I sucked in a sharp breath. No, no, you don't understand. I couldn't force the words out, and he just kept talking.
“What? Don't give me that fucking look. You always had a good head on your shoulders, woman, and it's time for you to put it to use. You know it's too late, too far gone for us. Mistakes were made, and they weren't fixed. If you've got any sense, you'll pick those long legs up, turn around, and walk out that door.”
I froze. The cold energy in his eyes danced over me, sucking the life out of me. “What? Why?”
“Because what happened that summer two years ago was a big goddamned mistake. I'm sorry the memory's left you hanging. If you're still wrapped up in me, then I don't know who the hell you are. I don't wanna know. I should be ancient history by now, and you should be settled down with some civilian and a couple kids. This clubhouse never was a place for a real lady.”
Real lady? Was he patronizing me, or just trying to let me down easy? Shit, the fact that he was letting me down at all hit me in the chest and shredded my heart.
Before I could say anything else, he turned, heading for the bar. “Wait! Roman!”
The blade he'd pushed into my chest just sank deeper when I heard myself saying those fucking words. Wait.
Haven't I been doing it for twenty-two fucking months? All alone, hiding my memories at the ranch, suffering in silence?
My brain flipped to a different mode. I couldn't let him get away from me again like this. I had to get his attention – now.
Running after him, I grabbed a bottle off the bar and threw it.
I wasn't trying to hit him, but the glass made a hell of a noise when it hit the floor, right by his boot. Roman whirled.
How could those eyes that were so sexy and full of life be so dead and glacial? I stared back at him, hoping he caught pure hell in my dark blue eyes. Maybe I'd see a spark of something that was still alive.
My temper took over. This wasn't the man I knew, even if this stranger had the same incredible body, the same face I'd imagined night after night.
“Go ahead and walk the fuck away again, you coward!” I screamed, my voice surprisingly steady. “At least this time I know it's not the prisons and the courts holding you back! You're not man enough to handle us.”
Christ, that idea scared me too. But I still said it, I still offered it to him, even after all this time.
I expected him to strike back, shove me to the wall, get in my face. Instead, he just turned around and kept going.
He left me alone. I was about to storm out when the brother who'd taken a beating with the bald guy stepped in front of me.
A few minutes later, I sat with him at the bar. I let Rabid – what a ridiculous name, right? – pour me a shot of whiskey. We talked about bad luck and love.
He was nice enough, and I actually felt better by the time I had a couple drinks. We must've sat and talked for hours. If he wasn't so hooked on some redhead he was chasing, I might've leaned over and kissed him just to spite Roman.
Maybe to spite myself for being so stupid, thinking this would be easy.
“Good luck, baby,” Rabid said, just before I gathered up my purse to leave. “Try coming by in a few weeks. Maybe then we'll have sorted through some of our shit.”
““I hope so,” I told him. “Thanks, Rabid. I've got a feeling you'll sort whatever's got you by the balls just fine.”
His chances were definitely better than mine, anyway. When I left the clubhouse, the only thought rattling around in my head was how much I never wanted to see that overgrown asshole, Roman, ever again.
If only it were that simple.
At home, the reason why I practically walked over broken glass to see him at the clubhouse sat in my arms, soft and sleepy.
Soon, Caleb would be growing into a real toddler. I've tried like hell to raise my son alone, to forget about Roman and walk the fuck away, never looking back.
But every time I looked into my son's dark brown eyes and saw the same powerful jawline forming on him, I knew. I understood what he deserved, what he needed.
The kid had to have his father – even if the man who shared his DNA turned my heart to ice.
No, no, I couldn't give up this easy. God help me, I was the only one who could bring Roman into his life, or else I'd keep them apart forever.
II: Longing (Roman)
Prison changes a man. It makes him leery, anxious, and ready to fucking fight every second his body isn't so damned exhausted it makes him stay still.
We'd only been in church for five minutes, and I was getting goddamned antsy.
“Beam. Stryker.” Blackjack stood at the head of the table, staring at our two prospects like he was about to anoint them with holy oil. “You've proven yourselves. You've spilled blood and licked dirt for this club, and now you're going to do it some more.”