“How long have you known Dickhead?” I question in between drinks.

She lets out a long sigh. “For a little over six months. Not too long.” She empties her beer and hands it to me. “He came into the salon one day and was really charming; not so much anymore.”

I can’t help but to laugh at someone even considering Colton as a charmer. “That fucker . . . charming? Nah. I may be far from Prince Fucking Charming, but I know how to take care of a woman a hell of a lot better than that selfish prick.”

She erupts in laughter and covers her face with both of her hands. “He’s such a dick, Royal.” Her words come out a little slurred now that she’s on her forth beer, but seeing her smile is a small relief to the pain I’ve been feeling all day. “I can’t believe that I even went for him in the first place. He was just so different than the other jerks I dated. I actually thought I hit the jackpot with Colton, but then I realized that he’s more of an expired lottery ticket that I never cashed in on.”

I’m not sure if she really knows what she’s saying at this point, but it’s kind of fucking cute to see her babbling on about my idiotic brother.

“So . . .” She stands up and spills her bottle down the side of her leg as she starts talking and swinging her bottle at the same time. “The more I think about being with him, the more suffocated and nauseated that I feel. That’s not how being with someone should feel. You should be dying inside to see that person and be willing to give your last breath just to touch them and hold them near. I can’t breathe when I’m around him, but it’s not because he takes my breath away. It’s because I’m dying inside to run away.”

Her face scrunches up as if she’s just figured it all out. “So then tell him to fuck off and go out and find that shit.”

She lets out a saddened laugh. “Yeah . . .” She quickly runs her hand over her face and flares her nostrils as if she’s fighting back tears. “Maybe someday. I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

I stand up beside her and grab her almost empty bottle out of her hand. “Leaving my brother?”

She looks down at my hand and then up to meet my eyes. “Finding someone that falls in love with me for who I truly am, and me loving them back so much that it fucking hurts. The one man I thought I truly loved only wanted me for my fucking tits and ass. That jerk.”

She shakes her head as if waking up and realizing that she’s talked too much. “Never mind that. I’m just babbling now from the damn beer.”

I close my eyes for a second and feel the overwhelming sensation as her words hit me like a fucking freight train. I found that once, but it was fucking ripped from me.

Pulling Avalon to me by the front, bottom part of my jacket, I reach into the inner pocket and pull the single white Calla Lily out and walk over to the water.

My chest fucking aches so bad that I can’t even breathe as I close my eyes and listen to the water.

“What’s that for?” Avalon asks softly from beside me.

My heart stops. “For my fiancé Olivia. It’s her birthday.”

I can hear Avalon’s breathing pick up as she prepares to ask the question that I know is coming next. “Where is she?”

I drop the Lily into the water and turn around, looking her in the eyes. “Dead.”

I catch the sight of Avalon’s mouth dropping before I brush past her and hurry back over to my truck. I get ready to jump inside and drive off, but stop when I look back over to see her face buried in her hands.

I may not know much about Avalon, but I know for a fact that she’s buzzing and a bit overly emotional at the moment. I can’t fucking just leave her here. The thought makes me feel guilty, which is an odd feeling for me these days.

“Get in my truck.”

She looks up from her hands and covers her mouth as if fighting off what she truly wants to say or ask. “What about my jeep?”

“I’ll bring you back to it. No one will mess with it here.”

She’s hesitant at first, but then slowly walks over the passenger side of my truck and hops inside as I open the door for her.

Once we’re back on the road, I can feel her eyes watching me. I glance over and witness the hurt and sympathy in them. It’s the first time that I’ve gotten that look since Olivia’s death. Everyone else looks at me with something different in their eyes: Fear. I’ve gotten used to it and have learned to live with it. It’s part of who I am now, and as soon as she finds out the truth of that night she’ll be looking at me in the same way they do.

Avalon doesn’t speak the whole car ride back to my house. Instead, she asks for a beer as soon as we walk inside.

Knowing that we both just want to get lost and forget, I walk to the kitchen and pull out a handful of beers, motioning for her to follow to me out back.

Getting a comfortable chair for her to sit down and relax, I grab for a beer, twist the top and take a seat next to her, just enjoying the night sky.

“I’m telling Colton that it’s over in the morning. I should have just done that in the first place,” she admits.

“Yeah . . .” I take a sip of my beer and close my eyes. “Good.”

“Colton was the good guy. The clean-cut one without a record that my uncle always said I should go for. Back when I lived with him and my aunt . . .” She pauses to finish the last bit of her beer and sets it down by her feet. “I was always getting in trouble and letting them down. Running the streets late at night, and not coming home for days. Dating guys in and out of juvie. My mom couldn’t handle it, so that’s why she made me move in with her brother: my uncle. Believe it or not, I even landed in the back of a police car a few times.” She lets out a sigh and stops talking.

It’s quiet for a while.

By the time I look over again, Avalon is fast asleep, curled up into my big jacket.

“Thanks for the chat.” I whisper to myself. “I guess I know why the fuck you gave that douche a shot now.”

Closing my eyes again, I allow myself to just enjoy the peace and quiet of the night, hoping that this odd fucking calming feeling of having her near drowns out the rest of the noise in my head for a while.

Maybe I’m just an idiot for having any hope . . .

I WAKE UP IN A panic, looking around a cold, dark room. It takes a few minutes for my eyes to adjust enough to see that the room is unfamiliar.

Fear sets in until I look over to the right to see Royal sitting in a chair with his face buried in his hands. His long, messy hair is hanging over his inked hands, his shoulders slumped in defeat: a beautiful, but heartbreaking sight to take in. It makes my chest hurt at the realization of what he told me earlier at the lake, and I have a feeling that he’s still lost in his thoughts over his loss. Seeing him in pain almost physically hurts me.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, while sitting up. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep and intrude. I should go. I’ll go find Jax and ask for a ride.”

Royal looks up from his hands and rubs his hand down his mouth. He clears his throat and reaches beside him for a bottle of whiskey. “Go back to sleep. You’re fine.”

Getting comfortable against the headboard, I watch him as he tilts the bottle back and takes a long swig. “I’m not really tired anymore. I can go upstairs and watch TV so you can have your bed back at least.”

I get ready to get out of his bed, but his command stops me, making my heart jump from the firmness of his voice. “Stay.”

Keeping his eyes on me, he slowly stands up and strips out of his shirt, tossing it aside. My heart begins racing with unwanted desire as my eyes gradually trail over his firm body, bit by bit, taking it all in; every inch of pure inked muscle. This man is undeniably beautiful, and I could spend hours just admiring the art of his body and tattoos and never grow tired.