Page 74 of Snared Rider

“You don’t want to even try to fix this?” He sounds incredulous, and why wouldn’t he be? He thinks I am to blame for this entire situation. Therefore, I should do the grovelling and apologising. Maybe I should walk over broken glass to make amends, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

“I want to fix it, of course I do, but right now I’m still pissed off with you.”

“You’re pissed off with me? You left without even talking to me. How would you like it if I told you I was going away for a week without consulting you?”

Fair point; I wouldn’t like it, but that is not even close to what happened.

“It’s not like I’ve gone for a week to Magaluf. I’m in Kingsley, with my family. And I did tell you I was coming. If I remember rightly I asked you to come with me; you refused.”

“You know I can’t just drop work that fast.”

To visit my family? No.

To go on a golf trip with his friends? Oh, yeah.

When I say this to him, he scoffs at me. “Darling, that was a work thing. It was not about having a jolly with my pals. My boss was there.”

His boss, who also happens to be one of his drinking buddies. This, however, is not an argument I’ll win nor one I have the energy to continue. My ribs are hurting and my head is pounding.

“This isn’t about me having a ‘jolly’ either. This is my family, Alistair. I haven’t seen them for months. Dad asked me to visit, practically pleaded with me. What did you want me to do? Say no?”

“I don’t understand your insistence on going at all. It’s not like you’re close to them. In all the time we’ve been together you’ve seen them a handful of times, but now you’re suddenly running off for a week-long visit. You must be able to understand why I’m confused by this, darling.”

And this is the damage Logan has done. My avoidance of him—and Kingsley—means my boyfriend thinks I hate my family and that visiting them shouldn’t be a priority.

“Well, that’s going to change.” And it must. Spending time with everyone, with Kenzie, with Dad… It’s made me realise what I’ve been missing. Seeing my life flash before my eyes also changed my priorities.

“Sweetheart, I know they’re your family but for the love of God, they’re criminals! Do you really want that in your life? Isn’t that why you moved away? To escape them?”

This is not a can of worms I want to open on the phone. I’m not sure it’s a can of worms I ever want to open with Alistair.

Do I know the Club does terrible things? Yes. I’m not stupid. It’s also not my business. Adopting that attitude is the only way to cope with this life. If I stop and imagine every bad thing those men are out there doing, I’d never be able to have a relationship with any of them. It is the ultimate paradox. How can you love people who may have hurt others, even killed them? It’s a mindfuck I’ve had to deal with for years, and it’s not one I’m getting into right now with my civilian boyfriend on the telephone.

I push my fingers through my hair, raking it back in a jerky motion. “We’re not going to fix anything if we discuss it now, so let’s just stick a pin in it until I get home, yeah?”

“Which will be when?” He sounds disgruntled.

I pause, and then wince as I say, “Tomorrow.”

Hopefully. There’s still a huge question mark over whether I can leave or not. I don’t tell Alistair this. I also choose to keep the accident to myself as well. I’m not sure what this says about our relationship that I don’t confide this to him.

He’s quiet for a long moment, so long I think the call has dropped.

Then he says, “I hate that you left angry and that you’ve ignored me all this week.”

Some of my irritation fades at his contrite tone.

“Well, I wouldn’t have left angry if you hadn’t been so argumentative.”

He sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… the thought of you being gone for a week was difficult. I can’t even tell you how much I’ve missed you. I need you with me, sweetheart. Always.” The ice around my heart thaws just a little more as he adds, “I really am sorry, Beth.”

“I know you are. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, darling. I love you.”

I try to say it back. I want to say it back, but I can’t. The words that usually come so naturally stick in my throat and won’t come out. I barely manage to croak out, “Bye Alistair.”

Then I hang up quickly and stare at my new handset for a moment. Why couldn’t I say the words?

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