Page 50 of The Heart We Guard
I look at him, really study him this time because it’s the last time I’m going to take in his face. I don’t want my child to be part of his world. I don’t want Pooks to be a target. But this man…it’s hard to not think of the things we could have been if he were anyone other than who he is. “Thanks for being honest with me.” I hand him the card. “Stay safe.”
The words almost stick in my throat, and I’m glad I’m wearing the baseball cap so he can’t see the tears that sting my eyes out of nowhere.
I’m not an emotional person. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones.
But I’m desperately sad I’m leaving. Even though this is most definitely not where I belong.
15
BUTCHER
“Who was that?” Catfish says, joining me outside the clubhouse.
“Dr. Greer Hansen.” Looking just as beautiful and fragile as I remember. My memories of those days we were together are a little messed up. Somewhere between being shot twice, bundled into her car, being operated on, and creeping from her bed in the early hours of the morning, I had a little slice of something…special.
A slice of something I’ve missed since I returned.
But as I stand here, stinking of whiskey, I know I just did one good thing in my life.
I let her go.
I didn’t reach for her, even though I ached to.
I didn’t kiss her, even though I swear I can still taste her on my lips if I close my eyes and focus hard enough.
And I sure as hell didn’t pick her up, put her over my shoulder, and carry her back to my room in the clubhouse.
Because she deserves so much better than my world, no matter how much I’d like her in it.
“The surgeon?” Catfish asks.
I nod as I see her indicator come on to turn left out of the driveway. The little detail makes me smile. Only Greer would think she needed the indicator on to turn off a dirt trail onto a rural road in the middle of the night with not a soul around.
“Should have invited her in. Think the brothers would have liked to thank her for saving your life.”
“Maybe. But she’s too good for our clubhouse.”
Catfish looks confused. “She got a stick up her ass about who we are?”
“No. Nothing like that. Just…you know…some people deserve to stay away from the shit we do. And Greer Hansen is one of them.”
When I can no longer see her taillights or hear the engine of her car, I open the white envelope. It’s unadorned, stark, white cardstock.
Very Greer.
I flip the folded notecard open. Fucking letters that all dance around and blur together. I use my finger beneath the words and try to spell them out in my head until I finally make sense of them.
Dear Butcher,
You should know I’m pregnant. You don’t owe me anything. It was a risk we took. But I’ll keep the two of us safe.
Greer.
“Fuck me,” I growl.
I’m pregnant.
The two of us.
