Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 113353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
More fucking silence.
Her face had turned ghost white and she held one hand clamped over her mouth, probably to keep from verbally striking out at him. Either that or she realized what he said was true.
She was his.
She was his the second they kissed in the rain. That very goddamn second.
He knew none of this was temporary for him. That moment proved they were meant to be.
That they were meant to be a family.
That Jemma was supposed to be his ol’ lady. To wear his cut. To stand by his side.
To raise his children.
To be the queen of his kingdom. Even if that kingdom consisted of a fucking single-wide trailer.
Even so, that trailer would contain two people who loved her.
Her daughter and her ol’ man.
He had changed his life for them both.
But she wasn’t willing to change her life for them.
So, fuck her.
Fuck Jemma for making him and his daughter fall in love with her.
Fuck her.
He’d been deserted before and survived. He’d survive it again.
“Fuck you, Jemma. You don’t wanna be here, then go. Ain’t stoppin’ you. But I ain’t leavin’ my club, my family, and you ain’t takin’ my fuckin’ daughter. You walk away from me, you walk away from her. This is a package fuckin’ deal.”
He grabbed his beer bottle and, instead of drinking from it, he threw it as hard as he could. It shattered—just like his life—when it struck the nearby metal shed.
This was Bebe all over again.
His daughter was going to lose her mother.
Because the club was too much for Jemma.
This life was too much for her to deal with.
But it was a life he wasn’t willing to give up. No matter what Jemma thought, this life would be good for Dyna, he’d make sure of it. Even if Jemma didn’t want to be a part of it.
“You have until Sunday night to get things in order for Dyna,” she said flatly.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his clenched fingers pressed to his outer thighs and he said the hardest thing he’d ever said in his life. Every fucking word cracked off another piece of his crumbling heart.
“If you’re goin’, you go tonight. Pack your fuckin’ shit and leave.” He didn’t look at her when he said, “I’ll be back in thirty. Be gone in twenty-five.”
He took long strides toward The Barn, not looking back once.
Not fucking once.
He’d known beer wouldn’t be strong enough. He needed a shot or two—or, hell, a bottle—of fucking whiskey. But he doubted that would help, either.
Dutch raised him and Rook on his own. Cage could raise Dyna on his own, too.
Like father, like son.
Fuck Jemma and the goddamn Volvo she drove in on.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jemma talked to Lottie on the phone once a week to check in, but she hadn’t gone home.
She texted Judge a couple times a week, but she hadn’t called. She was afraid if she did, she’d ask.
And he’d tell her they were doing great without her.
She had no idea if that was true.
She hoped it was. She hoped it wasn’t.
Selfish, but true.
No matter what, if Dyna didn’t need her, her patients did.
One took her last breath this morning, then faded away peacefully with her husband and her adult children at her side.
That was what her patient, Susan, wanted in the end. The love and support of her family. She wanted to spend every coherent moment with them. To share memories and stories, even if it caused tears and heartache. But they were memories Susan wanted them not to forget. Remembrances of happier times. Of healthier times.
Everyone died. The only difference was how and when. And, of course, where.
Susan chose to die in a house she built to be a home, where she raised her family with her husband.
Jemma was there to help ease her pain, ease Susan into the next chapter of her life, whatever it was.
Now, she sat on the tiny balcony off her tiny apartment above a garage on the outskirts of Williamsport. Her rental was smaller than the single-wide temporary trailer she’d lived in with Cage and Dyna.
She lifted the stemless wine glass to her lips and sipped at the semi-sweet red she’d filled to the very brim.
Honestly, after the day she had, she could use a hit off Cage’s bowl.
A few hits, actually.
A week after she gathered her things and drove away from the farm, the trailer, the MC life, as well as Cage and Dyna, she got a text. From Reese of all people.
The text simply said, I get it.
A few minutes later Deacon’s woman—it was difficult to think of Reese as an ol’ lady—sent another. We’re here for you if you need us. Just call or text. Deacon and Judge love you no matter what. We all do.
That text made her cry when she didn’t think she had any tears left.
Cassie sent a text the next day. Don’t worry about Dyna, we have it figured out until Cage does.