The Ruthless Biker's Ex-Convict Bride

Chapter 12

Wren’s Point of View

"What did he want?" Ash asks, the second I'm back within earshot. He raises an eyebrow, and I swear if that isn't the cutest thing I've seen from him, I don't know what is.

"Nothing." I keep my voice light. "He just wanted to talk."

"Talk." He says the word as if it tastes wrong in his mouth.

"That's what I said."

His eyes stay on me, searching my face for whatever I'm not telling him. I hold his gaze, refuse to be the one who looks away first, even though my pulse is still not fully settled from Elias's arms around me a few minutes ago.

"You don't have to lie to me," he says, something almost hurt underneath it.

"I'm not lying." That part, at least, is true. "There's nothing to tell."

He doesn't believe me. I can see it in the way his jaw works, the muscle ticking once, twice. But he lets it go, exhaling slowly through his nose like he's forcing himself to, and something in his shoulders drops.

"Don't move," I tell him, heading to the back to stash my bag in my locker.

I barely turn around when I spot him standing, looking around like he's lost something. I walk over.

"Why didn't you just wait here? Can't you listen to me for once?"

"You left your phone." He pulls it out of his pocket and hands it over. I take it hesitantly, thanking him.

He looks around the bar, taking it all in, before his eyes settle back on me.

"Why do you work here, Doc?"

I chuckle softly, inhaling sharply. "Pays the bills." I grab my stuff so I can start on inventory.

"You should head back home. You—"

"Can I stay here instead?"

That catches me off guard. I look at him, not sure what to say.

"Um… we don't open until ten. But you can stay if you promise not to get into any fights or—"

"I won't."

"Okay. Take the seat in the corner. Let me do my work." I turn back to the shelves, and he holds my gaze, then leans over the counter—close, close enough that, to anyone watching, it might look like something intimate is about to happen.

My breath catches. My whole body goes still, waiting, some traitorous part of me leaning in before my brain catches up.

"What's going on?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He pulls back. A shiver runs straight down my spine, disappointment and relief tangled together in a way I don't have time to examine.

"Your friend was watching," he says, low, and walks off to the corner without another word.

It takes me a minute to stop staring after him. I make a mental note to get him new clothes; the shirt he's wearing looks two sizes too small, stretched across that frame.

I finish inventory when my boss, Cody, walks in asking John about my supervisor.

"Hasn't shown his face in almost a week," John says. "Shouldn't we be reporting it?"

"No." Cody waves it off. He turns to leave, then stops mid-step, eyes narrowing at the corner table where Ash is sitting, like he's trying to place a face.

He starts to walk over. Ash drops his head lower. I can tell he's uncomfortable, so I jump in fast.

"What happens if he doesn't come back? Shouldn't we report it now?"

Cody doesn't turn to look at me right away, and my chest tightens.

"It's been days. Is that normal?"

He finally looks at me, disgust plain on his face. He hates me too, same as everyone else in this town, but nobody else is willing to work the hours I do.

"I'll sort it out." He leaves the bar without checking on Ash again, and I let out a breath I've been holding.

The day moves fast after that. At lunch, I bring Ash a plate—fries, wings, a Coke—then finish up behind the bar. When it gets busy, I step out from behind the counter to help run drinks while John mixes them.

John puts on "Bad to the Bone." Ella sings along, swinging her hips, pointing at me to join in. I used to love that song. Now it just drags up memories of Elias and me, dancing to it in a kitchen that doesn't exist for me anymore.

Then someone says his name.

"Yeah, my wife told me. Went for her checkup. It's confirmed."

"f**k me, he didn't waste any time."

I freeze mid-step, tray in my hands.

The room tilts. It gets hard to get enough air into my lungs. I think of him and Miranda, of a time I would have given anything to be his ol’ lady, to be the one standing beside him at club functions, to be the one carrying his name and now, apparently, his child.

I set the tray down before I drop it and rush to the back, out the door, gasping for air that won't come easy.

"Wren?" Ash's voice is behind me just as I try to breathe.

I hold up a hand. "Not now."

"Wren."

"Please, Ash. Not now. I just—" I can't breathe. I can't get the words out.

"Look at me." It's not a request.

I don't think I can look at him. He's not the one I want to be looking at right now, and that thought alone makes me feel like a worse person than I already know I am.

"Wren."

"No, Ash. I can't do this. Please leave." I wipe at my face, furious at the tears, and I don't hear him go, don't hear him move at all. So, I just stand there, alone with it.

I look up at the sky, tears rolling down my cheeks freely now.

Three years. Three years I waited for him. Believed him, like a fool, while he built a family with a woman who isn't me.

"He didn't want me." My voice cracks on it. "He couldn't even—"

I close my eyes, let the tears run warm down my face, rocking slightly on my feet like it might hold me together.

A hand slips around mine, squeezes once, and that sends tingles all over my body.

"He didn't deserve you," Ash says quietly.

"You don't know that." My voice comes out raw. "He was right to leave me. I'm a murderer."

"Yes, I do, Wren." His grip tightens, steady, grounding. "You're taking care of me, and you don't even know me. That tells me exactly what kind of person you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You saved me."

"What if I only saved you because I'm selfish?" I turn to face him, forcing my eyes to meet his, even though everything in me wants to look away. "What if I don't want you to find your family because I'm a terrible person who just needs someone in her life?"

His eyes lock on mine, and I wait, breath held, for him to say something. Because I am a bad person. I haven't even bothered to ask him who his family is, where he came from, or whether there's someone out there right now looking for him the same way nobody ever looked for me.

“What if I don't want you to leave because I'm a bad person?”