Chapter Thirty

SHAY

"Looks like they did a good job, but you still need to be careful, especially now the stitches are out," I told Rafe, trying to speak over the background noise in Brawlers as I tugged off my gloves and stepped back, tossing them into the trash. "You bang it or anything, and it could still split or get infected if you don't clean it properly."

I'd come by with Bishop so he could check up on a problem with some construction downstairs, and he'd asked if I would take a look at Rafe's wound to make sure he was taking care of it.

I'd been confused by the request until Bishop reminded me that because of how Rafe had grown up, we all tended to forget that he was only eighteen. He'd had to grow up fast, making it seem like he had his shit together for the most part, but in the end, he was still only a teenager.

I knew what that was like.

When Ali was locked up, I went to rehab alone, then back into foster care. I knew how to look after myself at that stage, but it didn't mean I didn't still miss having a parent around. Someone to ask questions like, how high does my fever need to be before I go to the hospital? What cycle do I wash my jeans on? How do you tell when pasta is cooked?

"I'll try to be careful," Rafe said, getting to his feet and instantly reaching for his boxing gloves.

I quickly snatched them up, holding them behind me and looking at him with a wide grin. "You shouldn't have been in that ring with the stitches," I told him, narrowing my eyes because I knew for a fact he'd been in there every day since it happened. "And now, without them holding it together, you could end up back in the hospital with more problems. I need you to promise me you'll take it slow, and you will not get in that ring with another person swinging at you."

At first, he was silent, his dark glare saying everything he needed to say.

But I wasn't intimidated.

He may have been six-feet tall and built like a brick wall eighteen-year-old, but if there was one thing I'd learned about Rafe, it was that if you showed him respect, he would show you the same.

It wasn't long before his shoulders slumped, and he rolled his eyes. "I promise that I will practice on my own and not let anyone take swings at me—"

"For at least a week," I interrupted, pointing my finger.

"For at least a week," he repeated in a slow, drone-like voice, letting me know just how happy he was about my demands. "Can I have my gloves now?"

I smiled, holding them out for him. "You know, at least you'll have a cool scar. Girls love that, right?"

He scoffed but still smiled. "If scars really got girls, I should be fighting them off."

I tried to keep my smile strong, but there was this overwhelming sadness building in my stomach, remembering all the damage we'd seen on his X-rays in the hospital, knowing how much pain he'd been through in his life.

"I was in foster care, too, you know." The second the words left my mouth, I dropped my eyes to the floor, desperately wanting to pull them back in. This was most likely not the place Rafe wanted to acknowledge or discuss his childhood trauma. I cleared my throat and shook my head. "Sorry, just ignore—"

"You were?"

I looked up again, meeting his curious gaze. "Yeah…" I said, dragging the word out as I wasn't exactly sure where I was going with the original comment. "I can't say that I know exactly what you went through, but if you ever want to talk about it, I have some pretty shitty stories of my own that I'd trade you."

My heart raced as I waited for him to say something, my body beginning to tingle as my blood rushed.

Rafe wasn't exactly the quiet and reserved kind of kid you'd often find in the system. He was more the damaged and struggling to understand his emotions type, which, in a lot of ways, I related to.

It took me a long time and a lot of therapy to get through the trauma I'd experienced, but finding a support system like I had in a friend like Calli had pushed me to a place where I was finally happy.

I just wanted to make sure Rafe knew he had that here, within this big new family he was now a part of.

After a few heart-racing moments, Rafe finally smiled. "Thanks for the offer. Maybe one day I'll take you up on that."

I exhaled loudly, releasing the panicked breath I'd been holding. "Well, you know where to find me."

"Aw, is Mommy fixing your boo-boo?" a voice taunted, followed by a snicker that reminded me of Muttley, the dog from that old cartoon, Wacky Races. Some little shithead with a smug grin on his face brushed past my shoulder, his eyes wide with excitement as he did his best to provoke Rafe. "How sweet."

"Get the hell out of my face, Hunter," Rafe growled, his fingers curling into tight fists, which only encouraged Hunter more.

"Does she tuck you in and kiss you goodnight too?" He formed a kissy face with his lips and started making noises. "Right after you cry yourself to sl—"

"That's enough!" I snapped, grabbing Rafe's arm right as he was about to swing. As much as I would have loved to let him do so, this other guy, Hunter, was obviously looking for a brawl, which would likely end in another trip to the hospital for Rafe. "Get the hell out before I throw you out myself."

The bastard turned his dark glare to me. "You don't own this place, bitch."

"She doesn't, but I do," Bishop growled, stepping into the room with Scoop and Blue on his heels. Blue was already cracking his knuckles, his eyes focused on Hunter, who now looked far less confident. "And last time you were here, I made you cry, so it's up to you how this ends."

Hunter shifted uneasily, moving his weight from one foot to the other. "Man, I just need a place to train. The other gym doesn't have the gear I nee—"

"You mean, they threw you out too because you were being a smart-ass and always starting shit with the other people working out there," Blue corrected, taking a step toward the front door and pulling it open. "Yeah, I know the owners over there too. Now, Shay said get the fuck out. So…"

The little shit wasn't happy, grumbling all the way out the door and across the street to a blue and gray Skyline, obviously trying a little too hard to be Paul Walker in The Fast and the Furious.

He threw the driver's door open, turned back, and held up the middle finger as one last act of defiance before diving into his car. So brave.

Rafe continued to stare, a hard frown on his face as Hunter pulled away.

I tugged at his shirt. "You good?"

He nodded, looking over at Bishop. "That wasn't the car. Maybe you were right."

The boys all shared glances between them like they were communicating in some kind of telepathic language. "Um, excuse me," I said, holding up my hand. "I don't speak biker, so if you could all explain what you're thinking out loud, please."

Bishop folded his arms across his chest, and I already knew it was going to be something I didn't want to hear. "We're pretty sure it was Vince or one of his goons who ran Rafe off the road."

"What?" My mouth fell open. "Why didn't you tell me… oh my God, Rafe. I'm so so—"

"It's not on you," Rafe insisted, shaking his head. "It's not your fault."

But I still felt guilty as hell.

"Shay…" Bishop reached for me, tugging at my shirt and drawing me closer. "We'll figure this out, okay? I'm trying to get in touch with Frank again. See if he can do something, but he's out of town for a few days. Until then, I asked Match to find Sarah. I know you were worried about her, so Rafe and Blue are going to go pick her up soon and take her to a club safe house until this shit is done."

I leaned into him, letting out a relieved sigh and laying my cheek against his chest. "I hate this so much. I just want to be able to stop looking over my shoulder every second of the damn day."

His arm circled my waist, and he squeezed me gently. "It will be over soon. I'm gonna make sure of it."

I knew he would.

I trusted him.

But I was scared of how many people would have to get hurt first, all because of me.