Page 2 of Downfall

Just checking in. I love you, honey.

I blow out a breath. I know she loves me, and like Ashton, she worries. She’s called or texted multiple times a day since the accident. I’m thankful for her support, but she also has a lot going on. I don’t need her losing sleep over me too. I type out a quick reply.

I know Mom. I love you too. I’m good. I pinky promise.

I look up and Ashton is still sitting there, eyes swirling with apprehension. He doesn’t even crack a consolatory smile at my lame joke. There’s something else he wants to say. I can just tell. We clicked instantly when I moved to Baybridge, the town over from Emberfield in middle school. He was sweet, funny, charming. Of course, I had a crush on him at first. That was until I met his dark-haired, broody friend, and the air was sucked right out of my lungs. While Ash made me feel comfortable, Declan made me feel like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at the jagged rocks below. I didn’t realize a heart could beat that fast until I met him.

When I really think about it, Ash has always been more like a brother to me, except for that one time we kissed when I was fifteen. We both immediately realized it didn’t feel right. I was glad because I think he had feelings for me before that, ones I knew deep down I would never be able to return. When we finally got that kiss out of the way, we were able to go back to being friends.

That means I can read him like a damn book, and right now I know there’s something knocking around in that head of his.

“Spit it out, Ash.”

“This probably isn’t the right time. You just⁠—”

“Ashton Tyler! Out with it,” I interrupt him.

He breathes out, uncrossing his legs to rest his elbows against his thighs. “Well, speaking of marriage licenses…Allie and I decided to elope.”

That’s certainly not what I was expecting him to say. He and his fiancée have only been engaged for a few months, and while she’s definitely not the kind of woman I would expect to have a wedding binder and a florist on speed dial, I thought they would at least have a small reception.

He takes note of my gaping mouth.

“Maybe ‘elope’ is the wrong word,” he backtracks in a rush. “We decided to have a small wedding. Like courthouse small. A few witnesses small. Allie’s having Emory as hers and…”

That’s when it all clicks into place. He needs a witness, but he can’t pick one person because he has two best friends. Two people he would want next to him when he marries the love of his life. I never told him what happened between me and Declan, but he must have at least put some of it together over the years. When I decided to move back here after college, I made it my sole mission to avoid Ashton’s other best friend. If I thought he would be at a party, I didn’t go. If I saw his stupid motorcycle parked outside of the coffee shop—the one I knew was his because he used to show me pictures of it in magazines when we were teenagers—I would turn around and walk the other way. I’ve lived in Emberfield for two years without even laying eyes on him, and I don’t intend to break that streak anytime soon.

Except now my best friend is looking me in the eye, his lips parted in a silent plea, waiting to ask if I’ll be there for him when he gets married.

And in order to do that, I have to stand next to the man who destroyed my heart before it even got a chance to fully develop.

2

DECLAN

My vision blurs, black spots dotting my line of sight as I push up onto my elbows. Blood pours from my nose, so I wipe it with my sleeve before straightening to my full height.

“That all you got, Miller?”

The man in front of me—all fuck-ton pounds of him—rears back and swings again, his fist connecting with my jaw this time. My head flies back, blood spraying across my cheek and onto the onlooker standing across from me.

“Say one more fucking word about my sister, Astor. I swear to God.”

I put my hands up as if to signal surrender. “I’m done,” I pant, attempting to get air into my lungs. I think the bastard may have punctured one. He eyes me skeptically before stepping closer and spitting in my face. His saliva slides down my chin, no doubt mixing with the blood that’s already there. I finally catch my breath as he turns to walk away, but I can’t keep the next words from falling out of my mouth. “I definitely won’t tell you how she screamed my name while I was balls deep in her ass.”

Miller slowly turns around and the bar becomes eerily quiet. Even when he was kicking my ass earlier, the hum of the crowd only died down a little. The patrons of the Motor Cade are used to brawls. Even the owner, Cade Jensen himself, doesn’t bat an eye when a fight breaks out. As long as no guns or knives are pulled, he doesn’t give a shit. Usually, the fights are between rival MCs or someone fucked someone else’s girlfriend or sister or brother—sometimes all three. I don’t pay much attention to any of it. I come here for one thing, and Cade turns a blind eye to it. That’s what I like about him. But right now, he’s looking at me from across the room like I’ve been carefully constructing my coffin for hours and am only now getting to that final nail. I shrug, shooting him a semi-apologetic glance before turning my attention back to the mess I’ve created.

“Miller,” Cade warns from behind the bar, but the man gives no indication that he heard his name.

“This stupid fucking thing.” Miller jabs a finger in my face, his voice dripping with disdain, and it takes a second to realize he’s referring to my lip ring. “I think it needs to go. What do you think, boys?” Several of his friends have now joined him, flanking his sides as if he’s the leader of the fucking Sharks. I half expect them all to start snapping their fingers and break out into song. Instead, they snicker as he reaches into his pants pocket and produces a switchblade, which he promptly flicks open.

“That’s enough,” Cade’s voice booms as he hikes his legs over the bar and slides down the other side. For a man in his fifties, he’s agile as fuck. As he starts toward us, the front door creaks open and a heavily tattooed man walks in carrying a stack of papers.

“Oh shit,” he mutters, causing Cade to look up. Miller takes Cade’s moment of distraction to lunge at me, but I rotate my body just in time, and he trips over his boot. Unfortunately, he catches himself before he can fall on his own damn knife. That would have been too poetic. Cade jumps into action, grabbing Miller by the jacket before spinning him around and snatching the knife from his hand. “You know the rules, man.”

Travis Miller has been coming to this bar since he was in diapers. Literally. His father was president of one of the most notorious MCs in the tri-state area. So, yeah, I’d say he knows the rules. Miller Senior is actually a decent guy, or so it would seem to the outside world. Guess you never really know what goes on behind closed doors. He still comes by the bar now and then to check up on his fuck-up of a son who couldn’t figure out how to run a bath, let alone a motorcycle club.

There are a few biker bars between my hometown and Manhattan, but the Motor Cade is my favorite because it has the best people-watching. Being able to read people is a blessing and a curse. It means I have inside knowledge of shit I don’t necessarily want to know about, but it also means I can figure out what makes people tick, which comes in handy when I’m goading someone into a fight. Miller is easy—almost too easy. He’s brash, hot-headed, and always looking to start shit. I have no idea if he actually has a sister or not, but I knew the second I said it, he’d start swinging. Messing with someone’s sister is usually a safe bet, followed closely by insulting their girlfriend or intelligence. If all else fails, calling someone a pussy usually gets the job done.