There's no way I'm bringing him into my bedroom.
I sit in the middle of the living room, where I left my cigarettes and an ashtray. I don't light up. I don't want to encourage him to stay.
He sits across from me, folding his long legs. He looks huge in my living room sans furniture. I want to crawl into his lap, let him wrap his arms around me. Put my nose in the crook of his neck and just breathe.
Neither of us moves.
Dio bounds into the living room, charging Cliff. He leaps into Cliff's lap, nuzzling Cliff's hand and purring.
Cliff grins. "Hey, bud." He rubs Dio's little head, the cat's eyes closing in content.
Shit. Am I really about to toss away the man my cat loves? I've got to remember why I'm doing this. I can't be with him when we're whole books apart, never mind on different pages.
"So," I prompt him.
The cat rolls onto his back and Cliff runs his fingers through the soft fur of his belly. He lifts his head, eyes meeting mine. "Olivia," he begins.
The way he says my name makes things inside me melt. The slight burr to his voice, coupled with the way his lips cradle the syllables like they're something precious. The way he says my name carries everything he feels for me.
My chest throbs.
"I fucked up." His hand continues stroking Dio's belly, the cat still purring in his lap. "I own that." He swallows. "I broke your trust. I don't know if you can ever forgive me, but I'm going to do everything in my power to prove to you that I'll never hurt you like that again."
My eyes burn, my throat open."You meant well," I say, voice husky. "You don't have to prove anything." Because I know, is what I leave unsaid.
His shoulders relax, relief flooding his eyes. I see what he's going to say before he even says it. "I miss you."
I hold up a hand. "Don't."
His face falls. "I don't know what you want me to do, Olivia. Am I supposed to fight for you or walk away?"
I shouldn't have sat down. Rising, I grab my cigarettes and go to the open window. I light up, blowing the smoke out the window, careful to keep it away from my fuzzy orange buddy.
"I miss you," he says again. "Tell me you don't miss me. Tell me it's all in my head."
"Cliff," I say, gritting my teeth together. I need him to stop saying things. Especially the right things.
He moves Dio from his lap and sets him down carefully. Then he stands, too. "Say it."
"I forgive you," I tell him again, "but I can't be with you."
His eyes close as he absorbs the blow. "Why?" he asks, voice strained. His eyes crack open, peering at me through a wince.
"Because I don't know if I can do this." I motion to us with the hand holding my cigarette.
"Because I asked you to move in with me." He tips his head back. "You know we don't have to take that step, right?"
"It's not just that," I tell him. "This isn't really even about us."
Sucking in a deep breath, he bows his head. "I know." His shoulders curl. Nodding, he lifts his head, body loosening. His eyes meet mine. "Olivia," he whispers.
Heat tingles down my spine. I lean toward him, my body deciding before I can. I die out the cigarette. "Yeah?" I take a deep breath, trembling in anticipation of his arms wrapping around me.
But the embrace doesn't come. "I hate this," he says, voice breaking, "but you know I'm still here, right? Whatever you need." He joins me at the window, lighting a cigarette.
I nod. "Besides," I say with a wicked grin, "we're still family."
He sputters, nearly choking on his cigarette. Coughing, he shakes his head. "Way to cut the tension."
"Well, we are," I insist. "Not in a related sense, but we're both Lucy's family. Then there's the club. That makes us something, no matter what." I swallow. None of this is coming out right. I meant to lighten things up a little, but now I sound ridiculous. It's the equivalent of the ol' "We can still be friends" spiel.
I don't want to be his friend.
We aren't friends.
But we aren't lovers, either.
He smiles, and it warms me to my toes. "I know what you mean." He sucks his lower lip. The gentle warmth burns hotter, flaring at my center.
I look away, grabbing my cigarettes from the window sill. I need something to keep my hands busy before I put them on him. I think of what Esther said about breakup sex. I don't know if Cliff and I could survive that. There are too many feelings involved now, and I don't think we can keep it all separate.
The room grows a few degrees hotter, his eyes on me, burning. I glance up, confirming what I already know.
I need to say something, break this heavy silence. I should tell him to go. If I did, he'd respect my wish. He'd walk away, and neither of us would get hurt. Namely him. I don't want to hurt him.
I just can't give him what he needs.
He takes a step toward me, and I move forward, too. He swallows hard. "I meant what I said, Olivia." It's like he's saying my name on purpose, like he knows what it does to me. "I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need, I'm here."
It's an invitation as much as a promise.
"I just don't want you to get hurt," I whisper.
He smiles sadly. "You don't need to worry about me."
That's how I know it's too late. I've taken his heart, and I've broken it—all without meaning to. I don't know how to mend it. I don't even know how to heal my own.
He opens his arms, and I step into them. He holds me tight against his chest. His heart beats under my ear, a steady, quick pulse that sends my blood rushing, too. He holds me as if that alone could put me back together. It's me that should be comforting him.
Tipping my head back, I gaze into his eyes. I reach up and brush his hair out of his face. I cradle him in my hands. Then, standing on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his. I taste salt and something sweet, the equivalent of spring rain. When a drop lands on my nose, I realize I'm tasting his tears.
What I'm holding is too precious to throw away, yet I'm doing it anyway.
Looping my arms around his neck, I tug him down, toward the floor. He follows me, body fluid, each movement synchronized with mine. Except, when I tug at the hem of his shirt, his arms tighten around me. We lay on our sides, facing each other. He hooks a leg over mine, pulling me even closer—his entire body encasing mine in a hug. His lips nuzzle the top of my head, placing a kiss in the mess of my hair.
His fingers run up and down my arm while his other hand strokes my back. Even though I feel him pressed hard against my thigh, he makes no move to remove my clothes. Confusion floods me, filling me with panic. If we're not having sex, then I don't know what it is I'm supposed to be doing.
It's like he's trying to memorize the way our bodies fit together, which is sweet and all, but I'd rather get naked and then fit everything into place. His heart thumps against my ear, slowing to a steady thrum. I slow with him, melting into him, his warmth making me drowsy. Strangely, it reminds me of curling up in front of a campfire, wrapped in a sweatshirt four sizes too big.
He doesn't say anything, just holds me, his hands never ceasing their trek back and forth across my skin. At some point I fall asleep, then wake curled against his body as he carries me through the dark apartment. He lays me in my bed, settling in next to me, again wrapping his body around me. I drift away again, feeling safer than I've ever felt in my life.
Now it's me committing things to memory.
I fall asleep before I can memorize all of it. For the first time in months, I don't dream about Eli. I don't dream about Greg. I dream of a fireplace, its glow filling a living room I don't recognize. I can't see Cliff but sense his arms around me. It's so warm, so peaceful, I never want to leave.
When I wake up, I roll over, lips parting to tell him. But my bed is empty. Cliff is gone.
48
Cliff
After leaving Olivia's, I kill some time by riding around. I stop at Cara's diner for coffee—cup after cup. I order food, homefries I usually eat by the platef
ul. But everything tastes bland. I can't stomach food right now.
I pull into the parking lot of The Wet Mermaid, considering ordering a drink. There's a general ache in my bones, and I could use the warming comfort. It's too early in the day. I've got too much to do, anyway.
Not enough to keep me distracted.
There's no such thing.
I step into the cool, dark interior. The place is utterly silent, none of the usual dancers or hungover hangarounds. The only light comes from underneath the Chapel doors. I stop at the empty bar, remembering my first night here. How I stood in Mark's office, then turned around and saw her. It might as well have been a century ago.
I followed her to the bar, admiring the way her hips swayed even as I tried to figure out how to get out of this without Lucy killing us both. Even then, I was trying to protect her.
She never needed it.
I run my fingers along the wood top of the bar, remembering the way she smirked at me. I try to count how many drinks we had together here, how many nights we closed up together and went upstairs.
I don't even know if I can go up there.
There are only ghosts here now.
"In here, brother," Donny calls from the Chapel doors.
I tear myself from the bar and the past, and go to Church.
"You good?" Donny asks in a low voice as I pass.
Shrugging, I drop into a seat at the table, my attention on my President.
"Where we at with the benefit?" Ravage asks his officers, jumping right in.
I pull my face into a blank mask. I completely forgot about our benefit for rape survivors. We've been discussing it here and there since the vote, but my head's been in the wrong place.
"I figured a strip club isn't the best place for this," Mark says, "so I booked us for the thirteenth at the Polish club."
I pull out my phone to set a reminder. "The thirteenth of July?"
Beer Can frowns at me. "When else?"
"Yeah, dude." Vaughn chuckles. "Today's the sixteenth."
"I know what day it is," I growl.
"It's June, in case you didn't know which month it is," Abraham joins in.
Donny clears his throat. "The thirteenth—that's a Saturday, right?"
"Yeah," Mark says, shooting me a curious look. "We'll have the place for the day. Cliff, you're in charge of raffle prizes." He slides a credit card across the table to me.
"Him?" Abraham sputters.
"I've still got a roll of raffle tickets, so you don't gotta worry about those," Mark continues, ignoring him. "Just hang out after and I'll run you through what we usually do."
I close my fingers around the card. It's an immense responsibility—an honor, even, that they trust me this much—but I don't want it. Even though I technically stayed with Olivia last night, I couldn't sleep. I was too afraid that I'd miss something, that later on I'd regret not staying awake.
I just want to crawl into bed and fall into a black sleep where I don't feel this way. The room upstairs isn't home, though. It already felt temporary. Now it's just a reminder that everything is temporary.
"What are we gonna do about music?" Beer Can asks, yanking me back into the conversation.
"I've got that covered. I can plug into their sound system," Vaughn says.
"You gonna put together a playlist?" Abraham ribs.
"We wanna keep this tasteful," Ravage interjects. "Remember, this is to raise money to end sexual violence. We wanna have a good time, but use your heads, gentlemen. You two can figure out the tunes." He motions to Abraham and Vaughn.
Abraham glowers at Vaughn. "This guy has the worst taste in music," he grumbles.
"If you had it your way," Vaughn says, "we'd be playing Shinedown all the time."
"Shinedown is a great band," Abraham insists.
Vaughn snorts. "Every single song of theirs sounds the same."
"I want everyone reporting in to me," Ravage continues, raising his voice over their chatter. "Moving on." He turns to Donny. "How're Esther and the kids?"
"Real good." Donny's smile lights up his face—the whole room, even. "She moved in with me yesterday. Girls are gonna transition over the next few weeks."
"I'm happy for you, brother," I tell him.
"It's gonna be a process. They're already in counseling but their new social worker wants to ramp it up to two days a week. We're all excited, though. This afternoon, they're coming over for a pizza and game night." He shakes his head, still smiling. "Little one kicked my ass at Monopoly last time."
Everyone at the table laughs.
"That's why you're not Treasurer," Mark says.
"Yeah, that's all right. You got the brains, I got the braun." Donny leans back in his seat.
There's an air of content that hovers around the table. I sit outside it, a stranger. It could be the lack of sleep, but I know that's not it.
It's her.
"Let's get out of here and enjoy the day," Ravage says, adjourning Church. "I want everyone outside in five for a ride. It's been a while since we all rode together."
"All?" Abraham looks around pointedly. "Where's our Prospect?"
Every man at the table looks at me.
"It's her day off," Donny says, rising. "See y'all in five."
I get up, too, and follow him out to the floor. I pluck my pack of cigarettes from inside my cut, intending to use my five minutes smoking in the fresh air—away from the curious eyes of my brothers.
"Cliff," Mark calls after me. "Borrow you for a minute?"
Lighting up, I hang back, letting Mark catch up to me. "Yeah?"
"I wanted to run you through the kinds of prizes we normally get. Remember?" His eyebrows furrow. "You all right, brother?"
"Fine." I exhale and try to look attentive. This benefit is important to me, but I'm having trouble caring about much of anything right now. I feel worse than when I first went inside twenty years ago.
"If you say so. You know I'm here, right? We all are. We love you."
"Yeah," I say, running a hand through my hair.
"All right." He claps me on the shoulder. "So, I've got some unisex River Reapers tees we can throw in. I've also got some Mermaid tees. What do you think about that?"
My eyebrows knit together. It's weird that he's asking me. The answer's pretty obvious, anyway. "Well," I drawl, "it's a strip club, which a lot of people feel is derogatory toward women . . ." I trail off.
"We are known for how well we treat our dancers," he points out. "No illegal activities. We screen. Everyone gets health insurance and other benefits, even our part-time dancers. Our bouncers keep out the riffraff. Anyone causes any trouble, Donny kicks their teeth in." His eyes meet mine, and he says nothing else. Just waits.
My confusion deepens. "We can always throw the shirts in. If no one wants them, no big loss," I suggest.
He nods. "Sounds good. Cool. Now, a lot of the time, we pick up more masculine prizes, like big ass bottles of booze and techie type things. I've got a feeling we ought to mix it up a little."
"Women like booze," I say, thinking of her and her tequila.
"That they do." He chuckles. "We can do the usual hard liquor, throw in a few bottles of good wine for the ladies who like it. Any other ideas?"
I scoff. "Why are you asking me this? I don't have a clue what women want." I don't mean to sound so dejected, but my voice oozes the hurt I feel deep in my bones. I exhale, finishing my cigarette.
"I was thinking we could raffle off a date with you," he says, eyeing me slyly.
"What?"
"I mean, our girls here love you," he continues. "I bet we could pull in a lot of cash from that prize alone."
I start to tell him to fuck off, then clamp my mouth shut. It'd just be a date. Completely harmless, and for a good cause. Then I picture Trish the terrible bartender winning and grimace. Olivia would kill us both.
I kind of love the idea of making her crazy, but I can't play games like that. Besides, I'm not in the mood for dating, even
if it's for charity.
"Not gonna happen," I tell him, the words firm.
"Even if we vote on it?" He smirks. He knows he's got me.
"This is bullshit," I grumble.
"It's a good deed." Mark grins and strolls away. "Oh yeah, you're gonna want to go up to Vermont for the booze," he calls over his shoulder.
If I didn't need a ride before, I really do now.
Vermont. Jesus Christ. That's forever away, smack in the middle of winter hippie wonderland. I'm not even a Prospect anymore, yet I keep finding myself on these errands.
At least I've got a month before I have to worry about it.
Outside, my brothers mount. The sound of engines starting reverberates through the street. Even in my terrible mood, the purr thrums through me, waking me up a little. I climb onto the Screamin' Eagle and start it, joining the chorus. The bike hums beneath me, trilling through my limbs until we're one. I give myself over to the machine, shedding my heart and mind, no longer a man.
If riding is a sort of meditation, riding with your club is nirvana.
Ravage takes off, Skid close behind him. One by one we fall into formation. I'm last, the latest patched-in member. Normally Olivia would be last, but she isn't here.
I'm simultaneously relieved and sorry.
We become a pack, effortlessly flowing with each other. I lose myself in the peace of it, letting go of the hurt and emptiness, letting my club fill me up again. It's the reminder I needed, that no matter what, I still have my brothers. I've still got Lucy. I even still have Olivia, even if only to a degree. It'll burn every time I see her, even if I live for the next thousand years.
I had to let her go, though.
So I follow my club down 63, through Middlebury and onto Route 8, into the deep green of Litchfield County. The hot summer air fills my lungs, flushing out the emptiness, reminding me of my purpose.
I need to get my head in the game. This benefit is important, not just to me and my brothers personally, but also to our community. To the Olivias and Lucys disguised among us, carrying a pain that tries to rot. If that means going on a stupid date with someone like Trish, I'll deal.
A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 22
