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For the most part, his work schedule didn’t seemed to have changed. He still left every morning wearing a suit and tie, his shiny detective badge hooked to his waistband. I couldn’t see it beneath the edge of his jacket, but I knew it was there.
Strangely, it used to turn me on a bit when he did the nonchalant pose of planting his fist on his hip while speaking, the move flashing his shield at whoever he spoke to. Understated yet powerful. Dayton’s power and control over any situation had grounded me, and yes…aroused me.
I could only imagine what Melonie’s death had done to him, though, wresting away his power and control over the situation. The crime had never been solved. No one had an idea of who the murderer was or how he or she had gotten in and out of the secure office—no one but me. And in five years, I hadn’t figured out how to reveal the information to the police. Not without a whole lot of questions.
Standing at the front picture window of my house, I stared blindly across the street at the home that used to be mine. My arms crossed my middle while I wondered what Dayton had been doing the past few years. Did he have a woman in his life? I hadn’t seen one, but in my experience, men—especially men who’d been in a committed relationship for a long time—just didn’t know how to be alone. They jumped into the first pants that came their way.
Before coming here, I should have found out if he’d done that. I should have investigated before I jumped onto the scene. What if he’d moved on and had a wife, fiancée or serious girlfriend? My heart would probably bleed out. For a while. Much as I’d like to be melodramatic about it, I’d have to find a way to move on. The whole point of becoming Vale was to reconnect with Dayton and in turn, to a lesser degree, with Brennan. But if they were healthy and happy…
I’d have to let them go, then, wouldn’t I? I wanted Dayton, longed for him with my whole being, but if the Windsors were happy… Somehow, I’d have to let them go.
I swallowed hard, and my eyes burned at the thought. God, I wasn’t sure I could walk away. Did I even know how to…exist…without that goal? Or without a purpose that was completely wrapped up in Dayton?
“I need to get a grip. And maybe a dog,” I told myself, exasperated as I swung away from the window and the annoyingly sunny summer day outside and almost tripping over a stack of boxes. “And maybe freaking unpack.”
I hadn’t made much progress on settling in. Since introducing myself to Dayton, I’d been weirdly unsettled. Stinging from his lack of recognition, albeit understandable, I’d actually wondered if I shouldn’t look for houses someplace else. Not an option. Yet. I’d barely started implementing my plan.
Step one: pricking his memories.
Dodging through the cardboard maze, I headed toward the kitchen. I’d had groceries delivered earlier today, and supplies for cookies was in the order. Baking always soothed me—before as Melonie and now as Vale.
The Ghosts of Vengeance, Kale’s MC, sure loved my efforts, and his second in command, Micca, AKA Biter, had declared me the club’s official cookie queen. I wasn’t so sure that was a great title to have, but it had given me a place and a purpose the past few years. Kale, who was called Spear by his men, told me I didn’t need to do anything but live, but existing with no usefulness went against my grain. Besides that, I’d needed something to keep me from running directly to Day. So I taught. And I became the “Club Mom”. Which was also a ridiculous title, since at least two-thirds of the men were about my age or older.
The weight of secrets on my shoulders made me feel a million years older than them, however. Some days, I wondered if I hadn’t made a huge mistake by walking into this life. I’d had so much recovery, so much planning to do, in a completely foreign world.
Almost immediately after waking, I’d known I couldn’t run directly to Dayton. He was grieving, he wouldn’t believe me, and in fact, it might have made him look like a suspect in his wife’s the murder, if he was with me too soon. As time went on, I’d been consumed by worries and indecision. What if he didn’t believe me? How could I even tell him? Hell, I would never believe such a far-fetched story.
And here I was, still riddled with the same feelings.
I needed to get the heck out of my head. Propping up my tablet on the kitchen counter, I cued up YouTube and the playlist of my favorite creators then set to work with baking Dayton and Brennan’s favorite cookies, white chocolate cranberry.
I’d just finished whipping the butter when a knock sounded on my front door. Probably one of Kale’s guys. One or more of them had stopped by to “check on” me every day since I’d moved. They were family now. I couldn’t be annoyed.
“Just in time for…” My words trailed off. It wasn’t leather, boots and worn denim on my doorstep. It was a teenager who looked so much like his brother in high school that my heart about broke for all I’d obviously missed. Last time I’d seen him, he was twelve.
“Oh,” I whispered, the constriction in my throat disallowing a stronger sound. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he echoed, his brow furrowing as he stared at me. He swallowed hard and shook his head, and I wondered what thought he’d pushed away.
He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “I live across the street. I always mowed the Johnson’s lawn on Saturdays, and I wanted to offer my help…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowed on me. “Do I know you?”
Not in this form. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem familiar.”
Right. And Brennan had always seen things that his brother and parents had brushed away as imagination.
I shoved out my hand for a shake. “I’m Vale Corin.”
“Brennan Windsor,” he said as his large, warm fingers gripped mine and we shook.
“I’d really appreciate it if you did the yardwork here,” I told him, veering away from the familiarity. He might find out or “know” eventually, but Dayton had to learn the truth first. “I’m thinking of planting flowers in the front, too. Let me know if you want to help with that.”
He studied me.
Crap crap crap.
“Pansies?” he asked, his eyes just slightly unfocused as if he could see inside me. “Or daisies?”
