Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(101)

“You’re my best friend, kid.”

She stares at me with a skeptical expression. “That’s really sad for you,” she replies, and I laugh.

“Probably, but that’s okay.”

We grow quiet for a moment before she ambushes me, wrapping her arms around my waist and hugging me hard, her head coming up to my chin. After a couple of seconds, she pulls away and wipes her eyes quickly to hide her tears.

“You’re such a jerk,” she mutters before slugging me in the arm, a little too hard, but I laugh anyway. “I can’t believe you’re moving to Arizona. It’s, like, a million degrees there and they have scorpions.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to visit me?” I ask, slinging an arm over her shoulder as I guide her back outside.

“Hell no. We have the ocean and better comic book stores. You should just come visit here.”

“Okay, I will. Promise.”

For a girl who doesn’t take promises lightly, I know how serious it is for me to say that. When we approach the group outside, I notice how tense my dad is, guarding his expression as he talks to Maggie.

This is it. There’s nothing left to do. The car is packed and the moving truck is gone. The only thing left to do is say our goodbyes.

And when my dad turns toward me with an emotionless expression, I think about the motel story again and how hard he worked to protect me from feeling anything at all. How it only taught me to bottle up my emotions for so long I became a ticking time bomb. So instead of bottling it up anymore, I break the cycle.

It takes him completely by surprise as I step up to him, throwing an arm out for a hug and pulling him tight against my chest. He squeezes me back, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from getting choked up.

Then the asshole has to quietly mumble, “You’re a good man, and I’m so proud of you,” and it all goes to hell.

There’s a tremble in my chest that I know he can feel because he squeezes tighter.

Then we finally break apart and, believe it or not, there are tears in his eyes. Mr. Tough Guy himself. I don’t have any room to talk because they clearly mirror mine, but who the fuck cares? I don’t. I’m not afraid of crying in front of my dad or our family. Not anymore.

“Thanks,” I mutter quietly before blinking away any moisture. Behind us, Maggie and the rest of them are saying their goodbyes too. When I come around to Charlie, I feel the need to pause.

“Bring Sophie out sometime, please,” I say, and she nods in agreement.

“I will.”

“And don’t let my dad get all bummed out about me leaving.”

“I won’t. Just be sure to call.”

I nod, knowing that, deep down, she’s referring to the six months I spent giving him the silent treatment, ironically because he owned a sex club, and I thought that was some sort of moral offense.

Then, Charlie opens her arms, and I step in to give her a quick hug. It’s not as awkward as it used to be, but I mean…she is still my ex-girlfriend.

Technically, now my stepmom, but I’m not ever, ever going to revisit that thought or even dare to say it out loud. Although I’m aware Sophie will make a joke out of it for the rest of our lives.

And that’s it. All the hugs have been had, and the goodbyes have been said.

I look at Maggie, just as she looks back at me. I’m so ready to get into the car and go, as if the rest of our lives is somewhere on that highway. There’s not a thread of uncertainty there anymore.

I spent the past five years wishing I knew who I was or what I wanted in my life, but I was too busy shutting doors without opening any. Sure, there’s a lot more to my life than just being hers and I’m the one responsible for paving my own path, but knowing she’ll be at my side, for whatever we face, means I’m not alone anymore. I have someone who sees the good and the bad. Someone capable of tough love and mercy.

Someone who will punish me when I need it.

And I look forward to every single second.





Rule #41: Remind him who he belongs to.





Maggie’s epilogue





One year later





“Oh, I know it’s not a competition, Emerson. I’m just calling to point out that the Fire Palace now officially has more members than Salacious.”

“You’re gloating,” he replies dryly on the other end of the call. “Besides, you started with a pre-established market, so technically, you had a head start.”

I laugh. “Oh, you’re scrambling for excuses, Mr. Grant. I know it’s hard to admit I’m doing better than you, but you always were a sucker for praise. You’re doing a very good job running your club,” I say in a teasing tone.

“I’m hanging up now,” he replies, and I hear the smile in his voice.

“All right, all right. I’m done teasing you. I’ll see you next week.”

“See you next week,” he adds. “Tell my son to text me back.”

Just then, I turn the corner, heading toward the office when I spot Beau standing there, staring down at his phone in his tight black-on-black suit with his auburn locks perfectly styled with just the right amount hanging over his brow. It points like an arrow to the vertical scar on his forehead. He looks too good for words, and I pause as I watch him for a moment.