Page 37 of Cold as Stone
I glance toward the back hallway—the one with paint still drying on the walls—and sigh.
“You want some unsolicited advice?” Mercy asks, her tone gentler now.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.” She leans against the bar, studying me. “I was married for eight years to a man who was everything I thought I wanted on paper. Stable job, nice house, looked good at dinner parties. Seemed safe.”
I look up, surprised. Mercy’s never mentioned being married.
“What happened?”
“It was suffocating,” she says simply. “He had opinions about everything—what I wore, who I talked to, how I spent my time, where I could work. Made me feel like I was shrinking smaller and smaller until I barely recognized myself. Then I met Jake. He was a traveling musician with tattoos and a motorcycle, and absolutely no business sense whatsoever.”
“Did you leave your husband for him?”
“Nope. I left my husband for me.” She picks up a glass, polishing it absently. “Jake made me remember what it felt like to laugh, to feel free, to be myself without someone constantly watching and judging. I didn’t realize how controlled my life had become until I met someone who didn’t try to manage every breath I took.”
“What happened with Jake?”
Her smile is bittersweet. “Nothing. I’m not a cheater. He was simply the catalyst to me recognizing that I needed to change my life. We all deserve happy.”
My throat tightens. “Mercy, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” She sets down the glass and looks at me directly. “Point is, some people are worth the risk. And from what I saw the other night—the way that man looked at you like you hung the moon—Lee might be one of them.”
I want to argue and point out all the reasons this is complicated, but the words stick in my throat.
“He’s not going anywhere, Kya,” she continues. “This is his home. The question is whether you’re brave enough to see where this goes, or if you’re going to run back to the safety of Portland.”
The accusation stings because it hits too close to home. “I’m not running.”
“Aren’t you?” She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been back how long? A few weeks? In that time you’ve bought a bar, signed a lease, but you’re still talking about this being temporary. Sounds like denial to me.”
Before I can respond, she pushes off the bar. “I’m going to finish the inventory. Think about what I said.”
She disappears into the back, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a growing knot in my stomach.
The front door chimes, and I look up to see three women enter. One with dark brown-red hair that catches the light and an edge to her that screams “don’t mess with me.” The other has long dark hair pulled back in a messy braid and warm eyes that match her smile. Behind them struts a gorgeous redhead in a top so low-cut I’m amazed nothing’s fallen out.
“You must be Kya,” the “don’t mess with me” woman says, approaching the bar with a surprisingly warm smile. “I’m Andi, Hawk’s wife. This is Poppy—she’s engaged to Axel.”
The redhead slides onto a barstool with feline grace. “And I’m Ginger. Tank’s old lady, resident troublemaker, and the one who’s been dying to meet the girl who’s got Lee Armstrong twisted in knots.”
I recognize their names immediately. Hawk’s the Sergeant at Arms, Axel’s the Road Captain, and Tank’s the Vice President. These are the women who came before me in this world of leather and loyalty.
“Ladies,” I say, straightening. “What can I get you?”
“Just Diet Cokes,” Poppy says, settling onto a barstool. Her smile is just as warm as Andi’s, and I like them both immediately. “But we’re not here to drink. We’re here to meet you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ginger interrupts. “I’ll take a shot of tequila. It’s five o’clock somewhere, and mommy needs her medicine.”
Andi rolls her eyes. “It’s two in the afternoon.”
“Your point?” Ginger winks at me. “Pour yourself one too, honey. We need to discuss how you’ve got that boy so wrapped around your finger he’s practically gift-wrapped.”
I pour their drinks, hyper-aware that I’m being evaluated. “Oh?”
“Don’t worry, everything is so far, so good,” Andi says, accepting her glass. “We’re not here to give you the third degree. We just wanted to invite you to a party at the clubhouse tonight. Nothing fancy, just family getting together.”
