Page 64 of Volt
“And Zavala’s men?”
“Unimportant.”
“So… dead.”
He says nothing to that, confirming my suspicions. My arms still crossed over my chest, I pace my studio like a caged animal, suddenly feeling anxious. I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around it all at the moment. The fact that he was shot. Fucking shot.
I know he and his club are fighting this war against the cartel for the right reasons—to protect their town and the people in it. And I know Blake’s heart. But this is just a reminder that no matter how good a guy he is, he exists in a world where he could get shot at any hour of any day. He exists in a world where violence is common. A world where his life can be snuffed out on a whim. And selfishly, a world where my life could be snuffed out alongside his.
And while I have no doubt that Blake would never intentionally put me in that kind of position, the reality is that I might be simply because I’m standing next to him. I don’t want to live my life looking over my shoulder, wondering when I’m going to get shot. Nor do I want to live my life always wondering if Blake would be coming home that night or if I were going to have to ID him at the morgue.
“I can’t do this, Blake,” I say softly. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You. Us,” I say. “I can’t do this.”
“Fallon, don’t,” he says softly. “This can work. We already work—”
“We don’t though. Not really,” I reply. “I can’t live a life where I have to wonder if you’re out there somewhere getting yourself shot, Blake. I just can’t. Do you know how unfair that is to me?”
“Fallon—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “I’m sorry. I wanted this to work. I really did. I care about you a lot, Blake. More than I probably should have let myself care about you. But I just can’t do this. I won’t put myself through it.”
“It doesn’t have to go down this way,” he argues. “We can make this work. I care about you, Fallon. More than I’ve cared about anybody before. And I don’t want this to end.”
“Then tell me, are you willing to give up your club?” I ask. “Because, as far as I can see, that’s where the problem is. The things your club is mixed up in... they got you shot.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, what isn’t fair is asking me to be okay with you getting shot. Asking me not to worry about it,” I counter. “So, will you walk away from your club to make this work?”
When Blake’s immediate answer isn’t yes, I know it’s not something he’s willing to do. And if he isn’t willing to leave his club then he obviously doesn’t value me as much as I thought he did. As much as he thought he did apparently.
“We can work this out,” he says feebly.
“No. We can’t. Believe me, I wish we could, but we can’t,” I say. “Please… just leave.”
“Fallon.”
“I asked you to leave.”
He hesitates for a moment and the expression on his face is tearing me to pieces. Losing him hurts more than I ever imagined it would, and I’m fighting like hell to keep my tears from falling. I don’t want him to see them.
“Please go,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Now.”
Blake turns, and I watch him walk through my front door and out of my life. And when he’s gone, I fall to my knees and sob harder than I have since the day my parents died.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Volt
“Dude, where have you been the last few days?” Adam asks.
“Around.”
I drop down at a table in the clubhouse nursing a nasty hangover. The day Fallon threw me out of her apartment, I crawled into a bottle and am only just now coming out. At some point, I realized that trying to drink away my pain was about as effective as slamming myself in the face with a hammer. It was probably when I spent three hours in front of the toilet, puking up everything I’ve eaten for the last year.
