Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“Western was raised in a club.”
“And he’s in prison,” I yell, without thought.
Colt’s eyes flash, and he looks at me in a way he never has before. He’s not only angry, he’s hurt.
“I’m sure he’s a good man, Colt, but he’s spending his days behind bars. I can’t possibly live with my children living like that. It’s not right. What if they get hurt? What if someone comes after them?”
“Western didn’t do shit to deserve where he is, and I’ll make every effort to get him out.”
“If he wasn’t part of a club, do you think he’d be there?”
Colt looks disappointed. Bitterly disappointed.
I hate that.
I don’t want to hurt him.
“You’re walking a fine line. At what point did you not consider this? You have been in my life now for over six months and only now are you decidin’ my life isn’t good enough for you.”
“It’s not that,” I try to explain. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I saw something today that scared me, imagine what that would do to a child.”
“Children rarely come into the fuckin’ clubhouse, Chloe. You’re overreactin’.”
I shake my head, the tears falling, unable to be held back a second longer. “No. I’m not.”
“What are you sayin’ then? You suddenly decided you can’t be part of this with me?”
“I love you, Colt. More than you’ll ever know. I’m just confused and concerned. I want a family one day, and I didn’t consider what kind of life I could offer them until today. I don’t want my children in that environment. I don’t want them to see what I saw today. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want you. We could step away ... create a new life together ...”
“You want me to step away from my club?”
His voice is barely above a whisper, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
“You don’t have to step away, but you could hand it down, take a step back. We could raise our kids outside of the club, but you could still be part of it. It could work ...”
“That club is my family, and any child of mine will be loved by every fuckin’ person in there.”
“I’m your family, too,” I snap. “Do I not matter at all?”
“You fuckin’ matter,” he barks, “but you’re askin’ me to step away from the only thing I know. It’ll never happen.”
“Not even for me?”
His eyes meet mine. “No.”
I toss my napkin down on the table, tears flowing down my cheeks as I push my chair back and stand. I turn and rush out, unable to take this a second longer. Colt follows me, but I’m not interested in hearing what he has to say.
I need time.
I need to think.
This hurts more than I could have ever anticipated.
I thought what we had was perfect, but it turns out, it might be anything but.
Maybe this love story is just coated in a pretty layer that is slowly melting away.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I’VE BEEN VISITING my family.
I needed some time away to process.
Colt and I have spoken very briefly since our fight in the café that day.
I needed to figure things out, so I told him I was going to spend a few days away.
It hasn’t helped, not really.
I’m still as confused as I was when this started.
I keep seeing Colt beating that man, over and over in my head. The way he drove his fist into his body, the way his eyes were lacking any kind of emotion. Everything about him that day scared me, and I can’t stop wondering how it would feel if a child saw it. I know every effort is made to keep children away from that, but what if one of them decided to check in on their dad one day, just like I did.
All it takes is one moment to change everything.
I can’t help but feel that it isn’t the life for me, and, yet, at the same time, leaving Colt makes my heart hurt in a way I never thought possible. I don’t know how I’m supposed to make a choice like this, but I do know I have to come home eventually and talk to him. It’s only fair, and I know he deserves me to sit down and have a conversation with him about this. I am going to call him first to make sure he’s actually ready for me to come home.
It's late afternoon, and if I left now, I could make it back not too late. I want to go back, I want to see him, I want to talk. Picking up my phone, I dial his number. He answers, which is surprising because he hasn’t answered a lot since I’ve been away. Not that I’ve put too much effort into calling—I needed the time as much as he did. Hearing his gruff voice on the phone has my eyes closing and my chest constricting.