Page 26 of Misguided
She smiles, seeming as lost for anything else to say as I am. The sentiment was awkward as fuck, and it’s no wonder; I don’t say shit like that much. Especially not to a girl. And especially not to one I really am scared of screwing things up with a second time.
I picked my moment wrong the first time she shut me down, trying to make the most of the fact her old man had sent Sawyer away and then screwed things up by matching her with a guy she had no interest in whatsoever. I thought I could slide right into the dust cloud left by Crackers and remind her why it is we’re so perfectly matched, but instead, Mel shut me down and damn near cut all contact before she left.
I want to believe it’s because she was denying the truth to herself, but I also know it has a hell of a lot more to do with how sleazy that was of me to try and catch her on the rebound, as lame of a one as it was considering she never had feelings for Crackers.
Well, none she told me about.
I step away before I say something even more heartfelt and head for the back deck when King intercepts me near the pool table.
“Got a minute?”
Can a guy get a head start? It was inevitable, though. I had fair warning from Callum, and I knew if King had sent his second in command after me, then he must be getting frustrated.
“Sure.”
He gestures toward his office—or should I say his second home—and I lead the way. The click of the door as he follows me in is deafening to my guilty conscience, my ability to sit and act nonchalant scratched.
“Thought I’d grab you while we’re both here so I can get those next of kin details off you,” he says casually as he rounds his desk.
I watch Pres dig around on the surface for the blank form, and then swallow back the need to profess my innocence as he hands it over.
I’m not guilty of anything serious—lots of people pass themselves off as another person if they’re unhappy with who they are … don’t they? Fuck it.
“Only take you a minute.” King holds a pen out, the smirk on his face saying he knows he may as well be handing me a noose.
“What do you want me to say?” I mumble, tossing the sheet of paper on the front edge of his desk.
“The truth,” he counters, setting the pen down on the discarded form. “That’s all I ever expect from our members.”
The truth.
Fuck, even I don’t know how to make head or tails of it. The way I feel about who I am, and how that relates to who my father is, is complicated. I can’t deny the pride at what our name carries, but I also can’t ignore the anger I have at what he’s made it.
“The truth,” I murmur, rolling the concept around in my mind while he patiently watches. “The truth is, if I didn’t have this place as a second home, I think I’d be gettin’ around in an orange jumpsuit, awaitin’ my turn in the chair.”
“Everybody here has personal issues,” King says, “but you keepin’ them to yourself only puts us all in danger if something were to come knockin’ on our door looking for you.”
“Trust me,” I say with a bitter snort. “He won’t come here.” Rollan von Essen wouldn’t be seen dead around a place like this for fear of what it could be misconstrued as.
God forbid any of his precious cronies thought he was in fucking cahoots with a motorcycle club. The fact half of them know I’m in one is enough of an embarrassment for the asshole.
“Yeah, well that’s what everyone says right before it does,” King muses. He taps the form. “Just fill it out, Dog. It’s kept under lock.” He gestures to his filing cabinet. “Only me that needs to know.”
He’s right, yet it doesn’t stop me panicking at that slim chance somebody else finds out. I’m not ashamed of who I am, I just don’t want it swaying my brothers’ opinion of me. I’ve had that happen before, the whole “what are you even doing here” speech, and I’d like to avoid losing friends because of it again.
“You’ve got the only key, right?” I narrow my gaze on Pres.
He nods, patting the chain on his hip.
Fuck this shit. Why didn’t I think of this eventuality when I strutted in the door with some bright idea to reinvent myself ‘Total Recall’ style? I honestly thought that I could use this club to erase any memory of who I was, have them make me a new person.
Reality is, the heart of who you are never changes, and the fears that drove you to run from yourself continue to influence every decision you make.
I slump into the chair beside me and snatch up the pen and paper. Using my leg as a table, I fill out the form, feeling physically ill as the undeniable truths of who I really am are inked onto paper embellished with the Aces name.
I slide the completed questions across to King, setting the pen down on his desk also and wait.
He strokes his beard absently as he reads, his expression firm but otherwise not giving a thing away. “Why is your surname familiar? Other than it’s kind of unique …” he muses.