Blood & Bones: Trip (Blood Fury MC 1)

To give him a reason to continue. A reason to stay out of jail. A reason to rise up and move forward.

He was doing what he set out to do.

He hadn’t started this journey with the intent to have a woman by his side. He could still do it without her.

He could.

But he didn’t want to.

He refused to.

Everything had gone full circle.

Which, to him, meant it was meant to be.

So, he was not going to let her run away from him, from the club, from the only people left who she could call family.

She needed them as much as they needed her.

Maybe she needed them all a little more right now. For support. But eventually they may need to lean on her. That was what family was for.

That was what a real family, not necessarily made up of blood, was for.

A give and take.

Those who stuck around through the highs and the lows.

Those who could fight one minute, then laugh the next.

This wasn’t Buck’s club anymore. This wasn’t Buck’s family, either.

It was fucking Trip’s.

And, goddamn it, Stella was a part of it.

His fingers curled around the doorknob. But before he could turn it, before he could see if she’d locked him out, it turned.

He straightened as it opened.

The apartment wasn’t lit. The limited light came from the couple windows that faced the back alley. But it was bright enough for him to read her expression.

Which made him want to puke.

He had lost her.

He had done something stupid again.

And now he was going to pay.

The dark circles under her eyes, her drawn face, her pale skin.

She hadn’t slept.

She probably hadn’t eaten, either.

She was retreating. Escaping to that dark place that had consumed her in the past and cutting him out.

That was not going to work for Trip.

If she couldn’t do this with him, if she couldn’t do this for them, then she needed to tell him that to his face. Not run away, refusing to deal with it.

“Tell me to fuck off, Stella. Tell me to my face. Tell me how I’m not good enough for you. Or how I’m not good for you. Tell me how much I remind you of your first husband. How you think I’ll be just like him and let you the fuck down. Tell me how you’re worried that I’ll fuck up your life and make it impossible for you to live it. Tell me how I’ll destroy everything for you. Need you to tell me all that to my face. Need to hear it from you, not just read it in your face.”

His stomach was so twisted, his chest in pain. And the need to puke was only getting stronger.

This was killing him.

If she told him to fuck off, he would respect that and walk away. They would remain partners in the bar, but that would be it. But if that happened, he knew it would be harder than him doing six years in the joint.

Giving up on Stella would be harder than doing goddamn time. And doing time sucked ass.

It took everything he had not to fall to his knees when he whispered, “Talk to me.”

Her expression twisted and she turned away from him to hide it, which gave him the opportunity to move past her and into the apartment. He shut the door with his boot, keeping his eyes on her.

He stayed by the door, watching as her shoulders rounded forward, as her head dropped, as she kept her back to him.

Hiding.

“Perseverance.” He let that single, but powerful, word fill the quiet apartment. Let it engulf them for a moment. “That word means to not give up. You’re givin’ up. You should have that tattoo fuckin’ covered up, Stella. You don’t deserve it.”

It was harsh. He knew it. It cut him deep, too. But he needed her to talk to him. And if he had to push her to do it, he would. Because without talking, they’d never move forward. Not together. Not apart. They’d remain in limbo.

And that was not a good place to be, for either one of them.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” Her strained answer tore through him.

Fuck. He dug deep to ask, “Do what?” She needed to say it. He needed to hear it no matter how painful it would be.

“This... Us.”

Bile bubbled up from his gut, but he kept his mouth shut and, as difficult as it was, gave her time to say her piece.

She turned toward him, and even in the limited light he could see her eyes were shiny, her expression tortured. He probably looked the same. Because he sure as fuck felt like it.

She threw a hand out. “It’s been three weeks since you went up that mountain and I still can’t stop thinking about the tow truck and how it looked. The cuts on your back and neck, Trip. Not only how dangerous that job is, but how dangerous being in an MC can be. Look what happened to your father. He was fucking shot in the back.” Her words caught on a sob.