“I’m going to go to the clubhouse for a bit while you do this shit. Goose and Maverick are going to be with you guys. You can call me if you need me. You’ve got my number still, right?”
“Yeah,” I respond.
I want to ask him why he’s going to the clubhouse. I want to know why he’s not going to be with me. But I don’t say a word. Instead, I give him a smile—a fake one. I don’t have any real smiles left inside me, I don’t think.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
I watch as he turns around and walks away. I don’t ask him to stay. I don’t ask him to kiss me or fuck me. I don’t ask for anything. Instead, I shift my attention back to my closet and pull out a pair of jeans, a white bra, white panties, and a white T-shirt.
It takes me ten minutes to get ready for this appointment, which includes putting on my clothes, doing my hair and makeup, making my bed, and slipping on a pair of sandals. When I flick my gaze to my full-length mirror, I cringe.
I have put very little effort into myself and into this. I’m a bit disappointed in myself because I feel like I should be doing more and feeling something other than… dread. Even if I’m feeling just somewhat content, and my emotions are fairly even, deep down I know that the panic and trembling, the sensation of feeling as if I might choke at any given moment, that is dread.
I am dreading this.
And I promised myself that wasn’t possible. Regret wasn’t possible. This was something I was doing just as much for myself as for the club, for my family. But as the days inch closer and closer to this wedding, I am wondering if everyone else around me was right, and maybe this is something I shouldn’t have agreed to.
It’s too late now.
The doorbell rings, and I know it’s Dakota. Maybe I’ll feel better after I try on some pretty white dresses. Maybe then I’ll be able to envision the wedding, the life, the future—my future.
And then again, maybe I’ll feel worse about it all.
Walking out of the bedroom, I smile at the sight of Dakota standing in the living room. Gunnar has already let her inside. She doesn’t return my smile, though. Maybe she can sense that it’s fake.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
I bite my bottom lip and give her a single nod as I take a step toward her. Gunnar’s fingers curl around my wrist, flexing once before he releases his grasp, and his arm falls to my side.
“Call me if you need me,” he murmurs.
Then, without another word, he walks past me and heads outside. I watch as he climbs onto his bike, starts the engine, and then he takes off down the street with a roar. Dakota clears her throat, and I turn to look over at her.
“Let’s go shopping,” she says, but her voice sounds far away, as if she’s lost in thought.
VIKING
When I walk into the clubhouse, I don’t bother going anywhere else but the bar first. I need a fucking drink. Standing at the bar, I place my palm on the scarred top and tap it a few times. The prospect at the other end makes his way toward me, jerking his head as he does in a silent question.
“Beer,” I softly call out.
He pops a top and slides it toward me. Wrapping my fingers around the bottle, I lift it to my lips and take a long pull when a throat clears to my right. I know who I’m going to see there when I turn my head. It’s Shocker. He’s perched in his usual spot.
“You good?” I ask.
Shocker snorts, but thankfully doesn’t make me continue to ask anything. “I’m just fucking great, but you are fucked.”
I blink, lifting the bottle to my lips again to take another drink before I respond. “Am I now?”
When he hums, I really look at the old-timer. He’s getting up there in age, and it makes me sad because he’s been a staple in our club for as long as I’ve been here. He won’t be here forever, and he’s actually stopped even riding his bike the way he used to, choosing to stay perched on his barstool.
“I am not fucked,” I grind out.
Shocker snorts. “Brother, if you think you’re not fucked, then you’re in worse shape than I realized.”
“Wanna expand?” I ask as I lift the bottle to my lips, finishing the contents.
Before I set it down on the bar top again, I shake it in the air toward the prospect. He jerks his chin, brings me a new one, taps it on the bar, then sets it down and takes the old, empty one with him.