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There’s something going on with Pope.

It’s more than just him pulling away. He has something deep weighing on his mind, and he’s refusing to talk about it. It’s so reminiscent of the past that my heart whispers with insecurities. My head, surprisingly, says it has nothing to do with another woman.

There’s more darkness surrounding him than there was before he left on his last run.

When he got back two nights ago, he fucked me as if he was trying to crawl inside my soul and stay there.

I tried to talk to him about whatever was bothering him, but he shut me down with a gentle “I love you” before climbing out of bed and taking a shower.

Pope’s never been one to talk about things that are too deep. It’s just not in his nature. That has never bothered me before because I knew I had all the parts of him that mattered most to me.

It’s not like I don’t have things I don’t enjoy talking about.

There are a lot of demons he’s carried from his childhood. During his nightmares, I’ve picked up bits and pieces of what it was like. Just knowing those broken fragments keeps me from pushing him to talk about it.

How could I ever make someone I love face something like that?

I know what it’s like to have the kind of trauma that wants to keep you in a chokehold. Never letting you breathe, never letting you live.

I freeze, one of Pope’s clean shirts in my hand as my thoughts catch me off-guard.

Someone I love?

No.

Absolutely not.

There’s no way I’m being that stupid again, right?

I bring the shirt to my chest, as if it’ll slow the racing of my heart.

I can’t be in love with Pope again. He’s already pulling away. What if it’s only a matter of time before he breaks my heart? What if something else happens, and he finds himself unable to trust me?

Despite the unshakeable sense of impending doom, I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds. Then I exhale heavily, letting the panic go, and continue to fold clothes.

I refuse to let myself be drawn into what-if scenarios. It was only a matter of time before it happened with me being back home, anyway.

The pull between us is too strong.

Pope always called it fate, said we were born with two halves of one soul.

I used to believe him.

How do you survive without a part of your soul, though?

Isn’t that what we did for the last seven years?

Survive?

We were just two broken people inexplicably drawn together. Pope and I found love amongst the chipped pieces of our hearts. We were simply a mosaic of the fragments we stole from one another.

If I can live through the hell Frankie put me in, then I can take the risk to my heart by giving Pope my love again.

Staying with him also means letting the club back into my heart. I’d never consider asking Pope to leave this life. Pope is the Saint’s Outlaws. He always has been, and so have I.

They’ve not been so bad since we’ve been staying at the clubhouse.

They include the kids and me in as much as they can.

Two of the prospects, Devious and Kraken, put up some kind of tall gate at the top of the stairs for Friday night parties.

If one of them isn’t working the club bar for the party, then they’re guarding the stairs so no hangarounds come up and so the twins can’t sneak down.

Pope and I will spend it having game night with pizza and other junk food with the twins.

Other members of the club usually find their way to us on and off all night, wanting to be included in our family time.

As much as I’ve enjoyed being here and getting to know everyone again, I’m ready to go back to the house.

Dimples isn’t up in my face much since Pope barred Spunky from the club, but I feel her stare all the time.

Same with that other one Pope fucked. Cookie.

She snarls anytime she sees me. She doesn’t bother me.

It’s bullshit petty drama I don’t have time for.

Plus, not giving her the attention she wants is so much more fun.

Then there are the eyes.

I don’t know who they are or where they come from, but they’re there. Lurking, watching, waiting.

Pope should probably know, but what the hell will I tell him? That I feel someone watching me?

I brought moving back to the house up to Pope last night, and surprisingly, he agreed. He left this morning to make sure it was ready for us to come back home to.

“Hey, Pixie. Do you, uh, think we can talk?” Manic stands at Pope’s bedroom door, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Pixie.

I haven’t heard the nickname the club gave me since before I left.

“Sure. If you don’t mind doing it while I pack. I want to get it done while Bambi and Coco have the kids.”

“Have you heard from Valkyrie?”

“Yep. I talk to her every day.”

“So it’s just me then,” he says, more to himself than me.

“Does it surprise you?” I ask softly, placing the stack of Legend’s clothes in the duffel bag.

“Don’t fucking understand it,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets.

I glance at him and raise a brow. “Don’t you?”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “No.”

Clicking my tongue against my teeth, I shake my head. “And here I thought you were smarter than that, Manic.”

He sighs, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. “She’s shutting me out. Has been since she got back with you.”

“I mean, yeah. You broke her heart. What did you expect? Kyrie’s not like me. She’s worse. You won’t get forgiveness from her easily. She hasn’t confirmed it, but coming back and finding out you have a kid? There was something about it that broke her.”

“We weren’t together back then.”

“No, but you were both in love with each other. You were just too stupid to admit it to her and claim her in front of the club. My sister is very selfless, with one of the biggest hearts I know. When she loves, she does it hard. But if that love isn’t returned, if she thinks she doesn’t matter, if you do anything to make her question her place in your life, she doesn’t just cut you out.

To her, you’ll no longer exist. You know the shit we had to watch with our parents.

That left its mark on all three of us in different ways. ”

“How do I fix it? How the fuck do I get her to talk to me? To fucking look at me instead of through me?”

“Well, to start, you probably shouldn’t take her against her will.

” Then I sigh and take pity on him. “Look, Manic. Fixing it will be a long shot. But if you’re going to try anyway, the only thing I can tell you is to make sure you show her she matters.

Be someone steady she can lean on. Valkyrie deserves all the love in the world from someone not afraid to show it.

If you can’t do that, then leave her the hell alone. ”

Manic doesn’t get the chance to say anything else because Pope shows up. That’s fine by me because I have nothing else to say. He made his bed, even knowing the person Valkyrie was. He knew she wouldn’t forgive him for the part he played seven years ago.

As they say, you play stupid games, you’ll win stupid prizes.

I’ve always been the one to bring the fire when I’m mad. Valkyrie . . . she’s pure ice.

“Everything good?” Pope asks, his eyes bouncing between us.

“All good,” Manic says, knocking his knuckles against the wall softly before walking out.

Pope grabs the packed duffel bags and slings them over his shoulders. “What was that all about?”

I lift a brow. “Now you want to talk?”

“Don’t start your fucking shit,” he mutters, turning to walk out of the room.

Don’t start my shit?

Oh, he did not just say that to me.

My fists clench as my temper spikes. Adrenaline rushes through my body at the way he dismisses me.

No. Never . . . fucking . . . again.