Glory (27 page)

I realized that she was giving me pieces of a puzzle but I couldn’t find the instructions; I had no idea how to put them together. I racked my brain for clues, something that would form a whole picture, but all I could remember about a Beaumont family was that their daughter may have had an illness or something.

But I didn’t have to guess any longer. There in Indy’s words, I felt her agony. “I have bipolar disorder.”

TWENTY-ONE

Strong Enough

Indy

T
his was my nightmare coming to fruition; admitting the truth about myself to Hastie. Brennan’s words rattled in my head long after he left, leaving me feeling shaken and unbalanced. Fear dropped over me like a wet blanket the moment he mentioned my last name. Had he found out the truth about me somehow?

I had hoped to bury the Beaumont name along with my family. It was the only link to my identity before the flares. But as Brennan looked into Hastie’s eyes with a sense of triumph, dangling that bit of knowledge in his face like a prize, I knew that in that moment, my secret was going to be revealed whether I wanted it or not.

I had braced myself for the worse, for Brennan to yell at the top of his lungs the secret that I worked so hard at trying to hide. So when he left without uttering another word, I knew that if anyone was going to tell Hastie the truth, it had to be me.

Hastie was looking at me with an expression I never wanted to see on his face. I knew that look. I didn’t want it. It was a look that I had grown accustomed to whenever I was introduced as India Marie Beaumont. And it was a look I had grown to hate. “Bipolar?” he echoed.

That word sliced through me like a serrated knife.

No.

Please, no.
It was already beginning, that thing that made everyone forget about the person and focus only on the disorder. Hastie’s eyes were already looking at me with pity.

That thing inside my belly uncurled like a snake, smashing against the sides of me, fighting to escape as it threatened to jump out of my throat. I was once again filled with paralyzing fear that no one would ever see past my disorder to see me. The
real
me.

Our breakup had made me regret not sharing this detail about myself with him before. But cutting into the heart of the matter, the real truth was that I was afraid. I feared that Hastie would suddenly see me as different to him, no longer wanting to be with someone so damaged that not even medication could repair me. Yet withholding the secret resulted in our separation anyway.

In telling him, I felt like I had just jumped off a cliff without a safety harness, hurtling in the air with no guarantee that someone would catch me. Seizing me with its sharp talons, panic attacked me and those intense green eyes suddenly felt too perceptive as they saw the real me for the very first time.

Wetness trickled down my cheeks and I realized I was crying. I angrily dashed them away with my hand, moving to get out of there but Hastie’s arms came around me.

I fought against the cage of his embrace. Despite our close proximity, I had completely closed myself off, the defense mechanism I so often used to shut people out, clicking into place out of habit. I kept my eyes downcast, avoiding that distant look in his eyes. I couldn’t stand it.

Hastie didn’t say anything for a long time. He just held me and it was the most awkward experience of my life. I struggled once again, trying to push him away. “Let me go.” My voice sounded exactly like how I felt. Broken.

“You haven’t told anyone else, have you? That’s why you didn’t want anyone to know your last name.”

“Let me go,” I repeated. This time it was more of a plea.

“Not even Seven knows, right?”

“If you ever tell anyone . . .” The threat rang out loud and clear as my voice strengthened. Because the simple truth was, admitting that I had an illness made it feel more real. There was no way to hide that part of me anymore. That part that made me feel ashamed and worthless and—

I blinked and kept blinking, trying to make sense of my fragmented, broken mind. My thoughts had derailed, crashing every which way with no intent on stopping.
God, this couldn’t be happening.
Here I was, losing my shit. Right in front of Hastie. Exactly what I hoped would never happen.

A tender touch on my chin brought my eyes to his. This time Hastie didn’t allow me to curl into myself. “You’ve kept that shit bottled up for so long, you don’t even know which way is up.”

I had nothing to say to this. Because it was the truth.

“Am I the first person you’ve told?” Hastie tapped my chin gently. “Eyes, baby.” Despite the racing thoughts in my head, I managed to follow the simple command. As my gaze clashed with his, I saw something I never expected. There was hurt lingering in the depths of green. “Did you ever plan to tell me?” His voice held a touch of sharpness.

I avoided his gaze, shaking my head.

“Why?”

I never wanted you to know
, I said silently in my head. I didn’t dare say it aloud. It would only make Hastie angrier. This disorder would rule me no matter what I did. And now, even the most important person to me knew the secret I was so desperate to hide.

Distantly, I felt Hastie carrying me to his bed and lying me down. I immediately curled up into a ball, wanting to become as small as I felt. To hide from the world all over again.

Hastie was speaking words, but none of them registered through the haze in my mind. All I could think about was losing yet another grasp on my life due to this mood disorder.

After an eternity had passed, Hastie left, closing the door behind him as I lay there coming to grips with what I had done. I continued to cry until I couldn’t anymore. My tears ran out and not even my soul had anything else to give. I had exhausted myself, finding an ally in the darkness that surrounded me. My eyelids fluttered closed and I finally allowed myself to breathe.

Hastie

I have bipolar disorder.

The words repeated in my mind again and again, but it was Indy’s voice when she said it that scored my insides. It was clear that she had tortured herself over this. With the way her face turned white when Brennan mentioned her last name earlier, this was a secret she had kept to herself for some time. Would she have kept this knowledge away from me too if it’d not been for Brennan?

The answer was simple.

Yes.

She would have. Indy had never planned to tell me and that fact was as effective as dumping me into a vat of boiling water; it burned right through me. Has she been afraid that telling me this would somehow change how I felt about her?

Her admission explained everything about her. Her mood swings, the erratic behavior. Perhaps she thought that if nobody knew about the disorder, it didn’t have to be real.

Indy had kept me at a distance to protect herself. It was never about her not caring enough about me. The fact that she had come to me about what she saw was proof enough that she did.

But now that I knew the truth, it made me feel like more of an asshole. I had read her all wrong and had hurt her unnecessarily. It only made me feel worse for giving up on her so soon. All Indy needed was some reassurance that she wasn’t alone and I had gone and abandoned her.

Lips thinning, I sighed and sipped my whiskey, ignoring the busy crowd at Neptune’s. I had left her at my place, to give her the alone time that she needed after all this. It also gave me a chance to reflect on everything between us.

A low whistle sounded behind me and a second later, Lucky’s hand landed on my shoulder in an affectionate pat. “So what happened?”

“Did you know that Indy has bipolar disorder?”

My best friend shook his head as he dropped down into the seat next to me. “No, I didn’t. Did she tell you that?”

“Yeah. I just wished she told me sooner. It explains a lot.”

Lucky hooked a finger around the neck of his beer bottle and brought it to his lips. “Not exactly dinner conversation though.”

I grinned despite the tightening feeling in my chest. Damn, he was right. “You always got something smart to say?”

Lucky shot me a lopsided smile. “You have to admit, everything that comes out of my mouth is gold.”

“Or bullshit,” I volleyed.

“Hey, I’m not the one drinking alone while his woman is probably freaking out right now.”

“Fuck, you’re right.” I set the glass on the bar.

“See,” Lucky said with a cocky grin. “Pure gold.”

Kitt came up to the bar then and Hanna moved to grab him his regular, but he made a slashing movement with his hand. “No need,” he said to Hanna. “I just came to say I might be a little late to the meeting later. Got some plans.”

That was surprising. The sergeant at arms was always early to meetings. “Where you heading?” Lucky asked.

“I’m going to see Seven.” Grinning, he slapped Lucky on the back and walked out, leaving Lucky and I imitating gaping fish in his wake.

I slid a questioning look at Lucky, but he was staring intently at his beer bottle, brows knitted together.
What the hell was going on?
But that was something to think about later. Right now, the next step was making sure that Indy knew that none of what she said was going to change how I felt about her.

Shoving the barstool back, I stood up. Lucky looked up at me and some of his old humor resurfaced. “Should I be texting you some advice?”

Oh, so
now
he wanted to share his wisdom. “Too late,” I said. “I’ll catch you later.” My hand shot out to clasp his. I made a move to leave but paused, turning to Lucky once again. “You know I love ya, right?”

Lucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but you should be telling that to your ol’ lady.”

I nodded. “Later.”

“Later,” Lucky returned and then I was out of there.

Indy

I woke up alone in Hastie’s bed feeling like I had one too many drinks. With the worst case of cottonmouth, I rubbed my eyes of dried tears.
Ugh. Gross
. I had to get out of here before Hastie returned. As I forced myself out of bed, a myriad of aches and pains shot through my body all at once. What I needed was a hot shower to help me feel better.

By the time I got out, it was already late. I was drying my hair with a towel in the mirror when I sensed someone behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Since it was his house, the obvious guess would be Hastie. But it was also the fact that the room changed when he was in it. When Hastie stepped into the bedroom, his presence saturated it. The four walls had been filled with nothing but air before; now they were filled entirely of him. “You all right?” he asked.

Seeing him again brought back all the memories of earlier in Technicolor vibrancy. Natural instinct made me want to hide myself but there was no need to. Hastie finally knew the truth. He crossed the distance between us with no effort at all before wiping away a droplet of water off my collarbone. “Have you eaten?”

“I just woke up,” I admitted. Head lowering, Hastie placed a chaste kiss on my forehead. I allowed myself the indulgence and fell deeper into his embrace.

His heart pounded loudly against my ear, revealing that he was scared too. When he pulled away, his eyes were firm. “We’re having a meeting later. I need you to come with me.”

I nodded in agreement knowing full well that in coming to him with info, there was no going back now. “Sit down,” he ordered in a tone he often used with Glory MC. “We still have to talk.” As if on cue, the thumping beat of my heart picked up in tempo, surging forward with a rhythm that could compete with a professional drummer. I moved with sluggishness towards the bed, trying to ignore the ache in my bones that usually came with the dark haze of depression. “Thank you for telling me. I know you never planned to, but I’m glad you did. Can you tell me more about it?”

I sighed, knowing this conversation was coming. But it didn’t make it any easier to talk about. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Hastie. It’s a mood disorder made up of manic episodes and bouts of depression. My mother had it too. It’s called bipolar II disorder.”

Hastie frowned. “Manic episodes?”

“Hypomania,” I corrected gently. “They are episodes where I have elevated moods.” I leaned into him slightly. “When I first met you, I was in a hypomania stage. I was a happy person. Outgoing. I didn’t require much sleep. I also had increased productivity.”

“That doesn’t seem all that bad.”

That was often the belief with hypomania. “It’s not always a party. It has its perks,” I admitted. “I have lots of energy.” I paused, giving him a look. “
Sexual energy
.” His eyebrows lifted with interest. “But it doesn’t always feel good. It’s like you’re hollow, existing in the shadows. You feel like a figment of your true self.”

Hastie nodded as the words sunk in. “You also mentioned ‘bouts of depression’ . . .”

“Yes. That’s another component of it.”

“Are you depressed now?”

Tears were forming in my eyes. I blinked them away, trying to keep a strong front. I didn’t want to break down in front of Hastie again. As I tried to pull myself together, Hastie remained silent, patiently waiting for me to answer.

“You know what I love about you?” I blurted out to his surprise. “It’s that you’re so damn perceptive, Hastie. You see things that others don’t. You catch the mistakes I make and you know even without me telling you that I’m hurting.” I shook my head, feeling both grateful and undeserving. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

Hastie’s brows knitted together in confusion. “Do you want me to leave?”

God, no
. “I don’t know. I just don’t understand why you aren’t running already. There’s only darkness within me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m crazy,” I whispered lamely, hating the word people often described me by.

“Yeah. I get that, but I’m not leaving you because of it.” Then he was in front of me, crowding me in.

“Stop, Hastie.” If he pushed any more, I’d break.

“No. I want you back.”

How could he still want me after all this? It just didn’t make sense. Every time someone learned about my disorder, they gave me a wide berth. As if they could catch my disease in the air they breathed.