Page 32 of Where We Promise

The lamp was still on, so when he walked in, our eyes met.

He wore a black hoodie; his hair was slightly disheveled, and he was in a pair of gray sweats. Over his shoulder, he had a large duffle. Under his arm was a pillow and hanging from his fist was the cord to a sleeping bag.

“Hey.”

He smiled, but it was flat. “Hey. Thought you’d be asleep.”

My shoulder lifted. “Can’t really sleep alone in here.”

His head was already bobbing. “Forgot about that.”

Skirting the bed, his duffle fell to the floor with a thump and then he tossed his sleeping bag on the floor.

“Thought you were going to sleep in the bed.” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice, but as he unrolled the sleeping bag, it was pathetically obvious.

His eyes remained down on the floor as he situated his bedroll.

“Think this will work, don’t want to crowd you up there.” He pulled the top of the sleeping bag back then pulled his hoodie up and over his head, leaving him in just a white t-shirt. He slipped his legs inside the narrow opening, and then turned his back to me once his head hit the pillow.

I felt dismissed…honestly it felt similar to everything I’d felt since discovering I was pregnant. Unwanted.

Undesirable.

It was suddenly so painful to even breathe that I merely turned on my side and turned off the lamp. I tried to calm down and think of the sequence of events like snapshots, so it would help calm the panic clawing at my sternum.

Luke had rejected not just me, but our son.

He’d then proceeded to fuck other women in the club where I could see, knowing I was watching. In one excruciating scenario, he’d even locked eyes with me when he’d done it.

The other members wanted me gone, to the point where they started blocking me from being able to even enter the clubhouse and club-owned businesses, regardless that I worked in one of those places.

Jamie had defended me.

Jamie had protected me.

Jamie gave me a place to stay.

Now he was here, offering to marry me just to keep me safe.

The culmination of thoughts had me breathing easier and calming down.

I didn’t need to have Jameson want to marry me, or share my bed, or look at me like I was beautiful, or like he wanted to kiss me.

He was allowed to turn away from me and even sleep on the floor. He was allowed to keep his emotions close to his chest. He didn’t owe those to me. He was allowed to feel however he felt.

I would simply deal with it, and I’d be grateful.

Regardless of everything, he’d saved my life, and I owed him everything.

NINE

JAMESON

AGE 17

The clubhouse was too loud.

Which didn’t normally bother me, hadn’t since I patched in and started shadowing my dad to replace him as president when the time came. Dad was getting all sorts of negative reports from the doctors lately, and my mom worried. She gave zero fucks about the club, or what it would mean for us to lose our leader. She cared that her husband was alive, and so far, we weren’t sure how much longer that would be the case.

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