She’d always been way too fucking good for him and he damn well knew it.
“Hey,” he forced out, realizing he was standing there ogling her like the asshole that he was.
“Hey.” She moved back and the door swung open. Her hands clenched in front of her waist, tucking in the folds of her plain dress. Her eyes swept over him and his heart did something strange in his chest. It hurt, whatever the fuck it was up to in there.
“I- is it alright if I come in?”
She rolled her eyes and he realized she hadn’t lost her sense of humor, her wit, or the snarkiness that attracted him to her in the first place. “I guess you better. If I wasn’t going to let you in, I wouldn’t have told you to come in the first place.” She might look sweet and innocent, but that mouth could blister the ear off any seasoned biker.
“Right. Er- alright.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. His fingers rasped over the thick stubble that he still hadn’t bothered to shave. His other hand gripped the door frame so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“Nothing to say?” One sandy blonde brow arched. “I thought you’d have plenty to say.”
“I’ve spent the weekend thinking about it,” he admitted. “Maybe I overthought it, because I’m here and I can’t think of a single thing.”
She turned, leaving the door wide open. He watched her hurry off to the kitchen, no doubt to make some coffee. Sandra didn’t drink. Not even beer or wine. She just didn’t like the stuff. She’d offer him coffee out of habit.
He stepped inside and shut the door. Out of habit, he slid the lock into place. Sure enough, Sandra emerged from the kitchen holding two cups of coffee. “I assume you still take yours black?”
The fact that she remembered fucked up his insides a little more. All sorts of wild sensations ricocheted through his chest. “Yeah. Thanks.” He took the mug and followed Sandra into the living room. The place still looked pretty much the same. He’d caught a glimpse of the kitchen and the appliances were still the old junkers they always had been. The living room had a new framed picture, the kind of thing they sold at department stores. It was blue and green with dead trees, their scraggly branches reaching to the sky.
A laptop sat on a beat up desk in the corner. The couch was different, leather, but well used, probably purchased second hand. There was a smaller flat screen TV in place where the old one had once been, but the stand was the same. It was like entering a time warp, but everything had changed.
He took a seat before Sandra did. She was sure to sit as far away from him as possible. The living room was small and the only piece of furniture was the couch. Unless she wanted to stand, she didn’t have a different seating option. He knew that down the hall, there were two small rooms, the second the size of a closet, the first barely bigger, and an ancient bathroom. He doubted it had been updated.
“Uh…” she took a sip of her coffee, winced because it was too hot, and set the mug on the beat up black coffee table. Her cup rested in the perfect outline of so many other cups before it.
He set his down on the table without drinking. “I have a son.” He didn’t see the point in skirting the reason he was there.
Sandra’s eyes dropped down to her hands. “Yes. He’s- he’s yours.”
“You never told me.”
Those eyes, blazing fire, flew to his face. “Of course not. Would you have if you were me? You left me, A- Trace. I had no idea where you even were. You told me that it was over. I know that you chose the club over me. It’s obvious that you patched in. You got what you wanted. I was a- a distraction at best. I understood that there was no future. I knew you wouldn’t want a kid. I- I didn’t want my son involved in that life.”
“Did you know? When we were still together? Did you know you were pregnant?”
She didn’t hesitate and he could tell she wasn’t lying. Dishonesty really wasn’t in Sandra’s nature. “No. No, of course not. I would have told you if I knew. I didn’t know until almost two months after you left. I was- sad. I wasn’t eating right. I was depressed. I thought- I thought I was just late. I was working more and eating almost nothing. That can throw things off. By the time I missed a second month though, it finally clued in on me that the tiredness, the sick feeling… it might not all be depression. I- I took a test and of course it was positive. I was terrified. I didn’t think I could do this alone, but the diner was good about it. I told them right away and they gave me mat leave. Guaranteed my job when I got back. I struggled through it. This place isn’t much, but it’s home and it’s safe enough. I have Alex. We have each other. That’s all that matters.”
“You should have told me,” Trace ground out, voice gravelly and bleeding, just like his damn heart. “I would have supported you. Given you payments. Taken care of you so you could get a better place.”
“I know.” Sandra nodded. “I didn’t- want that. I wanted Alex to stay away from that. I didn’t feel that taking your money and not having you in his life would have been fair. I didn’t know what you’d do if I told you. If you- if you even wanted to be a dad.”
“Were you afraid I’d take him from you?”
“I- I don’t know,” Sandra admitted. It was painful to hear those words. “I guess not, not that way exactly. I just couldn’t risk him finding out who you were and the things you did. I- I never wanted him to know. I wanted to keep him safe above all. What you- you and that club do- that’s not safe.”
The unspoken accusation hung between them. “I’m sorry,” Trace finally said, though he knew words were so damn inadequate. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you until that night. That I- that I didn’t let you know before. I should have told you who you were with.”
“We were together for over six months,” Sandra said carefully, her voice surprisingly devoid of bitterness. Maybe enough time had passed that she’d made peace with what he’d done. How he’d kept the truth of what he really was from her and how he’d left her as soon as he knew he was going to patch into the club. “I- I never knew. When you did tell me… I knew it was the end. I didn’t want to be a part of that.”
“No?” He was a shit head, but he had to bring it up. “What about Steven St. Vincent? Drug dealer extraordinaire?”
“You’re an asshole,” Sandra spat. She blinked hard. “I didn’t know he was doing that on the side. When I found out, I broke up with him.”
“Where did you even meet a piece of shit like that?”
“At the diner. He was a regular. Used to come in all the time for breakfast. He always wore a suit. I don’t trust men in suits, but he wore me down after a few months. I just got tired of saying no.”
She blushed and hot bitter jealously twisted in his gut. The thought of Sandra with that weasel, with any man, made him want to snap. She wasn’t his. She had her own life and could do what she wanted, but sitting right there across from her, it brought it all back, all the feelings and emotions, aches and pains, he thought were long buried. Long dead.
“I- when I found out what he was doing, I broke it off. He- it wasn’t going to work anyway.”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Heat stirred in all the wrong parts. His groin tightened and his cock hardened. Images of Sandra naked, panting his name, flashed across his mind. He swallowed hard. It just proved that he was truly a piece of shit.
He didn’t own her. He had no right to imagine those things, to remember them, to want them again.
“Why not?” He forced the question out past the lump clogging his throat, aware that he shouldn’t have asked it in the first place. There was suddenly something charged between them, the very air thick with it. “Why wouldn’t it have worked? What about the others? Why didn’t it work with them?”
Sandra’s eyes tracked back to her hands. She couldn’t look at him. He balled his hands into fists, sure she wouldn’t answer. It would be better for him if she didn’t. He wanted her too much. Coming to her apartment had been a mistake. It brought back everything in a hard rush. The past. The pres
ent. The future he never thought he’d have, but he wanted now more than ever.
He had no right to think it. To hope. There was nothing left between them. He’d shattered it all the night he’d broken her heart, chose a destructive lifestyle over a woman who could have been his everything. He’d run because he was afraid. He’d needed a family again and he picked his brothers over her because he was scared. He’d have to risk his life with the club. He knew that, but it was better than risking his heart.
“Why?” he asked again, thicker, harder, voice more gravelly. He needed to force the answer out of her. He needed to know.
She finally looked up at him, her eyes wide and swimming with unshed tears. Her delicious lips parted disconcertingly. Her tongue swept out to moisten them and goddamn it, he wanted to be the one to lick her lips, to taste her. Her cheeks burned, the pink hue rendering her almost girlish.
His dick, which didn’t get the memo about not being an asshole, jumped to life. His balls clenched so hard they nearly curled up into his stomach. The sunlight spilled in from the window behind the couch, haloing her golden hair. She looked like an angel. And he was nothing. Not the devil. Not the dirt beneath her feet. Nothing.
His hands balled into fists as he waited, sure she wouldn’t answer. She remained silent. She blinked and hot tears spilled down her cheeks. His chest ached. Those tears hit him straight in the gut. He was a bastard. He’d destroyed her then and he’d made her cry just by being there. He had to fucking go. He’d send her a note and money. Tell her he wouldn’t intrude into her life or her son’s life. Send her the money every month so she could afford a better place. Fuck, he’d do some digging and put that money straight into her account so she couldn’t refuse it. It was the very least he could do for her.
He shoved to his feet and was about to leave, to get the hell out of there, to spare her anything more, when her whispered words, so soft, so guileless, stopped him in his tracks.
“It didn’t work out… nothing worked out… because- because none of them were you.”
Chapter 6
SANDRA
Heat shivered up her spine when Trace’s eyes darkened. He’d been staring at her with that familiar heat since he walked in the door. She felt it echoed in her stomach, her chest, her legs, her core. She felt trembly and shaky. Their meeting hadn’t gone how she thought it would. It wasn’t full of heated accusations or poisonous words. She was so afraid that Trace would be angry with her for not telling him about his son. She’d made a call, the right call. He left. He chose a life of rough living, danger, and crime over a life with her. Maybe everything would have ended fucked up anyway, like most relationships. Maybe- maybe not.
That ember burning in her heart hadn’t died out. It burned as hot and bright as ever. Hotter. Brighter. Because Trace was right there. Standing right in front of her, looming over her, larger, more powerful, more- more male than she remembered. Her fantasies were a poor substitute for the real thing.
God help her, she wanted the real thing. She might be able to try and rationalize it away with her brain, but the dampness between her thighs made her a liar.
He was inappropriate. He belonged to a dangerous club. Who knew what he’d done over the past years? He was wrong. All wrong. He left her, broke her heart, dashed her hopes. He’d also given her the most precious gift anyone ever could. He’d made her a mother.
And now he was looking at her like they were all but kids again, two young people in love, like nothing else mattered, like not a single second had passed and they were right back where they started.
“I should- I should probably go. I’ll- send you money. Every month.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. I promise I won’t do anything more than that. I gave up that right. I get it. Thank you for taking care of him. He looks like a beautiful boy. Thanks for meeting with me. You didn’t have to. You don’t owe me a single thing, Sandy. I want you to know that.”
His dark eyes were fathomless pits, expressive, filled with emotion. He didn’t even bother to disguise his sorrow or his desire. The use of his old nickname for her fanned that spark burning in her belly into a roaring flame. Sandy. Only he got away with calling her that.
Trace swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the movement. Her mouth watered. She wanted to put her lips there, to taste him. She wanted to challenge her memory. Would he still smell the same? Taste the same? Sound the same? Could he still make her body come alive like no one else could?
He frowned, and a deep furrow appeared on his surprisingly unlined brow. No one would ever know he was five years away from forty. “You deserved better, Sandy. That’s part of the reason I left. Even if I hadn’t patched in, you still deserved… better.”
Anger rushed through her, making her bold. She shoved off the couch and suddenly she was standing right in front of him. Her head barely came to his shoulders, but she looked up and placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to stand there and tell me I deserved better than you. You didn’t have the right to make that decision for me like I was a kid who didn’t know better.”
Trace rubbed a hand over his jaw. She wanted to trace the same pattern, to make the tips of her fingers burn with the feel of that dark stubble. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I would have brought you down. Guys like me- I’m not good for anything. Anyone.”
“That’s bullshit,” she ground out. “Fucking stop. Stop saying those things. If you want to stand there and tell me you’re a coward who took the easy way out, then go right ahead, because that’s the only thing I’ll believe. You don’t get to tell me how I feel or what I did or didn’t deserve.”
“I am not and never have been a coward,” Trace growled. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Well- it- it wasn’t about what I deserved and what you deserved and you know it. And now you’re just going to walk out and pretend that this never happened?”
“That’s what you want isn’t it?” he growled. He took a step forward and leaned in close, so close that their faces were mere inches apart. His lips parted, and god, she wanted to grasp his face and slam his mouth against hers. She wanted to taste him, stroke his tongue, find out if that fire still burned as bright as it once had. At least for him. She was currently burning up on the spot. She’d burned all damn weekend.
Sandra inhaled sharply and had to swallow hard. Her mouth had suddenly gone bone dry. Trace smelled like he used to, raw, dark, masculine. The leather, gas and oil, the fresh air that clung to his hair and skin- that was new. He hadn’t owned a bike when she’d known him. Or, he hadn’t told her that he did. He hadn’t told her anything, really. Not anything that mattered.
Suddenly, annoyingly, she had to blink back tears The bridge of her nose burned and her eyes prickled. I will not cry. I will not fucking cry. She pinned him with a hard look as she tried to steel herself, to wall her wayward heart back up. God, she’d been fine, able to hold it together for nearly a decade, and one chance encounter now threatened to undo everything.
“What I want? You actually care about what I want? That’s new, because you didn’t nine years ago.”
He reached out slowly and gently set his hand on her cheek. The warmth of his touch undid her, those rough fingers so gentle on her cheek and jaw. He broke her with a single, sorrowful, regret filled look.
“I did. Believe me, I did. Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did.”
“We can argue about wants and needs, what I deserved and what you did all day. I guess it won’t matter. It’s not going to change what happened.” She exhaled hard. “Just tell me that you’re happy.” Her voice wavered as the pad of his thumb skimmed across her bottom lip. She barely refrained from suckling his finger into her mouth.
“Happy?” He forced a smile and the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. They were beautiful lines, though they hadn’t been etched there from years of smiles.
“Happy,” she whispered, hear
t aching. “I thought about you. Every single day. Every single night. All these years. I wondered where you were, where you’d gone, if you were happy or not.”
Trace slowly shook his head. He kept his thumb on her bottom lip and his touch burned all the way into her soul. “Happiness isn’t exactly in the cards for me. I think I’ve always known that. Since I was a kid.”
“You could be if you wanted to be. You could make it for yourself. Give your life meaning.”
“Meaning.” He smiled wistfully and the pain in his eyes was obvious. “That’s a nice sentiment. It’s too late now. I can’t leave the club. It’s the kind of thing you patch into and don’t leave on the right side of the turf.”
He dropped his hand and turned to go, but she stopped him. Her hand flew out before she thought better of it. She gripped his arm, her fingers biting into the butter softness of his leather jacket. The jacket with the club’s symbol. Snakes and scythes.
“That doesn’t have to be your future.”
“It does. I made my choices years ago. If this is my bed, then I definitely have to fucking lay in it. Regrets or not, my life isn’t my own anymore.”
She shook her head, unsure of what exactly the fuck she was doing. She’d lost him once. She’d let him go. She hadn’t fought for him. She didn’t think she deserved better like he said, but she didn’t want to be a part of the life he was making for himself. She realized now that she should have, because he wasn’t happy. His eyes were haunted. Her life, simple and hard as it had been, was filled with love and meaning, with purpose. She couldn’t say the same for him. The story of a broken heart was chiseled into his features, laid bare for her to see and judge.
Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series Page 55
