Cole, Angel, Mack and Butcher hung back, waiting patiently until the mourners add all trickled off. More brothers stood off by the paved drive, giving them space. Cole looked over at where Crash and Ace stood alone, saying their own final goodbyes to the women they both loved. Skylar walked up and stood next to Crash, her hand sliding over to clutch his. He looked over at her and squeezed her hand, trying to offer her a smile, but his heart was obviously not in it.
Butcher said in a low voice, his eyes on Crash, “Maybe it’d do him good to stay in town a while. We’d be glad to give him a spot at the table.”
Cole’s eyes moved between Mack and Crash’s back. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what’s the right move for him.” He shrugged. “Might be too many memories lurking around every corner here.”
Mack looked at Butcher. “If you want to make him the offer, I’m good with it. Whatever he needs right now, whatever he wants, I’ll back it.”
Butcher nodded.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Crash ended up staying in town about a month, sleeping some of the time in an extra room at the clubhouse, and some of the time crashing at Skylar’s place, but in the end, Cole had been right. There were just too many memories for him there, and they all reminded him that Letty and his grandmother were both gone, and so he had come home.
His brothers welcomed him home, glad to have him back in California, where they all thought he belonged. Crash wasn’t so sure where he fit anymore. He didn’t feel like he belonged in Birmingham any longer, but he wasn’t sure he felt right in his loft, either.
He’d been home two weeks, but still every time he walked in his place, all he could think about was Shannon. He tossed his cut on his bed and moved into the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer. Then he strolled over to the pool table. Leaning back against it, he picked up one of the framed pictures that Shannon had taken. The one of all the guys laughing that morning at The Pony outside Reno. His thumb slid over it, and he took a hit off his beer, remembering.
He set the photo back down and pulled his cell out. He scrolled through it, pulling up the only two photos he had of Shannon. The ones he’d taken that morning in the motel room in Tahoe. The first, her lying in bed, her golden skin and the sexy line of her back, bottom and legs against the white sheet. One she didn’t know he’d taken. The second, a close up of her face on the pillow, turned toward him, looking right at him, smiling. Her face looked so full of love. She looked happy. Happy to be in that two-bit motel, not the Hilton or whatever five-star hotels she was used to. Just a mom and pop place with a standard bed. Nothing fancy. But she’d been happy staying there, happy to just be with him.
How the hell had it all gone to shit so fast?
He blew out a frustrated breath. What the hell difference did it make? Why the hell did he keep tormenting himself with this bullshit? He’d been through hell the last few months, and somehow, however poorly, he was surviving. But still he felt like a fragile piece of glass, ready to break, and all because he couldn’t stop thinking about one blonde.
Running an aggravated hand through his hair, he slid his phone back in his pocket and walked up on his roof, taking a seat and lighting up a smoke. The sun was sliding into the horizon, leaving the sky in layers of changing colors from vivid blues and purples to bright pinks and golds.
The peacefulness he tried to find was soon interrupted by the ringtone of his cell phone. Crash pulled it out and looked at the readout. Cole.
He answered. “Yeah?”
“Come get your goddamn cat back!”
Crash grinned. “Nope. I gave him to Melissa. It’s your cat now.”
“Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.”
Crash chuckled. “Sorry, brother. She fell in love with him. What choice did I have?”
“You planned this, didn’t you? The whole time, you were planning to dump that damn fur-ball on me. What’d I ever do to you?”
Crash blew out a stream of smoke. “I’m sure I could come up with a list.”
“Son-of-a-bitch. I can’t even run the damn thing over. Melissa would never forgive me.”
Crash grinned. “Nope. Guess you’re stuck with him.”
“Eddie. Who names their cat Eddie?”
Crash’s grin faded remembering the story Shannon had told him about how she’d named all her cats after guitarists. “Shannon named him after Eddie Van Halen.”
“Christ!”
“That the only reason you called, to bitch about the cat?”
“No. Can you be at the clubhouse in about an hour?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Mack called a meeting.”