Wilting Violets (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #2) Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Dark, MC Tags Authors: Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
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I’d scowled at the women shamelessly checking him out in the security line and I’d felt an irrational amount of anger that I couldn’t shout out that he was mine.

So, fueled by jealousy, I’d slipped my hand into his after we’d retrieved our bags from the x-ray belt. He didn’t have anything but a small duffle, and he refused to let me even roll my compact suitcase.

He’d frozen when my small hand slipped into his large one. My stomach twisted, preparing for his rejection. But instead of letting me go, he held me tight, pulling me in for a quick but firm kiss on the lips.

It was a thrill, like a rebellion to walk through that airport without our secrets, without pretending we weren’t something to each other. It felt right. No one stared at us … well, beyond the people who stared Elden. When I passed a mirror, I saw a bearded man with icy eyes and a Sons of Templar cut with a shorter woman, her eyes bright, hair pulled off her face. Though I wasn’t wearing any makeup, I didn’t look young, didn’t look like it was ridiculous for us to be together.

We fit.

Until we didn’t.

Until Elden subtly but purposefully created distance when we landed in New Mexico.

It stung. Burned. Even though I knew it was the right choice.

I pushed it to the back of my mind when I made it to the hospital, when I told everyone half truths about where I’d been, what I’d been doing. I had been studying. Then I had been drinking at a bar without cell service. Then I went home to sleep before flying here.

I told my mother all of this, not having to make eye contact because I was too busy falling in love with my brother. Neither my mother nor Swiss had any inkling I was lying because they were both tired and distracted by their world growing bigger and more beautiful.

“I want to hold him forever,” I whispered, rocking him gently.

“You can hold him for however long you want, though you may have to fight me and his dad,” Mom countered with a tired smile. “But you also can change his diapers and deal with sleepless nights so you don’t get any ideas.”

I scoffed at the mere idea. “Mom, a woman can say she loves a baby without her womb and ancient procreation instincts taking over all rational thought.”

“Well, just in case,” she muttered. “I’m too young to be a grandmother. Plus, I don’t want to be on Jerry Springer when I have a grandson the same age as my actual son.”

I stared at her. “Considering I haven’t just given birth and am not planning to, I think you’re good.”

“She’s just tired, aren’t you, Countess?” Swiss murmured, kissing her head. “You just created a whole world today.”

The moment felt precious, soft, stolen.

I gently placed my brother down in his cradle—where he wouldn’t likely be for long—and quietly left the room.

I leaned against the wall outside the hospital room, closing my eyes. Everything felt very unreal. My brother was here. My father was dead.

I had to call my grandparents. I was overcome with guilt that I hadn’t done that already. They had lost their son. Even though they’d cut him off the second I sent a letter to my grandmother, telling them everything. My grandmother had come to visit my mother in Garnett not long after that. Then she’d stopped by Brown to see me, informing me that they would never speak to my father again. They’d chosen me and my mom over him. Without any hesitation.

A choice that couldn’t have been easy. They were good people. They loved their son. They could not understand how he’d turned into what he was.

They’d accepted the whole new life that my mother had created. They came for Christmas. Got along with Swiss.

But they lost their son.

So I had to call them. Once I figured out what to say. How to speak to them. How to say I was sorry he was dead when I didn’t know if I was.

Maybe I was. Maybe I had been harboring yet another fantasy of him having some kind of wakeup call after losing everything. Him redeeming himself, changing, turning into a good man.

But even I knew that there was no redemption after what he’d done for years. There was no story where he changed completely and became the father I deserved, the son my grandparents deserved. This ending, though painful, was the best we could’ve hoped for.

The door closed gently, then Swiss leaned against the wall beside me.

“He’s lucky,” I whispered. “My brother. To have you as a dad.”

“I’m lucky,” he countered. “To have him. Your mom.” His head turned toward me. “You,” he added.

“I know you’re protectin’ your mom,” he continued. “Know that you’re hurting, even if you don’t want to be. Even if it pisses you the fuck off. You lost something. Even if it wasn’t him, it was the idea of what he could’ve been. The memories of what he was before all this shit came out.”


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