Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC 8)

None of that.

He had been my anchor, so without him, I was floating around this place. Of course, all of the women in attendance made it their mission to make sure I was never left alone, not for a second. You would’ve thought they’d coordinated it. They probably had.

But the kids were happy.

More than happy. They were ecstatic at the welcome they got, at seeing all of their friends in one place. A place bursting with memories of their father. I had been worried and watchful at first, thinking being there might trigger them, that going might somehow be a huge step back. But it was easy to forget just how resilient kids were. They were so fragile in so many ways, yet they healed quicker than us. They played. Ate. Played some more.

They were currently cuddled up on the huge sofa in the common room of the clubhouse watching Moana with all the kids. And Lucky who was also in there because it was his favorite movie.

Me on the other hand?

Yeah, I did not handle the night well.

Better than I thought I would, though.

But not well.

“You look like you need this.”

I glanced up from where I’d been staring into space. Somehow, I’d managed to go off on my own, staying for an extended amount of time without some worried friend coming to make sure I wasn’t too deep in the well of grief after being back at the club for the first time since my husband died.

Until now.

The owner of the voice was wearing a cut and was extending a muscled arm to me with a beer in hand.

I took the beer because I did really need it. Vodka would’ve been more welcome, but I was thinking I’d probably find myself in the middle of an intervention if I started drinking that. Everyone here was totally on board with drinking to solve problems, to celebrate, and to drown sorrows. But straight from the bottle might be construed as a cry for help, even with this crowd.

“Thanks,” I said, not smiling or letting my tone sound friendly or inviting.

Not something that I’d usually done, prior to Ranger’s death, at least. I used to be the welcoming committee for the Sons of Templar. Evie was the one who did all the intimidating, she was great at it, using her practiced eye to measure each new patch or new girlfriend entering through the gates. If you passed Evie’s inspection, you’d have her loyalty for life. And it could be pretty damn daunting going through all of that, and being one of the few women who had been with the club for as long as I had, I knew that for sure. Rosie had been with the club since birth, so she could also speak to how intimidating Evie could be. And Rosie, she wasn’t exactly the welcoming committee either. She was the party girl usually looking to cause more trouble than all of the members combined. Which she usually succeeded in doing.

So yeah, there was me. I wasn’t intimidating nor was I the party girl looking to cause trouble. No, I was just the girl who fell in love with a guy who ended up patching into one of the most notorious clubs in the country. And most of the guys were just... guys at the end of the day. Guys who more than likely had killed people, who broke the law on an almost daily basis and had no problem talking with their fists.

Those guys had also been my family for a long, long time. But now my family was broken. Severed. Like someone had taken a hacksaw to an arm, the cuts jagged, messy and ones that would never heal. It was still bleeding, and I didn’t yet know how to function without that missing part of me. I didn’t know who I was to the club now that my Old Man was buried and rotting.

So I didn’t smile at the unfamiliar face who was offering me a beer and smiling.

He had a nice smile too. Genuine. Something that only came with youth. And he was young for sure. Maybe five, even ten years younger than me. As hard as these guys lived, their age never really showed on their faces. The assholes. Then again, it didn’t really show on us women either, thanks to all sorts of expensive face creams, Botox and a lot of orgasms.

The man in question did not take my not so subtle hint that I didn’t want company and sat down across from me.

I pursed my lips in annoyance and lifted my beer, purposefully taking a long sip so he didn’t try to talk to me.

Apparently, this did not dissuade him as he casually sipped his own beer, watching me in a way that didn’t feel uncomfortable.