Page 34 of Seizing Control: Part One

“The Blackards are in Perth?”

“Ah,” Isaiah hedges. I glare at him, and he shuffles from side to side as he fidgets with his omnipresent bandana. “They might’ve been here for a few days?”

“They might have… is it up for debate? Has the conundrum of the time-space continuum finally been solved? Are they teleporting back and forth between here and Sydney on the hour?”

“Look, I didn’t know that you didn’t know. I thought…” When Isaiah’s justification morphs into an unspoken plea for me to drop the subject, I slump back in my seat. The photos that Nadia showed me yesterday burst into my head. Zeke and a tattooed woman. Grappling on a mat with a Blackards MMA logo on it. “You can’t tell anyone that you know. My patch?—”

“It’s fine.” I wave away his concern when he tries to step closer to comfort me. “Club business. I know how it goes.” Making a zipper motion across my mouth, I tell him, “My lips are sealed.”

“I’m sure they’ll make time to catch up with you.”

That’s not exactly my problem right now, but I can’t really broach the subject without coming off like an unhinged, jealous ex-fiancée. Clearing my throat, I paste a smile on my face. “We should get going. Dad wants me there within an hour—can’t keep the president waiting now.”

Worry fills Isaiah’s expression. “Cherub?—”

“I’m really happy you’ve met someone… I hope she appreciate the calibre of man she’s attracted. You’re one in a million—any girl would be lucky to have you.”

When Isaiah opens his mouth to speak, I reach forward and pull my door shut. He jumps out of the way, pausing to regard me with a concerned look, then he shakes his head and hurries over to his Harley. I follow him out of the garage, trailing behind him until we hit the freeway. Once we’re on the multi-laned highway, he drops back to take his customary spot next to my side mirror.

I studiously avoid acknowledging him as he glances my way every so often.

Instead, I stew on my neverendingly stupidity.

When Zeke had me perched on the dresser last night, I allowed his proximity to invoke temporary amnesia. His smell, the apology in his gaze, his warm body, the good memories, his reminders of the love we shared, it all combined to cloud my judgement. Made me forget. Turned me into a ball of putty that he can mould to his desires.

I almost caved.

I nearly swallowed his bullshit.

While I’ve been flailing, he moved on.

Except that’s not the full story…

Zeke told me to move on like he was going to.

I fought his edict every day.

But I still fell in love with his best friend.

With no leg to stand on, no reason to be mad at him for doing exactly like he said he would, I shouldn’t feel betrayed. It’s not my place to be upset that he’s brought the Blackards and, likely, his girl of the moment to Perth, and not bothered to tell me. The aching cavern that Isaiah’s inadvertent admission opened in my chest shouldn’t exist, yet it does.

I’m mad.

Sad.

Jealous.

Relieved.

Infuriated.

My palm burns with the urge to slap him again. The pit of my stomach churns in acknowledgements of my hypocrisy. A tsunami of emotions surge though me. They crash into my psyche. Shatter my fragile heart. Dent my broken soul. Wave after wave. Ebb and flow. Heartbreak hits me, then it recedes at the thought of Slash and his steadfast adoration.

I love Zeke. If the right circumstances arose, free from the spectre of Alex, the Maddisons, and my dad, I’d rebuild my life with him. I love Slash. When I squint just right, I see a future with him as well.

My contradictory desires clash like Kilkenny cats.

It’s the height of selfishness.

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