Puck

by Marata Eros

  “But Storm has a different rep. Sounds like he’s all BDSM or something.”

  A contemplative moment of silence rolls out between us, then I ask, “Did Storm seem that way when he rescued you?”

  Kendra shakes her head. “He was sort of weird when he got a good look at me.”

  “Oh, you mean the naked-bleeding-crotch routine? That might give a guy pause.”

  “No.” Kendra laughs, a little of her former sparkle returning to her eyes. “He was actually gentlemanly about it all. Didn’t even check me out. But...” She plays with the fraying edge of the quilt a little. “When I first actually got face-to-face with him, he seemed startled by what I looked like. Almost as if he’d seen a ghost.”

  I frown. “Weird is right.”

  Kendra waves away the entire conversation. “Listen, I told him thanks about a million times, and he acted like I was nothing and saving me was nothing. No big.” She lifts a narrow shoulder then lets it drop. But I can tell the fact that she and Storm couldn’t seem to close the loop of the strange set of circumstances that tossed them together is still bugging her.

  My deep inhale is for fortification purposes only. I take her hand. “Listen, I got checked out by the doctor.”

  Kendra nods, squeezing my fingers lightly. “Yeah, just like me.”

  I don’t speak for almost a full minute.

  Kendra’s expression screws into a frown. “What is it, Temp? The doctor said we had traces of some kind of paralytic bullshit in our system.”

  My smile is slight. “Yeah, it was the MC doctor because we can’t let the cops know that it was motorcycle club men who saved us, killed a bunch of those criminals, and torched their holding.”

  “Yeah.” She blows out an exhale and a single strand of hair floats off the bridge of her nose.

  “He gave me another bit of news too.”

  Kendra’s eyes search my face. “What?”

  “I am definitely pregnant.”

  “What?” Kendra squeals, abandoning the quilt and wrapping her arms around me. She jerks her face back, intently scanning my features a second time. “That is fantastic news.”

  “Only if Puck and I are together.”

  “Oh please, Temp—he risked everything to save you. God only knows how he found us.”

  I twist my hands, glancing down for a moment. “I don’t want him to feel sorry for me, K. You know, damsel in distress, now knocked up with accidental kid.”

  “You both weren’t very responsible with the birth control.”

  “I know,” I admit quietly. “I had never been with a man though, K.” We exchange a look only confidants can. “That’s no excuse. I’m a grown-ass woman. I understand the mechanics of it perfectly.”

  My memory has me and Puck together, frozen in the ecstasy of our time together. “And I just didn’t want to think about anything else. Condoms—whatever. I took a chance, and now I’m having his baby.”

  “You could get rid of it,” Kendra offers in a low voice.

  My palm flattens on my tummy, and I suddenly feel sick. “Would you?”

  Kendra shakes her head. “No, but I support a woman’s right to choose what she does with her own body.”

  We stare again, exchanging a silent understanding with one, powerful look.

  Slowly, I nod. “I guess I’m just too Irish. Too catholic.”

  Kendra gives a small laugh. “Yeah. You’re a cool mix of American and a bunch of other stuff. A Korean catholic.”

  I grin, feeling better, feeling hopeful for the first time since all this terrible shit began.

  “Just tell Puck. The worst thing that can happen is he says he doesn’t want it, or you. It won’t take away the miracle of a baby, Temp.”

  I bite my lower lip. “I don’t think it’ll happen like that. I think Puck might want to be super-responsible.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  I confess the awful truth. “We have twin skeletons in the closet, K. And I don’t know that what we’ve been through is something that will make us stronger or tear us apart.”

  “Oh, honey.” Kendra pulls my head to her shoulder, and I don’t stop the waterfall of tears.

  Tears for the uncertainty. Tears of relief that my baby will be okay. Sadness that my life will never be the same.

  And my last lingering thought is of the kingpin by the name of Alexander and whatever became of him.

  He disappeared like a ghost.

  Chapter 26

  Puck

  Denni carefully sets her pen down on the table beside her chair. “You sacrifice nothing, Puck.”

  I widen my palms, taking them away from my sides in supplication. “I already sacrificed everything. The club, the brothers—hell, I even looped my sister to save Temp and her friend.”

  “The former FBI agent?” Denni asks with soft deliberation, though I’m pretty sure she never forgets anything. The pen and pad are all for show. She remembers every detail I’ve ever mentioned, tossing out the most seemingly insignificant things months afterward with perfect clarity.

  “Yes,” I practically hiss then dial it down.

  It’s not Denni’s fault that I need to figure shit out with Temp.

  And it’s mainly my baggage I have to figure out and the fact that I knew things about her that, by rights, I shouldn’t have known.

  I didn’t trust the process of us dating and the regular ebb and flow of a relationship to unearth things naturally.

  Of course, I’d never had a “normal” relationship.

  “William,” Denni begins, and I don’t correct her, “you’ve already committed yourself to extraordinary endeavors by saving this girl you’ve just met. Your actions, at this point, are indicative of your commitment. Adding words to underscore what you’ve already done will not make it less true. But verbalizing your feelings will release you of the stress of not doing so.” Denni’s pale-green eyes seek mine. “Listen to me, Puck. Telling Charlotte what she means to you will be a huge burden lifted from your mental load. Trust me.”

  I take a deep breath then let it out slowly, my loosely knotted hands dangling between my knees. Images of a half-naked and bloodied Temp war in my brain with our intimate time together.

  Temp and I haven’t talked about what happened after she was taken. I didn’t have the guts to ask. I also don’t think I have the room inside myself to hurt for her too.

  I’m too busy keeping the pain of what happened to me buried deep inside.

  Denni interrupts my thoughts, “It could be cathartic, William. You have told me you and this woman share the exact shade of abuse. And let me tell you something I’ve learned in forty years of clinical practice.”

  I wait, and she leans into the pause of our conversation, eyes intense, her forthrightness the sharpest I’ve ever experienced.

  “There are no coincidences in life. There’s a finite balance in the universe where equality is achieved no matter what the cost. The events of violation that were vested on your person, and Charlotte’s, were not without a later reward.”

  I snort. “How is any part of what I—or she—suffered have to do with reward?”

  Denni doesn’t blink, flinch, or otherwise squirm. “Because if something terrible happens to a human being, in my humble opinion, there’s a counter to that. An event, milestone or change so positive that it waits for the perfect opportunity to present itself.”

  “Like Temp?” I ask in a low voice.

  Denni leans back on her wide-backed chair and nods. “Yes, exactly that. Think of the ʻcoincidenceʼ of Temp for a moment, Puck.”

  “Okay.” I fold my arms.

  “By your own admittance, you’ve been with dozens of women. But this is the first time you’ve been tempted, in an almost compulsory way, to seek out something deeper and more significant. That you’ve opened yourself to another.”

  I open my mouth, and Denni’s palm rises. “Aside from your sister—who shared in your abuse. That doesn’t count. You’re connected because
of circumstance rather than choice.”

  My lips snap shut, and I stare at my feet. Flipping my palms up, I say, “So I should what? Just rush over there and declare undying love?”

  Denni gives a soft laugh. “Would you ever do such a thing?”

  “No.” I smile despite myself. “I’m too contained to do that.”

  “I understand that, William. What do you feel comfortable with?”

  I want to tell Temp I’m sorry for digging up dirt on her. That I wish I’d waited for when she was ready to tell me. That I love the feel of her in my arms and the way her mind meshes with mine.

  I like how uncomplicated we are.

  I love how complicated we are.

  There’s so much to say and no easy way to do it.

  Like a mind reader, Denni says, “Start simply and with the truth. Let the details sort themselves as they may. That’s the beauty of relationships that are meant to be. They evolve over time as they’re meant to. All you have to do is tend them. And right now, Temp is a flower in a garden that needs sun, water, and fertilizer.”

  I fertilized her all right, a snarky part of me inserts. Keeping that tidbit to myself, I ask in a quiet voice, “What if she rejects me?”

  “You’ve heard the catchphrase ʻtry, try, and try againʼ?”

  I lean back into the couch and cross my leg, ankle on kneecap. “Great.”

  Denni gives a small shrug. “Love ain’t easy.” A tiny smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

  I frown. “Who said this was love?”

  “Ah, Puck,” Denni says, with a slight shake of her head. “I knew that was how you felt the first time you spoke of her.”

  My teeth clench, but I manage to say, “I know my feelings don’t show.”

  “True, except when you talk about Charlotte Temperance.”

  She has me there.

  Hands knotted and resting on my head, my elbows jutted out like wings, I pace the living room, the floorboards creaking from a hundred years of other pacing people.

  Trying to keep moving so I don’t notice my cell sits dark on the coffee table,

  I’ve worn a path in my living room. I grabbed a shower and ate a half sandwich, but I was too jazzed to eat my normal full load. Don’t want to drink.

  I hone in on that damn cell—again. Maybe Temp will get back to me.

  Annnddd... maybe she won’t.

  Fuck.

  The screen door slams, and with a last glare at my silent cell, I stalk to the front door to see who’s arrived. It’s either Candi or Viper. And I’m pretty sure that Viper’s on a ride with a few of the guys.

  I didn’t go along because, like some sap, I wanted to be available in case Temp wanted to see me.

  Candi’s standing there, with Gabe on a hip. She’s wearing black leggings and an oversized T-shirt in screaming yellow. The shirt should be a bad color, but all it does is make her eyes look more yellow than the striking golden hazel I know them to be.

  Gabe shares our dark-auburn hair, but his crystalline-blue eyes are all Viper.

  The baby starts sucking his thumb and Candi absently pops it out of his mouth.

  He gives an irritated shriek.

  We both cringe.

  “Found his voice box.” I scrub a hand over my short hair.

  “Yeah, it’s sorta funny and kind of awful at the same time.”

  I cock a brow. “What’s Viper think of it?”

  Slowly, we grin at each other.

  “I think Viper likes to go out riding when Gabe starts in. Once the pterodactyl screaming starts, Gabe will go on for about another hour until naptime.”

  Candi looks at me for about another ten seconds. “Well? Cough it up. Has Temp texted back?”

  “You’re a nosey thing,” I mutter.

  “Yup,” she says instantly. “Spill.”

  Why do I tell her shit? I guess because I love her. Fuck. I drop my arms to my sides. “No.”

  Candi hikes her chin, that familiar glint of determination in her eyes. “She will.”

  I feel my eyebrows drop, and my hands go to my hips. “Why do you say that?”

  Candi’s hiding something. I can tell.

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  A laugh cracks out of me. “What? Are we in kindergarten?”

  Her grin returns with a vengeance. “I do wonder sometimes.”

  Gabe makes a cooing sound followed by another, random shriek.

  I flinch.

  Candi keeps smiling.

  At that precise moment, my cell begins to do a vibrating dance on top of the coffee table.

  I race over there, not an ounce of nonchalance in sight.

  Candi watches, with a wry smile.

  The bitch.

  A picture of Temp I took without her knowledge flashes on the screen.

  Snatching the thing off the table, I swipe up.

  Her text reads: I agree. Let’s talk

  The breath I was holding leaks out of me.

  I tap out a time and wait.

  “What’s she say?” Candi asks, standing at my elbow.

  “Temp said she agreed.”

  She hikes Gabe higher on her hip, her brows pinching together. “About what, Puck—Jesus.”

  “Shh, that we need to talk, ya bulldozer.”

  Candi smacks my arm, but I ignore her because Temp just gave me a time.

  I groan. Five more hours. Seven o’clock. I’m going to die waiting until we can hash shit out.

  Die.

  Storm

  It’s been a week since I grabbed the bitch from that hellhole. Bloody pussy and wide, scared eyes haunt me. Those are the things I remember.

  And... that she’s the closest thing to feeling anything I’ve ever known—which scares the piss out of me.

  I flick my Zippo lighter open and closed. Open and closed.

  Can’t get her out of my head. And I’m pretty damn sure that if I see her one more time, I can cinch that circle closed. I was all keyed-up on adrenaline when I snatched Kendra out of there.

  That’s definitely it.

  I don’t examine the fact that I’m better more than a psycho stalker-type at the moment. Every night, I cruise by her apartment and wait until I see the last light go out inside before I take off.

  Knowing that there’s nobody coming by for some kind of sick retribution makes me sleep easier. I know for a fucking fact if that was my bent, I’d make a point of fucking the bitch up again.

  Kendra.

  And that single thought of knowing what I’d do if I was a sick fuck—A sicker fuck, I correct myself—keeps me coming back to check each night.

  Fuck it. Haven’t touched a smoke since I was in foster homes almost ten years ago.

  Never lost the taste for it, though.

  I light one now, using my real father’s battered but etched Zippo. Vintage style. Briefly, I admire the scrolling designs interspersed by a vague puzzle-piece pattern.

  Like the single photo I have of my mom, all things I have of both of them is stuffed inside a shoebox of shit that I haul from place to place.

  Their lives fit into a box for a pair of shoes.

  It’s pathetic—just like me wanting to hold on to it. Dad abandoned me too. Not by choice, really, but by circumstance. Still, I’ve been pissed about it since I could form the thought.

  My ass is planted comfortably on the seat of my Harley as I gaze up at the heavens, feeling at once lonely and insignificant. Adrift. Taking a deep drag off my cig, I stare up at the dark sky as stars twinkle on one by one, like invisible light switches being flicked.

  “Hey.”

  I was so in my head that for a second, I forgot where the hell I am.

  Maintaining composure by a thread, I look to the left. Kendra is standing there, wearing ridiculous cartoon pajamas and a thin, spaghetti strap cami.

  No bloody pussy in sight.

  Close up, she smells vaguely like vanilla, and I pop an instant boner.

  Holy fuck
.

  I realize I’ve been caught and try to act cool. Academy Award–winning shit, that. “Hey.”

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  Am I okay? No. I’m about as fucked-up as a man can be, and I hate that she would ask me that as an intro.

  “Yeah, I’m fucking fine. Why?” I suck a long drag, and tipping my head back, I shoot the stream straight up.

  Kendra cups her elbows and takes a cautious step closer.

  She has on bunny slippers, and the long ears wag as she moves toward me.

  I shift my weight as my fucking dick rages. I hate having a cock. So fucking uncooperative.

  “Well,” she says quietly, “I’ve seen you coming by every night since...” She bites her lower lip.

  I find I want to kiss it.

  Kiss her.

  Fuck her.

  Oh God. A panicked flutter sets off in my gut, which makes me pissed on principle.

  “Since what happened...” Her voice drops to a whisper, and with a wrenching startle, I see that Kendra is right next to my bike seat. Looking up at me with those eyes.

  Close enough to touch.

  That is so not going to happen. Don’t care that she’s got the wrong idea. I’m not interested in her. At all. I feel a sense of responsibility is all. I saved her, and I mean to see it through until... I don’t fucking know when.

  She leans forward, and her small hand reaches up to cup my jaw.

  Shit. I strain away, and Kendra just keeps those slim fingers where they are.

  “Thank you, Storm. I know you don’t like me to say it, but—”

  I jerk my face out of her grasp, and her hand falls.

  The void of her touch feels like a small death. Grinding my teeth together, I say, “It’s no big fucking deal, like I said.”

  Slowly, her chin rises, and the streetlamp’s shitty illumination can’t hide the eyes.

  They pierce me through and through. Gutting me.

  Fuuuuck this.

  I turn from Kendra, the pull of her body and her words like a weapon. For the first time, I feel the power of a woman for something other than a vessel to have rough sex with.

  Putting one hand on the handlebar, I flick the burning cig in the gutter.

  Quicker than I can blink, Kendra ducks under my arm and slips her thin arms around my waist, putting her head tight against my chest. “You make me feel safe.”