Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(69)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“I think I saw everything pretty clearly.” Her face had closed off and she wouldn’t look at me.

“No, I think you saw something so far out of fucking context you couldn’t possibly understand it,” I argued. “Just tell me this—before the fight, were you having a good time?”

She glanced away, then nodded.

“You know I was.”

“Don’t judge what you don’t understand. That’s between them, and believe me—it’s complicated and it’s nobody’s business but theirs. Not yours, not mine, not the club’s.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that he just hauled her out of there? It’s kidnapping!”

Becca turned on me, eyes full of fire again. Excellent—I could handle her anger. That creepy, silent indifference was a thousand times worse.

“Picnic Hayes is practically that girl’s stepdad.”

She froze. Fuck. Stepdads weren’t the good guys in her world.

“Make that her foster dad,” I explained. “More like you and Earl. Shit. He’s married to the woman who helped raise her. London. Look, this is all coming out wrong. Just believe me when I say he wouldn’t let her get hurt. He’s just tired of getting caught in the middle because they’re determined to fight with each other. They have shit they need to work out—a lot of shit. Maybe now they’ll do it. That’s what was really happening last night. Painter would die before he hurt her.”

“He sure as hell hurt the guy she was with. What was that all about?”

“Like I said—complicated,” I said, rubbing a hand through my hair. “Let’s go inside.”

“No,” Becca said, but she didn’t sound angry anymore. Just tired. “I need some time to think. This has all happened way too fast.”

Bullshit. So what if we’d gotten together fast—we had five years of history between us, the kind of history that accelerated things.

“Are you blowing me off?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, kind of. Just for tonight. I need a break, Puck. Think how much my life has changed this past week. I want some time alone.”

More bullshit. I wanted to grab her like Painter had grabbed Mel, throw her over my shoulder and teach her who she belonged to. Me. Now and forever. But Becca wasn’t Mel, and she needed space. I could do that for a night. One night. Then I’d set her straight.

“I probably won’t see you again until you get off shift tomorrow night,” I said, thinking of our raid on the Vegas Belles. “Got shit going on all day.”

Her face twisted, and for an instant I thought she might cry. Then she shook her head again, even as she leaned into me, wrapping her arms around my body.

“I’m just really tired,” she said. “I want to sleep by myself. Why don’t we meet for dinner on Friday, talk things through then. Or maybe—if you aren’t busy tomorrow night—you could stop by the Moose?”

I hugged her, kissing the top of her head.

“Go to bed,” I said, hating the words. “If I can’t make the Moose, we’ll talk on Friday.”

There was another problem. At some point we’d need to figure out a better schedule. Between work and school, she hardly had anything left for me. Maybe she’d let me help her out a little? Becca nodded, then turned and dug a key out of her pocket. I’d have to get her a better lock, I decided. This piece of shit was way too easy to pick.

“Night,” she said quietly. Then she stepped inside and closed the door.

God damn it.

Painter needed his ass kicked. Maybe I’d have time tomorrow after the raid, because this was fucking bullshit.

BECCA

Strangely enough, I actually slept really well that night.

I couldn’t chalk it up to peace of mind or feeling like I’d figured things out. Not at all. But the combination of alcohol, sex, and an adrenaline crash were enough to knock me out, which was a very good thing.

The next morning I woke up early enough to take a shower and sew for a while before heading out to school. Sewing had always been my therapy—now it calmed me down. Unfortunately it was way too early to talk to Danielle about the Puck situation. She’d still be asleep.

As for Puck, he was probably gone already. Would he come back safe from whatever the club was doing today? It was a valid question, which said something scary about our relationship. Suppose we stayed together, turned into a couple like Boonie and Darcy. Did I really want to know the details of his life?

How could I be with someone if I couldn’t face the reality of who he was?

I wrestled with all of these thoughts while carefully guiding a strip of bright red silk through the Singer. The tension was off, and I couldn’t quite find the sweet spot. The machine kept crumpling and twisting the delicate fabric.

Fucking metaphor for my life.

Ten minutes later I nailed it, right as the phone rang. I stopped the machine and stretched my neck as I walked over to answer it. That was the only thing I didn’t like about sewing—sometimes I got so caught up in what I was doing that I forgot to move.

I answered the phone and my world cracked wide open.

“Becca?”

Teeny. I hadn’t heard his voice in years, but just that one word—my name—threw me right back. My back hunched and I melted into myself. God, but I hated this man. Wait. No. I refused to let him do this to me. Never again.

“What the hell do you want?” Nice. I’d never had the nerve to talk to him like that before. I gave myself a mental shoulder pat.

“I have some bad news, honey,” he replied, his tone touched with what I suspected was supposed to be sorrow. It sounded smug, though. Smug and self-satisfied. I could almost see the expression to match the voice on his pointy, ferretlike face. “It’s about your mother.”

“What about her?” I asked, stiffening.

“She left me,” he said, his tone hardening. “And then she had an accident. Two nights ago. Drove right off the side of a cliff. She’d been drinking of course, and now she’s gone. It’s very sad.”

His words hit me like physical blows. No, knives. Knives slicing through my stomach, sending my intestines falling to the kitchen floor in a quivering, bleeding heap.

“You’re lying.”

“No, honey, I’m not lying. She’s been getting wilder, more irrational. Telling crazy stories, can you imagine? I tried to stop her but she just wouldn’t listen. You know how she is when she’s drunk. When the cops showed up at the house I didn’t believe them at first, either. I had to go identify her body yesterday morning. It’s definitely her.”