Page 81 of Static

Lock and Ruck shook hands. "Thanks for coming down," Lock told him.

"I'm always open to meeting new people. Especially military brothers," Ruck replied with a grin.

"Why don't we head inside," Lock said, giving Rip the motion to lead the way. "We have a lot to go over."

Not everyone was going to be a part of this meeting. There was no way to cram everyone into the meeting room anyway. It was mostly going to be Lock, Cypher, their VPs Rip and Scythe, Hush, and Cynic. That was fine by me. I had better things to do than talk about John Fremont.

Most of the women were out with the kids on the playground we'd set up in the grassy area behind the clubhouse. It was growing by the day to keep up with the demands of how many kids we had here now. My eyes narrowed when I saw Sean and Grace, but no sign of Gwen. My eyes shifted and caught Jordan's gaze. She gave me a sad smile and shook her head. It wasn't a good day for my girl.

Giving her a nod of gratitude, I went inside and up the stairs. I knew, over the past year, that she was struggling, but I'd had no idea how hard until she let me in. It fucking killed me that she'd been dealing with all this alone. I knew for a fact she wasn't talking to her brother, or her friends, about any of this. At least not before a week or so ago.

She was still dealing with her own nightmares and trauma from her ex. Add in all the shit that the club was dealing with, and I had no doubt it was adding to her stress as well. It was no wonder she was struggling to keep up with all the changes. I opened the door to her apartment, and then gave a light rap on it when I saw her sitting, staring out the window.

Her head snapped in my direction, but she smiled as I came in. The light of her smile didn't fully reach her gorgeous blue eyes. The skin beneath her eyes had a faint blue tinge to it. She didn't wake up screaming last night—always a plus—but she hadn't slept well either.

Going over, I sat next to her and dropped my arm over her shoulders. "Want to talk about it?"

Her laugh was soft. "Nothing to talk about."

"Sugar," I said, her name a warning.

"Really. I'm just tired. I can't do anything about the dreams." She gave me a soothing smile and then laid her head on my shoulder.

"What are they?"

She shook her head without lifting it. "You don't want to hear that."

"I do. And maybe it'll help. But only if you want to talk about them. You don't have to." I wasn't a therapist. I didn't know how the hell to help her through any of this other than to be there to protect her.

"It's just more of the same," she sighed. "Trent attacking me. Attacking my kids. Going after pretty much everyone I love."

"Who'd he attack last night?"

She tensed under me, but she answered. "You."

My grin was feral and I pulled her onto my lap. She was straddling me. "You know that if he was still alive and made that mistake he wouldn't be breathing for long, right?"

She gave a soft laugh. "I know that." Her face fell a little.

"But?"

"It's not like that in my dreams. I can't use logic or reason. I know Trent wouldn't stand a chance against you, or my brother, or any of these men, but in my dreams he always plays dirty. I'm always terrified."

I smoothed my hand over her silky hair, trying to give her comfort. "That's understandable. You lived it. Your brain is just making you relive it with every person you love."

"I feel so helpless," she admits, her eyes pinned firmly on the couch cushion beside my head.

Grasping her chin, I forced her to meet my eyes. "You're not helpless," I told her. "Even that night you weren't helpless. You fought hard against a man who weighed twice what you did."

"I had to protect my babies," she said with a shrug. "But I should have fought harder."

"Gwen. I saw that fucking frying pan you clocked him with," I told her. "You put a dent in that useless skull of his for sure. He snuck up on you. Broke into your house." It was taking everything in me to keep my voice calm and not to cuss. I didn't want to startle her, or make her somehow feel as though I was angry with her in any way. In reality, I was damn near shaking in my fury. For a year, I'd had my own damn dreams and sometimes we got to that house in time, and sometimes we didn't. I never went back to sleep on the nights we didn't.

I knew for a fact my shit wasn't nearly as bad as what she was going through. I only had a tiny taste of it, yet I still woke up in a cold sweat. One night I even got up and sat outside her apartment door, holding vigil all night long. Lock had woken me up early the next morning. He didn't say a damn word, but I could read the respect and worry in his gaze.

"What do you want to do?" I asked. "What will help?"

She curled closer and buried her face in my chest. "Just give me a minute," she mumbled. "You smell so good."

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