Page 86 of Manic

I can't face her right now, can't look into those sage green eyes without feeling the weight of everything we've lost and everything we still might lose.

As I push through the heavy industrial door into Bubba's Bar, the familiar scent of leather and whiskey hits me.

It's comforting, a reminder of simpler times.

I can’t be in the fucking clubhouse right now. I need a damn break.

But as I scan the room, taking in the handcrafted tables and the exposed brick walls, I realize that nothing about this life has ever been simple.

I make my way to the bar, my fingers tracing the mixture of wood, concrete, and resin that Magnus crafted.

It's beautiful, intricate—like the web of lies and half-truths I seem to be caught in.

"Whiskey," I growl at the bartender, not caring if I sound like a dick.

As I wait for my drink, I can't help but wonder how many more surprises this life has in store for me, and if Meghan and I will be strong enough to weather them all.

The bartender hands me my drink and I give him a curt nod.

I shake my head, my fingers clenching around the whiskey glass as the words escape my lips, "What in the actual fuck?"

The door swings open from the clubhouse, and Ivar strides in, his brow furrowed with concern. "What's going on? I heard raised voices back in the there."

My jaw clenches as I turn to face him, the anger bubbling up inside me like molten lava.

I can feel my chest tattoo stretching as I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Hey, brother," I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Quick question for you. Did you know that your wife was aware I had a daughter?"

Ivar's eyes widen, and he swallows hard.

His gaze darts to the clubhouse, and he sighs.

After what feels like an eternity, Ivar turns back to me. "No," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wasn't aware."

I can't help but laugh, a harsh, bitter sound that echoes off the exposed brick walls. "Well, at least I wasn't the only one in the fucking dark."

My mind is reeling.

How could Starla keep this from Ivar?

How many other secrets are being kept in this clubhouse?

The thought makes my skin crawl, and I have to resist the urge to punch something.

Instead, I take another swig of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat.

It's a welcome distraction from the storm of emotions raging inside me.

“Come on, man. Come back in and talk with your girl.” Ivar urges me.

I want to sit here at the bar in Bubba’s and have some space, but I understand what he’s trying to do.

Reluctantly, I follow him and head back inside the club, going straight to the kitchen.

I want to calm down and chat with her in a healthy manner, but the second I see her, rage boils up within me.

"You know," I say, my voice low and dangerous, "I thought we were family here. I thought we had each other's backs. But apparently, that only applies when it's convenient."

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