Mason walks over to get some food, leaving Heidi standing here, looking guilty of something. “I don’t want to know. Not tonight anyway,” I warn her.
“Know what?” she exclaims, eyes expanding.
“Who the daddy is.” I nod down to the baby.
“It was an accident. Please don’t tell him.”
Accident? Is she fucking kidding?
“I ain’t telling him shit, but you will—and soon.”
Rolling her eyes, she grits out, “Fine.” Her hand disappears into her bra and she pulls out a letter, handing it to me. It’s warm from being on her tit.
“This is yours. It’s a little late.” She shrugs, sauntering off.
I stare down at the worn, folded paper. Stuffing it in my pocket, I go to the bar to get my fill of Drew.
“You looked like a fish out of the water holding that baby.” Drew chuckles, sliding a beer across the bar.
“I’ve never held one. Not to say I don’t want to hold one, or two, three,” I add, flicking my eyes to her stomach. She picks up a napkin and chucks it at me.
Laughter and celebrations lifts the atmosphere as the night rolls on. Jameson’s ol’ lady seeming to handle the brothers and club with ease helps him relax.
Leaving them all to it, I go collect the gift I have for Drew and creep out of the compound, texting her to come meet me.
Epilogue
Drew
Breathing in the fresh air, my heart settles, finding peace in our special place. The water ripples as Alec skips stones across the surface.
“You wanted me?” I ask, folding my arms and raising a brow.
“Always.” He chuckles, smiling his panty-melting, heart-shattering, soul-pleasing smile.
“So, I got your letter,” he says, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket.
My lips hook, smiling over at him. “Better late than never.”
“I should throttle her for keeping this from me.” He flicks it open, and begins to read.
Alec,
Every molecule of my being exists to love you. I believe that more than anything else in this world. I gave you every part of me, and you will own that for eternity. We’re soulmates, best friends.
But I can’t stay. It all hurts too much right now.
Just know you were my first love.
My only love.
My forever love.
Drew
“There was never anyone else for me. I fell for you when you were six years old and kept falling every day since.” He drops to a knee, pulling a ring from his pocket.
“Alec?” I breathe.
“You’re my best friend, my soulmate, my ol’ lady. Now, let’s make it official. Be my wife?”
I run into his arms, happy tears streaming down my face. “Yes! Yes! Always yes!”
Slipping the ring onto my finger, I let out a mixture of sobs and laughter, looking at the diamond-encrusted skull sitting on a band of white gold. “It’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect.”
“Perfect for you.”
“To me—for me.” His lips crush to mine, swooping me up and walking us to our bench. I straddle his lap, grinding my pussy down on the bulge in his jeans.
The wreckage of our past being rebuilt piece by piece. We’re stronger now. We reclaimed our love from the center of our pain.
He worked himself inside me—into my soul—nineteen years ago. Every smile that hooks his lips slips through the cracks of my flawed soul, changing me from within—healing me.
“I love you, baby.” He kisses my neck, tasting, owning.
“I love you.” I move my hips, my hands buried in his hair.
“You going to be my wife?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Have my babies?”
“One baby.”
“We’ll see.”
“Hey.” I nudge Rage’s shoulder. It’s been a while since he’s been home. He took Gracie’s murder the hardest. Guilt for not being able to save her eats away at him even though it’s not his fault. I hand him the photo he asked for: a small square picture of Gracie I took one day when we were fooling around behind the bar. I had it pinned on the corkboard along with lots of others. When he saw it, the pain was evident in his eyes. He stares down at the picture, stroking his finger over her face.
I reach over and grasp his arms, squeezing. “You’re a good man, Rage. Don’t let the evil act of another destroy that.”
Pulling out his wallet, he slips the photo inside, and an old image falls out.
He quickly picks it up, almost frantic.
My lips part at the flash I see of the image. The woman is someone I know. “Can I see that?”
“No,” he grunts.
“But I know her.”
“Impossible. She’s dead.”
“No…”
“Drew,” he snaps, slapping his hand on the counter. “She was my wife, and she’s fucking dead.” He glares at me for a few silent seconds, then leaves, slamming the front door behind him.
Jameson approaches me, coming back from the bathroom. We started calling him Grim after hearing Melanie, his girlfriend, tease him with it at one of our family cookouts.
“What happened?”
“I know his wife.”
Jameson looks toward the door Rage disappeared behind. “Knew her?”