I hated Cat, and I hated Nellie. I hated Gaz. I hated Crown and Beast, Sin and Grainger. I hated everyone—including myself.
But none of that was true, was it? I mean, partially in certain cases. I did and do hate Gaz, but I was still carrying around this tiny, stupid spark of hope that somehow things could change, that somehow, he could change. I never allowed myself to admit that until after it was too late, and he was lying facedown with his brains leaking onto the floor.
Cat … I do hate Cat. But I also love him. I love my horrible piece of shit father even though I don’t want to. Even as I know that he shot my dog, I know why he did it. I do. I almost died at that church camp. I could’ve easily been Carol Briggs. I could just as easily have been carted off and gang-raped and murdered by the mafia.
Cat was teaching me to stay put, to stay safe. Was it right what he did? Of course not.
If he ever hurts my dog again, I will kill him right then and there, consequences be damned.
But I’m starting to realize something that scares the shit out of me: all those years ago, when the guys agreed to take a step back from me because I was too young, too naïve … they were right.
Goddamn, they were right.
All that time that I thought I was worldly and hardened and experienced, it was bullshit. I thought I was just a hot fuck, some conquest that these men used and tossed aside. In reality, it was the opposite. I thought Cat hated me. He doesn’t. He loves me in the best way he knows how.
He killed Gaz for me, I think, and then I start to panic a little.
Cat chose me over Gaz.
He chose me because he loves me. Because he had two kids accusing one another of being traitors, and he could only keep one, could only protect one. He picked me. He fucking picked me.
I turn away suddenly, caught in the middle of an emotional firestorm that makes my chest tight. I get dizzy, and I actually stumble a bit, falling to my knees beside the coffee table as both men swoop in to catch me.
They both manage to grab an arm before I actually hit the floor, slowing my descent.
“Gidge,” Crown whispers as Grainger’s grip tightens and I glance his way, meeting those dark, impossible eyes.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, but I don’t sound okay. I sound lightheaded and a little panicky. I let them lower me to the floor, but when Crown tries to pick me up, I wave him off. “I’m okay—physically speaking. I’m just having … I don’t know, an emotional breakdown or something.”
Grainger crouches down beside me and looks me dead in the face.
“Over me?” he asks, but I just shake my head and then nod, shake my head.
“I don’t know. Yes. No. Everything.” I feel like I’m waking up after years of suffering through an emotional coma. Could be the pregnancy hormones. Could be years of trauma finally catching up to me; it’s hard to say.
“The hell is going on in here?” Beast asks, his voice a low, dark growl from the direction of the other hallway. “I try to give y’all a moment of peace and you put my wife on her knees?”
“I’m okay,” I promise again, using the coffee table to stand up. Crown and Grainger both assist me, even though I don’t need it, and I shake them off. We all pause at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, preceding Sin as he stops in the archway between the living room and the front hall.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice tight. It takes him a second to realize that Grainger is here when he’s not supposed to be. “Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing that a few more days of sleep and sex won’t fix,” Grainger declares, lifting up his shirt to reveal a sea of bandages. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”
I stand there in the center of these men, and I let myself feel the gravity of it all.
There’s a weight to their combined presence that presses down on me, makes me feel heavy, but in a grounded sort of way. In a way that I like, that I need.
“I’m processing a lot of shit,” I explain, holding up both hands. “That’s it. I’m …” I almost choke on the next words I want to say, but they have to be said. I have to say them. I can’t let my intimacy issues get in the way or this won’t work the way I need it to. “I’m glad you’re all here. I’m glad we’re together.”
Grainger tosses me a sharp look again, like he isn’t sure what to make of that statement. Or maybe because he’s as weirded out when I’m nice to him as I am when he’s nice to me.
