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He sucks in a breath. “Whatever the bitch has said, she’s fucking wrong, Kennedy. Don’t let that bitch get in your head.”
I smile. “I know. She tried saying she was staying in his house, and he was screwing her every day. I knew she was lying, Tech, but it still hurt. She’s wearing his cut.”
He sighs. “We brothers, we like to fuck up, don’t we?”
I chuckle and remind him, “Tats didn’t,” making him groan, and I laugh because we both know Tats and Violet were always end game. They came together by themselves, kept their relationship between them, and grew strong.
They’re end game, and something I wish I had with Lucas.
We spent the next ten minutes reviewing a plan for him to grab the footage. He gave me a break from his lecture about Lucas, before I hung up and headed to the school to pick up Noah. I promised to spend my last night with him, and I have movies and snacks waiting at Aunt Shelly’s.
The next day, I smile as the brothers follow me outside the club, waving me off as Smokey drives me to the airport, my heart in my throat.
A part of me knows I should speak to Lucas, but the part that was hurt wants to run, and that’s what I’m doing. There’s just too much pain between us, and taking the job in New York is probably for the best.
Even if it hurts, maybe he can move on with his life…. Bile rises at the thought, my heart cracking.
I know we could maybe get through the Prue drama. I understand why he did it, even if he should have told me his reasons, but I don’t know how we can get through my trauma and the loss of our….
Smokey clears his throat. “He’s not going to give up on you, darling.”
I shake my head. “He has an old lady, Smokey, and we both know how sacred they are to the club.”
He hums and says, “You’re reaching, and you know you are,” before he pulls over, making me furrow my brows.
I ask, “Smoke, what are you doing?”
He nods to his mirror and rasps, "He’s not giving up on you, even though you have given up on him, which I am extremely disappointed in you for.”
I flinch at his harsh words, knowing they are true. I turn to look behind us and see Lucas pulling up on his bike.
“He loves you, Kennedy, and I have to watch him tear himself apart every day. I know he hurt you, and I know why; he finally told us everything, and darling, if I had it my way, I would have tied you up by now. You shouldn’t be leaving, you should be fighting for him and bringing the bitch down.” I shake my head at his words. He whispers, “You love him, Ken. Everyone can see it, but you’re using his hurting you to protect you as an excuse. What are you really running from, sweetheart?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating that he’s seen through me. I climb out of the truck and I slowly walk toward Lucas as he grabs something from the truck bed.
“My dearest Pixie,” he rasps, holding a box full of envelopes. When I stop near the foot of the truck, and he continues, “All week you’ve ignored me, you didn’t give me the time of day, and I had to watch you from afar when all I wanted was to hold you. I felt like I was dying this week, baby, after finally feeling alive again. Now I have to watch you leave, knowing there’s a chance you could stay in New York.” He moves toward me and murmurs, “All I ask, though, is that you read the letters I wrote for you before you make up your mind. I love you, your Lucas.”
He gently places the box in my hands as tears slip from my eyes.
He cups my cheek, his thumb rubbing along my jaw. “If you stay in New York, Pixie, then I will be relocating. I’ve already told Snake, and I’m warning you now, baby, fucking end it with that guy. You’re mine and I’m yours.”
With that, he kisses my lips gently before going back to his bike. We make eye contact, nothing but pain shining through those eyes of his as he revs his bike. He spins around, heading back to the club, and I watch him go with my heart in my throat.
He’d leave the club for me….
I stand here for a few minutes, my body wanting to run after him, but I know I can’t. Sniffling, I walk to the truck, and climb in. Smokey raises a brow and asks, “What’s that?”
I swallow hard, ignoring his words, and pick up a random letter. I open it, reading out loud.
“My Dearest Pixie,
You’ve been gone for a month, a whole month, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself. I feel numb.
It doesn’t matter what I do to try to feel; nothing works. I wrecked my bike for the second time, and still nothing.
Please come back to me, Pixie, please.
