Page 171 of Seizing Control: Part One

LILY

When Slash turns his back to me to lock the bedroom door, I lower myself to my knees at the foot of his bed. I place my palms flat on my thighs and brace for his reaction. I know it won’t be kind. My submission goes against his instinct to protect me from his killer instinct. He believes he needs to treat me with kid gloves in a way Zeke never did.

Still, after the confession I overheard from my husband, the empathetic response Toker gave in return, combined with the context provided by Cub’s comment about being thirteen at the time, I’m ready for this. I might be caught between outrage and regret. Trapped in a situation I never considered possible. The tumult crashing through me has nothing on the minefield of emotional turmoil Slash has battled for more than a decade.

He’s met his match, though.

A fact I’m eager to teach him before I inform him that he’s going to be a father again.

While I watch his wide shoulders droop, I mentally hark back to a constant refrain of his, one that emerged every anniversary as I did my best to guide him through his grief, and I feel pieces of the puzzle that is Carter Hudson slot into place. For years, the anniversary has hung over his head. His behaviour each year worried me. Complete devastation. Reckless misery. A moral morass that trapped him like quicksand.

Drunk to the point of incoherence.

Mindless with grief.

Angry beyond reason.

An annual declaration that he isn’t a good man.

I took it all in stride because I thought I understood his pain.

For two weeks a year, Zeke and I would bring him into our home and allow him to break in peace. It became normal. A reprieve for us all. We could simply grieve. Mourn what could have been. Reminisce over the good times. Apportion blame in a way that would see us shunned outside of our little cocoon of sorrow. After all, we were a trio of survivors from an era of the Black Shamrocks MC’s history that’s fraught with loss. Chantal Miles. Scarlett Mayberry. Slash’s unnamed son. Jenna Greatbatch.

One after the other, they left this planet.

Cancer. Car accident. Matricide. Suicide.

Except, I now know that Jenna was murdered.

By the man I love to the point of madness.

Even though I returned to the compound today with the intention of making things right with Slash, I remained on the fence over my ability to give him the full force of my love. My head’s a mess. My heart is shattered. I still love Zeke. I always will. But he’s gone, a loss that initially forced me to reject reality until I was forced to accept his death.

The child inside me is a miracle.

They are either a way to remain tangibly connected to Zeke forever or a new start with Slash. My self-destruction has been curbed. The craving to purge dulled to a manageable level. Even on my worst days, I can’t bring myself to cut, superficially or otherwise, because I have to be strong enough to fight for this baby’s survival. My health is paramount—it directly correlates with theirs. I love this baby beyond reason already—despite understanding the position this pregnancy puts the Shamrocks in with the Trinity if the child is Zeke’s.

I could’ve run away, denied my child their birth right.

After all, I’ve let Slash down as much as he’s failed me throughout this period.

But I will stay.

Be a wife and a mother.

An old lady and a protector.

The only question that remains is how much of my heart I can trust my husband to protect. If I give him the half that belongs to him, will his jealousy destroy all of it?

Loving Slash is easy.

Being with him is hard.

He wants something I can’t give him.

To be loved most.

In turn, I crave something he can’t offer me.

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