by Bella Jewel
A flicker of pain flashes over Chantelle’s eyes, but she nods and says, “That’s good. At least she’s safe there. It doesn’t sound like her ex is a very nice person.”
“No,” I mutter. “He’s not.”
Chantelle nods, and continues eating, but she’s fallen quiet now, and I fucking hate it.
I hate all of this.
And I wish, for one fucking second, it would just stop.
Because now I’m caught even deeper between the two of them.
Because they’re both in danger.
And fucked if I’m letting anything happen to either one of them.
Which means, right about now, I’m fucked.
Completely fucked.
~*~*~*~
BOSTON
“Boston?” Chantelle asks, later that night as we sit on the sofa, far enough apart that temptation isn’t strong, but close enough that I can occasionally smell her, and it makes me fucking ache.
Some horror movie is playing on her television. But neither of us has been paying a great deal of attention to it. We’ve been talking, effortlessly as we do, or laughing about stupid shit, or occasionally just falling into comfortable silence. It feels natural, she’s right about that. Being with her does feel easy, like we were made to do it. Like we’ve grown up together and never spent a day apart.
The bond is strong, for fucking sure.
“Yeah?” I ask, watching a man with an axe launch out of a closet.
“How come Maverick and you are so … angry at one another?”
I turn and stare at her, surprised she asked the question. Not many dare to ask about it, but she’s asking me, full of confidence, and yet complete and utter fascination. She wants to know the answer, she genuinely cares, and for the first time in a fucking long time, I don’t mind that someone is asking.
So, I tell her.
“I’m the reason his girlfriend and unborn baby are dead.”
She jerks back in shock, staring at me, but her face isn’t filled with horror or disgust, as I’d expect, but sympathy and also intrigue. “How so?”
Simple.
Straight to the point.
“Club was havin’ dramas, we were in lockdown. Malakai and Maverick had a group out, tryin’ to sort it out. Maverick was with a girl, Nerissa her name was. But she wasn’t a fan of the club life. It scared her, more than I’ve ever seen it scare a person. She was convinced it was going to be the end of Maverick, and she wanted him out. When we went into lockdown, she fell into a panic. She thought something was going to happen to him. Maverick told me to watch her, to guard her with my life. And I didn’t.”
Chantelle shuffles a little closer, crossing her legs and watching me, not a single ounce of judgement on her face.
“I tried to calm her down,” I say, hating re-living this, but also fuckin’ glad to be telling someone after keeping it locked in a cage for all this time. “But she was pregnant, and I think that made her more afraid. She was convinced if she could just get to Maverick, to talk to him, that she could change his mind and he’d leave with her and her unborn baby, and they’d be safe.”
“It sounds like she was pretty afraid,” Chantelle says, her voice soft. “That sucks.”
I nod. “She was afraid, but I thought she’d still follow instruction. Had her in the club, in Malakai’s office. Most of the members were out with them, but there were a few of us on lockdown, mostly for our protection, mostly families. A couple old ladies, a few bikers, a couple of their kids, off in their own rooms, just waiting. It was the safest place for any of us unless we were out ridin’.”
“How come you weren’t out with Malakai and the rest of the guys?”
I shrug. “Someone had to run the club while they were gone, make sure it stayed protected, stayed safe. That was my job, and I took it seriously. Some of those members, they had kids, and so I needed to make sure we were all safe until they dealt with the situation.”
“So what happened?” Chantelle asks, her eyes wide.
“Was late, probably a few hours after dusk. Most of the members had eaten and were retired for the night. I’d done my final checks and had tried hours before to get Nerissa to eat, but she refused. I couldn’t let her out of the room, I had it locked on the outside. Was a hard choice to make, but I didn’t trust her, and I’d promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”
The fuckin’ memory of the moment she got out haunts me as I tell Chantelle. Like an open fucking wound being clawed at until it’s bleeding and raw all over again.
Club is good.
Everyone is safe.
Doors are locked.
Done the best I can for the night.
I move down the hall to the office to check on Nerissa before I sit on watch for the night. She refused to eat, and she’s refusing to come out. Ever since I locked the door, she’s frustrated, and angry. She needs to know Maverick is okay, and I fucking understand that, but I need to make sure she’s there, safe.
I unlock the door from the outside and step in.
A hard, loud crash sounds out.
And I’m falling.
It takes me a minute to realize I’ve been hit, fucking hard, with something. I hit my knees and my vision blurs, for a moment, I feel a sense of panic. Terrified someone has gotten in. My mind goes to Nerissa, and I want to call out her name but I’m hanging on the edge of darkness, trying not to black out.
“I’m sorry, Boston,” Nerissa hazy voices says, and it’s almost dreamlike in its delivery. “I have to stop him.”
Takes me longer than a minute to get my shit together, to stop the haze, to force myself to my feet. I sway, hands gripping the wall, and there is blood running down my head, warmth filling my vision. I glance around the room, swaying, trying to get myself together. She’s not in here. And a hard, solid lamp is on the floor beside me.
She hit me.
I turn quickly, stumbling, calling out her name in a hoarse voice. I stagger out of the room and down the hall, rushing past the rooms and banging my fists on the doors as I do. Waking everyone up. I can’t believe I didn’t consider that she was desperate enough to do something so stupid. Maybe letting her call Maverick would have stopped this.
I can’t think.
“What is it?” another club member says, poking his head out of the door, sleepy eyed.
“Nerissa hit me and bolted. We need to get her. Now. It’s fuckin’—”
Gunshot.
One.
Loud and clear.
My blood runs cold and I forget that I feel like I’m about to pass out. I run. I run like fucking hell toward the open front door and out into the cold night. I can’t see much, just the front flood light is on to hopefully avoid anyone getting in unnoticed. My head whips left, and right, and then I see her.
On the ground.
I know, I know even before I’ve run over and dropped to my knees, sliding across the dirt, that she’s gone. I know because of the mass amounts of blood around her head, and by the gaping hole in her forehead.
I just killed my best friend’s woman.
And his child.
I throw my head back and bellow in agony.
And shame.
And pure, raw, broken hurt.
Chantelle’s living room is dead silent once I’ve finished talking, but I’m not looking at her, I’m staring straight ahead, feeling sick to my fucking stomach at the memory of that night. I should have done more. Could have done more. I underestimated the desperation of a pregnant woman in love, and I didn’t take higher measures to stop her doing what she did.
“Boston,” Chantelle finally says, and I turn, locking eyes with her. I can see the pain, and remorse and genuine sympathy in her gaze. I almost hate that look more than anything, except coming from her, from her it seems … real. “I know these words probably mean absolutely nothing to you, and I’m sure you’ve been told a hundred times, but it wasn’t your fault.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she holds up a
hand, those eyes determined. She’s going to finish what she was saying, like it or not.
“No, seriously, hear me. Women, especially women in love, we’ll do crazy things in a situation like that. I guarantee you, if it wasn’t that, it would have been something else. She would have gotten away, because that was the sole force driving her. She wanted out, and nothing or no one was coming in her way. You have to understand that.”
“I could have cuffed her, could have kept her by my side, could have done a fuckin’ lot of other things once I realized she was uneasy and wanted out. Not just lock her in a fuckin’ room.”
“Wrong,” Chantelle says. “If she was a prisoner, you might have done all those things, but she was not. She was a pregnant woman, and the woman of a very close friend of yours. Which means you respected her. You were hardly about to chain her up like a dog, or force her to follow you. Locking her in that room, that was the kindest thing you could have done, but as I said, a desperate woman will do what she has to do, no matter the cost.”
“His woman is dead because I didn’t act right.”
“Wrong again,” Chantelle says, her voice strong. “She’s dead because she made a choice to get out, no matter the cost. That was her choice, and one way or another, I promise you she would have found a way out of that club. This is not on you. This, sadly, is on her.”
“She was afraid.”
“Yeah, she was. Terrified. But she still made a choice. And that choice is what got things to where they are. You did what you promised you’d do. Outside of chaining her up and treating her like utter rubbish, you did what you had to do.”
I stare at her, and she shuffles closer, reaching out and curling that soft hand over my cheek, holding my eyes. “One day, I hope you’ll believe that. Because you’re not a bad man, Boston, and you’d never let someone get hurt. I know this because you’re about to sleep on my sofa, instead of leaving me alone, to make sure I’m safe. I know that because Penelope is at your home, because hers got ruined, so you know she’s safe. You are not responsible for Nerissa’s death.”
Her words hit me like a fucking blow to the heart, but not necessarily a bad one. It makes me feel some sort of warmth inside, and it takes everything, every single piece of my willpower, not to scoop her into my arms and take her. Because right now, I can think of fucking nothing else. I want her, in this moment, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
And it is in this moment, I’m certain.
I care way too much about this girl.
And my feelings are going to fuck me up.
~13~
NOW – PENELOPE
He’s not home.
I know that is none of my concern. I know it is absolutely none of my business. But when I woke up this morning and his room was untouched, my mind went a million places, and I instantly felt shame. Shame because it isn’t my business to know where he’s going, or what he’s doing. It has absolutely nothing to do with me, at all.
He’s made it clear that we can only be friends, because of his feelings for both Chantelle and me.
So my obsessing over the fact that he isn’t here makes me feel pathetic. The ache in my heart makes me feel pathetic. The very thought that he could be with another woman makes me feel jealous and, therefore, pathetic.
How did I let myself get into this mess?
I pull out my phone and glance down to see a message from him, and my stupid heart flutters to life. It was sent last night, it must have been after I went to sleep. I click into it quickly, and read it.
Boston – I won’t be home tonight. Hope everything is okay. If you need anything, anything at all. Call me.
I exhale. If he was with another woman, he wouldn’t ask me to call him, right?
Right?
Why is this making me feel so…insecure?
I decide to call him, because I’m not a teenaged girl anymore and I need to start acting less like one. We’re friends. I’m Cassie’s carer. That’s it. I can’t let all these emotions cloud my thoughts, it’s not helping. Not Boston. Not me. Not anyone.
Boston answers on the fourth ring, and his voice is groggy. I know I’ve just woken him up, which makes me feel even worse.
“Hey,” he murmurs, and his voice sends shivers up my spine.
That’s the voice you want to wake up to for the rest of your life. That voice is heavenly.
“Morning,” I say softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d still be asleep.”
“All good. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything is okay here. I just got your message and was checking in. I didn’t see it last night.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, and I can hear the sounds of him shuffling about. “Just wanted you to know I wouldn’t be home so you didn’t worry. Had to stay at Chantelle’s for the night.”
Those words hit me like a blow to the chest. Harder than I expected. I knew I cared, but in this moment, I realize that I’m also incredibly jealous, and I hate that. What I hate more, is that I can’t stop my thoughts from going wild. From going to him and Chantelle making love while I’m here looking like an idiot.
And then, stupid me, stupid idiot me, lets my mouth go before my brain kicks in and I process the onslaught of emotions I’m feeling right now. If I stopped, took a deep breath, and calmed myself down, it wouldn’t happen.
But I don’t do that.
Like the idiot I am.
“Right,” I whisper. “So I’m not allowed to do anything with you, but you stay at her house. You know what, Boston, if she is what you want I would have much rather you tell me instead of leading me to believe that you weren’t going near either one of us.”
Toward the end, my whisper becomes an angry, but low, tone.
“First of all,” he growls, “I’m here because she got a note yesterday threatenin’ her, and I wanted to make sure she was okay, no different to me lettin’ you stay in my fuckin’ house to make sure you’re okay. Second, I’m on the fuckin’ sofa, and I didn’t lay a finger on her. But that, once again, has nothin’ to fuckin’ do with anyone. Said I wasn’t leadin’ either of you on, and I’m not. I’m keepin’ my hands to myself, but you’re both makin’ it fuckin’ hard for me, gettin’ into shit and needin’ protection.”
“You could get anyone else to protect us, if it’s so hard for you,” I snap, and then clench my eyes shut because, I’m acting like a stinking child.
“You rather I fuckin’ let you be, on your own, with nowhere to fuckin’ live. You’re Cassie’s carer, and you’re my friend. Not in my nature to leave you with fuck all when you’re in trouble, and same goes for Chantelle. Fuck. This is doin’ my fuckin’ head in. I’m goin’, because I’m pissed off now and I need to calm down.”
He hangs up the phone, and shame creeps up my cheeks and rolls into my body, taking over, making me feel like utter rubbish for being as dramatic as I just was. He owes me nothing. Hell, he owes nobody anything. If he wants Chantelle, he can have her. If he wants another woman, he can have her. What he does is his choice. I’m the one who let feelings get the better of me.
He’s been nothing but kind to me.
And now I feel like an absolute idiot.
“You okay?”
I spin around and see Cassie wheeling into the room, her hair still messy from sleep, her eyes locked on mine. I take a deep breath, but it shakes, which makes me feel even worse. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“I call bullshit,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Now, I’ll ask again, and this time you’ll tell me the truth because I heard that conversation, at least one side of it. Are you okay?”
I exhale and look down at my feet. “He didn’t deserve me to go off on him like that. This whole situation is messing with my head. I could just walk away from it completely, but it feels like I’m tangled and can’t get myself out, no matter which way I turn.”
Cassie nods, her eyes sympathetic. “Look, it’s a shitty situation to be in. I agree. But my brother, he unfortunately has a b
ig heart, and that means he’s going to struggle to stop helping either one of you. The fact that he feels responsible for what happened to Maverick’s ex-partner doesn’t help. He needs to feel like he’s done everything he can for those he cares about, because he’s terrified of something going wrong and having to live with more guilt.”
God damn.
I never, not for a second, considered that’s why he’s going out of his way to help us both, instead of passing us over to someone else and distracting himself until he gets over it.
Because he cares for us.
And because he’s afraid if he doesn’t take care of us, and something happens, it’ll be on him.
I’m such a damned idiot.
A foolish idiot.
And I need to find him and apologize.
I exhale. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t think of that.”
Cassie shakes her head with a smile. “You’re not an idiot, I’m just trying to help you understand why Boston does the things he does. He’s selfless, even though he doesn’t like to show it.”
I nod. “I just hate that I’m unable to stop these feelings from arising. The moment he said he was at Chantelle’s house, I just felt so jealous, and insecure, and pathetic. It’s like, I know she’s better than me and I’m not good enough, and I keep fearing that he’ll pick her, and I’ll be left hurt.”
Cassie studies me for a moment. “Without sounding rude, and believe me I’m not trying to be offensive here, but do you think maybe your feelings of insecurity, jealousy, and not being enough stem back to the fact that your husband is with someone you deem better than you, and that hurts?”
Her words hit me like a blow to the chest, mostly because she’s right, and also partially because I want to instantly deny them, because they ring so true. I want to jump on the defense and come up with something, anything, to tell her she’s wrong and that isn’t what’s happening at all.
But it is part of it.
Ashton moving on, it hurt my self-esteem. The way they both spoke to me after, hurt my self-esteem. Then meeting Boston and having Chantelle come along, so beautiful and perfect, and being caught in a strange friendship, attraction, triangle, hurt my self-esteem. And because of all those things, I probably do feel all of this a whole lot heavier than I should. But I can’t help it. I’m so damned confused.
