Page 14 of Xander (Soulless Outlaws Motorcycle Club #2)

Xander

I was being a fucking idiot.

That was the only thought I had five days later.

Jackknifing out of bed, I decided I wasn’t going to another minute without Nola knowing how I really feel.

And after I laid all my shit down at her feet, it would be up to her if she walked all over my shit and never talked to me again.

But I had to take that chance.

Because the stars in the sky were dimmer.

The blood that pumped through my body seemed to slow.

And those demons that haunted me in the night were exhausting.

And... all it took was having a dream of her and me in a few years with our own kids, kids I would never treat like my mom had treated me, for me to get the bigger picture.

They say that a man who is afraid to be vulnerable for the woman he loves doesn’t deserve her.

I really don’t deserve her.

But she was right.

It was her decision.

Her choice.

I just hoped like fuck that if I got her back, I would never made her regret her decision to choose me.

I got dressed and then raced out of my room and down the stairs.

“Where are you going, Xander?” I heard Merlin call out.

“Nola’s,” I said as I barreled through the main level of the clubhouse.

“She’s not there.” I heard him say.

I stopped and then twisted my neck, narrowing my eyes at Merlin, “What do you mean she’s not there? It's nine forty-five at night. She's always home by seven at the latest if she’s not here.”

He shrugged, “She moved. She got the job of her dreams.”

I felt something in my heart crack open, “When did she leave?”

He shrugged again, “Four days ago.”

At those three words, I staggered back.

Four days ago.

Four fucking days ago.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I thundered.

He locked his eyes with mine, “You made your decision, Xander. You told her that y’all had nothing but friends with good times. She deserves better.”

I growled, “Where did she go?”

He shook his head, “Let her go, Xander. Find yourself another willing body and forget about her.”

I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that.

These past couple of weeks have been eye-opening for me.

And that was when I buckled down... and I planned.

I might not have known how to give someone a hug.

I might not know anything about how a relationship works.

But I know her.

I know myself.

And together, we could make the stars wince from the shine we were about to create.

I just had to put in the work.

And I wasn’t afraid of work.

I had the evidence on my body.

The tattoos.

The scars.

The fucking scars.

Scars that Nola had caressed with her tongue, teased the raised skin, and kissed.

I was a fucking idiot.

No fucking more.