Page 98 of The Bonds We Break
“Anyway, that’s Ryker. He’ll always throw himself in harm’s way for someone he loves in a heartbeat. He did it for me, over and over. He did it for Spark. He did it for Briar. And he’ll do it for you. He’s made choices for everyone except himself. So, please, Uther. Don’t just forgive him because I asked you to. Think about the man he’s been for you. Because that guy is the real Ryker. His road name, Saint? It works. Not because he was ever your preacher, but because that’s what he is to me. He’s watched over me since the day I was born. And he deserves more than a forced apology. He deserves your friendship. He deserves to know that this is his home.”
As I process what she’s saying, I find it hard to keep the flood of thoughts under control. “Would you hate me if I killed your father?”
“I don’t want that on either of our consciences. I think the best fuck-you to my dad is to go and live a life we’re proud of. Show him we can be happy without him. But I really do need you to make things right with Ryker.”
“Seeing we’re sharing, can I share something with you too?”
“Of course.” Rae moves to her knees, the sheet drops away, and she crawls to me. Sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“You can’t be crawling to me like that if you don’t want me to tell you to suck my cock.”
She grabs the sheet and wraps it around herself. “Stop stalling. Just tell me.”
Her smile is soft, her hair rumpled from my hands and the pillow, and everything we’ve done together, “It was one thing to be betrayed by Dad. And it was a weird kind of betrayal. He did it for the club. He did it for his best friend. He even betrayed the club for my mom. We found out after both my folks were dead that he’d known where she was all along. As a president, I sort of understand and admire it. There’s a lot of sacrifice in there. But it meant I hated women for a long time. I thought they left when it suited them. I thought they didn’t love their kids. And then Skylar was there. She knew the score. How to be an old lady. Wormed her way in and ... I don’t know ... I guess I ... Maybe I ...”
“You loved her,” Rae finishes for me.
I shrug. “I don’t know. It was more than liking her, but it was nothing like this. Nothing like you and me. I think I just wanted something that resembled love and affection, and that was the closest I could get.” I run my fingertip over the edge of the sheet. “Killing her was for the good of the club. She caused the death of a president. Of my mother. She’s the reason there were attempts on mine and Gwen’s lives.”
Rae shakes her head. “I’m truly sorry that happened to you. I think you’re entitled to all the emotions you carry, Uther.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t have an issue with my feelings. I can compartmentalize what I do. But can you? If I go make things right with your brother, we’re both going to do things in the future that might not make sense to you.”
“Have you ever killed an innocent person?”
“I hope not. But is there a chance I’ve gotten other things wrong over the years? Possibly.”
I hold my breath as Rae ponders my question.
“Why are you telling me this?”
I rest my elbows on my knees and lean forward. “Because you were being really honest with me. And I want to be as honest as I can with you. There’s club business. Shit that will never touch you. Ever. I guess I also want you to understand why I was so fucking angry at your brother. That shit had been building for years. And I spent a lot of time with him. He was ...”
Rae places her hand on my back and rubs in circles. “He was what?”
“I thought he was a good friend. The shock that he wasn’t made me doubt my own judgement. I thought Dad was one of the fairest, most honorable men I’d met until I found out his secrets. I thought Clutch was my best friend, someone I could count on, until he started screwing my sister behind my back. I was halfway in love with Skylar, even though I pretended to anyone who would listen that she didn’t matter. I thought I was a good judge of character until I figured I didn’t really know anyone, not even myself.”
I feel the heat of her lips through the shoulder of my T-shirt. Her hand still rubs circles on my back.
“Step one is admitting how you honestly and truly feel about things,” Rae says. “Emotions aren’t meant to be buried. It’s like building on quicksand. The foundation is unstable. And pretending you aren’t hurt never works, because you carry that invisible pain with you, and people don’t understand why you react the way you do when they accidentally press against it.”
What she says makes so much sense. I’ve feared stepping into my father’s shoes, scared that I’m going to get it wrong, fuck up his legacy, or let the men down. That fear is raw.
I sit up, suddenly decisive. “I want to build the strongest and most powerful motorcycle club the world has ever seen. Something stronger than we currently have.”
“Then start with you. Fix your foundation. Do the work. Some people call it hugging the cactus. Get close to the shadows inside and love those parts of you that respond the way they do. And while you’re doing that, you fix what’s broken.”
“Will you help me do it? With tools and shit?”
“Every step of the way. There’s a Japanese art called kintsugi.”
“Of course there is,” I say and smile at the woman who is still looking at me like I hold the moon, even though I just admitted something I’m sure she suspected—that I’ve killed.
She slaps my arms playfully, and I tug her, sheets and all, into my lap.
“Anyway,” she continues. “It’s the art of fixing broken pottery with a coating or lacquer that has gold or silver in it. That way, you can still see the cracks, but the veins it leaves behind are a thing of beauty. They acknowledge the break, that it happened, that it will always be a part of the dish’s history.”
“I’m the dish?”
