Page 37 of Piston

I squeeze my eyes tight, and I wipe my hands.

Her birth mother left her in a bassinet on her father’s doorstep after she was born.

It’s fucking horrible to know the girl you were basically seeing but didn’t want to admit to seeing was treated so poorly by someone who should have held her, keeping the big bad world away from her.

Swallowing hard, I throw the rag to the side, and head into the living area, my eyes taking everything in.

Nat’s currently helping her brother get ready for bed, and I thought I’d help her out by fixing the dishwasher. I was hoping to get it done before she came down just so I could see exactly how she lives now, and honestly, it’s not that much different from her apartment.

The smell of vanilla and honey lingers in the room. Her slippers are underneath the glass coffee table she used to have at the apartment from college. Her books and magazines are on the shelves along the walls. Bluebell's scratch tree sits near the window. One thing is different, though: the few photos on the shelf above her TV.

I furrow my brows and walk over to it. I see pictures of Cooper and Nat, which make me smile, but my heart pounds as I gently pick up the photo in the silver frame….

“Do you, Natalie Monroe, take Elijah Callum Mathews to be your wedded husband?” the judge asks Natalie, who doesn’tsay anything for a moment but stares at our joined hands, and I panic.

Fuck, is she going to say no?

Was I wrong?

Natalie clears her throat, interrupts my panic, looks at me, and mumbles, “I do…”

I swallow hard. In the picture, I’m in my normal tee, cut, and jeans, while Natalie is in her waitress dress, her eyes on my hand placing the plain silver band on her finger. I’m looking at her with a mixture of torture, betrayal, and worst of all…love.

I think I’ve always loved her; I always knew she was meant to be mine, and that’s why I’ve struggled.

On our wedding day, I panicked because I thought I was going to lose her for good. I tried to deny it, but I was relieved when she messaged me that she needed to see me.

I don’t think I was ever going to let her go….

I gently put the photo back, keeping my eyes on it, just as I hear Natalie walking down the stairs. I don’t turn toward her, even when she clears her throat.

I know she is probably hoping I’ll leave, but I can’t; physically, emotionally. I need her, but we also need to talk, something we should have done a very long time ago.

She didn’t even come to me when she was attacked!

“You didn’t get to wear a pretty dress,” I mumble, my eyes moving along the photos, a smile forming when I see one of us at a house party three years ago. We’re in some frat guy’s kitchen, I’m sitting on the counter while Nat is standingbetween my legs, head back, laughing, my head in the crook of her neck, my arms wrapped around her.

We look like a couple in love, and honestly, I’m starting to understand that we were.

I gently run a finger over the black frame, and she clears her throat, admitting, “Honey took that one.”

I nod and ask, “And how is Honey?”

“She’s good. She and her husband love California, and she’s just given birth to their third kid.”

I hum at her words, my eyes going to the picture of me on my Harley outside Cora’s.

The last day we were supposed to meet up.

I’m looking at her, smirking…. Fuck.

“Piston—” she starts, but I cut her off, looking her way.

"You didn’t get to have your little brother at your own wedding.”

Guilt fills me, and she sighs, moving around the couch, taking a seat, still wearing my shirt.

She gives me a small smile and admits, “I wasn’t allowed near him at that point, so it doesn’t matter.”

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