Page 65 of Nanny for the Bikers

How could they do this to me?

I trusted them with everything, and they just threw it all away.

I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest as I let the tears fall. The silence of the room presses in on me, suffocating me with its weight.

What am I supposed to do next?

34

AYLA

After what feels like an eternity, I force myself to my feet. I’ve heard the front door open multiple times and heard the hushed talk through the door. It’s time to face them. Gathering every ounce of courage, I take a deep breath and step out into the hallway. My pulse pounds in my ears as I make my way toward the living room on unsteady legs.

I stop short in the entryway, surprised to see Teller, Kip, and Clay settled on the couch, each looking up at me the second they see me, their bodies tense and faces strained.

Teller leans forward, elbows on his knees, dark hair shading his eyes. Kip’s shoulders hunch, his usual smirk replaced by a furrowed brow. Clay’s chiseled features are set like stone, but his gray eyes are soft with concern as they meet mine.

Relief washes over their expressions at the sight of me, and they start to rise. But I hold up a hand, keeping them in place. “Wait,” I say, my voice carrying across the room. “It’s my time to talk.”

They exchange wary glances but settle back onto the cushions. The silence stretches taut between us, the air electric withunspoken thoughts and emotions. I lick my dry lips, steeling myself, knowing I can’t back down now. It’s time for the truth to come out, as painful and messy as it may be. No more secrets.

I square my shoulders and look each of them dead in the eye. “How many women have you shared before me?” The question hangs heavy, the words bitter on my tongue.

Shock registers on their faces, followed by a flash of guilt. They shift uncomfortably, gazes darting between each other. The silence grows, thick and suffocating.

Finally, Teller clears his throat. “Ayla, it’s not--“

“Don’t.” I cut him off, my voice sharp as a razor’s edge. “Just answer the question.”

Another beat of loaded silence. Then, barely above a whisper, Clay confesses, “Three.”

The single word slams into me like a physical blow. I suck in a breath, fighting the sting of tears. Three women. Three other women who have been exactly where I am now, tangled up in this complicated web of these three and lust and...what? Love? The thought makes me want to laugh. Or cry. I’m not sure which.

Kip leans forward, his expression pained. “Ayla, please, let us explain...”

But I’m not done. I need to know. Masochistic as it may be, I have to hear the whole truth. “Were they relationships?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly. “Or just casual sex?”

They exchange another heavy look. Teller runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “Just sex,” he admits quietly.

Just sex. The words echo in my mind, taunting me. Is that all I am to them too? Another warm body to share, another notch on their belts? The thought makes my stomach turn. Whatever we had always felt like more than just something casual.

I press my lips together, fighting back the swell of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Hurt, anger, jealousy, fear - they all clamor for attention, warring inside my chest. But I refuse to break. Not here, not now. Not in front of them.

Steadying myself with a deep breath, I meet their gazes head-on. “Is that what this is too?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Am I just convenient sex for you?”

“No!” Clay exclaims, surging to his feet. His eyes blaze with intensity as he takes a step toward me. “Ayla, what we have with you...it’s real. It’s so much more than just sex.”

Kip nods fervently, his expression earnest. “We care about you, Ayla. Deeply. This isn’t some casual fling for us.”

I want to believe them. God, how I want to believe them. But the doubts slither through my mind, insidious and persistent. I’ve been hurt before, betrayed by those I trusted most. Can I really afford to let my guard down again? If I do and I’m betrayed, I don’t think I’ll make it.

Teller must see the uncertainty in my eyes because he stands slowly, approaching me with a gentle expression. “Ayla,” he murmurs, reaching out to cup my face in his hands. “Look at me. Really look at me.”

I do, searching his gaze for any hint of deception or insincerity. But all I find is raw honesty and a depth of emotion that takes my breath away.

“Promise me,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Promise me you’re telling the truth.”

“I promise,” Teller says solemnly, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “We all do.”

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