Page 22

MYRA

“He’s not over there. Doesn’t look like he even went in that place.

” Christian looks more pissed off than I’ve ever seen him as he strides into the kitchen of his home with Simon and Tate at his side.

He goes straight to where Lydia sits beside me on one of the stools along the island and pulls her close, like he needs reassurance she’s safe.

I sort of thought Simon’s reaction to Butch being in my house was a little over the top. Based on Christian’s scowl and Tate’s clenched jaw, maybe it wasn’t.

And Lydia seems as confused by that as I am.

She peers up at her husband, pale brows pinched together, as his hand spreads across her expanded belly. “Did something happen? I don’t get why you guys are so upset about Butch being here.”

A series of shifty looks move between the three men, confirming my sister’s voiced suspicion. Something has most certainly happened.

My eyes go to Simon as I sit a little straighter in my seat. “What?” I ask him directly. “What did he do?”

“You mean besides breaking into your house in the middle of the night?” Simon’s nostrils flare as he tips his head in a barely perceptible nod. “Yeah. He did something.”

“We think he did something,” Christian elaborates, his tone carrying a hint of warning. Like even though he’s pissed at Butch, he still doesn’t want anyone saying something bad about him.

And that’s going to make it hard for me to get the full story out of Simon with Christian around.

“We should go.” I tip back the last of the coffee Lydia made me when Simon and I first showed up here after Christian called way too early, waking us up.

I was sleeping real freaking great too.

Simon deftly takes the empty coffee cup from my hand, rinsing it in the sink before racking it into the dishwasher. Once he’s cleaned up my mess, he tips his head to the back door. “After you.”

I don’t look at my sister as I walk across the kitchen. I can feel her eyes on me, and I know she’s wondering what in the hell just happened. Why Simon took care of me the way he did.

And I’m not quite ready to fess up to anything just yet. I haven’t wrapped my own head around what it is and what it might be. The last thing I want is my sister grilling me about it and demanding answers I can’t give her.

I pull the door open and step out, flashing a quick smile at the group still inside before waving and descending the steps. Simon follows behind me, waiting until we’re out of sight before resting one palm on my back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I just knew Christian wasn’t going to tell the whole truth with my sister there, and it was annoying me.” I sigh. “I get it. Lydia’s ten years pregnant and he doesn’t want to stress her out. But I’m not, and I want to know what the fuck’s going on.”

Simon’s lips twitch. “Shocker.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Smart-ass.”

Simon chuckles, the hand at my back wrapping around my waist as we cross the uneven terrain of Piper and Tate’s backyard.

“It’s not a bad thing.” His finger’s flex against my hip.

“You spent a long time being in the dark about what was going on in your own life. It’s not surprising you’d want to know everything happening now. ”

I gaze up at Simon, trusting him to guide me home safely. I knew he’d tell me what was going on, but I didn’t expect him to understand my reasons for wanting to know quite so well. “I’m not trying to be difficult.”

Simon’s head snaps my way, his brows low. “Nothing about you is difficult, Myra.” His hold on me tightens. “Wanting to be informed about things that affect your life is perfectly fucking normal.”

His fierce defense of my motives has a smile sliding onto my face. “I’m not sure I’d call myself perfectly normal.”

Normal was never an option for me, and I used to hate it. When I came to Memphis, normal was all I wanted. But as time went on, I fell shorter and shorter of normalcy. It made me feel like I was failing. Like once again I was in a place I didn’t belong.

Like I was never going to fit in anywhere in this world.

I’m not sweet and kind and warm like Lydia. I’m not friendly and outgoing like Felicity. I’m not even mouthy and full of fire like Piper.

I’m standoffish. I’m untrusting. I’m skittish and dry. Not most people’s idea of a great time.

“Normal’s relative.” Simon steps behind me, his free hand bracketing the other side of my hips as he keeps me moving, directing me up the stairs leading to my house. “So is perfect.”

I scale the steps, mentally chewing on his words.

He makes it sound so easy to come to terms with the reality I’ve been trying to change. The state of being I thought was eluding me.

It’s been holding me back. Keeping me from chasing down all the things I want—finishing my house. Singing.

Becoming a mom.

But if he’s right, and perfectly normal isn’t the goal, then what’s stopping me from reaching out and grabbing all those things?

Not much.

Technically, I’ve already started. Thanks to Simon, my house is further along than it would have been if it had been left to me to make additional progress on it.

Since my vibrator got boring, I was forced to tackle singing.

I’ve even scaled the wall blocking me from seeking out the physical connection I’ve been craving.

That only leaves me with one goal left. Probably the most important one of all.

I don’t dig into it too much though, because as soon as we step in my house, Simon starts explaining what he couldn’t with Lydia around.

“Back when Christian, Tate, and I were younger, we did some really bad shit.” He bluntly lays out the truth without trying to hide from it.

“All of us did. Cody. Levi. Shawn. Damien and Niko and Evan. Everyone was a part of what we were into.” He goes to the fridge and starts pulling out items, lining them down the counter.

“For the most part, we’ve stopped. There’ve been a few hiccups here and there, but all in all, we’re staying on the right side of the law. ”

“Hiccups?” I step to the island, resting my hands on the counter as I watch his movements, managing to follow the conversation even though my brain is somewhere else. “What kind of hiccups?”

“Christian killed someone we used to deal with because the guy threatened Lydia.” Simon’s eyes lift to me. “Our extractions occasionally require more force than yours did, so sometimes we still dabble in assault and breaking and entering.”

“I figured out the breaking and entering part when Butch came into my house last night.” I tap one finger against the counter, taking in the competent way Simon puts together our breakfast. “What does all that have to do with why everyone is pissed at Butch?”

After cracking a few eggs into a bowl, Simon begins whipping them up.

“Butch was the last one to join our ranks. By then, we were pretty much at our worst, and he jumped in with both feet. Took off running like he’d been doing that kind of shit forever.

” Simon frowns down at the eggs. “But when we stopped, everyone assumed he would stop too.”

“But he didn’t stop.” It’s a statement, not a question. Because since he broke into my house last night, Butch obviously didn’t stop.

“That’s part of what we’re pissed about.

” Simon pours the eggs into a nonstick pan.

“No one knows what the fuck Butch has been doing. When we got on the straight and narrow, he became a ghost. We don’t know where he lives.

What he’s doing. Who he’s associating with. It’s like he was fucking done with us.”

I tip my head, a little confused. “But I’ve met Butch, so he was still around sometimes.” Not a lot, granted, but he didn’t go totally AWOL.

“He would show up every now and then, but never for long, and then he would disappear.” Simon pivots from the stove to drop a few pieces of bread into the toaster. “We asked around, trying to figure out if he was okay, but nobody seemed to know shit about him.”

I circle the island, collecting the jar of strawberry jelly and butter Simon stocked in my fridge. “You mean no one else knew where he was either?”

Simon shakes his head. “No. I mean no one had ever fucking heard of him.” There’s a sharp edge to his tone. Like Butch’s unknownness is the smoking gun of guilt.

But I’m not so sure.

“Nobody knows who I am.” I twist the lid off the jelly. “I was completely unknown by anyone outside of my immediate family for my whole life.”

“That’s different. People should have known who Butch was.” Simon stirs the eggs. “Just one person would have been enough, but the only way people had heard of him was his affiliation with us. It was like his existence stopped outside of our circle.”

I pinch my lower lip between my teeth, nibbling on it as I pull the toasted bread free and slather on a layer of butter. “So what do you think that means?”

I’ve learned a lot in the past year, but there’s still so much I don’t know or understand about this world. I’m clearly missing the knowledge required to understand why Christian, Simon, and everyone else in their family would be upset over what’s going on with Butch.

Well… outside of him breaking into my house, anyway. I understand why everyone’s upset about that. He didn’t break anything though, and he didn’t intend me any harm when he entered my property, so I’m somewhat indifferent about the whole breaking and entering thing.

I would like to know if it was him watching from the treeline when Simon and I?—

Stabbing a knife into the jiggly jelly, I scoop out a healthy dose, trying to calm the heat racing through my veins at the memory—memor ies —of what Simon and I have done. I’m so busy redirecting my brain, it startles me when he starts talking again, and I nearly fumble everything I’m holding.

“For a while, we thought he’d changed sides.” Simon shrugs, but the emotion—the betrayal—in his voice contrasts the gesture. “That he was happy living the way we had been and wanted to continue, so he found a new group to join.”

I turn to Simon, balancing a slice of toast on my palm as I smooth around the thick layer of processed strawberry spread I’ve added. “By group , do you mean gang?” A whole lot of information clicks together and has my brows climbing up my forehead. “ Were you and your brothers a gang ?”

His eyes drift off to one side as he considers the question. “I’m sure some people would probably say yes.”

That’s cool, but I’m not super interested in some people. I’m interested in him. “What would you say?”

“I would say, probably.” His eyes come my way. “I’ve never claimed to be an upstanding citizen, My. I’ve done a lot of bad shit in my life.”

I don’t like the way he’s talking about himself. “But you’ve done a lot of good shit, too.”

He saved me, and countless other women. Pulled us from places where we were in danger. Being abused and manipulated. Often by men who did claim to be upstanding citizens.

“I’ve done some good shit.” Simon lifts the pan off the burner and slides half the eggs onto each of the plates he laid out. “But nowhere near enough to undo all the bad I’ve put into the universe.”

I try to imagine the man taking such good care of me doing bad things.

I can’t.

“Bad is relative.” I turn the words he offered me earlier back his way.

“So is good.” I slide the pieces of toast I topped onto the plates.

“I know a lot of men who think they’ve done nothing but good in their life.

” I meet Simon’s gaze. “And I’m willing to bet they’ve done more bad than you and your brothers could ever dream of. ”

I’ve always known good and bad weren’t black and white. That the people who are the loudest about their goodness are often the worst. The craziest part is they don’t see it. They’re so blinded by judgment and righteousness, the only view they have is of their own pious perfection.

Simon’s dark gaze moves over me. “I think you greatly underestimate the things I’ve done.”

Maybe I do. Maybe the sheltered life I’ve lived has made it difficult for me to really grasp what he’s trying to tell me.

But I don’t think so. I don’t need a list of his indiscretions to know Simon’s wrong.

He’s not bad. Probably never was.

I know he likely came from the same fucked-up sort of childhood as everyone else on this block. For most of them—possibly all—survival was their only goal, and they’d attain it by any means necessary.

I would have too.

The night Lydia brought Simon, Christian, and Tate to save me, I was prepared to end a life.

I was going to do whatever it took to survive.

If that meant taking out my ex-husband or father, that’s what I would have done.

At least tried to do. I might not have been successful, but I was going to give it one hell of a go.

So, while I might not get the full scope of Simon’s past, I do understand it better than he thinks I do.

And that’s why I step in close, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding tight. Offering reassurance. Acceptance.

Simon stiffens for just a second—probably from surprise—then his arms come around me, warm and strong and solid. I turn my head, resting my ear against his chest as I close my eyes.

He’s such a good man, and he doesn’t even know it. He’s kind and caring and warm and giving. He talks about how he feels and listens when I do the same.

I wish I knew the name of the woman who hurt him. She was an idiot to give him up. He would have been so good to her. He loved her son deeply. Probably still does. The pain on his face was clear when he spoke about the little boy. The longing. The regret. He would have been such a good dad.

My eyes open.

Simon would be an amazing dad . The kind who would always put his kids first. The kind who would work hard to give them a good life, both in material aspects and emotional ones.

The kind I want my own children to have.

I thought having a baby was out of reach for me, but maybe it’s not. Maybe Simon would be interested in an arrangement that could benefit both of us.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see Simon’s lonely. The longing in his eyes when he watches his brothers with their kids is obvious. He thinks no one notices how he tracks Christian’s movements when he spreads his hand over Lydia’s belly.

But I do. And I could give him what he’s wanting. What he thought he lost.

I can put what he thinks is out of reach close enough he can grab it with both hands.