Page 90 of Snared Rider

Chapter Twenty-Three

Wade returnsa couple of minutes later with a bag of ice cubes wrapped in a tea towel. He helps me position it on my face and orders me to keep it on for as long as I can stand it. Since I’m not really in a position to argue, I give him a weak smile in affirmation.

“Are you going to be okay?” He folds his arms over his broad chest as he peers down at me.

“Oh yeah; just peachy.” I pull the ice slightly away from my face to peer up at him. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it. I’ll be in Logan’s office for a while longer, but if you need me come find me.”

“I will.”

I won’t. I’m not going anywhere near Logan or his office.

He gives me a perplexed glare, as if he’s trying to figure me out. I don’t blame him considering he just got his face smacked by two of his brothers fighting over me for reasons unknown—to him, at least.

“Catch you later, Beth.”

I watch him leave, then sag back onto the sofa, trying to calm my roiling thoughts. This is a mess. Dean and Logan fighting, Wade having to step in, me getting thumped in the face.

I readjust the ice pack on my cheek, which now feels like it is on fire. The skin is tight as swelling sets in. If they were hitting each other that hard I don’t know how they were still standing, let alone throwing punches back. I only received a glancing blow from a stray elbow but it had been like getting hit with a block of concrete.

Staring up at the ceiling, I try to work out my best course of action. I am a good problem solver. It is one of my personality traits I am most proud of. I can turn my hand to any problem and provide a clear solution.

At least I can unless that problem is mine.

I have no idea how to fix this. I have no idea if I should fix this. Logan and I are long over. It’s crazy that Dean is pissed off about something that happened a decade ago, and yes, I know how hypocritical that is, given I’m still hung up on Logan after all this time.

I hate that he’s upset, but I understand why he is; we lied. Well, actually we didn’t lie, we just didn’t say anything.

Is that lying? It’s a grey, murky area.

I reach for my phone, which is on the floor by my bags and slide a finger over the screen. Then I take a deep breath, steel myself and dial Dean’s number.

I don’t expect him to pick up straight away, but I do expect him to answer. He doesn’t.

It rings and rings and rings.

Then it rings some more.

But the call doesn’t connect.

This leaves a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. Is he ignoring me?

Dean has never been so angry with me that he’s ignored me before. Dean has never been angry with me full stop. We bickered when we were younger but we never fought and we never fell out.

That he’s carrying on like I slighted him annoys me.

What Logan and I did was hardly a criminal offence. We shagged; we kept it quiet. Big deal. Dean is acting as if we committed the ultimate sin.

And this is what annoys me about the Club. It was founded on the principle you can be who you want to be without reproach, that what you do is no one’s business. In reality, this is never the case. These men are nosey bastards and are constantly in everyone else’s business. I know Dean thinks he is protecting my honour, or some other macho bollocks, but I don’t need to be defended. I need him to be understanding and supportive. I need him to be my best friend.

If the shoe was on the other foot and Dean slept with Mackenzie I’m sure he would expect the Harlow brothers to support him, not lynch him. Although, truthfully, they would probably lynch him. I, on the other hand, would be supportive.

Dean’s voicemail service kicks in. I hang up and redial. This time the call goes straight to voicemail, meaning he’s either blocked my number or turned his phone off.

This hurts.

I hate that he’s mad at me, and I hate that he won’t talk to me, but cutting me off like this hurts worse.

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