Page 68 of Spinner's Luck

Someday, I’d feel whole again.

At least as whole as someone like me had the capacity to be.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE POUNDING INmy skull was relentless, a brutalreminder of the whiskey I’d drowned myself in last night. My throat was dry as hell, my mouth thick with the bite of sour whiskey and bad decisions. Groaning, I rolled over, expecting the warmth of her body beside me.

But the bed was empty.

Lucy’s side was cold, the sheets untouched, like she’d never even fucking been there. My chest tightened, the fog of the hangover giving way to something sharper, something jagged.

I sat up too fast, the room tilting before it steadied. And then it hit me—like a bucket of ice water straight to the face.

The fight.

Her words.

The look in her eyes before she walked away.

Every step she took had screamed final.

I dragged a hand down my face, my stomach twisting from more than the hangover. I’d been drunk, reckless, lashing out because I’d felt like she’d played me. My feelings for Lucy were so fucking deep, so raw, I didn’t know how to handle them. And like a goddamn idiot, I’d let my temper get the best of me. I should’ve gone after her. Should’ve stopped her. But I didn’t.

Like a dumb fuck.

Even drunk, I knew I couldn’t walk away from her. Not Lucy. But she still had some explaining to do. This wasn’t all on me, she was hiding shit, and if she’d just come clean, we could figure this out.

Ashlynn hadn’t even made it back inside before I shoved her away. One look at her eager smile—a smile that wasn’t Lucy’s—and I felt sick. I muttered something about making a fucking mistake, and she stormed off, furious. I didn’t care. She wasn’t who I wanted.

It would always be Lucy.

But now, staring at the empty bed, unease curled in my gut like a snake. Where the hell was she?

She must’ve crashed in another room. Couldn’t blame her for that. I’d been an asshole—getting drunk, throwing Ashlynn in her face like a goddamn child. That shit wasn’t going to be forgiven easy.

I pushed myself out of bed, legs shaky but working, and grabbed a shirt off the floor. The clubhouse was unusually quiet, most of the brothers were either still out cold or nursing hangovers of their own.

“Lucy?” I called, my voice rough as I stepped into the spare room down the hall.

Silence.

I checked the kitchen next, half expecting to find her with Fiona or brooding in the corner with a coffee in hand.

Nothing.

“Josie,” I said, spotting him near the stove. “You seen Lucy?”

“Not this mornin’,” he replied, eyes narrowing slightly.

A tightness coiled in my chest. Moving faster now, I checked the common room, the garage, the round barn. Nothing.

The unease inside me sharpened to something colder, something heavier.

Her car was still parked outside. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the gate would give her away if she tried to leave that way.

By the time I’d checked the clubhouse perimeter, my gut was screaming what I didn’t want to admit.

She was gone.

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