JUNCTION
Ryan
My cell vibrates in my pocket while Bronx leads us across the main room of the clubhouse to where a bar is set up against one of the longest walls. He wanders to the serving side while I pull the phone out and open the message.
“Beer, spirits, juice and even water. What would you like?” He turns to see what I’m doing when I don’t respond. “Gunter?”
I nod, taking a seat on one of the worn leather-topped bar stools. “Yeah. He said they’re heading home.”
“What you goin’ to say?” He knows as well as I do I’d never get back before them.
“The truth—that I needed to get out of the house.” I type out my reply to Gunter while Bronx watches, erasing and rewording sections multiple times before I decide it’s the best it’ll be.
“Think he’ll buy it?”
“Guess we’ll know shortly.”
Bronx rounds the bar to where I sit, taking up a spot on the next stool over. “Wish you were there for Tommy though, don’t you?”
I nod, tears brimming. I squeeze my eyes tight and will them away. “Yeah. I hate the fact he’s all mixed up in the crossfire. I should have stayed home. I should have left this until another day.” How could I be so selfish? I’m still so wrapped up in my own problems that I didn’t think about how this would impact Tommy.
“You’d only be delaying the inevitable.”
“Maybe, but my timing couldn’t have sucked more if I’d tried.”
Bronx shrugs. “If you wait for the perfect time, you’ll often find the opportunity has passed. Sometimes you just need to go with your gut and do what you know is best for you.”
He’s right, but it doesn’t make my guilt lessen much. “I’ve wanted to know for twelve years why Harris tore my life apart like that, you know? Twelve years of wondering. Being so obsessed about it isn’t healthy—I know that, but I also can’t help it. What he did changed everything.” I scrub my fingertips into my closed eyes. “And now this—he’s alive.”
Bronx scoots a little closer, placing his hand over mine in a gesture of solidarity. “You don’t need to justify yourself to me.”
“He told me he’d come back for me,” I admit, looking up to find him watching me so damn intently with those gentle eyes. “He said he’d find me when the time was right.”
“Same as what I said before, darlin’—perhaps the opportunity passed? Besides, if he’d rocked up in the first months after it happened, would you have wanted to see him?”
“I guess not.”
“So maybe he just hadn’t found the right time yet?”
“Maybe.” I draw a heavy breath, wondering when life might ever be normal for me. “I still feel bad about leaving Tommy.”
He sighs, rubbing his fingertips over my wrist. “I know it hurts to leave him behind, Ryan, but you ain’t goin’ back.” His expression is stern, his eyes dark and lips set firm, telling me there’s no questioning the decision.
“Gunter won’t let me walk away without a fight, Bronx.”
“I’m no stranger to a fight, darlin’.” He smiles, and my eyes automatically travel to his crooked nose.
“You’ve been doing it for a while, huh?”
“A few years, yeah.” His hand works its way up my arm, rubbing and massaging. It’s comforting in an intimate, yet non-assuming way. “I’ll find a way to get information on Tommy. He’s a good kid—I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“God, I hope he’s okay. I really wish there was a way for me to see him.” I love Tommy like a brother, but Bronx is right saying I can’t go back. Gunter would lock me in the house and keep me under watch. But it’s not just Gunter’s violent tendencies that would put me at risk. Until now, I found it easy to play the part for Gunter, put on a brave face when I was fooling myself that I had the upper hand. But now that my eyes are open, I don’t have that false confidence to carry me through. “I have to agree with you, though—it wouldn’t be safe for me to return.” Because there’s also the question of what Gunter thinks would be a fitting punishment. He’s not afraid to hit a girl. I could guarantee that would be the least of it, too.
“You’re not alone while you work through this, Ryan.” Bronx swallows hard. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“I don’t know how I did it for so long,” I say. “How the hell did I pretend with Gunter when I couldn’t stand the thought of having to get into bed with him every night, of having him touch me.” I snort out a sad laugh at how low I stooped in the name of answers. “It makes me sick just thinking of the things he’d get me to do.” I blink away the welling tears. “I was so numb; there’s no other way to explain it. How else could I whore myself out for nothing like that?”
“Ryan, you need to stop,” Bronx says through gritted teeth. “Just hearin’ you talk about that shit makes me ready to kill someone.” His fists flex in his lap, and he stares intently at the white of his knuckles, a frown marring his face.
My phone vibrates on the bar top, breaking the moment with a loud buzz. I reach over and tap the screen, bringing up the message. “He wants to know when I’ll be home.”
“You won’t.” Bronx lifts his eyes, challenging me. “Tell him.”
I stare at the screen, idly crooking my finger back and forth so the message window moves up and down while I think on the words I’ll use. My heart’s singing out to do what’s right for me and stay, to tell Gunter I won’t be going back, but the sensible side of my head tells me there’s more to it than just up and walking away. I leave in the middle of chaos like this, and I bring all hell down on Bronx and this club. I can’t live with that on my conscience. “I need to talk with him, face to face. I need to at least try to reason with the guy, otherwise he’s going to be after blood, Bronx.”
“Nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before, Ryan. You’re not goin’ back to Omaha. I don’t want to hear about it any more.”
It’s scary—I’ll admit that. Fucking up isn’t so bad when there’s somebody there to hold your hand, when there’s a person who’ll give you a pat on the back and say ‘better luck next time’. But when there’s nothing, no support system there, it’s pretty damn terrifying. I’ve got nothing if I fail here—no family to run back to. I’m on my own.
“What if Harris wants nothing to do with me?” I ask. “What if bringing Harris here screws things up for King? You think he’d want me hanging around? Where do I go then?”
“King wouldn’t have asked Harris here if he thought there was a chance of it messin’ with the club.”
“You didn’t answer my first question,” I murmur.
“I can’t speak for Harris.” Bronx fiddles with a bottle cap left on the bar.
I stare at his profile, marveling how beautiful this man is inside, as well as physically. His heart is in the right place. “What if I screw things up with us?” I ask on a whisper.
He turns to face me, sincerity clear in his eyes. “You won’t.” He gives my hands a small tug, pulling me off the stool and into his firm body. “You only fail at somethin’ if you stop tryin’.”
Panic rises to the back of my throat, and I place my hands flat on his chest, ready to push him away. But his gaze holds mine, and in his eyes I see the same fear I’m harboring—that he won’t be enough. He is. My palms relax, and the very tips of my fingers curl into the cotton of his T-shirt. Could we make this work?
“All my stuff’s still there.”
“I’ll buy you new stuff.”
“And then there’s Eddie,” I say quietly. “They’ll know it’s you. What are you going to do? Weren’t you there for a reason before I messed things up?”
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, I was. I’ll figure somethin’ out. Don’t worry yourself about that.”
“Maybe I can help?”