Sparkle (Lock & Key MC #11)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER

THREE

My Wes was everything to me. My greatest achievement in this life.

Now he was struggling and getting comfy in that no-name place in between, and I didn’t like it one bit. I knew he was swirling in a cocktail of regret, anger, bitterness. And yearning.

He hadn’t been on good terms with his father for weeks after we separated, and then Jump got killed, which had sent Wes on a crazed reel of emotions and, even worse, a mission of revenge against the people suspected of murdering his dad. He’d felt helpless.

I’d found explosive material in his bike, set Butler on him, and he’d stopped him, shook him up.

He’d had a rough four years at college, but managed to graduate and then came right home. He’d stayed with me here at the house for a year and then found himself an apartment close to the center of town and got all sorts of jobs to support himself.

Wes may not be striking out any longer in protest for justice, for a dad for whom he grieved, but I was sure he still felt those emotions. And over the years he had folded them inside himself, tied them up. But they were bulky, rambunctious, those emotions.

I went back to the kitchen and opened the card that came with the roses.

So much beauty for my beautiful girl.

I love you

x R

My heart skipped a beat. This man . These gestures of his made me feel glorious, but Ronny was right, they also made me feel like a shy, positively giddy little girl all over again. I laughed to myself as I headed upstairs to make the bed before I went to work.

In the bedroom I stared at the rumble of sheets twisted with the puffy down comforter, the pillows thrown about on the mattress where Ronny and I had fucked earlier this morning.

Same bed.

I could have gotten myself a new mattress once Ronny and I started sleeping together, but I hadn’t. Was I doing it on purpose, screwing my lover and enjoying every second of it on Jump’s bed? Classic Alicia moves.

“He’s fucking dead. He’s not here to see it,” I whispered to myself.

I took in a breath. I used to do a lot of shit to get his attention, but, no, he wasn’t here anymore. I fluffed the pillows and set them straight. Pulled on the sheet, tucked it in. The down comforter, the topper. All smooth. In place.

My teeth dragged across my lip. I’d pointed out to Wes where he was stuck, but what about me?

I set the decorative pillows in place. Sure, I had moved on with Ronny not too long after Jump’s death. It had been a joy, a treat. And we were happy. The sex was amazing, he was a great listener, he gave a damn. He did things for me, random little things and all the important things too, and he truly appreciated all the things I did for him.

So why wasn’t I moving forward in fourth gear with Ronny? Was I just as stuck coasting in neutral as Wes in the aftermath of Jump?

I went to my small jewelry box on top of my dresser and found the diamond eternity band Jump had given me on our tenth wedding anniversary.

The day after our ninth anniversary, I’d insisted that he’d better have this ring for our tenth. I kept reminding him that whole year, no matter his huffing and puffing and all the “yeah, yeah” I got in reply. And he’d delivered, and I had felt such satisfaction.

I fingered the beautiful ring, its stones glinting in the sunlight that poured through the bedroom window. But what had I achieved? Was it a genuine token of his love and devotion and affection, or was it simply an expensive bauble that I wanted to show off, because dammit, I’d earned it?

My chest caved. I’d earned it all right.

Earned for services rendered. For labor and time. For so much fucking disappointment. For always being there no matter what.

I let out a heavy breath. The ring was glittery and pretty and I’d worn it proudly like a trophy medal. I loved showing it off and getting loads of oohs and ahhs from all my friends. But its sparkle had fed my ego, not my heart.

Jump and I had fallen into the routine of his shortcomings and my demands, and the way things needed to be as parents and as a prez and his ol’ lady.

And this ring? The perks and we both knew it. He’d enjoyed how excited I got when I opened it. When I first put it on. How I’d shouted and hooted and cried. He dug that. He’d laughed and hugged me. But then it was over. Same ol’ same ol’.

Had I transformed into the cliché mob wife? Satisfied with the occasional token of superficial bling that my big man had to shell out big money for?

Kind of, yeah. Make him pay .

A small cry fell from my mouth.

That was what our love had boiled down to over the years. The love between Wes’s parents.

Wes deserved better. And so did I.

I put the ring back in its box, and in my dresser mirror, I caught the reflection of the bed behind me. Why? Why was I still in this bed, in this room, in this house? All the same furniture, the same curtains, same, same, same.

My shoulders stiffened. This house was like an old coat that no longer fit right, worn at the edges, slightly musty. It hung on me, swallowed me. Wasn’t my style anymore.

Ronny was a good man whom I’d known for decades, whom I’d even cheated on my husband with a couple of times in desperation for attention and understanding, and Ronny had never once gotten bitter at me for going back to Jump. Not once.

He was the man who’d designed and inked the most beautiful and meaningful tattoos on my body over the years. The man who insisted I have an orgasm—and not only one but at least two—before he got off. Who made me coffee every morning.

My heart thudded in my chest. That coffee was more precious to me than that fucking diamond band. That was genuine, that was real. That was…significant.

My gaze landed on a framed photo of Wes on his first day at kindergarten, a huge smile on his face, posing for me. and my hand flew to my throat where my pulse ticked wildly.

I wanted my sensitive and once joyous son to reclaim himself and to know that this was what mattered, here and now with his whole life ahead of him. Not regret, not disappointment. I certainly didn’t want him to end up in a relationship that was imbalanced and untrue, clawing at himself. Hell, no.

How fortunate, how blessed was I to get this second chance at love? A passionate love that made me feel truly free.

Not a dream I had to chase or work hard for or prove that I was worthy.

Not a dream.

I used to give, give, give every day in pursuit of that dream. Why wasn’t I giving wholeheartedly to Ronny? Not just pieces, bites?

The dream had come true, but did I not trust it after all the heartache over the years? Maybe it was too good to believe? Why would I deserve it?

I caught my gaze in the mirror. Really, Alicia?

“Fuck that,” I said out loud. “Fuck that.”

I darted down the stairs and into the kitchen, got the small screwdriver from the utility drawer, and charged into the living room. To the lamp. That ugly green and brown lamp that looked like a tree that Jump and I had bought at a garage sale when we first got married for a very specific reason.

Even this fucking lamp was still here and plugged in. Plugged in!

I ripped the plug out of the wall, flipped the lamp over on the couch, and with the screwdriver, jimmied the metal plate on the bottom of the large wood base that had a fake brand name on it that I had engraved myself.

Finally, the plate came loose and I was able to unlatch the base. I stuck my hand into the trunk of the lamp. There. The money. Jump’s stash.

Last time I’d counted it was eight thousand dollars. That was the day after Jump’s funeral when I’d finally been left on my own. Left in peace. Left hollowed out.

Eight thousand dollars.

I’d separated it into packets. It was all just as I’d left it. I counted again. Eight thousand dollars.

Jump and I always kept a stash. You never knew when you’d need it. And, of course, all his club business was cash only. He’d always been good about saving a small percentage of his income for a rainy day and for his family. He was good about that, and we were always careful about using it wisely.

We’d always been good business partners.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jump,” I whispered, clearing the knot of emotion in my throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me.”

Jump and I had gotten married on Valentine’s Day in Vegas. I’d insisted on that date for our wedding because it would make everything perfect, wouldn’t it? That was why every Valentine’s Day my beautiful son made it a point to do something special for me.

He didn’t have to do that anymore. He didn’t. I didn’t want him to. I no longer had to cling to an idea or fling myself about in its pursuit. Lick my wounds or suck it up. And neither did he.

I no longer had to function from a sense of lack, a lack that I had learned to live with. No more painful gashes to be sewn and patched over. No more.

Now I only had to open my embrace fully and feel the glory of what I had. To enjoy it and truly feel that joy. Because it was glorious.

This day over two decades ago, I’d been the happiest woman alive with the brightest future ahead of me. So sure, so ambitious.

Today, I knew deep in my bones that I had to take a new road toward my best future using the knowledge and experience that had brought me to this moment. As a woman. As a mother.

As a lover.

Grabbing the lamp, I shoved it in the recycling bin.