Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC Book Book 8) Page 18
Evie raised her brow at my choice. “You did not just get your hair done,” she asserted, grabbing a bottle of whisky from the wet bar off the kitchen.
“Mia treated me to a facial. They just got a new esthetician; she wanted me to try her out.”
Not a lie. Though I was pretty sure Mia was lying about the new esthetician in order to trick me into getting some pampering.
I’d long stopped fighting against what I’d thought was pity charity at first but had now realized was just my friends trying to help me in any way they could.
Plus, I wasn’t about to turn down a free facial. I was a single mother with a broken heart and a secret sex relationship. I needed a facial. And maybe a lobotomy.
“Your skin looks great, honey, but it’s got nothin’ to do with a facial,” Evie recounted, pouring us each a generous amount of whisky.
I was planning on driving home, so I made a mental note to only drink this one glass, eat a lot of carbs and stick to water for the rest of the night.
There had been a handful of times, in the beginning, when we’d stayed the night because I’d gotten too drunk to drive my children home. Those days needed to be over.
I glanced to the hall, the sounds of my children giggling carrying. The happiness hit my throat.
“We need to go outside,” I said to Evie.
She nodded, leading me out the sliding doors that looked out onto their swimming pool, hot tub and barbeque area. There was wicker seating peppered around the property. Flowers everywhere.
It was an oasis that had only grown more beautiful following Steg’s death. Evie was not a woman to disappear into a hole of grief and whisky. No, she was a woman of purpose. She gardened. She renovated the kitchen. She organized club rides. I envied her.
“You’ve been screwing someone,” Evie stated matter-of-factly the second my ass hit the chair.
I looked to her with narrowed eyes.
“Don’t look so shocked. I know what a well fucked woman looks like,” she explained, lighting up a cigarette. She’d smoked continuously since I met her, yet the only thing she had to show for it was her husky voice and the faint smell of smoke that mingled with her perfume.
She’d aged with only a few wrinkles that only managed to make her more harshly beautiful. I worried that one day this vice would steal her from us too early. But if there was anyone who seemed too strong and stubborn for death, it was Evie.
Or maybe that was my brain trying to protect me because there was no way in hell I’d be able to manage if something else happened to someone I loved.
I could lie to her.
Rather, I could try to lie to her, but there was no way she’d believe me. Or let me get away with it. Plus, I respected her too much to lie to her. Beyond that, I needed someone to talk to about this. Someone who wouldn’t judge me. At least not as harshly as I was judging myself.
“Fine, I’m definitely well fucked,” I admitted.
She grinned. “I’d say.”
I looked at her face, looking for traces of anything to communicate that she thought it was too soon. That I was some kind of whore. Or a bad mother. Not that that was Evie’s style. Even if she was having thoughts like that, she wasn’t ever going to show that on her face. Being an Old Lady in the Sons of Templar for as long as she had had taught her a lot of things, including the art of having a poker face.
“He’s in the Sons,” I admitted.
“All the better,” Evie replied.
I furrowed my brows, looking to her. “Isn’t that a little... I don’t know, incestuous or somehow morally wrong? I should be with someone different.” I paused, trying to think of someone who would be more sensible to be fucking than a man in my dead husband’s MC. “An accountant,” I said finally.
Evie stared at me and cackled. “An accountant?” she repeated, still laughing. “Oh, baby, there is no way you’d ever be satisfied with an accountant. With some civilian with a 401k and a day job. We don’t work like that. Just because you didn’t patch in doesn’t mean you’re no less of an outlaw. For better or for worse, just like there’s no way out for the men wearing ink and leather, there’s no way out for you either.” She sucked on her cigarette. “There’s no way out for any of us.”
I pursed my lips. “Apart from death.”
She glanced at me then back out to her yard. “Yeah, apart from death.”
“And you’re going to move on to another member?” I questioned, trying to take the focus away from me.
She laughed in that throaty way that communicated she’d been a smoker for longer than I’d been alive. “No, honey. I’m not going to do that. I had a whole lifetime with Steg. As an Old Lady. I’ll always be her. I’ll always be his. But I get away with sayin’ shit like that because I’m old enough that I don’t have much of a life to squeeze that in to the few years I’ve got left.”
I scowled at her as the bottom fell out of my stomach. “You’ve got a lot more than a few years. I’m not letting you die too.”
She smiled. “I’m not about to leave the party early, that’s not what I’m sayin’. I’m also not sayin’ that I’m not gonna get laid.”
I smiled back, thinking of everything that had happened these past years. When I was a fifteen-year-old girl, trying to find sleep after finishing a book at two in the morning, I’d write my own versions of my life. Imagining wild things that would happen to me. Wild adventures I’d take with some man who would sweep me off my feet. We’d have struggles because all the best couples did, but we’d also have a story for the ages. It would change me.
All of that happened with Ranger. And not just the things I’d imagined for myself. In so many other good ways.
And then one of the worst.
“I wanted to die,” I confessed, looking back at her.
I hadn’t talked to anyone about this. Hadn’t spilled my ugly grief at anyone’s table. Even though any one of my friends would’ve taken it. Would’ve wanted to hear it. To help. Maybe because I was trying to forget. Or because I just hadn’t wanted to say it out loud.
“Not at first,” I continued. “There was too much to be done. The funeral. Telling the kids. All that practical stuff. It sounds insane, but I was distracted enough to forget about what this was going to do to me. But that didn’t last long. When life started to get back to normal, the grief hit hard. I didn’t let it show on the outside. That’s the craziest thing. There was so much normal. The kids went back to school. I had to get them up every morning, make them breakfast, pack them lunch, drive them. I still had to pay the bills, clean the bathrooms, cook dinner. Shower. I had to do all that stuff and then it suddenly became so starkly apparent and so inescapable that Ranger wasn’t a part of my normal anymore, I wanted to die. With every part of me I wanted to.”
I paused, sitting in companionable silence for a beat. “The parts of me that belonged solely to Ranger wanted me to give up. But I couldn’t, of course. Because there are other parts to me. I’m a mother. It is my responsibility to stay alive for my children. It’s my duty. So no matter how much I wanted to, I didn’t die. I lingered in limbo for a while, of course. But there was a time limit on that. So I had no choice but to live. For them and them only at first. Then, a long time later and much, much slower, for myself.” I drained my drink. “Though I don’t think I’m fully there yet.”
Evie stared at me for a while, really thinking about my words, listening in that way of hers.
“I’m too strong and too stubborn to forfeit my life because my Old Man is in the ground, but I get wanting to die. Thing is, you did die. Parts of you, at least. Parts that are never going to come back to life. Parts that lie in the coffin with Ranger. But you’re being reborn. In some ways. Not ‘cause of any man you’re fucking, though, that surely helps you recognize that life is worth living and worth living well.” She sighed. “We’ve all got seasons of our lives. Your winter was brutal, honey. Not gonna lie. But looks like spring is here. Happy to see you start to bloom, baby.”
I did that by getting up to pour us another whisky and informing the kids we were having a sleepover.
I suspected Evie might need that too.
Even if she never said it.
Us widows had to stick together.
Chapter 12
I knew from the moment I woke up it was going to be a terrible day. Mostly because I woke up to a tightening in my head and an uneasiness in my stomach. The telltale signs of a migraine. They’d started when I was seventeen.
“Headache episodes”, my mother had called them. As if they were something I chose whenever I felt like a leisurely escape from the world when in actuality, it was an agonizing period of time where I had to lay perfectly still in the dark because even breathing too deep was like a rusty knife being inserted into my skull, piercing my brain.
Over the counter painkillers were like a rowboat in a tsunami. Same with most of the stronger medication doctors prescribed.
It only got worse during pregnancy. Luckily, with Jack, it only happened a couple of times. Though those were the worst ones that lasted two days at least and had me recovering for a week. Lily was even rougher. It was only after the morning sickness subsided that the migraines began. It was hard on Ranger seeing me in that much pain, not being able to do anything about it.
Though it wasn’t exactly a picnic for me either.
After Lily was born, they subsided some. Hormones settling, whatever. I got them once yearly, on a good year. And I always had Ranger to put me to bed, check on me, take care of our children.
Now it was just me. There was no one else to make my kids breakfast, get them to school, pick them up again. Sure, I could call on Olive. My mom. Gwen. Amy. Laura May. Lily. Or the long list of women and men who would happily take over. Take care of my kids for me.
But that had happened one too many times already. Plus, it was only painful now. Excruciating was around the corner. There was still time. I had to get used to the pain, get used to doing everything despite it.
I got up. Took four Advil. Made the strongest cup of coffee I could. Caffeine technically made migraines worse, or that’s what every patronizing doctor tried to tell me. But for me, it was the only thing that chased away the worst of it. For a time, at least.
One cup got me strong enough to get the kids up. Then showered. Dressed. Breakfast consisted of the sugary cereal I kept for special mornings, weekends, sleep-ins and middle of the night cravings.
Jack noticed something was wrong straight away. His eyes caught the strained way I was moving, every step launching pain upward to my skull. The way I didn’t look at the overhead light that seemed to be doing its bests to burn my retinas.
A small hand took the milk from me as I attempted to pour milk into bowls.
“I got it, Mom,” Jack said gently, low, as if he somehow knew that any kind of noise made my eardrums bleed.
I should’ve fought him on it, but I didn’t have the strength. So I let my son finish breakfast for him and his sister. Then I thanked myself for being organized enough to have prepared both of their lunches the night before. As it was, getting them packed and into their bags each morning was a mission in itself.
“Mom, you need to go back to bed,” Jack said.
I’d sat on a bar stool, head in my hands to close my eyes for just a moment. Now that I opened them, the table was cleared, and Jack was standing in front of me, Lily beside him, her large backpack dwarfing her small frame.
Shit.
“I need to take you to school,” I argued.
Jack raised his brow in a very adult kind of way much like his father had done to me many times when I’d tried to argue about something that even I knew was bullshit.
My heart hurt. Screamed, rivaling the pain in my skull.
“I’ll call someone,” he countered. “Grandma Olive can take us. Or Mrs. Gwen or Grandma Evie. Just not you. You need bed.” He said this firmly. In a tone that brokered no argument, again, much like his father.
I sighed, holding back the tears I really, really didn’t want to shed in front of my children. The ones who were somehow stronger than their mother. Smarter too. As I was about to surrender my phone to my boy’s outstretched hand, a knock sounded at the door, making me flinch.
Jack glanced toward the door with his father’s face on. “I’ll get it.”
“No!” My own shout caused me so much pain I almost threw up my four Advil and two cups of coffee all over the carpet. “No, honey,” I repeated, softer now, which took quite a bit of effort. “I’m going to answer the door, okay?”
Though Amber was safe and the club was not in any kind of danger anymore, my instincts wouldn’t let my son answer the door, no matter how grown up he was acting.
Every step was agony. My vision blurry, the floor was tilting and my brain felt like it was growing while my skull was shrinking.
The sunlight assaulted me when I opened the door, causing me to flinch back on reflex. The person standing in front of me was nothing more than a large, dark, blur.
“What the fuck?”
The voice was familiar. Worried. And much, much too fucking loud.
I was doing my best to get it together so I could answer, but a small person beside me was quicker.
“Mom has a migraine,” Jack explained. “She gets them sometimes. Dad used to put her to bed, and we would leave her in the dark until she got better. But...” he trailed off.
My heart hurt once more. No longer did the pain there rival that in my head, it superseded it.
But he was dead now, that’s what Jack was going to say. His father was dead, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. All he knew was that he needed to take care of me.
“Okay, I’ll get your mom to bed. Make sure she’s got everything she needs, then I’ll get you to school. Sound rockin’?” It was Kace who spoke.
I was about to argue with him, but he moved past me. My vision was better now since Kace had shut the door before he’d finished speaking. I didn’t process how it happened, but suddenly, he was right beside me, his arms around me.
“Can you walk?” he murmured, speaking as softly as possible.
“Yes,” I snapped, making the tone loud and grating, trying to sound much stronger than I was.
It didn’t work because I swayed as I said it, and Kace’s hands tightened to steady me.
“Why don’t you go and make sure your sister is ready to go, and I’ll get your mom into bed?” Kace asked.
Jack frowned, folding his arms. “I can help her,” he argued.
I smiled at my son, at him not being ready to hand over responsibility to someone else. “Sweetie, it’d be so much help if you went to get your sister ready,” I pleaded gently.
Jack looked to me, then Kace, then back to me again. He nodded once and walked away.
Kace wasted no time in piling me into his arms as soon as my son’s back was turned. The movement was quick and gentle, but I still couldn’t hold in my whimper.
“I know, baby,” he murmured.
My teeth sank into my lip, drawing blood during the rest of the short journey. Kace moved quickly, depositing me into bed with the utmost care. Then he moved to close the curtains, his footsteps heading to the bathroom followed by the water running. I kept my eyes firmly shut and did my best not to move.
His footsteps came back then something cold and soft settled over my eyes.
“You got any pills, drugs?” Kace asked softly, rubbing my hair.
“Don’t work,” I murmured. “Just have to ride it out.”
“Fuck,” he hissed.
“I’ll be okay,” I whispered. “Just need dark. Sleep. Call Olive. She’ll take care of the kids.”
“I’ll take them,” he said.
Fuck. I couldn’t think around all this pain. I needed cool darkness. Quiet. But I also couldn’t leave my kids in the hands of the man I’d been fucking.
>
“No, I—”
Hands on my face silenced me. A gentle, barely there touch. His palms were cool and felt almost nice against all of the agony.
“Lizzie, this is not a debate,” he murmured. “You’re not in any kind of state to argue. Beyond that, arguing is takin’ up too much energy. You’re in pain. You need to sleep. Need to trust that I’m gonna take care of your kids.”
Trust.
He wanted me to trust him.
With everything I had left in this world.
“Okay,” I whispered, submitting everything to this man I had promised myself I’d never truly surrender to.
His lips touched mine. “Sleep.”
“How you feelin’, babe?”
The words were spoken softly, gently, as close to a whisper as the husky voice was capable of.
Despite this, I sat upright in bed quickly, yanking the covers up. I’d been awake to hear the door opening and closing, but for some reason, I hadn’t computed the silent way in which it was done. I’d just assumed it was one of my children, coming to jump into bed with me. Although it was only really Lily who did that these days. Although he still participated in our movie nights that consisted of all the snacks they weren’t usually allowed and more than one fight over which movie would be playing for the night, Jack was getting much too old to snuggle with his mother.
But it wasn’t my son or daughter in my room this morning, it was Kace. Carrying a cup of coffee and a plate of what looked like dry toast.
Light was barely peeking through the blinds in my bedroom, which meant he’d either arrived here before dawn or he had slept here.
Although that scared me, I really hoped he had slept here because my memory of yesterday was spotty at best. There had been changes in the cool compress on my head. Someone feeding me water—someone who must’ve been Kace upon reflection—small, cool hands in my palm, kisses on my cheek, likely Lily.
But there was no memory of me picking them up from school, fixing them afternoon snacks, helping them with their homework or making them dinner. Of course there weren’t memories of that. Because I hadn’t done any of that.