It wasn’t an excuse but it was one of the reasons. I was deliriously happy. Never in my wildest dreams would I have conjured up a man like Zane. Big. Tattooed. Scary. Silent. Silence was not something I knew well. Not something my daughter knew well. But it seemed to fit us. Seemed to counteract our constant chatter. Gave us balance. He didn’t need words to communicate how he felt with us. But he was using them more often, speaking to us. I commented on it, one night in bed. I was curled up in his side. I didn’t know what I had expected his answer to be, but I definitely didn’t expect my heart to almost explode with love. He pulled me to lie on top of him, like he did when he wanted to command my complete attention. “I don’t speak because up until recently, I haven’t had anything to say,” he began gruffly. “My attention, my life, was dedicated to the club and my thirst for revenge. That thirst coursed through my veins in a white hot intensity that dwarfed everything else.”
