Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (46 page)

My eyes dropped to my left forearm, right to the upside down compass she'd sketched out for me at that patch-over party so long ago. God, that felt like another lifetime ago. Sometimes, I wondered if it even happened in the first place, if the happiness I'd felt whenever I was with her was just a figment of my imagination. My mind flew to the other place I knew she had some more ink—did she still have it? Part of me didn't want to know...I was probably better off just not knowing.

But now, with the evidence right in front of me, there had to be some sort of connection between the compass and those stars tattooed right under her ear. Even my imagination couldn't make that up on its own. After all this time, after all this distance, we'd somehow found ourselves back here again, tentatively reaching out, gravitating in each other's direction, and unable to stop it. I didn't want to stop it.

"Do you ever regret it?" her soft voice called out.

"Regret what?"

"Leaving the club?" her lips lifted in a sad smile. "Do you think things would be easier if you'd just stayed?"

I didn't even need to think about it. "No. I don't regret it. And I don't think things would be any easier for me if I'd stayed either. They'd be worse."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck in thought. "Life in the club was never really what I thought it was. I thought it was about the brotherhood and about putting that above everything else. It was something to live for, something to work for, but I just didn't know any better. Didn't know anything different. Didn't know
how
to do anything different. If I'd stayed, I'd probably be back in prison or working my way toward it at the very least."

Or six feet under in a hole somewhere,
I thought grimly.

Her face tilted up to me as she listened and thankfully, she set the wine bottle down by her feet.

"At some point," I pushed on. "I guess I just realized it wasn't
really
about the brotherhood, at least not the way I thought it was. It was every man for himself, even though I'd been raised my whole life to believe we were all a family who'd do anything for each other. That wasn't true then and it's not true now."

Isabelle nodded tightly, willing me to continue and finally tell her everything I'd always wanted to say, but had only managed to get out in my notebook. There were other things I needed to tell her too, but for tonight, this would have to be enough.

"It's all about protecting themselves, and sometimes, that means people need to be sacrificed. I never realized how ridiculous that was until I was on the other side of it."

Her blue eyes shone in the moonlight and her lips parted. "You mean with Becca?"

"No," I shook my head and looked down at my feet. "I'm talking about you. All the suspicion they threw your way...it was just completely insane. None of them, save for Dom, really gave two shits about you as long as they saw you as a potential threat. It didn't matter that I was standing by you. It didn't matter that they had no reason not to trust you. And then they would've happily sacrificed both of us for the good of the order if it meant they'd all go free."

"What do you mean?"

I pushed out a rough breath and ran a hand over my short hair. "If they thought you'd done what Becca did, even if they didn't have any proof, they wouldn't have cared about anything else. They would've wanted you gone and they would've wanted me to do it."

Isabelle exhaled slowly and bit down on her bottom lip as her words washed over her. She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut.

"I didn't really let myself think about that too much when it was happening."

"That was probably for the best," I nodded. "And, not just that, but they would've let me sit in prison for the rest of my life for murder too. They wouldn't have cared because to them, it was my job to put the club above anything and everyone else."

"Who cares about your life, right?" she smiled sadly.

"Right," I nodded tightly. "I figured, if I didn't, then no one else would. After I got out of prison, I knew I couldn't spend the rest of my life doing the same shit I've always done and expecting a different outcome. My life was never gonna change unless
I
changed it."

For a brief moment, I wondered what my life would be like right now if I'd chased after her all the way to New York, if I'd told her I wanted to leave the club as soon as I made the decision, if I'd asked her to wait for me just a little bit longer, but I hadn't done any of those things because I hadn't earned it yet. I couldn't let myself forget that.

I pushed those thoughts away as she spoke again.

"And you
did
change it," Isabelle's eyes seemed to glow as she leaned her cheek against the chain. "I'm really proud of you, Caleb. You're so much smarter than you ever gave yourself credit for."

"Yeah, well," I laughed. "Considering I had to completely 'throw my legacy in the shitter', as Wallace put it, in order to get out, there had to be some sort of consolation somewhere."

"But it wasn't what you wanted anymore."

"No," I shook my head firmly. "It wasn't. It cost me everything that ever really mattered."

Her eyes flicked up to me and in that moment, I wished I could just wrap my arms around her and let everything I needed to tell her pour of me. But what was the point of drowning in regret when she was here right now, in that swing, on this night, listening to me? This kind of night and this kind of moment made every hurdle I'd climbed through worth it.

"You know," I went on. My voice cracked, but I didn't care. I needed to say this to her, even if this was as far as I got tonight. "When I was a kid, I always thought if I just had a bike to ride, a cut on my back, and a place at that table, my life would be perfect. Up until the moment you walked into the shop's office looking for a job, I was completely content to live that kind of life. Being with you made me want something else."

I squeezed my eyes shut as Marcus's cold, callous dark eyes flashed in my mind.

"You've got a responsibility to this club
,
"
he'd sneered at me when I'd sat them down and threw my cut on the table. "
You're not throwin' that away over lost pussy and a dead kid, are you?"

It had only taken a second, but that was all the time I needed to lunge forward and punch my club president right in the face. In the end, all it did was solidify what I'd already known: he didn't really give a shit about me. Not if he'd stoop that low, especially not when I'd had every intention of trying to have a civil, honest conversation about why I needed to cut myself loose. According to my mom, Dom, and pretty much everyone else, I was lucky Marcus had let me leave without any repercussions, but from where I'd been standing, and was still standing, that was nothing compared to the blows I'd already been dealt.

I walked out of the clubhouse that day without my cut and without my club and I never looked back.

"Anyway," I cleared my throat and cast her an anxious, sideways glance to find her still watching me with watery eyes. "I guess the club got me into prison, but prison got me out of the club."

"It's funny how life works like that, isn't it? Nothing ever really seems to go the way you planned..." she trailed off as the smile playing at her lips dropped.

Her eyes flew to something over my head and I turned to see some movement in one of the upstairs windows. The blinds twitched and I caught a flash of Sam's face before he realized he was caught. Those blinds slapped down just as quickly and Isabelle shook her head at the window.

"Nosy jerk," she grumbled under her breath.

I just chuckled. If I were him, I'd probably want to know what the so-called reformed outlaw was doing out here with my daughter too. My breath hitched on the last part of that and I glanced down at those three letters inked permanently on my skin. The tribute didn't do her justice, but I'd wanted it somewhere I could see it so it would be like I was carrying her with me, just like that upside down compass carried so many memories of her mother.

And now, as my eyes found her again, it was like we'd been transported back in time, before all our plans were shattered, before all our hopes and dreams evaporated into thin air.

.
     
.
     
.

Isabelle

"What're you thinking, Iz?" his quiet, hoarse voice called out and yanked me out of my thoughts.

I didn't even know where to start. So I decided to play it safe instead and take a page out of his book by skirting around the real issue.

"I was just thinking about how much simpler everything was when we were younger. Back when my biggest problems were pulling an all-nighter to finish a paper or getting a B on an exam and being scared to tell my dad," I laughed stiffly, acutely aware he was observing me a little too closely. "I guess I had no idea what the real world was really like when I was 20 and didn't know any better. Even after my mom died, worrying about my dad kicking me out seems easy now compared to everything else."

There was a lot left there that could be open for his interpretation, but I'd always had no problem telling him more than I'd intended to anyway. Besides, I had a feeling, with the way this night was headed, that I'd tell him just about anything he wanted to know if it meant I could spend more time with him like this.

"I think I know what you mean," he told me quietly. "If someone had told me 10 years ago that I'd be out of the club at 30 with two years of prison behind me and a new business in front of me, I think I would've laughed until I cried. But you never really think about how much those things you think you want will cost you in the end. You just think about what
you want when you want it."

I nodded in silent understanding and decided to lighten things up a little more. "Just think, Caleb, 10 years ago you were wrapped around Ariel's little finger. Now look at you, all mature and grown-up with a college degree. I bet she'd barely recognize you if she saw you now."

Caleb laughed and lifted his eyes to the night sky with a shake of his head.  "Wow, I haven't thought about that name in years."

"Kinda seems like forever ago, huh?"

"Shit, yeah," he chuckled.

My next words just popped out before I could even really think about what I was saying: "I saw her once in L.A. actually."

Caleb stilled on the swing and his head whipped around to face me.

"What?" he laughed, but the confusion in his voice was unmistakable.

"Yeah, a few years ago. I had a show there and she just showed up. She bought a couple pieces and we had a few drinks after the show, too."

His eyebrows shot up into his forehead and more than likely, he was wondering how in the hell the only two women he'd ever been serious about had ended up having drinks together. It was a fair question.

"Huh," was about all he seemed to be able to muster.

"It was nice," I allowed, trying to appease him. "We caught up, had a few laughs at your expense. No big deal, Caleb."

"I just can't believe it,"
Ariel had sighed as she swirled her martini.
"I mean, if I were a betting woman, I would've put my entire life savings on you guys ending up married with lots of kids and..."

She had trailed off, probably at the crestfallen expression on my face.

"Well,"
Ariel had went on quietly.
"I know this is really stupid to admit now after all these years, but I was always really, I mean
really
jealous of you in high school."

"What?"
I'd laughed.

"It wasn't just the whole-everyone-loves-me-because-I'm-gorgeous-and-a-cheerleader-thing,"
Ariel had gestured toward me like that description still somehow applied.
"There were so many times when I would catch Caleb looking at you. It was like you'd come into the room or walk down the hallway and he'd be doing everything he could not to look at you and would just fail miserably. I just knew if you ever gave him the chance, he'd drop me like a bad habit."

"Aw, come on. You know that's not true. He was crazy about you back then."

"Yeah, well,"
Ariel's lips had twisted with a slight nod.
"I guess I knew even then I would lose him to you eventually."

I sucked in a deep breath to wash away that distant memory, as if that would somehow change the uncomfortable air that had settled between me and Caleb now. Suddenly, something shifted between us and Caleb was grinning down at me with that same smile that could so easily send my heart right into my stomach.

"Looks like you gave up on getting wasted, huh?" he smirked down at the near-full bottle resting by my feet.

I glanced at the bottle and shrugged. "I guess I decided I'd rather talk to you instead."

Me with a bottle was more than enough to do some damage and now that we'd gotten to talking, this was better.

"Alright," he laughed. "So talk. I feel like I've just been talking your ear off all night."

"What—"

"Tell me about New York," Caleb cut in softly. "I wanna hear everything."

His eyes were blue oceans swimming with hope, regret, anticipation, and something else I didn't want to think about. Now, with our current proximity, my hungry eyes roamed over him and what struck me the most was how he could be so different, yet still so achingly the same, so painfully familiar.