Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC 8)

“I can’t do what you’re asking.”

“You have to,” I implored. “If you want me. This. Us. You have to trust that I know this life. That I can look after myself. I can’t do this otherwise.”

Kace gritted his teeth. “I trust you, baby,” he scowled. “I just don’t trust the rest of the world.”

“Makes the two of us,” I agreed. “I’m always going to worry that saying goodbye to you means I’m never going to see you again. I’m going to see your death twenty different ways before you come home each night. I’m going to imagine all kinds of horrors. Going to see twenty different versions of what life would be like without you.”

Kace sighed, his eyes troubled and dark. “Fuck, Lizzie,” he murmured.

“You want to back out of this yet?” I joked.

His hands went to my hips. Firm. Bordering on painful. “I never want out of this. Ever.”

So that was that.

Kind of.

This was the first day I’d had alone at my house for more than a couple of hours at a time since Nicole. And Kace texted me at least every hour to make sure I was alive and not bound and gagged in a cheap motel room.

Or trapped in a mansion in another state.

That had happened.

And worse.

I figured Gage was knocking on my door because Kace had bribed or convinced him to come and check on me in a way that seemed organic.

“Gage, what a surprise,” I smirked slyly. “Can I get you anything?” I asked once I’d let him inside.

“Nah, I’m only here to drop something off then I’ve got to get home. Lauren needs to paint, so I’m taking over.”

I smiled, thinking of their dynamic. Of their happily ever after. Even though the first half of his life had been broken. He gave me hope.

“You’re here to drop something off or to make sure I’m not rocking in a ball on my kitchen floor?” I teased.

Gage’s mouth twitched. “Seeing you upright and sane is a bonus, but I didn’t expect anything less,” he proclaimed.

Gage was one of the only men who didn’t look at me like I was going to lose it. We had a connection. He’d seen parts of me, raw and open. He’d watched me heal too. So he knew this wasn’t going to break me.

He opened his cut to retrieve something from an inner pocket. “You know the club better than anyone. Know that we’re all at peace with the fact we might die by the club. Sure as shit fight against it, considering all the things we’ve got to live for. But it’s not somethin’ we ignore. Not a responsibility we take lightly. We’ve got things in place. In case of the worst.”

I stared at the thing he was holding in his hands.

“He made me promise not to give this to you until you were living,” Gage continued, handing me an envelope. “Really living, not going through the motions like you have been for the past year.”

I stared at the envelope now laying in my palm. It didn’t weigh anything, but my palm ached from the mere act of holding it.

“I’m sure many of the women have already said something along the same lines as this, but moving on isn’t betrayal,” he explained, voice soft. “Living is the greatest gift you can give his memory.” He leaned in to gently kiss my head and then left.

I didn’t read the letter right away.

Maybe months ago I would’ve. I probably would’ve torn at the paper with a desperation to devour any words my husband had for me. Ranger had really thought this through. Giving it to me when the grief and death were so close to the surface, it wouldn’t have done anything.

So now that they were deeper, I was managing to breathe around it all. I set the letter on the counter while I opened a bottle of wine and poured it into a glass. I stared at it as I drank the first glass.

Then, with a steady hand, I opened it.Lizzie.

Baby. You’re probably mad as fuck to be reading this right now. Maybe at me. Maybe at the club. Or maybe not at all. I can honestly say, even after us being married all these years, I can’t say what you’ll do. How you’ll react to my dying. I just know one thing that never changes. The way you love.

I’ve written many versions of this letter over the years. And every time I get to tear up the one that came before, I’m happy. Reminding myself what a lucky bastard I am to continue life with you.

Fuck. I’ve put you through a lot. The fact that I’m writing this knowing everything I’ve done to you and the fact you’re still sleeping in our bed, yeah, I’m lucky.

Not many women are strong enough to go through what we’ve gone through. I wasn’t strong enough half the time. But you carried us through.