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Her eyes soften immediately, regret seeping in.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, shutting her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that last part. I just hate when things happen without me knowing. Makes me feel like . . . like I don’t matter.”
“Jordyn, listen,” I start, leaning forward. “When it comes to club business, I have to tell Zane and Blackjack. I know you understand that more than anyone. If Blake wasn’t mixed up in this, I wouldn’t have said jack shit.”
She nods slowly, understanding dawning behind the storm in her eyes. “Yeah, I get it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just . . . frustrated.”
“Jordyn,” I say, reaching out for her hand, “I know you are, but you more than anyone should understand why I did what I did.”
I’m not trying to use this as an excuse, but I want her to know there wasn’t any malice or ill intent in my decision.
“Yeah, you’re right.” she mutters, swallowing hard.
Then she stands and walks away, leaving me at the table.
I don’t know if I should follow her or give her space.
“Everything all right, Bama?” Rosa’s voice cuts through my dilemma.
She stands beside me, concern etched on her face.
“I think so,” I reply, running a hand through my hair. “Just gonna give her some time to cool off.”
Hours pass, and I can’t help but feel like I need to track her down and talk to her.
I hop on a four-wheeler, heading toward the lake by Blackjack and Ashley’s house.
The sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the water. It’s so picturesque it looks like it should be on a post card.
There she is, sitting by the shore, feet dipped in the cool water.
I kill the engine and walk over, the crunch of gravel under my boots the only sound.
“Hey,” I say softly, sliding down next to her.
“Jordyn,” I murmur, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple. Her skin is warm, soft, and for a second, everything feels right again.
She finally turns to look at me, those caramel-highlighted strands of hair framing her face.
There’s hurt in her eyes, but also something else. Something softer.
“I needed some air,” she says quietly. “Needed to think about stuff.”
“Yeah, I get that.” My voice is low, matching the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t tying to be an asshole earlier.”
“Me too,” she whispers, leaning into my touch, and I feel some of the weight lift off my chest.
“Look, babe,” I start, my voice rough with emotion, “I didn’t mean for things to go down like this. When it comes to club business, I have to tell Zane and Blackjack. If Blake wasn’t directly in the middle of some club shit, I wouldn’t have told them shit, and I mean that.”
She nods, her eyes softening a bit. “I know, Bama. Trust me, I do. It’s just . . . I hate when things are done without me knowing, or in a way that reflects badly on me.”
I shake my head, “This doesn’t reflect badly on you, babe, trust me.”
She swallows hard, her eyes flickering away from mine. A moment of silence, then she adds, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have brought up your parents. That was a really low blow, and I’m not proud of it.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I tell her, squeezing her shoulder. “We both said some shit. Let’s just forget about it, and move on, okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” she murmurs, but there’s still something in her eyes, something unresolved.
