He looks at me then, I mean really looks at me. Looks inside me. “Why?”
“Why what?” I ask softly, swallowing hard at the emotion I see flashing in his green eyes.
“I mean,” he says between clenched teeth, “why don’t you want to be around me? You’re the one who fucked everything up, and now you’re acting like I’m the one who did something wrong, when the only thing I did was trust a woman who obviously couldn’t keep her legs closed.”
Before I know it, I’m on my feet, and I slap him right across his face. No one talks to me like that. No one.
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t even flinch or lift his hand to rub his face. Instead, he just stares at me with heat in his eyes.
“I want to go home. Now,” I demand, touching his chest with my hand. “If you ever cared about me at one point in your life, you will get me out of here.”
His throat works as he swallows. Did he realize the line he just crossed? “All right, let’s go then.”
I exhale in relief, then follow him out of the clubhouse.
I don’t look anyone in the eye.
I don’t say good-bye.
I just get the fuck out of there.
* * *
I hand Adam his helmet, then walk down my driveway without looking back.
“Bailey,” he says, making me stop and turn to him.
“What?” I ask quietly, just wanting tonight to be over with. I like to think that I’m a strong woman, but there’s only so much I can take.
I’m surprised when he walks down my driveway and stops in front of me. “You know, I try not to be an asshole to you, I really do. But when I see you, my mind is fuckin’ clouded and I can’t control my emotions.” He sighs. “You’re the only person who it happens around, and it’s a weakness.”
“A weakness?” I ask, not sure what he means by that exactly.
“Showing emotion is showing weakness,” he says, looking into my eyes. “If two people are angry, and one stands quietly while the other rages and breaks shit, who do you think is the most powerful, mentally?”
“Does it matter who is most powerful?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. “I guess the quiet one would be, but then he would hold it all inside, and it would slowly eat at him. The man who raged and reacted may have less control, but he gets all the emotions out, so they don’t destroy him.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, looking down at his feet. “You make me rage. You make me feel shit I don’t want to feel.”
I swallow hard at the emotion in his voice.
“I’ll wait until you get inside and lock the door,” he says, but I don’t move. I just look into his eyes, seeing how much of my Adam is still in there.
“Bailey, go,” he whispers, eyes narrowing.
I nod and slowly walk to my front door.
I’m about to close it when I hear him say, “It would help if you weren’t so fuckin’ beautiful.”
But that must have been my imagination, right?
I close the door, lock it, turn around, and collapse against it. My breaths come in pants, in and out, in and out in quick puffs. I squeeze my eyes shut, emotions running through me. Ghosts from past pains, past wounds that are now being split back open. Why did this have to happen? I don’t want to deal with all of this. I was finally in a good place, and now . . . I won’t let him ruin that. He made me so angry, but then when we just spoke . . . he made me feel something else. Something I need to bury. The anger, yeah, I can understand that. The other emotions—no, I don’t need to concentrate on those. They don’t exist. I need to learn how not to let him get under my skin.
It’s been years, I tell myself over and over again.
The past can hurt me only if I let it.
I need to be stronger.
When I get my breathing under control, I pull myself together, have a long, hot shower, and then go and pick up a sleeping Cara from Tia’s house. I put her in bed next to me, cuddling close.
But even then, sleep doesn’t come.
All I do is replay his words in my head, over and over again, in a loop.
The only thing I did was trust a woman who obviously couldn’t keep her legs closed. The only thing I did wrong. The only thing.
He has no idea, and it’s my fault he doesn’t.
The truth is, I’ve been protecting someone who doesn’t deserve it. Adam’s anger, bitterness, and venom—I don’t deserve them.
Why don’t I just tell him? I don’t want to go back there, but I can’t keep going on like this either.
The truth will set me free, but it will enslave Rake.
I don’t want to hurt him, but right now all I’m doing is hurting myself.
What the hell am I going to do?
* * *
The next time I see Adam is several weeks later. In the wrong place at the wrong time, again.
After picking up Cara from school and then taking her to her dance class, I was too tired to cook, so I decided to stop at one of the diners we pass on the way home. Had I paid attention and seen the two bikes out front, I would have turned around. But I didn’t. So here I am, sitting across the booth from my daughter, waiting for our orders, while Adam and one of his biker friends sit with two women, eating, laughing, and being generally obnoxious. They haven’t seen me yet, and I hope to keep it that way.
“How was your class today, Mom?” Cara asks me sweetly.
My expression softens as I look at her, my worries fading away. “It was great, Cara. My students learned a new letter of the alphabet. How was your day?”