War of Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 2)

I reach into my bag and fish around for a tissue. And my phone. I want to take a photo of the flower I’ve been looking at for the last five minutes. Maybe I’ll be able to figure out what it is so I can buy one and try my hand at keeping yet another plant alive. God knows I need something to take my mind off everything going on.

“Zara.” I turn to find Devil coming my way, his features grim. Most likely due to the current worries of the club. “When did you get in? King said he didn’t think you’d make it in time.”

“I wasn’t sure I would either, but I got all the packing done and the removalist truck filled sooner than I thought. I flew into Sydney this morning and came straight here.”

I eye the grave in the distance where my mother stands with King, Winter, and Birdie. The anguish blanketing them threatens to bury them as deeply as the casket just lowered into the ground. King is a raging contradiction of sorrow and anger. God help whoever did this to his club. And I’ve never seen Winter look so savage. The man is intense, yes, but it’s a controlled kind of intense rather than this stormy, unpredictable energy surrounding him.

Devil places his hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

“No. But are any of us?”

Devil rakes his fingers through his hair and blows out a long breath. “Fuck, this shit is doing my head in, Zar.”

“It’s doing everyone’s head in, Devil. Don’t feel alone in that.”

“Yeah. It was a fuckuva lot easier to deal with when we all didn’t have kids to worry about.”

I want to ask him how his kids are. I really do. But I can’t stand here and do this anymore. I shouldn’t have come in the first place. Not when the grief of losing my father is still right there on the surface. But I wanted to be here to support Mum and King, so I did my best to push those feelings down deep. Turns out funerals are a trigger for a damn roller coaster of emotions. Emotions that I don’t know what to do with.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I have to go.”

Without waiting for his response, I spin around and leave, walking as fast as I can towards my rental car. I need to get to my hotel and go for a run. A long one. That should lock my thoughts and emotions down tight. God, how have I ended up with all these feelings coming at me? I’ve been working so hard with my shrink to sort through everything. I thought I was past the worst of it.

My phone rings.

Holly.

“Where are you?” I answer the call. “You promised you’d be here.”

“I’m stuck at work because Del slept in this morning, of all damn mornings, and so we’re running behind and I can’t leave yet. I’m sorry, Zar.” She pauses. “Have you seen him yet?”

“No.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t think he’s coming.” I’m both relieved and disappointed by this. A sure sign of my insanity.

“He’ll be there. Take my word for it.”

My veins hum with the nerves caused by thinking of him. “Well, I’m leaving now.” So I won’t see him today. “Are you still going to take the day off?”

“Yeah. I’m hoping to get away in the next half hour. Where will you be?”

“At the hotel. I’m gonna go for a run.”

“Are you still checking out apartments this afternoon? I could come with.”

“Yes. Come. I need you. My first one is at two.”

“Done. I’ll go to the wake for a bit and then I’ll meet you at the hotel.”

“I love you.”

I end the call and check to make sure I got a good photo of that plant when I hear someone call out, “Fury.”

My head snaps up and my breathing slows as I see Fury walking my way carrying his son. Well, I’m guessing it’s Noah, but since I’ve never seen him, I can’t be absolutely sure. I’ve heard a little about him, but I’ve refused to look at any photos or put myself in a situation where I’d meet him. I couldn’t do it. I don’t want to do it. But life has a way of catching up with us and forcing us to face the hard shit. And it’s caught up with me.

My legs feel weak as I take in the red hair of the little boy, his laughter, the way he struggles against what his dad wants him to do, and the way Fury finally gives in and lets him down to walk. And, oh God, the way Fury reaches for his hand and keeps him safely by his side. His actions are gentle. Tender. Loving. There’s none of the frustration and annoyance I see from so many parents when their child doesn’t behave the way they wish.

They continue their trek to the grave while I helplessly continue watching them. While I drink in the man I haven’t gone a day without thinking of in the last four years.

And then it happens.