“He was wrong. But so were you. So… were…,” she jabbed a finger up at him, “you!”
Unfortunately, he wasn’t done. Not yet.
He needed to make her understand.
“Ain’t gonna lie, Shay, I wouldn’t take back what I did. I wouldn’t. If you’d have seen my mother…” He struggled to swallow as that memory tried to swallow him. A memory Ham caused.
“I don’t want to hear it, Ozzy. I don’t.” Her voice was thick with tears as she turned her ravaged face up toward him. Red eyes, red nose and trembling lips. She swiped a hand over it and surged to her feet, hissing, “My father always warned me to stay away from you guys. He was right. But he should’ve taken his own advice, too. His mistake. Your mistake. And my mistake, too.”
“Shay… Sweetheart…”
She shook her head. “Don’t you dare call me that. I just can’t…” Another sob escaped her and she dropped her head to hide her face.
“Shay, goddamn it. At least, let me help you understand.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anything from you.” When she lifted her face again, tears were streaming down her cheeks, catching in the corners of her mouth, dripping off her chin. “I thought you were a good guy, but I was wrong. You’re a… a… murderer. You should be in prison.”
He couldn’t argue that. It was all true.
He held out an arm. “Shay, you gotta understand that—”
“Oh, I understand. I understand that you did what you thought you needed to do. Because of that, not only was one family destroyed, but two.”
He wanted to go to her. Hold her. Assure her shit would be all right. They’d get past this. They could. She just needed to want that, too.
“Now I’m going to take my father’s advice to heart and stay the hell away from you and your damn club.”
He took a step toward her. “Shay—”
She flipped a palm up to stop him. “Just leave me alone so I can get my stuff and leave.”
Fuck. “That’s not—”
“Don’t make it an issue, Ozzy. Just let me go.” She shook her head and stepped over to the counter.
Once she gathered her laptop and work stuff in her arms, he stepped into her path as she turned to head toward the bedroom. “Don’t wanna fuckin’ let you go. Want you to fuckin’ stay. We can talk this shit out.”
He didn’t touch her. Though, he wanted to. He wanted to pull her to him and hold her tight. Until the initial shock was over and she could think straight.
“Talk it out? Are you serious?”
“You just need some time to process it.”
“You really are fucking serious, aren’t you?” She shook her head again and stepped around him, heading into the bedroom.
The sound of the door slamming shut was like taking another gunshot to the chest. This one directly in his heart.
He had known this conversation would be rough.
He had known it would most likely change things between them, but he had to get it out. Had to tell her.
He’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t.
But that didn’t make any of this easier.
He stared at the closed bedroom door and heard her moving behind it.
Packing.
Leaving his apartment. Leaving Manning Grove. Leaving him.
Taking all her shit and going the fuck back home to Boston.
He spun on his boot heel and strode across the apartment before he started breaking shit. Before he flipped the fuck out.
Before he lost his goddamn mind.
Because if he did, it would only make things worse.
He needed to keep his shit wrapped tight and give her time.
Give her space.
Then hope like fuck, she’d eventually understand.
He jerked open the glass slider, stepped outside into the mid-September heat and slammed it shut behind him.
Jamming his hands on his hips to keep himself from tossing the furniture off the deck and onto the pavement below, he began to pace.
“God-fuckin-damnit!” he bellowed to the sky. To the fucking universe.
With each stride he took across the deck, he struggled not to go back inside and force her to listen, to see it from his perspective.
He knew it wouldn’t do any good.
It was over.
Done.
Nothing was going to change that. Since the only one who could, would be Shay.
Right now, she wasn’t having any of that.
Not that he could blame her.
But it still stung like fuck.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ozzy sat at the table half-listening.
He didn’t want to be there.
In The Barn.
At this fucking executive meeting.
In Manning Grove.
Worse, he was tired as fuck that his brothers were walking on eggshells around him. It was so fucking obvious since they’d never done that before. They’d never refrained from busting his damn balls.
Not even after Liz left.
But he was sure his dark and stormy mood didn’t help.
Or that his arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair, and didn’t hide the fact that he didn’t give a fucking shit about anything going on in that meeting.