Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC Book Book 8) Page 9

  Just one.

  That’s all I got.

  Because Ranger was dead, I could die inside but I had to continue.

  Had to endure.

  Chapter 2

  One Year Later

  New members had been patched in.

  It made sense.

  The club had taken losses. There were holes that made the club vulnerable, even if they were walking closer to the right side of the law these days. Any rivals, enemies who smelled blood in the water, would strike. And we had plenty of those.

  Steg had died six months ago.

  It was sudden. Unexpected.

  A brain bleed that was connected to the injury he’d sustained that took his eye. So we’d had another funeral. Evie handled it the way Evie handled everything, with strength and whisky, didn’t wear the label of widow like I did.

  Despite what she’d lost, she was more of a support system to me than I was to her. To be honest, I was jealous of her. She had longer with Steg. An entire lifetime. Which didn’t make it any better. Maybe it even made it worse. What did I know?

  So new patches. Members from other charters had moved to Amber too. I knew this because Evie kept me updated during her weekly visits. She had started off coming by daily, but now that time had passed, I was meant to be somewhat of a functioning human being. There was never any pressure in my interactions with her. She didn’t expect me to reply in a certain way. I didn’t even reply to her at all in the beginning, yet she wasn’t at all bothered. She continued to come, bringing food and booze, smiling at the kids. Updating me on the club that killed my husband.

  The one that killed hers, too, if you thought about it.

  The club was moving on now. As they should. As they needed to. Steg and Ranger’s deaths would be a wound that didn’t heal quite right, but the club had many of those wounds.

  I’d declined any and all offers to be at any kind of club function. Hadn’t stepped foot in the clubhouse since I’d washed my husband’s body clean of blood, since we’d held his wake there.

  It wasn’t because of the bad memories the place held, there was no escaping those. It was the good memories. It was the fact that I’d walk in there and expect to see my husband, expect to be the person I was before, and I couldn’t handle that.

  I couldn’t handle people eying me with pity, tiptoeing around me, just like I couldn’t handle seeing those who had moved on. I didn’t need to see how things had changed when I felt the exact same I had the night he died. They could move on, but I couldn’t.

  Hence me avoiding everybody. Slowly, at first, because it was kind of hard to avoid the people who’d took up residence at my home every day and night, working in shifts to make sure I was never alone with my thoughts.

  But eventually, I managed to distance myself. Made sure to decline any and all invitations to cocktail nights, girl’s nights and any kind of shopping trip. I couldn’t stop them from turning up at the house, but I made sure to communicate I didn’t want to be part of the group anymore.

  These women were good friends. The best. But they also had lives. Children. They couldn’t dedicate their entire lives to watching over me, trying to bring me back to the person I had been before.

  I’d never be her again. Never even resemble her. She was buried in the soil right under my feet.

  “I don’t even know why I’m here,” I grumbled, looking down. “This is just a rock with a name and a birthdate carved into it. Beneath that it’s just wood, holding the decaying bones of the man this headstone is claiming him to be.” I looked up at the sky, the cloudless blue taunting me with the fact that the sun still shone, even in cemeteries. The world still moved on.

  I laid my hand on the rock. “I guess I’m here because I think this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to visit your grave. Put flowers on it so they can die too. Go through all the motions. The routine.” I scoffed. “Which is kind of ironic, since we’ve lived our life in opposition to routine. But I guess death wins everything.”

  The words made me angry. The stone made me angry. The fact that grass was growing over my husband’s body made me furious.

  A tear trailed down my cheek. “I’m not coming back,” I said. “I’m not going to make your death routine. Not going to make it okay. Because it’s not. And I’m so angry at you. I’m not even angry at you for dying. I’m angry at you for coming up to me in the halls. For making me fall in love with you then leaving. Most of all, I’m angry at you for coming back for me. For patching in and giving me no choice but to live a happy life with you.”

  I wiped away my tears, standing to leave.

  “And I can’t even wish I’d never met you, because I wouldn’t have our children. Wishing for that would make me a wicked, selfish person, yet I feel like that all the time. I hate you for dying. For living. For everything.”

  “Thanks for taking care of them,” I said to my mom, watching the kids from the window.

  “You don’t need to thank me, they’re my grandchildren,” my mother replied, an edge to her voice.

  It was nice that she wasn’t treating me with care. Even though it should’ve upset me, it actually reassured me. I didn’t need her to treat me like the moms at school were, like everyone I encountered at the grocery store did. Like the whole fucking town did. Like I was wounded, like I was surrounded by eggshells, that one must tread lightly when interacting with me. Even a year later.

  I nodded, continuing to watch the kids outside. They played together well. Brothers and sisters were meant to hate each other, or that’s what I thought. But ever since Lily was born, Jack had taken it upon himself to make her his best friend, and that hadn’t changed over all of these years.

  “They seem to be doing well,” Mom commented.

  “Yeah, kids are resilient.” I replied. “Our kids, especially.”

  “This is going to follow them around, no matter what,” my mom proclaimed.

  I turned my attention to her. She was focusing on me with anger in her eyes.

  “You’re going to be affected for life.”

  I flinched. “I’m well aware of that.”

  “I told you,” she hissed. “I told you that this would happen, marrying that boy. Staying with him through all of that. I told you that you would lose him.” She slung the words sloppily, her voice shaking with emotion, but they were missiles and they hit their mark.

  “Yeah, Mom, you told me,” I agreed. “And you were right. I did lose him. Are you happy you’re right? What would you like from me in order to show you that you were right? Because I can’t give you anything right now. I don’t have anything.”

  Her face drained of color as she fully realized what she’d said. My mother was a harsh woman. She’d never really have that maternal gene, no softness to her. But she was never intentionally cruel. Just like she didn’t have that motherly kind of love inside her, she didn’t have hatred either.

  She didn’t know how to deal with this. With me, seeing this pain she couldn’t repair. Despite what she was, she was my mother, and she loved me in her own way. She didn’t want to hurt me.

  “Elizabeth, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “I know, Mom,” I replied.

  “Good night, my sweet girl,” I said, kissing Lily on the forehead, wondering how much longer I had to tuck her in. “Say hi to Daddy in your dreams.”

  She snuggled close to the worn stuffed rabbit she hadn’t slept with in years. “I always do,” she murmured sleepily.

  I left the door open a crack so the light from the hall filtered in. Again, something I hadn’t done in years, but if a stuffed bunny and a halfway light did anything to make my fatherless daughter feel better, then that was okay with me.

  Light from Jack’s room and the low hum of the TV told me he was still awake. Ranger and I didn’t usually let him watch TV in bed this late, but again, I didn’t really give a shit about the way things used to be. I had a feeling that the movies made him feel less alone, distracted him from his gr
ief and helped him sleep without the quiet that would remind him he’d never hear the roar of his father’s motorcycle ever again.

  I checked on him throughout the night—I checked on them both—and he was always asleep with some movie playing.

  “What’s on tonight, my friend?” I asked, moving into his room.

  He glanced to me. “Lost Boys”.

  I raised my brows. “A classic. Not too scary, though?”

  Jack gave me a ‘mom, really?’ type look. “No, Mom.”

  I held my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. You’re a fearless dude, I get it. Don’t stay up too late.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  I leaned in to kiss his head. He made a face typical for a twelve-year-old being shown affection by his mother, but he let me.

  “Love you,” I whispered.

  “Love you more,” he whispered back.

  I walked through the house, past the photos I didn’t look at anymore, straightening pillows, putting away shoes. It was the routine I had every night. One that Ranger had always helped with. Then we’d go to bed. Not always together. But since the club had settled, thar had been more and more common. I’d read. He’d read. We’d watch a movie. He’d make love to me. Or fuck me. Usually a combination of both. Not every night. Sometimes twice a night.

  Our marriage was stronger after we got through those hard years. But we had valleys. Peaks. Though the lows were far lower, more like potholes really, the highs were higher, more constant.

  Now I wasn’t just in a valley. I was in the basement of my life.

  I poured myself a whisky and walked outside. It was Saturday. I was allowed hard whisky on Saturdays.

  A few years ago, Ranger had spent an entire month working whenever he could to completely redo our backyard. He’d wanted me and the kids to have an oasis. He built a greenhouse similar to the one Olive had. We had all sorts of vegetables in it, and Olive came over once a week to make sure I wasn’t killing anything.

  He’d built a large deck jutting off from our French doors, complete with fancy wicker furniture, a small dining area, a hammock. Pavers led to our built-in barbeque area and a corner where we could pitch a tent and have campouts with the kids. Solar lights that automatically came on and lit up the entire area when the sun went down were strung across the entire area. It was my favorite place to be no matter the weather. The kids loved being outside too.

  I hated it now, with all its memories. But it wasn’t as loud in its silence as the house was. So I came out here, for respite. For... something.

  “I don’t really know that much about astrology, but I know there’s power in a full moon,” I said, looking up to the sky. “I might’ve liked to learn more about it all, but kids and all.” I trailed off, embarrassed that I was talking to the moon like it was some old high school friend I’d ran into at the grocery store. “I know there’s probably a lot of people out here doing the same thing as I am right now, looking for some strength, asking for something. Surely those people need it more than I do. But I’m not asking for a lot. Anything you can spare. I just need a little...” I trailed off as my voice cracked.

  It was a large crack, resounding evidence of how damaged I was. How close to falling apart I’d become. But I wouldn’t let myself break completely. I had to stay strong because I had two children inside that house who needed their mother whole. Who at least needed to believe that she was.

  So that’s why I was out here looking to the moon for help. For strength.

  “I just need something,” I continued. “Whatever I can get, whatever you can give. I just need it. To get through this night. I just need to get through this night. I think I’ll be able to figure out tomorrow when it gets here. I just. Tonight...”

  I stayed out there for a long time. Maybe too long. The moon didn’t answer. No one did. I was alone.

  Chapter 3

  There were a plethora of women who I could trust with my children. I was aware that there were a lot of mothers out there who couldn’t say the same, so I knew what a blessing it was to be surrounded by women who would protect my children as if they were their own. Who loved them.

  Adored them.

  Cared about me.

  For years that was great. Ranger and had been able to have date nights, even weekends away. But these were not regular circumstances. I didn’t want to let my children out of my sight, and I surely didn’t want my well-meaning, strong, loving and overbearing friends trying to make things better.

  A lot of other people’s friends would’ve given up. Not because they were bad people, but because there was a limit of someone else’s suffering most people could handle.

  Most people didn’t do well at witnessing grief so close to home, being assaulted with the knowledge of just how close they were to that kind of pain. That kind of loss.

  But these women were not most people.

  They had certainly proven that throughout the years.

  I’d been proud to call them friends, that the club finally had Old Ladies who inspired the men to head in a more legitimate direction.

  Not that that had mattered for me, of course.

  But I also resented them. That was the prickly, ugly truth of it all. I resented that they got to witness my pain and then go back to their homes, to their husbands, and they didn’t have an empty bed or broken heart.

  It was unfair of me.

  But life wasn’t fair lately, so whatever.

  And one day, on a Tuesday afternoon after I’d picked Jack and Lily from school, I fully shattered. There was no other word for it. I didn’t snap. No, there was no room in my life for ‘snapping’ under the weight of everything. Before now, there were hairline fractures on the surface of my soul, ones that small children thankfully couldn’t perceive.

  But the thing about cracks was that they usually got bigger. Made things more fragile. And that Tuesday after school, I realized how fragile I had become.

  So I carefully, calmly bundled my kids into our car and drove them to one of the many women who would take care of them. One that would look at me, not ask questions, and take my kids without a word without expecting me to call and tell her when I was coming back. One who would understand if I didn’t come back for a while.

  Amy opened the door looking movie star perfect, as always. She smiled when she saw me. A genuine smile. Not full of worry or pity.

  “Hey! I was just about to blow my brains out watching Peppa Pig. You saved me. I’ll get the wine.”

  “Can you take care of the kids?” I asked, my mask starting to slip, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.

  Amy’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she winked at Jack then leaned forward to take the bag I had packed from them. “I have brownies that Gwen made on the counter,” she rolled her eyes at Lily before continuing. “She is an evil witch, trying to get me to binge on sugar. Luckily, I now have you tiny humans to do that.”

  Lily needed no more urging, passing me to run through the house. Jack glanced up at me, worried. He looked at me like that a lot these days. I ruffled his hair. “I’ll be fine, dude. Just need to go and take care of some things. Go and consume terrible amounts of sugar.”

  He frowned for a beat. “Love you,” he said uncharacteristically, especially in front of an audience.

  “I love you more,” I whispered as I gave him a squeeze.

  Jack moved inside the house he’d been in many times.

  “I’ll be back...” I trailed off, not wanting to lie, but afraid to tell the truth and become the world’s worst mother.

  “You’ll be back when you feel like you can be back,” Amy finished for me. “We’re good here. Brock will be home soon, and I’ve got wine. I’m really good at keeping kids alive. I’ve babysat Mia’s kids before and managed to survive that.” She winked. “It’ll all be okay here. Take care of you, okay? You need this.”

  I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak in fear of bursting into tears that I wouldn’t be able to stop.

&
nbsp; So I turned my back on them all and got in my car. Drove away. Not knowing where I was going or when I’d be back.

  I hadn’t made the conscious decision to pull into Sunset Lodge. To drive in that direction. But it didn’t exactly surprise me either. That’s where I’d found myself during my last episode of hopeless sorrow. It was the place that had sucked in all my pain. Didn’t take it away exactly, but the air felt lighter there. It didn’t make any sense, but I guess it didn’t need to. What mattered is that being there helped.

  So did the vodka I’d brought with me.

  I was wearing shoes this time, so I called that a win. And my earbuds so I could lay out by the pool listening to earsplitting rock. The anger and hate in the music helped me. I resonated with it. I’d never understood why people listened to music like this, but right then I got it.

  It was nice to hear someone screaming at the top of their lungs when I wasn’t brave or strong enough to do it myself.

  So that’s what I did. I listened to heavy metal while drinking vodka by the pool on a Tuesday. Didn’t go to grief counseling, didn’t go to any circle jerk in a church basement, both of which were most likely much healthier and would’ve set a better example for my children.

  At some point, I stumbled to my room, managed to drink some water, choke down two aspirin then fell into a dreamless sleep.

  I was hungover the next morning. Not surprising and not a negative. The throbbing in my head and the acid in my stomach was enough to distract me from reality for most of the morning. Enough to make me almost entirely focus on bad TV and not the fact that my kids were waking up without me. Waking up without their father and the fact that I was quite possibly the worst mother to ever exist.

  That’s when I started drinking again.

  When even my headache couldn’t drown out those thoughts.

  The pool was abandoned as it was yesterday. I could’ve been the only person in the entire motel. In the entire world.

  It was nice, feeling so alone. To be miserable in such an all-consuming way. I hadn’t been able to grieve properly with so many people around watching, wanting to help, trying to show me they cared. What they’d really been was an audience.