Page 5 of Wrecked By Rev

That didn’t make me feel better. Nothing made me feel better.

And Angel—she fell apart. I saw it happen. Watched her go from that loud, laughing woman to someone hollowed out, moving through the funeral like a ghost. The club tried to bethere for her. She couldn’t take it. Every time she looked at us, she saw him. Every cut, every bike, every brother who wasn’t the one she wanted.

She stopped coming around. Stopped answering calls. Disappeared so completely that it was like she’d never existed.

I told myself to let her go. She needed space. She needed to grieve without a bunch of bikers reminding her of everything she’d lost. And I had no right to her anyway—never had. She was Wheels’ sister, not mine.

So I buried it. Shoved whatever I was feeling into a hole and piled work on top of it until I couldn’t feel it anymore. Five years of keeping busy. Five years of convincing myself I’d moved on.

She walked into my garage today and I found out that was bullshit.

I’m not over her. I was never over her. I just got good at pretending.

The wrench is still in my hand. I put it down again and scrub my palm over my face.

Get your shit together. She came here for help, not for you to lose your mind over her.

I don’t even know what kind of help. She didn’t get that far before she ran. Something scared her enough to walk back into the world she’s been avoiding for five years, and something about being here—about seeing me, maybe, or the cut, or all of it—scared her worse.

She’ll come back. I know she will. Whatever drove her here isn’t going away just because she lost her nerve once.

And when she does, I’m going to help her. Whatever she needs. No questions, no hesitation.

That’s what brothers do for family. And she’s still family, even after five years. She’s still Wheels’ sister.

I’m just going to have to ignore the part of me that wants her to be something else.

I end up at the clubhouse that night because the alternative is sitting alone in my apartment thinking about her, and that’s not going to do anyone any good.

The main room is loud. Rogue’s holding court at the pool table, running his mouth while he runs the table. Lock’s at the bar, quiet as always, watching everything and saying nothing. King and Demi are in the corner booth, her tucked under his arm, loved up as usual. She’s really softened our president, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

It feels like everyone’s paired off now. That’s the thing I keep noticing lately, even when I try not to.

King and Demi, married and still looking at each other like the honeymoon never ended. Rogue and Bella, playing house. Lock and Josie, who shows up most weekends with that look in her eye like she can’t believe she gets to have this. Diesel and Gracie, expecting their first kid any day now—she’s been waddling around the clubhouse for weeks, hand on her belly, Diesel hovering like he’s afraid she’ll break if he looks away.

Even Ghost found someone. India, the pop star. They split their time between here and wherever her career takes her, but when she’s in town, he’s a different man. Still quiet, still intense, but there’s something softer underneath.

And then there’s me.

It feels like I’m last one without an old lady. The guy who shows up, does his job, and goes home alone.

I’m fine with that. I’ve been fine with that for years. I’ve got the garage. I’ve got the club. That’s enough. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

“You look like shit,” Rogue says, dropping onto the stool next to me.

“Thanks.”

“Seriously. You’ve got that look. The brooding one. More than usual, I mean.”

“I don’t brood.”

“Brother, you brood like it’s an Olympic sport and you’re going for gold.” He signals the prospect for two beers. “What’s going on?”

I think about telling him. The words are right there, that Wheels’ sister showed up at the garage today. But saying it out loud makes it real in a way I’m not ready for. Makes it something I have to deal with instead of something I can shove back into that hole and pretend doesn’t exist.

“Nothing,” I say. “Long day.”

Rogue gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me, but he lets it drop. That’s the thing about Rogue—he talks too much, but he knows when to shut up. It’s why he’s good at his job.