Page 20 of Gator (Bourbon Kings MC #1)

On the back terrace, I stood, the humid air heavy with the scent of cypress and damp earth.

My gaze drifted across the still bayou, reflecting the bruised purple of the twilight sky.

Cypress trees, their moss-draped branches sighing softly, swayed in the gentle breeze, a rustling whisper against the deepening quiet.

It was peaceful here. Quiet.

The bayou had a way of holding secrets, its murky waters and tangled roots keeping truths tucked away from the prying eyes of the world.

As I stared out into its expanse, my thoughts circled back to Wade like moths to flame—drawn to the man who had bared himself so completely, yet still cloaked in mystery.

His words echoed in my mind, vibrating with a sincerity that both comforted and unsettled me.

I traced a finger along the wooden railing, its surface worn smooth by years of weather and hands seeking solace.

This place, so far removed from the chaos of decisions and consequences, felt like a sanctuary.

But peace was a fleeting thing. Slipping through my fingers each time Wade’s face surfaced in my mind.

For all his darkness, there was a light in him, faint but unyielding. A man fractured by his past, yet somehow whole in his convictions. He had asked me to see him, all of him—even the corners that frightened me. And despite the storm inside me, I couldn’t deny the pull to do just that.

A soft rustle drew my attention to the trees lining the bayou’s edge.

The evening seemed alive, the air humming with the unseen movements of creatures hidden by shadow.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over me, grounding me.

When I opened them again, the twilight had deepened, and the first stars began their timid dance across the sky.

Time.

I asked for time.

How much time did I need to untangle this knot of fear and hope? How long would it take me to weigh the risks against the possibility of something raw and true? I didn’t have an answer, but as the night enveloped me, I knew one thing — I had to be honest with myself, just as Wade had been with me.

Whatever path I chose, it had to start there.

“My son loves you very much, Devlyn,” Marabella said, stepping up beside me. “I know this isn’t easy for you. It wasn’t for me when I learned the truth either. I wanted to take a switch to that boy’s hide, but when I really thought about it, I knew he was doing the right thing.”

“How can you say that, Marabella?”

Holding up her hand to stop me, she continued, “I’m not saying I agree with everything my son does, but I do agree with helping people.”

“It’s more than that and you know it.”

“Devlyn, look at me.”

Turning, I faced the woman.

“Do you love my son?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed, turning away from her.

“I thought I did. Everything was going great. Yeah, I was moody, throwing up and eating everything in sight, but we were finally getting along. I started to think that maybe I could have a life here with Wade, that New Orleans would be a fun place to raise the babies. But now, I don’t know.

Now, every time he leaves, I’ll wonder, worry if he’s coming home.

I won’t live like that, Marabella. I can’t. ”

Marabella’s expression softened as she laid a hand on my shoulder. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Devlyn. Sometimes love isn’t about certainty; it’s about bravery. It’s about knowing the risks and still choosing to care.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. I wanted to argue, to point out the cracks in her reasoning, but deep down, I knew she was right.

Love was never meant to be easy or safe.

It was a gamble, every step of the way.

“I need time,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. “I need time to figure out if I can take that leap.”

Marabella nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Take all the time you need but remember this: love waits for no one. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we’re afraid.”

The truth of that statement settled into my chest like a stone. As she turned and walked away, her words echoed in my mind, leaving me to wrestle with what they meant for my future, for Wade, and for the fragile hope I carried within me.

“Devlyn, you have a beau calling!” Marabella shouted up the stairs a few days later. Smiling, I jumped off the bed, and ran out of the bedroom, then raced down the stairs to find Juju leaning against the wall near the front door, waiting for me.

“Oh,” I grumbled, my smile fading. “It’s you.”

Out of all the brothers, Juju was the one I really couldn’t get a read on.

There was something mysterious about him, almost as if he kept the real him hidden deep beneath layers of confusion.

Juju wasn’t like any man I’d ever met before.

There was a quiet strength to him, almost as if he were comfortable in his own skin.

Yet, he was funny, relaxed, like he didn’t have a worry in the world. The man was an enigma.

He grinned. “Not who you were expecting, Chèr ?”

“Wade calls me that,” I muttered, looking around the large antebellum home. “Why are you here, Juju?”

“Thought you’d like to see where Wade grew up.”

“I’ve seen it. Every inch of this place. It’s massive.”

Juju shook his head. “ Non, Chèr. Wade didn’t grow up here.”

“Wade said he was born here.”

“ Oui , he was, but this ain’t where he laid his head most nights,” Juju said, pushing off the wall. “Feel up for some adventurin’?”

“Where to?”

“Down memory lane,” Juju said cryptically, holding out his hand for me to take.

Looking at the man I barely knew, something in my gut told me this was a pivotal moment in my life. I couldn’t explain it any more than I could explain Juju, but I knew him being here, in this moment, was important.

Nodding, I placed my hand in his.

Of course, when I agreed to go on this adventure, I didn’t expect him to take me in a rickety, flat-bed dinghy that looked ready to fall apart.

“Is that even safe?” I asked, pointing to the thing.

“It’s Wade’s pirogue. He uses it all the time.”

“Great,” I snarked. “But that’s not what I asked. Is it safe?”

Juju smirked. “Scared of a little danger, Chèr ?”

Refusing to take the bait, I carefully stepped aboard.

The flat-bottom boat’s aged wood groaned in protest as Juju steered it deftly down a meandering bayou, framed by tangled cypress trees dripping with Spanish moss.

The air was thick with humidity and the faint scent of wild jasmine, mingling with the earthy undertones of the swamp.

Juju’s cryptic silence left me uneasy, but the way he navigated the water as though it were an old friend reassured me somewhat.

“Thought you might appreciate the views,” Juju said, his accent lilting like the lazy current beneath us. “This ain’t just a trip to nowhere.”

I watched the water ripple, reflecting the pale light of the setting sun. “You sure about that? ’Cause it feels like it.”

Juju chuckled softly, his laugh blending with the distant trill of a heron’s call. “ Chèr , sometimes the past hides itself where we least expect it. Trust me, you ain’t seen where Wade’s story truly began.”

As we rounded a bend, an old, weatherworn pier emerged from the shadows, leading to a crumbling shack half-swallowed by vines. Juju docked the pirogue with practiced ease, gesturing toward the dilapidated structure.

“Here?” I asked incredulously. “This is where he grew up?”

Juju nodded solemnly. “This is where his roots run deep.”

I stepped out hesitantly, the boards creaking underfoot.

Something about the place felt alive, as though it had been waiting for us to arrive.

Juju stood back, letting me take the lead as I moved closer to the shack, my heartbeat quickening with each step.

Whatever lay inside, I knew this was the start of something bigger—an unraveling of truths I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

Inside the shack, the air was thick with the scent of age—wood, damp earth, and faint traces of smoke, as though the place had once been alive with stories and gatherings.

The walls, mottled with water stains, seemed to whisper memories, their cracks tracing lines that could have been the veins of an ancient tree.

A single chair sat in the middle of the room, its wicker seat frayed and sagging.

Juju lingered at the entrance, his gaze steady but distant, as though he was already lost in the echoes of Wade’s history. “Every mark in this room tells a tale,” he murmured, his voice soft yet heavy. “Some louder than others.”

I crouched beside a wooden trunk, its hinges rusted and its lid slightly ajar. “You think Wade left this here?”

Juju shrugged. “It don’ matter who left it. What matters is what’s inside.”

My fingers hesitated before lifting the lid.

Dust and fragments of time spilled out to reveal a faded photograph, its edges curling away from the past it depicted.

A single picture of a man and a young boy.

Happy and smiling as he looked up at the man who stood proudly beside him.

I knew the young boy was Wade. I’d know that cheesy grin anywhere, but my eyes lingered on the man beside Wade.

My God, he was handsome.

Looking at the man who fathered Wade, I felt a rush of anger wash over me because I was denied the chance to meet him. Turning the picture over in my hand, I gasped as I read the names on the back.

Sean and Elliot.

Glancing at Juju, I whispered, “I don’t understand. I thought this was Wade?”

“I knew Wade wouldn’t be able to tell you the whole truth.

It’s too painful for him. He’s never gotten over it.

The past is a dark cloud over him and sometimes the weight of it drowns him, but you needed to know.

Eustis Coltraine didn’t just kill Wade’s dad that night; he also killed Wade’s twin brother. ”

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, the weight of Juju’s revelation crashing down with a deafening silence.

My hands trembled as I clutched the photograph, trying to reconcile the innocent smiles with the tragedy I now knew.

Sean and Elliot. Two names bound forever by love and loss, their lives severed by a night so cruel it left Wade and his family broken beyond repair.

Juju stepped further into the shack, his footsteps soft against the warped wooden floor.

“Wade ain’t ever been the same since then,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with sorrow.

“Eustis didn’t just take lives that night; he took futures, identities.

Wade’s been carryin’ the weight of both his own grief and the one Elliot didn’t get to live out. ”

I stared at the photograph again, searching for answers that might never come. “Why didn’t Wade tell me?” I whispered, my voice cracking under the heaviness of it all.

Juju sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as though trying to ease a burden of his own. “Sometimes, we bury the truth so deep it feels like it’s safer there. Wade’s been tryin’ to protect you from it, but there’s only so much a man can hide before the past claws its way back to the surface.”

Suddenly, the air in the shack felt colder, the scent of damp earth more suffocating. I placed the photograph gently back into the trunk, as if its fragile edges carried the weight of generations.

“How do I help him, Juju?” I asked, my voice small but determined.

Juju’s eyes softened as he looked at me, his steady gaze holding a glimmer of hope. “Truth don’ heal overnight. It’s messy, painful. But it’s the only way through. Come. You’ve got more to see.”