Chapter Seventeen
Sunny peered up at the cobweb in the corner of her front porch, the one with a daddy long legs spider she’d named Bob. She refused to knock the web down, to take the creature’s home from it when it hadn’t ever bothered her. She knew what it felt like to lose where she belonged, and she didn’t plan to do that to anything else.
Her house felt like hers again, like she’d gotten something back with Tanner gone. He could no longer taint it. In the two weeks since the attack, Tanner had ended up in one big snowball of a disaster. His ego hadn’t let him stay silent, and he’d even tried to call her from jail, which had landed him in more trouble. In short? He wasn’t going to be getting out for a very long time.
Even though her life seemed to be in order now, there was still something missing.
No matter how much she tried to pretend it wasn’t true, how much she tried to act as if everything was perfect, she missed Trent’s laugh, and Garrison’s heated gazes and the way Connor would snort when she said something he knew was bull.
Spike let out a bug huff as he adjusted, and she turned to crouch in front of him. “What’s wrong, big guy?”
He turned those brown eyes on hers, sweet as could be. The bandage was still there, on the small stump left from the amputation, but his pain meds seemed to work well enough to keep him from hurting much. Mostly, he slept a lot.
She scratched him behind the ears, then dropped herself to sit on the edge of his large dog bed. “A lot has changed, hasn’t it? You’re doing pretty good, though.” He didn’t give up, didn’t pout, just kept relearning how to walk, how to play. “How do you do it? How do you keep moving forward?”
He didn’t answer, of course, but placed his massive head in her lap. Funny, she could almost hear Connor’s voice in her head, as if the group of men were somehow connected with Spike—both scary-looking but sweet to those they cared for.
You just keep moving forward, because staying put won’t do a thing for you.
She sighed, petting Spike, trying to understand everything that had happened, to come to terms with it. Spike shifted again, scooting closer so more of him was in her lap, and that was when it happened, when it hit her, as if she hadn’t realized it before.
Spike had done what he did for one reason—because he loved her. He’d risked his own life just because she mattered.
She thought back to Garrison kicking in her door, to the way the three men had run into her living roomknowingTanner was there, knowing he could have had a gun, that they could have been hurt, but they’d done it because she mattered to them.
Spike opened his eyes, looking up at her, and only one question ran around her head.
What would I do for them?
She took her phone from her pocket and dialed Kat’s number.
* * * *
Garrison turned away the third woman of the night who had knelt at his feet and offered herself up.
She was glamorous—long blonde hair, full breasts that were barely contained in her witch costume, and one hell of a ‘come-fuck-me’ voice.
Still, he’d sent her off with a flick of his wrist, and his cock took no interest in her.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have come,” Connor said, his face full of the same disinterest.
“What else were we going to do? Mope around at home?” Trent took a drink of the water bottle in his hand.
Yes, that was exactly what they would have done. Still, maybe it was preferable to trying to come to the club on masquerade night, something that now only reminded them of the woman who had left them. They hadn’t come looking to replace the memory of Sunny with another woman—he doubted that was possible—but they’d wanted a distraction.
It turned out all the club did was remind them of her.
“Maybe we need to just take a few months off,” Garrison said, as much as he hated the idea.
The club was like family, like a second home. Especially without Sunny, it felt like the only thing giving him that feeling. Still, each time they locked eyes with a woman, when they had the chance to taste her, the idea sounded as appetizing as room temperature leftovers that had been left out all night.
They’d worn the same masks from the month before, the idea of finding new ones seeming exhausting. Even with them, the night lacked the fun of before. Where dressing up had made things exciting, it only felt like a pitiful ruse now.
Still, they’d figured the whole ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ thing applied. Maybe if they dressed up, if they showed up, they’d feel better.
No such luck.
A woman slid to her knees between their seats—number four of the evening.