I awoke to a pounding headache. I blinked at my unfamiliar surroundings in confusion before realizing where I was. What happened last night, no early this morning. What I’d told him—about me, about my life, about my father. Holy shit, it was real. The fact I was waking up in Asher’s room in the Sons of Templar compound was proof enough. And the tenderness between my legs served as more evidence. The pounding headache was an unwelcome reminder.
Since I hadn’t exactly slept last night, I was guessing I was experiencing a delayed hangover. They weren’t fun.
Note to self—don’t drink.
Though, if the tequila was the reason I was waking up here, was the reason I turned into somehow desirable to Asher, I’d put it in a sipper bottle and take it everywhere I went.
Last night was something more than just sex. Through the haze of residual drunkenness I could still see it. I knew that girls were desperate to find a connection to their first time. Maybe that was what I was doing, desperately seeking something more than just losing my virginity to a guy I’d only just met, and letting him own every inch of my body. But that was just it. I felt owned. Possessed. In a good way. I belonged to him. Already.
I pushed up out of bed and put my palm on my forehead. “Ouch,” I muttered as the motion sent sharp pain through my skull. My stomach rolled slightly.
I searched the floor for my dress.
“Great,” I muttered to myself, picking up the garment that would be useless in covering my modesty thanks to its lack of buttons.
I will admit, Asher ripping the buttons off my dress was fricking hot. It did hold a slight dilemma as to clothing choices now, though. He did say he’d be back, and the clock told me it had been three hours since he left. I was only using the facilities, so I shrugged on a tee shirt that swamped me, covering more than the dress would have.
I reluctantly opened the door, emerging into the empty hall. My heart pounded with nerves. I was in a biker compound and felt heaviness in my chest as the reality of this settled. Now that Asher was gone, that demon that clenched its fists around my personality, muting me, returned. I didn’t do well with all-girl sleepovers, feeling awkward and on the edge of a panic attack the one time I did it. How was I meant to navigate this?
I took a deep breath, found my strength and luckily found the facilities without encountering anyone. With luck, everyone would either be sleeping off hangovers—like I wished I was still doing—or out on this elusive “club business.”
My luck ran out as I almost collided with a girl as I approached Asher’s door.
“Sorry,” I apologized quickly, stepping back.
The woman regarded me. She had bleached blonde hair; it was haphazardly thrown into a messy ponytail. Her makeup, likely from the night before, was slightly smudged and there was a lot of it. She was wearing heels and the shortest red dress I’d ever seen. And she was looking at me like I was the dirt on her stiletto heel. The pressure on my chest intensified, and I felt panic bubbling in my stomach.
“Watch it, bitch,” she sneered.
I shrank back into myself at the hostility. I wasn’t prepared for it, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Her kohl-rimmed eyes ran over me, I knew the look. It was one a predator gave its prey, she identified that I was weaker than her, someone she could assert her dominance over. I’d had it happen to me. Not often, but a couple of times, from girls who thought I was trying to “steal” their boyfriends. Which was a joke really when I’d never even had a boyfriend, let alone had enough romantic skill to steal someone else’s. When they’d unleashed on me, I’d turned mute, tried to make myself small and quiet, the way I’d survived when I was escaping my father’s wrath. The woman glanced at the door my eyes were darting to. I yearned for the solace that Asher’s room offered, and she let out a cruel laugh.
“Asher’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel,” she mused. “He likes his women sexy usually, not Mormon mutes. Wouldn’t be getting myself comfortable there, Jane. He’s probably already abandoned you, hoping you’re gone when he gets back,” she hissed icily.
My face paled at her venomous words. I tried not to hyperventilate.
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what he did, isn’t it? Left at the crack of dawn? Honey, take a hint. He’s not into you. You should go back to the convent.” She patted my arm condescendingly and smiled with venom before turning on her heel.
I quickly darted through the doorway, blinking away the tears. Though the woman had been horrible and unnecessarily bitchy, she had been right. It was as if she’d spotted every single one of my insecurities and attacked them. I couldn’t survive here. Where I would have to live on the edge of panic every time I needed to use the facilities. I wished I wasn’t like this. That anxiety didn’t dictate every inch of my life, but wishing didn’t get me anywhere. The certainty that I would never be able to survive this lifestyle washed over me like ice water. No matter how I felt about Asher, he’d quickly lose interest when he realized how weak I was.
I scrambled to find my things while I scrolled through my phone with blurry eyes.
“Whoever has the audacity to call me at this hour is going to have a size nine stiletto embedded in their shin bone,” a cranky voice hissed into the phone.
“Bex,” I whispered through my tears. “I need you to come get me.”
“Where are you?” she demanded, instantly alert.
“At the Sons of Templar compound in Amber,” I choked.
There was a pause. “Fuck,” she finally muttered. “Do I need my Glock? I don’t care if they’re an outlaw motorcycle gang and all around bad ass motherfuckers, I’ll pop a cap in all their tight asses if they hurt you,” she said into the phone, anger saturating her tone.
“No, no one hurt me. I just need out. And clothes,” I added cringing at the thought of leaving here in Asher’s tee. Of being any more exposed than I already felt.
There was another pause, another curse. “Sit tight honey, I’ll be there in ten.”
“Okay,” I whispered and rang off.
I focused on breathing, on convincing myself that the struggle to get air was mental, not physical. That the reason for it was my mind’s inability to handle unexpected situations. My weakness.
Bex was there in twenty, no matter the fact, it was over half an hour to our place in Tasman Springs.
All I had wanted to do was curl up in Asher’s bed, hiding from the world and that horrible woman’s words until Bex came. The reason I didn’t was twofold. Bex didn’t know her way around the clubhouse, and I didn’t want her to have to navigate it. I didn’t trust her not to bring and brandish her gun, causing all sorts of drama to add to my mortification. Plus, I couldn’t curl up in Asher’s bed, the bed I’d lost my virginity in. The bed my shyness fell away in, and I spoke in soft whispers to the man I’d only just met, told him more than I had anyone. I couldn’t lie in the bed that I’d fallen a little bit in love with Asher in. Or a lot in love.
So I sat with my back pressed against the door, my head on my knees, willing myself not to cry. Reminding myself that the heaviness in my chest wasn’t the work of asthma, but of my mind. That my mind was responsible for me feeling like no air could make it into my lungs. I pushed off reluctantly when my phone pinged alerting Bex’s arrival.
I took a deep breath.
“You can do this,” I muttered to myself.
I opened the door, holding my shoes and creeping down the deserted hallway. I inwardly cringed at the fact I was doing this, the walk of shame. I didn’t feel shame over what I did, moreover who I was. I wished I were someone different. Someone stronger. Someone who could have sparred right back with that woman, someone who could have let those words roll right off and slide back into bed and wait for Asher, but I wasn’t. Those words pierced deep and punctured every one of my insecurities.
Though luck hadn’t been with me before, it seemed to be now as I slowly walked into the wide common area of the compound. I was almost home. I could see Bex le
aning against her car, pushing her sunglasses off her head and squinting into the building.
I scurried to meet her.
My scurrying was hampered by the fact I slammed right into a brick wall.
I looked up.
No, not a brick wall, just a wall of human muscle. The man in front of me, one I recognized, and even though he was the one that intimated me the least, my heart still pounded out of my chest.
I stepped back quickly, my eyes wide.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you, I was just leaving,” I said quickly, my eyes darting anywhere but his.
I watched him look me up and down, and then his features turned stormy. I cringed that I was the reason his carefree face was contorted in such a way.
“Lily, you came out of Asher’s room,” Lucky observed in a hard voice.
My already wide eyes gaped. He knew me? Of course he knew me, he was at Gwen’s last night, but I hadn’t realized he’d remember me, though. But he did. And he saw me in Asher’s tee, clutching my shoes and trying to gather my dignity. I inwardly cringed and felt my face flame.
I tried to step around him. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” I whispered brokenly and desperately.
His body stepped in my path.
I looked at him through my lashes, trying not to cry.
Be strong, Lily.
“Stupid fuck,” he bit out, his humor still absent.
“Wha-what?” I stuttered, unsure of how to handle the anger directed at me.
His eyes softened slightly as if he realized the effect his tone was having. “Asher. He’s a stupid fuck. Did he hurt you?” he clipped, looking at my state of undress in distaste.
I self-consciously tugged the tee down. I furrowed my brows. Lucky seemed to be concerned for me. His apparent concern didn’t dampen the panic crawling up the edges of my throat. I’d kept it at bay, but I realized I couldn’t fight it for much longer. I didn’t need to lay any more parts of myself lying around this place, an anxiety attack would shatter me in this moment.
Be strong.
“Lil?” a sharp voice penetrated my confusion and caused relief to ripple through my body.
Lucky stepped aside, his head turning to where Bex stood in the doorway. Her arms were crossed and eyes narrowed on him.
Even though I guessed she’d just gotten out of bed, she looked good. Her black hair was messed in the bed head look, thanks to her choppy layers that dusted her shoulders. There was a bright blue streak along the front of her head. The color changed routinely. I guessed she was still wearing last night’s eyeliner, but it still looked good. Her white ripped jeans and cropped tee showed off her body.
I watched in amazement as Lucky’s eyes took her in with hunger in his gaze. Well, not amazement really, she was hot, and he was a renowned ladies’ man.
She was having none of that.
She pushed off the doorway, glaring at him. Taking my hand, she gave me a worried glance before directing her anger at Lucky, stepping in front of me and right in his grill. That girl had no fear. It would be the death of her one day.
“You keep your biker mitts off her. I don’t know what you fuckers have done to her already, but if it’s anything bad, I’ll be coming back here with Molotov cocktails. Capice?” she hissed, not intimidated by his hard stare, his size, his muscles, or the general air of danger around him.
She didn’t wait for his response before she dragged me out the door as gently as she could. Before we reached the gravel forecourt, she turned to me, thrusting flip flops I hadn’t noticed she was holding. She took my wedges.
“Put these on, babe,” she said softly, her eyes darting around as if she was expecting a surprise attack.
I did as instructed. “How did you know I’d need these?” I asked in amazement.
She raised an eyebrow. “This is far from my first rodeo, girlfriend. Though, I know it’s yours.” Her brows furrowed and she resumed dragging me to the beat up hatchback we shared. Funds didn’t allow for us to both have a car.
“Fucking bikers,” she muttered under her breath.
Once we were safely in the car and had the compound in her rear view, worried eyes darted to me.
“Want to talk about it?”
I looked out the window. “Not really.”
I saw her nod in my peripheral. “Just need to know, did the fucker hurt you?” Her voice was ice.
I didn’t move my gaze. “No,” I whispered, “that’s the problem.”
Two Days Later
“Cancer?” I repeated in a tortured voice.
My mom smiled a sad smile, squeezing my hand. “Yeah, baby. Not the best news I’ve had.”
I gaped at her, tears welling in my eyes, refusing to believe this. “No, no. They’ve made some kind of mistake. Doctors do that all the time, take out the wrong organ, mix up babies. This is wrong,” I declared firmly.
My mom was calm. “As much as I admire your distrust of the public system, they are right this time,” she said, her voice light.
I shook my head, a thousand thoughts dancing around in it. I’d only just arrived home, Mom had called me and asked me to come home for dinner. I had sent her a text two days before, explaining I was going straight back to Tasman Springs, lying about an assignment I needed to get done.
I’d assumed she wanted to grill me about my night with Asher, as I had been dodging any contact for two days, wallowing in pity, unable to handle having to provide the details I knew Mom would demand. I was bracing, rehearsing it, reopening wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal.
Instead, she told me this.
One little word tore through every inch of me.
I stared in her eyes, the vibrant ice blue ones with little to no wrinkles around them. The only lines that were there were a result of eleven years of happiness, of laughter. The horror that she endured for years before that was nowhere to be seen on her face, those scars lay down somewhere, I knew. Her beautiful blonde hair was yet to be streaked with gray, and she had it bound in a braid to the side of her head. She was wearing her usual array of colors and textures. She didn’t look sick. She looked as she always did.
“When d-did you f-find this out?” I stuttered, grasping at what this meant.
She squeezed my hand. “Yesterday,” she told me quietly.
Yesterday. Razorblades chewed at my stomach. I had been worrying about my own inconsequential self, my mom was facing this news alone. I’d been avoiding contact with her because I couldn’t cope with voicing something that was dwarfed by the news she’d been dealing with.
I blinked away tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered. “I would have come, I would have—”
“Peanut, I didn’t want you to have to be dragged along to some depressing hospital.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Those places are full of germs anyway. I wouldn’t want you catching something for my sake,” she continued, thinking of anyone but herself, like always.
“Mom, I would’ve come. I would’ve been there for you,” I declared shakily. “It’s fixable, right? They can fix you?” I continued. My frantic mind clung to the fact that she didn’t look sick, so she couldn’t be that sick. They found it early. They’d fix her.
She squeezed my hand. “We give this positive thought, and I’m sure the universe will heal me. It wouldn’t be so cruel to take me away without seeing my baby girl set the world on fire,” she replied with a small smile.
She was wrong.
The universe was that cruel.
Cruel enough to plague my mother, the woman who ate only organic, vegetarian, didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, with a disease that took everything from her.
That also took everything from me.
I opened the door to the persistent pounding that had penetrated the sound of the loud music playing in the house. Mom was in the studio out back, switched off to the world. She was feeling inspired again, I didn’t want to interrupt her if painting got her through right now, I’d give it to her. I’d been lying on my old b
ed staring at the ceiling, feeling too numb to cry, or to do anything. I’d been Googling Pancreatic cancer for a while, but the low survival rates and the description had me first running to the bathroom to throw up, then bursting into a fit of tears.
My mind had been whirling, swimming in the complexities that came with that evil word. Cancer.
We were going back to the doctors tomorrow. I was meant to go back home today, back to school tomorrow, but there was no way mom could convince me to. I wouldn’t let her go through one step more of this alone. I’d drop out of college and move back here if that’s what it took.
I’d had multiple calls on my cell from a blocked number throughout the past few days, and had ignored them initially because of shame. Shame at the realization that I’d never be able to be whoever Asher needed. That I couldn’t function in his world. He may have taken my breath away, but situations like the one I’d been in the other morning stole it from me, left me gasping.
He had texted me first. I had no idea how he’d even gotten my number.
Asher: Babe. Thought I made myself clear, I didn’t want you going anywhere. Where the fuck are you?
There was no greeting nor sign off. Obviously, Asher decided he needed no introduction. I had immediately deleted the text. I’d desperately wanted to respond, to answer the calls, but I didn’t even know what I’d say. What explanation could I give?
My phone had dinged earlier today, before the news.
Asher: You don’t want this? Then let me know. But I know you do. We both do. Don’t run from this.
I had entertained the idea of responding, of trying to be brave and follow my heart, try to ignore my traitorous head. He’d still been in the back of my mind throughout all this. That was the problem. How selfish could I be? My mom was just diagnosed with cancer, I was worrying about my love life? No. I had to take care of her. That had to be over. It never would have worked anyway. I could barely function in the world my mom had brought me up in, the one with happiness and free love and no judgment. Their world—the scary, enticing and dangerous world would chew me up and spit me out.