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“Before I passed out,” she begins, her voice barely above a whisper, “Blake told me to ask you about slitting wrists.”
The words hang in the air like a death sentence.
My heart drops into my stomach, cold and heavy.
How the fuck does Blake know about that?
“Babe,” I manage to choke out, but my mind is already spinning, replaying memories I’d buried deep.
“What did he mean by that?” she asks, eyes wide and searching, pleading for something I can’t give her. “Bama, I keep thinking about it and I need to know.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair, the world narrowing down to just the two of us. “It’s really complicated, babe,”
“Complicated?” Her voice rises, anger and fear mixing in her tone. “I’m sure it will be a hell of a lot easier if you just explain yourself.”
I glance around the room, seeing familiar faces lost in their own worlds, unaware of the tense situation Jordyn and I are having.
I grab her hand, pulling her closer so our conversation stays private.
“Listen,” I say, keeping my voice low, “there are things you don’t know about. Things I’ve done to survive.”
“Okay, we all have,” she snaps, yanking her hand back. “What could be so bad?”
“Things I’m not proud of,” I admit, feeling the weight of those words settle on my shoulders. “But everything I did was warranted. I promise.”
“Really?” she repeats, incredulous. “How the hell am I supposed to believe that?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jordyn
Blake’s words still echo in my mind as I watch Bama, his ocean-blue eyes clouded with something dark and stormy.
The clubhouse buzzes around us—clinking glasses, rough laughter, the low hum of engines outside—but all I can focus on is him.
“Come on. Talk to me.” I plead, trying to catch his gaze.
He looks away, jaw tight, and runs a hand through his short, golden curls.
It’s like he’s trying to bury something deep, something he doesn’t want me to find out about.
My heart pounds against my ribs, a mix of fear and curiosity clawing at me.
“Come on, please,” I push, keeping my voice gentle but firm. “I need to know what he meant.”
Bama’s shoulders tense, and for a moment, I think he’s going to bolt. But then he takes a deep breath and meets my eyes.
There’s a flicker of vulnerability there that makes my chest ache.
He’s hiding something big, something that’s tearing him apart from the inside.
His voice is rough. “I don’t want you to look at me any differently.”
“There’s nothing that could ever cause me to do that.”
He swallows hard, and I see the muscles in his neck strain.
His hands tremble slightly as he grips the edge of the table, knuckles white.
