Outside the Lines (Sons of Templar MC #2.5)(24)

“Or,” Arianne said, on my pause. “We could get showered, put on awesome bathing suits and hit this pool party I was invited to?” she suggested.

I grinned. “You totally get me,” I told her.

She cupped my face. “I totally get the need you have to finally uncoil and feel all that pain that’s been building up for years. This might not be the most sensible way to do it. But f*ck sensible, we may as well have some fun while we’re drowning our sorrows,” she said with a sad smile.





The music was loud. Too loud to hear what the tool beside me was saying, thank God. He’d taken it upon himself to fill the empty sun lounger beside me. Since I’d left Arianne on the dance floor and decided to pass out in the sun, this guy had taken my solitude as in invitation to hit on me. I tried my hardest to nicely reject him, but he wasn’t taking the hint. I decided to go straight to ignoring him. Plus, he couldn’t see my eyes were shut under my shades.

After a few minutes, he seemed to go silent and I was glad for him finally going away. Then, I felt a shadow mask the rays of the sun, therefore hindering my tan.

“Dude, down in front,” I said with closed eyes, hoping he could hear me over the music.

The shadow remained, so I guessed not. I opened my eyes to see the shadow was not dressed in swim trunks, nor looking like he was having any fun. This shadow was wearing all black and had a familiar leather cut over the top of his black tee. His eyes were hidden by my dark shades, but the hardness of his jaw told me he was pissed. I noticed Jagger and Charley were behind him. Jagger looked slightly less pissed and a little more concerned. Charley was checking out the tits of some girl walking past him.

I pushed my shades on top of my head, just in time for Hansen to roughly grab my arm and yank me up.

He reached down and snatched my cover-up from beside me. “Put that on. Now,” he clipped in my ear.

I complied, because even in my drunkenness, I could see the danger in his eyes. My eyes landed on Arianne, who was now standing with Jagger, his hand circling her wrist. She shrugged her shoulders and grinned. Crazy bitch.

After I had yanked my floaty kaftan over my head, Hansen grabbed my arm and proceeded to drag me through the throngs of people and out of through the fancy hallway of whoever’s mansion it was we were attending the party.

“Hansen,” I started as he stopped me in front of an SUV.

He turned his head from the door, which he was opening for me. “Not a f*ckin’ word,” he clipped, his voice colder than I’d ever heard it. “Get in the f*ckin’ car, Macy,” he ordered.

I complied, again, out of self-preservation.

He rounded the car and screeched out of the driveway in silence. I fiddled with the tassels on my kaftan. I had switched to water not long ago but was still feeling pretty buzzed.

“You eaten today?” he said finally, his voice tightened.

“Do strawberry daiquiris count?” I asked.

Hansen’s eyes cut to me. “What the f*ck do you think?”

“Well, I’m not sure of their actual ingredients, but since they taste remarkably like strawberries I’m guessing maybe… since fruit counts as food,” I rambled.

My eyes landed on Hansen. I was guessing he was expecting a no. He didn’t say anything more, just directed us to a drive through and promptly ordered.

“Eat,” he commanded, thrusting the greasy bag at me.

Suddenly, I was ravenous and inhaled the burger and fries that it contained.

Once I’d finished, I realized the air in the cab was humming. That may be because the food had done its job to soak up the alcohol swirling around in my stomach.

“You’re mad,” I observed.

Hansen’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. I noticed his knuckles were turning white.

“Mad, was about six hours ago, right after I realized you were whole and safe. After finding you half naked, half wasted, sprawled on a sun lounger while greasy f*ckers glared at you, I’m f*ckin’ furious,” he muttered.

With his presence and the grim reality of soberness, came pain. Came the truth. The bitter, ugly truth that I was trying to escape.

“I can explain,” I started in a weak voice.

“Don’t wanna hear it,” he cut me off. “We’ll talk when you’ve slept it off. When you’re not coasting off a f*ckin’ two-day bender,” he clipped in disgust.

I flinched at his tone and turned my head. I was thankful, not for his anger but for the respite. At least now I could keep running for a little longer.





I awoke dying. Or at the very least suffering from some horrible brain-eating virus. I thought a moment. Nope. Just hungover. Very hungover. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my body to lapse back into unconsciousness until I was able to physically handle the pain. It didn’t work. I lay very still, trying to get my bearings and handle the pain I put myself through.

I opened my eyes and saw I was in a familiar room. Hansen’s room. Events came rushing back. That night at Arianne’s—ignoring his calls. The next morning—how angry he was. Then my brilliant decision to go to a pool party and continue drinking. Instead of sober up and explain myself to Hansen. I couldn’t even remember getting to bed, least getting changed into the tee I was wearing.

There was a glass of water and two aspirin beside the bed. He couldn’t hate me that much. I sucked down the water and swallowed the aspirin.