Ride Rough (Raven Riders 2)

Dare peeled at the label on his beer bottle. “She’s been at Slider’s place watching the boys. He got in a jam because the lady who usually watches Sam and Ben has been sick.”

“Huh. Kinda awesome of her to help out like that,” Maverick said. Sam “Slider” Evans was a longtime member who’d lost his wife to breast cancer three years before. As far as Maverick could tell, the old Slider they’d all known—the one who’d wiped out on his bike without injuring himself or his ride and got up laughing about it—no longer existed and never would. The guy’s pain was so tangible that he wore it like a shadow. He hadn’t attended Church on Thursday or participated in their ride to Baltimore that next night, and Mav hadn’t been the least surprised at either. His two boys seemed to be the only thing that kept him functioning.

“That’s for damn sure.” Dare nodded, his concern about Slider clear in his expression. “Haven said Cora’s happy to do it. And I appreciate the hell out of anything that takes even a little weight off of Slider’s shoulders.”

“Damn straight,” Maverick said. And the fact that Cora was doing just that was one more reason to like her.

Dare shifted and propped his boots up on a table, his ankles crossed. “I’m thirty-fucking-seven, Maverick. I didn’t think anything like what I have with Haven would happen for me. In fact, I was sure it wouldn’t.”

Maverick sagged back, his hands clasped across his stomach. “Yeah.”

“Hey,” Dare said, tagging his arm. “You get what I’m saying?”

Frowning, Mav just stared at the guy. He wasn’t the slightest bit interested in having this conversation.

Rolling his eyes, Dare nailed him with a pointed stare. “When you gonna fight for what you want?”

Like it was that easy. “Come on, D.” Maverick looked away, not wanting his cousin to see the resentment he probably wore for even bringing it up. For making Maverick confront yet again the fact that he’d given his heart to someone who didn’t want it. And he couldn’t seem to get it back.

Dare heaved a belabored breath. “Fine. I’m just saying.”

“Well, don’t. Let’s move on to religion or politics or something.” Because hell if he wanted to keep pricking at all the sore places inside himself.

“All right,” Dare said, and the concern and resignation in his voice was a total kick in the ass. But whatever. Mav’s life was what it fucking was. And for the most part, it was good. Damnit, before Alexa had shown up the week before last, he probably would’ve said it was great. This place, these men, Bunny and Rodeo and Doc and Dare—this was Maverick’s home, his family. He didn’t need a woman to give him a sense of belonging.

He really didn’t.

And it made him resent her for stirring up all this shit for him again after so long. For reminding him of the feeling he’d battled five years before that a part of him had died and been put in the ground right alongside Tyler. Because he’d lost his friend. And then he’d lost his woman. And his love for her had been killing him ever since.

That resentment? That was good. He clutched onto it. Because it was a helluva lot easier to be angry than to be hurt. It was that anger that had him making a resolution, one that self-preservation meant he was gonna have to stick to once and for fucking all.

He’d do right by Tyler’s memory and the history he shared with Alexa and keep an eye out for her as much as he could. Just in case his gut was reading things right. But in thirteen days, she’d be walking down an aisle and into another man’s arms.

Which meant Maverick had just under two weeks to let Alexa Harmon go. For good. Because he couldn’t keep wanting something he could never have.

CHAPTER 11

The gown was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Alexa had ever seen. Standing on the raised step in front of the angled mirrors, Alexa couldn’t stop admiring her wedding dress. It had a voluminous A-line skirt made of tulle, a long chapel train, a satin bodice with a flattering sweetheart neckline, and a wide champagne-colored ribbon at the waist. Classic. Romantic. Ungodly expensive, but Grant wanted to spare no expense on their wedding.

Pick something beautiful. Something that will make me proud.

That’s what he’d told her as she’d set out to shop for a dress, a personal shopper he’d hired at her side. The woman had steered Alexa away from what she’d deemed the pedestrian dresses to more exclusive, one-of-a-kind designer gowns—following instructions Grant had apparently given her. He wanted their wedding to be the swankiest social event Western Maryland had ever seen. And since so many business associates would be there, she understood why, even though all of it was so much more than what she needed to be happy. Alexa had dreamed of having a beautiful wedding as much as any other woman, but it was the marriage that came after and the joy of building a life together that was most important to her. Because she wanted what her own parents never seemed to have had.