Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(52)

It was two weeks after that scene at the hospital. Two weeks of being at Gwen and Ian’s home in the beautiful countryside of New Zealand. We had to wait to get Ian’s body shipped back before we could have the funeral. These two weeks I had been in a weird state of limbo. Without a funeral, without a goodbye I could almost pretend none of this was real. That Ian was alive and well in some unknown location. I prayed for it. Prayed for Dave to get a call informing them the army had made some kind of mistake and Ian had just been misplaced on the battlefield. No call came. Only a coffin. Containing the man I once loved. The man I still loved. The man who had declared his intention to love me until the day I died. The man whose heart I had been planning on breaking.

“Need some company, sweetheart?” a voice asked me quietly.

I glanced up to see Dave staring at me with a soft expression on his face. “I’d love some,” I told him sincerely, needing a respite from the thoughts in my brain.

He sat and I marveled at the strength of this man. He had stayed strong among the countless amount of female tears around him. He had remained standing while his only son was lowered into the ground. He comforted his wife and daughter as they broke down when the dirt started covering the coffin. He even opened his arms to me when I finally let the tears fall. This man was my hero.

Right now though, sitting next to me in the dark corner of some pub where the wake was being held, his mask slipped a bit. The pain and despair in his eyes was harrowing to watch and his whole frame seemed to sag under the weight of his loss.

He unearthed a flask from his coat pocket and offered it to me. I took it with a grin, taking a long swig and handed it back to him.

He grinned through his grief. “A woman who can take a decent drink. I see why he liked you,” he said lightly.

I froze at Dave’s words.

His large hand settled over mine. “He talked about you. Called me up two years ago and told me he met the girl he wanted to marry.” His eyes twinkled as he seemed to recall the conversation. “Wasn’t till a few months ago he told me it was you,” he informed me.

“He told you about us?” I asked weakly.

Dave nodded, smiling slightly. “Yeah, sweetie. He told me a couple of years ago about this amazing girl, but how he wasn’t ready to leave the army, didn’t want that life for her. I told him if she was the one she would happily wait for him.” He shook his head. “Damn boy didn’t listen. He thought he was doing the right thing. I had to support his decision.”

He took another swig of the flask and offered it to me again. I was thankful; I needed the alcohol to anesthetize the agony that this conversation was causing.

“We never spoke of her again, this mystery girl. Then six months ago out of the blue he talks to me about it. Tells me it was you.” His eyes focused on me.

I swallowed.

“When I found out I told him to get his ass out of the army and to the USA so he could marry you before some other bastard snapped you up. Couldn’t believe he was going to let someone as special as you slip through his fingers.” His grip tightened on my hand.

“You were perfect for him. You’re strong, loyal, frigging beautiful, best Yank I’ve ever met,” he joked slightly. “Couldn’t have asked for a better friend for my girl and I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter-in-law,” he told me softly.

I choked up at this, at this man’s heartbreakingly kind and beautiful words. I felt guilty and disgusted with myself, unable to verbalize the fact that I’d had no intention of becoming his daughter-in law. That I instead had planned to break his son’s heart.

“Just want you to know, sweetheart, even before Ian told me I already considered you a daughter and I always will.”

I couldn’t speak; I only nodded with tears in my eyes. Dave sat there with his hand on mine, letting silence descend and we remained there, drinking from his flask and trying to shoulder the weight of our grief.

For the two months Gwen and I had stayed in New Zealand he had been true to his word. He treated me like a second daughter, and although the walls of their home were soaked in grief I never felt more at home. More part of a family. I wasn’t in some fancy loft on the Upper East Side. I was in an impressive farmhouse at the edge of the world in an unfamiliar country. Home wasn’t a place. It was a feeling. And I had that, something to salve the burn of loss.

There was something missing. Something that I needed to make me feel at home, complete. Or someone.

After that I had vowed I would never let Gwen or a member of her family know that things were not as they seemed with Ian and me. I would rather them think he died with the vision of a future. He died happy, if anyone could die happy.

I was never going to tell Gwen he wasn’t my true love. And that meant nothing could ever happen with Brock. I couldn’t stand Gwen secretly resenting me for disrespecting her brother’s memory. She would never say a thing, but she would always remember.

So I didn’t speak to Brock, even when he called repeatedly. I ignored him when I got back home, acted emotionless towards him. I ignored the physical pain it put me in to see the cold looks he directed back. I struggled with staying upright when I saw him with the club women, which was thankfully only a couple of times. I put on my mask. I should’ve won a f*cking Oscar for my performance.





Everything changed on the night of Gwen’s wedding seven months after we arrived back from New Zealand. Gwen and Cade had patched things up after the disastrous confrontation at the hospital. Cade had flown to New Zealand to bring her home to Amber and to set her straight on what really happened with Ginger. Or what didn’t happen. She set the whole thing up. The little twat. I had to seriously resist the urge to run her over with my car.