West (The Henchmen MC 19)

"I won't lie. I appreciate having someone who would commit heinous murder for me," I told him. "But I don't need you to do my dirty work for me."

"You gonna do it yourself? Because he deserves it. I warned him. I told him not to hurt you."

"How charmingly archaic of you, McCoy," I told him, finally wiping my cheeks.

"He needed to hear it."

"What did he say?"

"That he respected it."

"Sounds like him."

"You loved him, didn't you?"

"Love. Present tense. And yeah. I mean, I know that's crazy."

"It's not crazy. You two had something. You're probably the only woman in the world who would put up with his pranking, carefree ass."

"You're just mad because he got you with that onion disguised as a Cake Pop. And, anyway, he might be the only one who can put up with me too," I reminded him, knowing myself well enough to know that most guys liked the idea of me more than the reality of being with someone like me."

"Nah. You're perfect. He's the fucking idiot."

"Oh, please," I snorted. "You don't even believe that. But thanks for saying it anyway."

"Did you want him to stay?"

"I knew he couldn't stay. Not really. Not forever."

"That's not what I asked, Gus."

Images I'd been conjuring up for weeks flashed before my mind. The two of us were cooking dinner back at my place when all this blew over. Him actually staying the night there. Decorating for Christmas. Baking him cookies. Doing anti-Valentine's Day things. Making really cute, really rotten babies.

To have all that, he would need to stay.

"Yeah," I admitted, feeling a corkscrew twist in my stomach.

"Okay," he said, nodding. "Well, what are you going to do about that?"

"What do you mean what am I going to do? There's nothing to do."

"I'm sorry. I don't know who the hell this defeated chick is, because the Gus I know has never met a challenge she backed down from. The Gus I know never takes no for an answer."

"This isn't some spot I want in a movie theater or a ride in a nice car, McCoy. This is a person. I can't make him want me if he doesn't want me enough."

"He wants you."

"Then he wouldn't have left," I insisted, rolling my eyes, even as my heart crumbled a bit more in my chest.

"Don't be a baby, Gus," McCoy said, sighing.

"Um, you're going to want to take that back."

"But that's what you're being. Guess what? We're grown-ups. In the big bad world, babe. Shit isn't as simple as 'If you like me and I like you, we will live happily ever after.' So stop being a little girl obsessed with that fairy tale. Real life shit pops up. People have things that pull them apart."

"What? Like a biker club?"

"Gus, this club business is no joke. Brotherhood above all else. At least when you're single. I figure these men do tend to put their wives and kids above all else. But until then, when your president says jump, you fucking jump. That's how it works. He was told to leave, he had to leave."

"He didn't have to leave without saying anything."

"Would you want to say goodbye to you?" McCoy asked. "Teddy said West thinks he feels guilty on top of it all."

"Guilty? For what? My arm?"

"For leading the Ukrainians to you over and over."

"They would have figured out my connection to Huck eventually."

"Yeah, but you know how guilt is."

"Irrational," I filled in. I wasn't overly familiar with the concept, but if something had happened to Ayanna because she was connected to me, yeah, I could see how you would take that weight on your own shoulders.

"So mix all that together. You're a pain in the ass to try to say goodbye to. He didn't want to say goodbye to begin with. He didn't have a choice, he had to leave. And to top it all off, he feels like you were hurt because of him. It's enough to send a man running. Without a word. Especially for a fucker like him who isn't used to real connections, who doesn't know how to navigate this kind of shit."

"There's a problem here—"

"That you're just as fucking clueless as he is?" he supplied. "Yeah, I see that. But if you want this, want him, I have faith in you that you can make it happen."

"McCoy," I called when he made his way to the door.

"Yeah?"

"I need a crate," I said, watching as his brows knitted. "For the plane. For the puppy."

"Right," he agreed, smirking. "You go give him hell, Gus."

That was exactly what I was going to do.

I mean, sure, we were both a bit to blame for how things ended. Neither of us were great with relationships. Or communicating about them. If we had hashed this out a week ago, we'd likely be in a much different place right now.