it’s nice to talk to a stranger, someone who has no idea who you are so you have no pressure on who you’re meant to be.”

  I blinked. He’d spoken the words in the same way he smiled. Easily. He was all alpha male, there was no doubt about that, that was all but a requirement to patch in. But most of the alpha males I knew found it hard if not annoying to speak in complete sentences. Especially to women they barely knew.

  The words themselves were something else. Emotionally perceptive.

  “How old are you?” I demanded, leveling him with a steady gaze.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Because I’d barely put you over thirty. And if I’m right, then you must be some kind of warlock or demon. Men in their twenties, and men with all those muscles, rarely have emotional intelligence like that. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the male race. God doesn’t give with both hands.”

  “God, warlocks and demons in a sentence about emotional intelligence. Don’t think I’ve heard that before,” his brow crinkling and his tone too close to familiar and teasing for someone that was meant to be a stranger.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” I made sure there was no teasing or anything familiar in my tone.

  He smiled. “I’m thirty.”

  Yeah. Younger than me. By ten years. That was a lot. Too much. Not that it should’ve mattered since there was no reason we were going to have any kind of relationship where his age would matter.

  He was a new member in the club, trying to do good by the widow of the member he’d replaced. Trying to make a good impression on the rest of his brothers. He had a nice smile. A nice body and a presence about himself that was purely and utterly unique. He was good with kids—I knew this because I’d been watching him all afternoon—and he seemed to get along with everyone in the club.

  But he was just another member. I should’ve treated him as such.

  “Do I pass?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.

  “What?”

  “Whatever test it was that had to do with my age?”

  I was far too aware that we were having this conversation in full view of everyone at this party. And despite the fact that it had been over a year since Ranger died, people were still watching me carefully, making sure I wasn’t going to break down. Wasn’t going to fall apart. I was doing both, I had just become an expert on doing it all on the inside.

  “There was no test,” I replied. “You just confirmed what I already knew. You’re young. Much younger than me. So you should be talking to someone your own age.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone my own age. I want to talk to you. I like you.”

  I scowled at him. “You don’t know me,” I snapped.

  He wasn’t bothered by my tone. “Well, I would like to get to know you. Be your friend.”

  Who the fuck was this guy?

  “I’ve got enough friends,” I scorned. “And you do too. Your brothers. You want a lady friend, there’s plenty of them hanging out at the club for you to choose from. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to talk to my friends. You should go talk to yours.”

  I didn’t move. Wasn’t going to walk away. He was the one who had come and interrupted my solitude.

  The look I was giving him communicated ‘fuck off’ pretty darn well.

  “Okay, I’ll leave you be. But just to let you know, you haven’t scared me away. I’m a lot tougher to scare than that.” Then he winked and walked away.

  I did not watch him walk away. Instead, I turned to look at the beach in the distance, longing to run from the party and all the people who loved me just so I could have a moment without wearing a mask.

  But it didn’t work that way.

  Especially when you had friends l
ike mine.

  I knew the second he left that it was only a matter of time before someone pounced on me. It was just a matter of who was closest.

  “Did I just see you talking to the hot, new member of the Sons of Templar?” Mia asked, slightly breathless and spilling her margarita as she sat down with force. “Of course, he’s not as hot as my husband, just in case he’s in the vicinity and is gonna get all alpha male jealous,” she said, glancing around.

  “I think he followed the boys inside, most likely to foil some kind of plan,” I replied with a smirk. Mia and Bull’s boys were a full-time job. It was a forgone conclusion that they’d patch in and they’d likely be the craziest members the Sons had ever seen, which was saying something considering Gage and Lucky.

  “Perfect,” she said, eyes flaring. “Now, I repeat, was that some flirting I spotted?”

  Before I could answer—more accurately lie—someone else popped down on the chair beside her. “Okay, I totally need the skinny on what that interaction just was,” Amy demanded.

  Mia glanced at her. “Uh, duh, do you think I’m here to discuss a fucking PTA meeting?”

  “You’re banned from the PTA,” I reminded Mia.

  She scowled at me. “We don’t talk about that. Plus, stop trying to change the subject.”

  “I wasn’t changing the subject,” I said, sipping my drink. It took considerable effort to keep my gaze away from the other side of the pool where I’d tracked Kace’s journey. He was in some kind of guy huddle. I wondered if they were demanding the ‘skinny’ on our conversation too. With Cade and Gage in attendance, I suspected there was some kind of deadly warning involved. As far as the men were concerned, I was damaged, vulnerable goods that it was their duty to protect.

  Though it sounded like a totally misogynist ideal—I guess it kind of was—it wasn’t meant that way. There was a code, a way these kinds of things worked. If some guy decided to come up to me and engage in anything from polite conversation to casual flirting, it was also their job to scare him away. Even if that man in question was part of the club.