One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(102)

Tobias stole the one thing that made mine bearable. But in doing so, he finally discovered the value of something he practically forbade us all to take part in—love.

His rattled expression last night and panic-filled pleas to put Cecelia first were all too familiar because they mimicked the panic I felt when I was worried about his reaction—mostly of his reception and treatment of her. An ironic laugh escapes me, getting lost in the crowd, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Sean, who nudges me from where he stands beside me. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing you would find humor in,” I retort, taking another mind-numbing pull from my bottle before offering it to him. He shakes his head, full beer in hand, surveying the party.

“Let’s shut this bullshit down,” he says, “I’m not feeling this.”

“You should celebrate. You’re your own boss now,” I quip.

“I still can’t fucking believe it, any of it,” he sighs, eyeing the bottle I’m rapidly draining.

“I can.”

Sean’s head whips toward me as I stare back at him, unflinching, and his gaze hardens. “Don’t tell me you’re going to let this go. I can’t believe he went through with it.”

It occurred to me, as I drove away from Cecelia last night, the possible why Tobias would go to such lengths and mark her. I relayed as much to Sean this morning.

“You really think it’s Antoine?” He asks.

“Has to be. Antoine is the only one that can instill that kind of fear in him.” Swig. “Even if he’s not, the ink will protect her, but if that piece of shit ever discovers Tobias has a weakness—and Tobias doesn’t heel when commanded—she’ll be his first target,” I relay grimly.

A long minute passes, and I know that Sean’s doing his best to accept it and make peace with what he can before he speaks up. “I don’t think I can forgive him, Dom.”

Scrutinizing me, he takes a long drag of his smoke.

“Then don’t,” I tell him. “But if we’re being one hundred, he was right about a lot of what he said. We could have and should have done so much shit differently.”

“We did it to protect him,” he points out.

“That’s fair, but he’s no more guilty than we are.”

“Fuck no,” he refutes, “he purposely—”

“What?” I interject. “What exactly did he do that was so different? Fall in love with a woman he wasn’t supposed to fall for, put his life and our club in jeopardy, lie to his brothers about it, and do what he could to keep her by deceiving her?” I look over to him, “sound fucking familiar?”

“It’s different,” he snaps.

“It’s not,” I swallow, “It’s not different.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking up for him. He knew we loved her.”

“That might be the only thing you can justifiably hate him for, but you fucking know a lot of what he called us out for was true.”

“Reason away all you fucking want, but I’m not feeling any of them,” he states in blunt delivery.

A loud clatter erupts, and we look over to see Jeremy flailing as Russell pummels him playfully. Sean manages to crack a smile as I pin him with my next question.

“You were serious, weren’t you, when you said you wanted to marry her?” His eyes dart to me, and I can see the answer without him voicing it.

“I just wanted to love her.” I hear the crack in his voice, even over the noise surrounding us. “I just wanted it to be okay to fucking love her without the guilt.”

“You’re justified now,” I tilt the bottle toward him, “but I can’t fight with you about him. I’m exhausted, Sean.” My vision blurs briefly, and I shake my head to clear it.

He cups the back of his neck and nods.

“It’s your choice,” I relay in whatever tone I manage to muster. “It’s your choice to honor your ink or to walk away. I’m with whatever decision you make.”

A long silence follows as he turns back to me. “Can you forgive him?”

“Not tonight,” I answer, polishing off the bottle before lighting up my blunt.

“Jesus, you’re on a mission, huh?” He remarks, eyeing the bottle dubiously.

I shrug. “I’ve recently found myself in the position of having absolutely no fucks to give.”

He lights up again and exhales a plume of smoke, scanning the garage. “You think . . . think he was right?” he asks, “you think we’re a bunch of fucking idiots parading around—”

“Like soldiers? Taking Halloween dress up too far?” I finish, and he nods.

“All the time,” I shrug. “But I always come back to the same conclusion.”

“What’s that?” He asks, tone contemplative, and I know why.

“Why not us?”

He nods in understanding as we both ponder clipping our wings for the first time. As if sensing our collective predicament, Tyler catches my eyes where he stands feet away. I lift my chin to him, knowing he’s here in silent support, knowing he’d rather be somewhere else. Tyler had scraped us from the floor of the bay yesterday after Tobias left and whisked us to Delphine’s. We were so fucked up after the day’s events that we’d forgotten we were temporarily homeless.