Brooks (Dirty Misfits MC Book 1)

I threw my hair up into a French twist and decided on a nice summer dress for the day. I slipped into some matching floral flats and slid the pearl earrings through the holes in my ears as I drew in a deep breath. Every time I put these pearls on, they reminded me of him.

Of those eyes, those muscles, and that smile I couldn’t stop missing.

I blinked back tears so I wouldn’t ruin my makeup that took me almost an hour to do. Today was a very special day at the daycare, and I wanted to look my best. One of my classroom kiddos had his adoption finalized over the weekend, and we were having a big celebration with cake, ice cream, and fruit. My heart swelled with delight as I reached for an umbrella. Summer storms in Santa Cruz were no joke, and the last thing I wanted was to be caught outside without a way to protect myself.

And after slipping on my pearl necklace, I felt ready for the day ahead.

Since my husband’s death a few years back, the only thing that gave me purpose anymore was my work. I’d only been a part-time teacher at the daycare, but after burying Gage, I couldn’t stand sitting around my townhouse on my days off. It only took me applying for a full-time position once before they bumped me up, and I was more than happy to take it. Not because of the pay raise or because of the benefits, but because it kept me out of my place.

A place where Gage and I had created so many memories together.

“Come on, you can get through today without crying,” I said softly to myself.

I waltzed out of my bedroom and made my way down the stairs. I snatched up my thermos of coffee and reached for my purse, searching around for my keys. And when I finally found them, I headed straight for my car. I knew about Gage’s lifestyle before he and I ever started dating, and I knew I didn’t agree with it. I thought it was dangerous and weird, not to mention illegal. But I fell head over heels for him the first time I laid eyes on that man, and I believed him whenever he told me that the things he did with his club were safe.

Except that had always been a lie.

I gritted my teeth as I thought back to that night. Brooks, of all people, came knocking on my goddamn door almost two days later to inform me about what happened to Gage. Brooks was his best friend. He knew how long Gage and I had been together. And it took him almost forty-eight hours to come tell me Gage had been shot and killed on a job?

It brought me great joy to know Brooks was rotting away in a cell somewhere.

That club killed the man I loved. From what I dug up in the police reports and the small articles that floated around in the local papers and blogs, that club knew the job was unsafe. And rumor had it that Brooks knew they were being tailed. He knew the cops were sniffing around all over that fucking job and he did nothing to stop it.

He did nothing to protect his best friend.

He broke his promise to me, and that’s all that matters.

I made Brooks promise me after the first close call that he would do anything in his power to protect Gage. To make sure he got home. And Brooks looked me in the eye and told me he’d take the fall—or the bullet—before Gage ever did.

“Yet another lie he’ll pay for,” I whispered to myself.

I slipped into my car and drove up the hill to the mailboxes. I rolled down my window and jammed my key in, trying to settle myself down. It seemed that no matter how much time passed, I’d always be upset over Gage’s death. No matter how many years went by, I’d never stop loving him, and that meant I’d never stop being reminded of the fact that he was no longer here with me.

For me to hold, or kiss, or protect of my own volition.

“Fucking Dirty Misfits. Bunch of damn pussies,” I murmured to myself.

I drew out my mail and tossed it into the passenger’s seat before I booked it for work. I chugged my coffee back and squealed into the parking lot looking like the fiend I felt rising up within me. I slammed on the brakes and eased myself into the furthest parking space from the building and forced myself to take a few deep breaths.

But when I looked down at the mail in the passenger’s seat, the top letter infuriated me even further.

“Why the hell does he keep writing?” I grimaced.

I reached for the letter from Brooks on top of the stack of coupons and bills. I turned it over and ripped it open, much like I had done with the rest of his letters. And while I was brave enough at times to craft a letter to send back that explained to him just how much I hated him, I never had the balls to send it.

That never stopped me from reading the letters, though.

Dear Raven,

I know this letter is a bit short, but I honestly don’t know if you’re reading these at this point. So, I’ll skip all of the stories and updates on the happenings around me and get straight to the point:

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry that I didn’t have the foresight to see that something was wrong. I’m sorry that I didn’t do what I usually did with jobs like that. Usually, if something strange popped up, I’d call Gage and we would hash it out together. Had I done that instead of taking Hyde at his word, I would have been able t—

I crumpled up the letter and threw it to the floorboard of the car. I absolutely abhorred the apology letters. The ones with his conspiracy theories on what happened that night. The letters that mentioned Gage and his death. The letters he wrote that made him sound like a flailing damsel in distress just waiting for someone to redeem him.

I certainly didn’t want to talk with him about Gage.

And I definitely wasn’t the one who would redeem him of his sins.

“I’m not Jesus or anything like that,” I said breathlessly.

Still, I looked down at the crumbled piece of paper and sighed. In the end, it all came back to how I felt about his apology. And the truth of the matter was that it didn’t cut it. His apologies were pathetic, if even that. Gage was dead, my life had been ruined, and no amount of apologies or sucking up could ever undo the pain I had lived with over the past five or so years.

I mean what if Brooks simply didn’t go on the job? What if Hyde led the cops to Gage instead of shooting? Didn’t Brooks at least try to stop his men? Wasn’t he some big honcho in the group or something like that?

So much about the shit Brooks spewed off in the letters I managed to read didn’t make sense. And it made me wonder how safe Gage had been with him. If Brooks was always this discombobulated in his mind, then it was no wonder men constantly dropped like flies around him.

If he couldn’t organize his own thoughts, he certainly couldn’t organize the thoughts of his men.

I’ve left that life. And it’s time to let it be in the past.

I threw back the rest of my coffee and slipped the thermos into my car cup holder. I eased myself out and tossed my purse over my shoulder, readying myself for another wonderful day with my kiddos. They were the ones that brought me joy in the midst of my sorrow. They were the ones that held the healing hugs and kisses I needed whenever my heart couldn’t mend itself together. And during those moments where I felt more angry and more confused than ever before, all I had to do was scoop up one of them and cuddle them until they told me to let go.

Which, in some cases, was never.

Maybe things might’ve been different if Brooks simply would’ve acted first.

But I shoved the thought away as quickly as it popped into my mind. I needed to stop entertaining those selfish thoughts. I needed to stop cheating on the memory of Gage simply because his best friend had bigger muscles and a cocky-ass smile. Because at the end of the day, Gage was the one who stole my heart. Gage was the one that became the love of my life.

Maybe that’s why you’re so angry at Brooks.

Maybe part of me didn’t like reading his letters because it showed me that he was still the same competent, handsome, sexy, intelligent man he’d always been. Maybe part of me had written a few lettered responses I’d never had the balls to send because I was concerned I’d fall back into the same old trap of “loving the bad boy,” as my mother always put it. Maybe—just maybe—the anger I’d always carried wasn’t really anger at all, but rather guilt.

Guess we both still have a lot in common.

And as I started for the front door of the daycare, I wondered if Brooks ever tortured himself with what could have been, or should have been, or might have been if he had found the balls to walk up to me that night instead of Gage.