Page 8 of Bringing Home the Bad Boy

“Ask your father,” he repeats, his voice tight. “Ask him why I had to leave. He was the one who made me.”

My chest seizes. The world spins, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My hands tremble. I want to scream at him. But all those years of being the good girl. The polite girl pays off.I remain composed, refusing to give him any more of my breakdown.

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper, voice shaking with the weight of it all. “Don’t you dare make it his fault. Because this is on you. You.”

His eyes hold mine. Not hold,lasso,and pull. Squeezing the breath from my lungs with their intensity. Then he says in a flat voice, “I know how much it killed you because it killed me too. There are excuses and reasons for everything. So, I won’t give you excuses.” His gaze hardens, and all traces of softness vanish. “As for thereason...” He grinds the next words out.

“Ask. Your. Father.”

Chapter 4

"What’s up, man?” Bandit’s voice wasn’t the one I hoped for but it was still good to hear. We rode side by side for seven years. Came up through the Desperados together. Both of us getting patched together. So, I got why he was staying in touch. We were more than brothers.

“Nothing, man. It’s all good.”

“How’s the white picket fence life?”He asked me, only half-kidding.

I snorted. “It’s alright. Jelena is settling in. She loves her new room. It’s the first one we set up. You wouldn’t see that much pink in a Pepto-Bismol factory. Did you know there are legit, like one hundred and fifty-seven shades of pink? I don’t get it, but Rosalee tells me some girls like pink and to enjoy it while I can. Before the dreaded all-black and grunge years.”

“Jelena has too much sunshine to ever be that girl. You done good, son”he says, even though we’re the same age.

“I’m trying. Trying to give her the things I didn’t have. We moved around so fucking much. After we left Mexico, we never had a place of our own. And even if I’d had a bedroom, I wouldhave had to share it with at least a dozen cousins. You know how it is.”

“Yep. It was the same in my family. Only we weren't close. That’s one reason I joined. It’s crazy how you can have a family but not have a family.”

I grunted in agreement, but his words made me think of Noel. Had she confronted her father? It’s been a week, and I haven’t heard a thing. “Anyway, that’s not why I called. I wanted to give you a heads-up. Hatchet took a spill, and now we’re one crew short. Prez asked me if I thought you’d be interested in one last ride. You know Harlem’s on his honeymoon with his girl, and Prez didn’t want to pull him back.”

“Bandit—”

He cuts me off before I refuse. “I know. I know. Told him, you were done. But Prez said it’d be just this one time. And it wouldn’t involve the trucks at all. Just me, you—”

“And about a thousand pills.”

“Like I said, I know. But this is why Prez sticks with the level four stuff—low risk. Nobody’s checking for Viagra and Tramadol. There are way worse things to distribute.” I don’t respond. He knows how I feel—why I left. “Anyway, you don’t have to agree. I’m just letting you know he’s going to call. And to let you know I got your back. Either way.”

“Thanks, man.”

We get off the phone. And shortly after, it rings again. I don’t recognize the number, but that’s not unusual. The Desperados wouldn’t have survived without burners. I run a hand over my face and answer. My head snaps up when Noel’s voice greets me.

“Hi, Trace.”

“Noel.” It’s not a question. A smile spreads over my face.

“Can we meet? I think I owe you some answers.”

The smile vanishes. “Um, yeah. Of course.”

***

The Old Barn looks different at night. White fairy lights illuminate the walkway as I make my way to Noel's office. I didn't get a chance to do much looking around on Saturday. My eyes, my focus, was on Noel. I'm glad this place survived. If it hadn't, I probably would have bought and renovated the property myself. Even though the barn is gutted, the original frame remains. They even kept the loft. It's a souvenir shop now, but it's there. Holding our secrets—if walls could talk, right?

I find her in a small room in the building's corner. This, too, brings back memories. This was a tack room. We'd christened this room as well. Hell, there was no private part in this barn that we didn't make love in. She sits in almost the exact spot an oaken table used to occupy, and, yep, made love to her there, too. My pants were half-mast as I drilled into her warmth while her legs wrapped around me, urging me on with kicking ankles, begging me to go deeper—faster.

I'm walking with ghosts while Noel sits behind her desk as if the things we did here don't matter anymore. It's only when she looks up that I realize her eyes are red-rimmed… haunted. Her pain hits me like a physical blow. I want to reach for her, but I let her set the pace since she's the one who called this meeting.

“I talked to my father,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to cost her something vital. “He told me everything.”

I nod, trying to keep my breathing steady. “Everything?”

---