When did I give her the power to control my emotions? I don’t think even I realized just how deep I was in, until now.
“Tracker, I would never write anything about—”
“Your time for explaining has long passed, Lana,” I say in an ice-cold tone. “Get your shit and get out of here. I’m done.”
I trusted her with everything. I gave her everything I had. I gave her my family, my protection, my love. I gave her myself. I changed for her.
And the whole time she was what, writing a book on my lifestyle?
This isn’t a fuckin’ story. This is my life.
I get up and leave, ignoring the sounds of her crying.
Leaving what’s left of my mangled heart with her.
TWENTY-FOUR
LANA
IT’S been a week. He won’t talk to me, let me explain. And he deleted my work. All my hard work, lost because of his misguided anger. And now, we can’t even talk about it because he won’t see me. I haven’t stepped back into the clubhouse since the day he told me to leave. I’m not going where I’m not wanted. I tried to call him, and send him a few messages, but there was no reply. Nothing. He cut me out of his life, just like that. At the very least, I deserve to be able to explain myself. I didn’t do anything wrong, and he’s not completely innocent either. He hurt me too by thinking the worst of me, by jumping to conclusions. I was right all along. All men leave. It’s just inevitable.
I would never betray the club, and the only scenes I had written out, before Tracker deleted them, were sex scenes, the amazing moments Tracker has given me, now immortalized forever with the written word. How is that a bad thing? If he read the story like he said he did, he would know what I wrote. So why is he acting like this? I never used him. I love him, more than anything. Because I didn’t tell him the whole story about my writing career, I’d now lost him. Over something trivial.
The love of my life.
I haven’t typed a single word since.
Tracker wouldn’t even let me make it better. Anna said he wouldn’t listen to her either, leaving the room every time she tried to bring it up. He is done with me.
Done.
And I’m left a shell of a person.
I almost wish I could go back in time, before Tracker, so I could carry on with my life. So I didn’t know what it felt like to live with a broken heart. So I didn’t know what it felt like to be cared for and loved, because when you lose it, it hurts like a fucking bitch.
But life goes on.
The day after he kicked me out, I moved into that apartment I wanted, the one Tracker said he didn’t like.
It feels lonely.
Sometimes I see Blade around, keeping an eye on me. I don’t know if Tracker asked him to, or maybe it was Rake. Either way, I don’t know if it is because they still care for me or that they no longer trust me.
That hurts, badly.
My writing is fiction. I’m not a journalist, trying to expose someone—I’m just a lover of romance.
Or at least, I was.
Anna visits me every day, but we stay off the topic of Tracker. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to know who he’s with now, or how much he hates me.
I want to erase every memory of him.
“Lana?” Anna calls out, walking into my bedroom. She sits down and stares at me. “Don’t you have classes? I went by campus but you weren’t there, so I came here. You didn’t even answer your door. Lucky I brought my spare key.”
“Sorry,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m not feeling too well, so I stayed home. And I was lost in thought.”
She sighs. “I know you don’t walk to talk about him, but I think the two of you need to stop being so stubborn and—”
“He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. We’re both moving on with our lives. It’s for the best.”
She looks around my room. “How is this for the best? You barely leave this apartment. You don’t see anyone. You’re turning into a hermit.”
“I’m dealing with everything the best way I can, and I’m going to be fine,” I tell her, nodding my head. “Perfectly fucking fine.”
“Yes, you sound it,” she says dryly.
“Hearts get broken every day. I’m just another statistic.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” she yells. “Get your ass up and into the shower right fucking now or I’m going to tell Rake and everyone to come here and deal with you. Decide, now.”
“Fine,” I grumble ungracefully. “I’ll take a shower. You make something to eat.”
“I’m on it,” she says, leaving the room.
I get my ass in the shower, pushing Tracker and everything that goes with him to the very back of my mind.
* * *
A week later, I get a phone call from Arrow.
“Lana,” he says gruffly. “Anna needs you.”
I sit up. “What’s wrong?”
“Just come to the clubhouse, please,” he says, cutting the line.
Arrow said please?
Something isn’t right.
I quickly throw on some shorts and put on a bra under my T-shirt, get in my car, and speed to the clubhouse. Walking inside, I ignore the looks from everyone—especially Tracker, who I can see out of the corner of my eye sitting on the couch.
He’s not alone, and I didn’t expect him to be.
A pretty blonde is sitting next to him.
I can’t even look directly at them, the pain is so blinding.