Blood on my knuckles.
Rage still clean in my chest.
Jeremy Vale is breathing.
So no, I’m not happy.
Not even close.
Chapter Sixteen
Amelia
Derby is in jail because of me.
That is the only thought in my head for a long time.
Not technically true, maybe. Not legally true. Not the way someone like Sophie would frame it if she were here with her calm voice and her careful hands, trying to stop me from turning myself into the crime scene. But Sophie isn’t here. Legend isn’t here. Derby isn’t here.
Derby is in jail.
Because Jeremy sent a toy to August.
Because I ran.
Because I came to Hell.
Because I brought my son and my broken marriage and my cheap boxes and my dead mother’s stories to Derby’s porch.
Because I let myself believe a biker’s house could become shelter without turning into another battlefield.
The house feels too quiet without him.
That is ridiculous because Derby isn’t quiet. Even when he says nothing, the man takes up space like a dare. The couch looks wrong without his boots near it. The kitchen lookswrong without him burning something and blaming the stove. Widowmaker is gone from the driveway because he rode after Jeremy and got himself arrested by Deputy Twila Dix, which somehow makes everything feel worse. The motorcycle had become proof he was near, black and mean outside the window, a warning to the world.
Now the driveway is empty except for my truck.
My keys sit on the counter.
I keep looking at them like they are evidence too.
August is in Derby’s bedroom with Janie, asleep after crying himself into a worn-out little heap. He did not understand everything, but he understood enough. Kids always do. He heard Lottie take the call. Heard her say Derby’s name. Heard jail. Heard Jeremy. He asked if Derby was bad now.
I told him no.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Then he asked if Derby was coming back.
I said yes.
I keep making promises with no paper underneath them.
Lottie stands at the sink washing the same coffee mug for the third time. She is tall, sturdy, and meaner than her floral shirt wants anybody to believe. Her hair is pulled up in a messy clip, highlights threaded through brown, and her earrings are little rhinestone skulls that wink every time she turns her head.
She hasn’t fussed over me.