Page 30 of Protector

He shook his head. “I couldn’t. She was it—then and now. Why would I want to go back to bein’ an insecure teenager, knowin’ what I do as a thirty-nine-year-old man? For that matter, why would you? You were dealt a shitty hand, but ain’t no way was your life better without Celia or your kids.”

“I lost every single one of ‘em, Slim,” I said softly, keeping my eyes on the table. “You tell me how that’s better. At least with Ma, I knew how to keep her safe. The enemy was one man, and I gladly took those beatings. Now, I don’t even know who to trust or how in the hell I’m supposed to fix any of this.”

The waitress walked up and took one look at us before slinking away again.

“We fix it by trackin’ these fuckers down and sendin’ ‘em to the Reaper.” He ran the tip of his index finger around the rim of his empty glass. “The rest we’ll figure out together.”

Suddenly aware of the quiet, I looked around the bar at my brothers. Bear and Torch were deep in conversation at a table near the door; most likely discussing their weapons strategy. Others sat on bar stools or gathered around the three tables that had been pushed together to form one.

The mood was somber as if they were just as pissed as I was over the fact that we didn’t have one damn lead on the Serpents.

I’d been so preoccupied with Celia, that I hadn’t had time to think about what leaving the club would’ve meant for me. These were men who’d offered to go to battle for me, no questions asked. They’d kept watch over my daughters while Celia was recovering, and not once had I worried that they’d turn on me.

I might’ve come into the world an only child, but the men around me were my brothers, in every sense of the word.

It could’ve been the pitcher of beer I’d downed, or maybe I’d never sobered up from the last time. Either way, now seemed as good a time as any to turn into a sentimental jackass and drag my sins into the light.

“They raped her, John.”

He blew out a sharp breath and dragged a hand through his hair before bringing it back to rest against his forehead. “They—you’re sure? I mean… fuck!”

I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Say we do find ‘em, it doesn’t change what happened to her. I can’t fix it.”

“No, you can’t fix it, but if we destroy the threat, it gives Celia at least a fightin’ chance at recovering.”

The muscle in my jaw tightened. “How in the hell am I supposed to look her in the eye and promise to protect her when I’ve already proven I can’t do shit to keep her safe?”

Slim sat back, draping his arm over the back of the booth. “You don’t.” When I flinched, he shook his head. “What do you want me to say? That you can show up like before and fix everything with your dick? Think about it, Grey. She’s always been the one to come after you—”

“That ain’t true! I went after her when Betsy took her to Vic’s… and when I found out she was hurt…”

I wracked my brain, trying to come up with another instance.

“Isn’t it? You only go after her when you’re tryin’ to fix the shit you caused in the first place. When have you ever shown up for her? Not to gain somethin’ or get her to fall in line, but just for her?”

I opened my mouth to argue, only to realize he was right. It had always been about me. Even that night on the patio had been about me selfishly thinking I could be the one to put her back together.

Instead, I’d only hurt her more.

“You’ve gotta keep showin’ up, but ultimately, it’s her decision. You can want her to choose you from now until the world ends, but if that’s not what she wants, you’ve gotta be okay with walkin’ away.”

I swiped the pint glass off the table with the back of my hand, sending shards of glass across the wood floor. “I ain’t ever walkin’ away, asshole.”

“Good,” Slim dryly noted over the ringing of his cell phone. “Glad to see you’re gonna be mature about this. Now, my kid’s callin’. You think you can keep your temper in check for a goddamn second?”

I shrugged and watched in amusement as our waitress reappeared, wide-eyed and holding a broom. “Bumped it with my elbow.”

She nodded shakily and began sweeping it up, keeping her eyes on the floor.

Slim flipped me off and answered the phone with an easy grin. “Hey. You’re still in Galveston? Thought you were gonna help me out tomorrow mornin’—he what? Shit. How bad is it? You call Betsy?”

At the mention of her name, an electrical current of awareness raced through my body, and I mouthed one word.

Mikey.

He held a finger up with a nod. “Tell me where his truck is. Just leave the key in the wheel well, and I’ll have someone swing by and get it. Yeah, call your mama and let her know. Love you too, kid.”

My heart was lodged somewhere in my throat as I waited for him to break the news. It didn’t escape my attention that this was the second time someone else had gotten a phone call meant for me.

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