by A. C. Bextor
My eyes narrow.
“What’s that even mean, ‘This shower isn’t what it should be?’,” I mock his tone.
This was a mistake. An epic one at that.
Towering over me, Gypsy positions his face close. Close enough that if I were to lean up an inch, his lips would be on mine. I’d test his reaction if I thought it would work in my favor.
As if reading my mind, he growls, “My hands will be on you, but they won’t be on you the way I want them.”
My insides clench at his thoughts expressed as cruel and unusual testimony.
“Three,” he goes on, this time grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it up and over my head, leaving me to sit in my white lace bra.
Tossing the shirt outside the shower, it hits the tile of the bathroom floor with a splat. As if I wasn’t already recklessly exposed, Gypsy’s eyes keep to my stomach and chest.
He’s seen everything now, no doubt. Every painful punch to my gut. Each terrifying strike to my chest. Those men left bruises in places I’d once imagined impossible.
“Cricket,” he voices, his tone broken. “Baby,” he gets out low.
With nothing for it, I wrap my arms around my stomach. “I’m okay.”
“Baby,” he says again.
I hate pity. What happened to me was awful, and why it happened, worse. But give me your anger, your spite, your vow of revenge. Never, ever, give me pity. The last few days I’ve dwelled in enough of that to last a lifetime.
“Three?” I snap waspishly, regaining his attention.
Gypsy’s gaze comes to mine, and the trance he’d been in is no more.
“Three,” he clips loudly. “After this, you’re gonna eat what Mom brings in. And you’re not gonna argue with her or any of your girls anymore.”
“That was three,” I point out, holding up my first few fingers. Adding another, I tell him, “And then four.”
“Swear to Christ, Cricket,” he mumbles, running his hand through his wet hair. The muscles of his arms and chest work in tandem. I suck in my lips to keep from biting them.
Grabbing my ankles, Gypsy props them on the shower’s edge, weary of my stitches. He shifts around my chair to block the shower’s spray from most of my body, keeping it at his back. His hands work through my hair, the smell of lavender teasing my nose. His fingers dig in harder, then they continue to travel down until he’s all but rubbing the back of my neck.
I close my eyes, relaxing under his ministrations. Once my guard is down, Gypsy goes for the clip of my bra.
Shoving forward, I shake my head. “Not happening.”
“Cricket,” he tries to reason. “What we’re doin’ in here isn’t that.”
I understand his point. But still, I protest. “I said no.”
In one blink of a moment’s time, the bra is unclasped and being worked down my arms.
If I was mad before, I’m now straight pissed.
Looking ahead and grinding my jaw, I converse with the plain, shiny, white ceramic wall, “If he thinks he’s washing the good parts of me, he’s sorely mistaken.”
The wall, nor Gypsy, offers a reply.
Finishing my back, shoulders, and neck, Gypsy shoves the bottle of lavender soap over my shoulder for me to accept.
“I’m turning around, Cricket,” he informs. “Finish what needs done and call out when you’re ready.”
Well, at least he’s giving me some privacy. Still, not enough to warrant no longer being mad.
I do as he says, if only to get me out of here sooner. Carefully, with one gentle tug at a time, I’m able to remove my wet panties and get down to business. Putting them back on proves a task more difficult. Not that Gypsy hasn’t seen all of me, but I’m already vulnerable. I don’t need the added embarrassment.
Once I’ve finished washing, I turn in the chair and slap the bottle against his back. A little harder than necessary, but when an opportunity presents itself, you accept.
He turns in place, grabs it, then moves from under the showerhead. He walks in front of where I sit, allowing a stream of hot water to pour freely over my entire body.
I close my eyes and accept the rain of bliss. Opening my mouth, the water falls in and I take in a long lasting drink. My hands move to my neck, up the column of my throat, and through my hair.
Why I hadn’t showered, even in my stubborn, bullheaded state, is beyond me. I needed this.
My welcome home under the hot water is ruined when an infuriated “Fuck” fills the stall.
I open my eyes and bring down my head to find Gypsy’s heated gaze directly over my chest, stomach, and legs.
His hair is drenched with excess water, his jeans soaking wet. The white tee he had on, already threadbare to start with, is now dripping wet, giving me a glimpse of the chest I once kissed. The tattoos I once traced with my tongue. The strong shoulders I’ve leaned on for comfort.
Even after all these years, inside and out, Gypsy is so much the same. Strong-willed, caring, and kind. And so devastatingly beautiful.
Using my arms to hide my chest, I wipe away the memories and glare up to his towering frame.
“Happy with yourself?” I snap to avoid my blush.
“Ecstatic,” he grumbles in return.
Doing one further, I point out, “I hate you. You know that, right?”
If venom had a voice, my guess is that it’d be spewing its poison directly in my ear. Gypsy’s livid.
Bending at the waist, and placing his hands on either side of the chair’s arms, he shakes his head slowly, locking his eyes with mine.
“Warning, Cricket. My patience for your shit has run out.”
“Good. Then you can leave.”
Reaching behind me, Gypsy shuts off the water and steps back, making room for me to stand.
“You want me to dry you, or call one of your girls in?” he questions to my agitation.
“Give me that,” I snip, grabbing the towel from his hands.
“Cricket,” he clips. “Me or one of the girls?”
“We’re right here!” Mia calls from the other side of the bathroom.
Gypsy’s eyes lock with mine. “Fuck.”
“Gypsy, we got her,” Sunny voices next.
I smile like a schoolyard kid getting her chance to taunt the class bully.
“You heard her,” I whisper, nodding in the direction of my posse. “Out you go.”
With this, Gypsy pulls the curtain open, and at the same time, we look onto both Sunny and Mia standing guard. Mom’s at their backs, but her eyes are only on her son.
I hope he gets in trouble for talking to her the way he did. I’m hoping Mom gives him an earful, and Pop gives him a slap to the back of his thick head.
Talking to Mia, Gypsy coolly informs, “Bringin’ her something to eat. She’ll finish every bite or you’ll let me know.”
“Aye, aye,” Mia returns, and his eyes turn to slits.
Oops.
Gypsy growls, twisting back to give me another glance. I shrug, not minding him being uncomfortable.
“Out!” Sunny demands, pushing at his wet behind.
Taking in all those in the small bathroom, I want to laugh. This dramatic scene would be funny if I didn't feel my life falling apart around me.
But, of course, I do.
So rather than thank him for his help to wash away the last few days of loneliness, I stand here as he kisses my temple, resting his fevered lips against my chilled skin.
The gesture is unexpected and sweet. I don’t let this penetrate, though. Why would I?
Damn my life.
I want to know.
I need to know why he came back, how long he plans to stay, and how many weeks it’ll take to pick up the pieces of my life when he walks away again.
My temple still tingles from his kiss. He’d been angry at first, so angry for how I’ve treated those who love me. But his reaction was superficial. Whether it was intended or not, I caught a glimpse of something more. As he looked over the visual reminders of wh
at happened, I expected his ire, fury, rage. Even a curse, a threat against those who’d done this. But his reaction was far from plots of revenge. Gypsy was hurting for me.
“Elevent told me Gypsy had a word with him,” Mia states, dropping her hand after taping a clean bandage on my cheek. “He said he’s decided to stay with the club for now.”
Standing at the end of the bed, hovering like a nervous mother, Sunny frowns. “Maybe we should leave this for Cricket and Gypsy to discuss.”
I ignore Sunny’s advice. “There is no me and Gypsy,” I tell them. Turning toward Mia, I prod, “But Elevent said Gypsy wants to stay?”
Mia runs her hand through her long hair, and exhales a heavy sigh.
She takes in a calming breath before starting with, “I’ll preface this by saying you know how I feel about you and Gypsy.”
Mia isn’t Gypsy’s biggest fan. Of course she cares about him, but with detachment. She’s never come right out and said it, but she hates our past and blames him for it. She doesn’t trust him, and being Mia, she has to trust a person before she takes their words to mean anything.
This isn’t to say she’s a champion of all things Leglas, either. She wants what’s best for me as any friend would. The issue is, I’m the only person who gets to decide who and what that is.
“I know your thoughts on Gypsy,” I give.
“Good. Then when I say this, you know I mean it. What happened to you may have changed him. I’m thinking maybe he’s finally figuring out where he’s supposed to be.”
It’s not that I don’t want to believe this. It’s that I can’t afford to. Gypsy has turned my life inside out and upside down. His incessant need to push me away led to me needing to clear my head the day I was snatched right in front of Saint’s Justice.
I needed a minute. One fucking minute to talk myself out of calling him again. Leaving another unanswered voicemail or sending another ignored text.
He was pissed that I refused to go with him to Texas. But I couldn’t leave the club so soon after Pyke and Lane were killed. I needed to be here, at home, processing all that happened. I wanted him to stay, begged for him to work whatever was happening between us out.
But he left anyway.
“I don’t know if it matters that he’s changed,” I tell Mia. “If he’s changed at all.”
“You’ve waited for him for so long,” she says. “How can you say it doesn’t matter?”
“Because she’s changed,” Sunny insists. Both Mia and I turn our heads toward her. Talking to me, Sunny observes, “You’re different, Cricket. I saw the difference the day you got back. You’re not the person you used to be.”
Am I so transparent?
“Of course she’s the same person!” Mia snaps. “What are you talking about?”
Suppose I am so transparent. I’ve always been. And maybe it’s good that the others have taken notice. Maybe now it’ll be easier to explain that for once in my life, I want to be the one in control of it.
“I’ve changed but I also haven’t,” I agree but don’t. Mia sits back in her chair, resting her hands in her lap. Sunny tilts her head. “Being away from home for the first time since I was a kid…” I begin, looking away from the prying eyes to keep my courage. “I had time to think.”
“Think about what?” Mia prods. “You and Gypsy?”
Shaking my head, I wonder if she or Sunny would understand. Or if they’d consider my self-thoughts a form of childish whining.
“I love him,” I tell them both. “I won’t deny how much. Or explain the reasons why. But what about me?”
“What about you?” Mia prompts.
“Gypsy hurt you,” Sunny says. “Not for the first time. You’re afraid he’s not here because he wants to be, but because he feels he’s supposed to be.”
“Yes.”
“And once he sees you’re okay, you’re scared he’s going to do what he always does.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I answer, “Yes. He’ll leave.”
Opposite of Mia, Sunny has always been team Gypsy. She’s stood at my side from the day she got to Saint’s, watching and waiting for Gypsy to come around. When he didn’t, when he left the last time, she all but gave up hope as I had.
“Have you talked to Leglas?” Mia questions next.
“No. I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back.”
“He’ll want to talk to you about all of this,” Sunny says. “He’s been patient, which is a surprise.”
“I don’t know what to say to him.”
Mia reaches over, placing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You say what’s in your heart. Leglas knows how you feel about him. And it’s not like he doesn’t know you’ve been in love with another man for years.”
“I don’t want to hurt him.”
Mia smiles small. “Leglas loves you.”
“I know.”
Assumingly, she includes, “You’re probably the only person here he’d never want to live without.”
Leglas will understand. What he and I have isn’t love. We aren’t a couple in the sense we’ve ever considered a future together. He’s mine, I’m his, but in a completely fucked up non-traditional sense.
“He’s always so angry,” I tell them in regard to Gypsy. “I’ve never understood why.”
A heavy clearing of a throat jars our attention.
“Ziah’s outside. He got word that Cricket’s taking visitors. He’s losin’ his mind tryin’ to find a way to get in here,” Elevent’s deep voice calls into the room. Standing in front of me, the girls part. He takes a few steps inside, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb. “You about finished with her?”
At this, I take a deep breath. When I half-smile, Elevent winks. He can’t stand when the girls gather for chatter. He’s said so repeatedly, pointing out that if we’re not drinking, we’re planning something that’ll drive him to drink.
“Well, that lasted all of thirty minutes,” Mia punishes, turning back to me with a scowl. “I’ll be back in a bit to check in.”
“I only need a few minutes,” Elevent excuses. “One of you can bring Ziah to see her after.”
Elevent’s studious gaze hits Sunny first. He lifts his chin, signaling her to the hallway behind him. He does the same with Mia. Sunny goes willingly, as suggested, but Mia doesn’t. Not right away. She never does. If there’s one thing I love about her, it’s that she never obeys without question.
Concerned, she looks down and grabs my shoulder, squeezing it tightly in comfort. “We’ll talk later. After you’ve had some time to process.”
“Thank you,” I return by rote.
As Mia turns and follows Sunny, Elevent grabs her wrist. Clearly hanging on to the snit of being kicked out, she stops abruptly to look up at him. Adoration shines in his eyes as he takes in her defiance and he smirks. Whatever unspoken conversation they’re having, I’m an intruder. I cast my eyes away.
Elevent is the best person I know. He’s not had an easy life, but he’s never let this stand in his way of making a better one. Since the day I met him, he’s taken on the role of making mine easier to take as well.
I move to sit up farther, bravely trying not to wince at the pain in my ribs, feet, and face.
Elevent’s gaze traverses over my sheet-covered frame from head to toe, and his jaw tightens.
“I’m okay,” I tell him, giving up and settling my back on the pillow against the frame. “I promise I look worse than I feel.”
“Well, you look like fucking shit,” he exasperates.
All right and damn. There it is, the truth I knew but didn’t need confirmed.
I figured between the pain still radiating under my eye, and the aching in my feet, I hadn’t healed as much as the others had let on.
Grabbing the chair Mia had left, Elevent takes a seat.
“Well, you look like shit, too,” I note, and he scoffs. “But worse.”
“Not far from how I’m feelin’,” he returns. “Won’t be better unti
l you’re…” He stops, looks to his lap, and gets out a tortured, “Cricket…”
Reaching over, I grab his wrist. He covers my hand with his and holds tight. So tight, I start to pull away, but he doesn’t allow the attempt. He’s going to have this one and only moment of doubt, and I’m going to let him.
“What happened to you…” he starts again, shaking his head as if he’s able to clear it.
“What happened to me wasn’t your fault.”
“The fuck it wasn’t,” he bites out. Casting a glance to my feet, the sides of his eyes get tight and he hisses, “Your fuckin’ feet got slashed. That’s on me.”
My feet did get the worst of my punishment. Those men who’d taken me to that room went for them first, cutting and slicing. They made it so even if I got free, I wouldn’t run.
I’d consider this a smart and strategic move on their part, if I wanted to consider vulgar criminals at all.
“I’m healing,” I tell Elevent.
The tension in his gaze relaxes, and he brings his eyes to mine. In confirmation, he nods he’s heard me.
“Tell me what you need,” he offers. “Anything you need, you’ll get it.”
Anything I need? How many options do I list and in what order?
I need not to be confused.
I need Gypsy to not be the one to confuse me.
I need to talk to Leglas, making sure he feels no guilt.
I need to get myself together and start the life I want to live.
Rather than add to Elevent’s concern, I share, “I have everything I need.”
“There’s gotta be somethin’, honey.”
“Elevent, really. I appreciate you, but I’m good.”
Seconds tick by, and he struggles in place.
“Cricket,” he addresses, his voice somber. “We gotta talk about somethin’, and you’re gonna listen to what I have to say.”
I don’t like his tone, or the expression on his face.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Mom and Pop are back.”
“Yeah, I saw Mom today.”
“Pop and I talked.”
This can’t be good. Any and all things discussed regarding me with Pop never turns out in my favor. From dating, to clothes, to friends, and so forth.
“You talked to Pop,” I prod. “And?”
