Slow Burn

by Autumn Jones Lake

  Why couldn't I remember if we'd said, "I love you?"

  I'd never say it again.

  Fresh tears blurred my vision, and I tried to catch my breath before facing the horror ahead of me.

  They let me see Clay. From that moment on, the reality set in with painful sharpness.

  No mistake.

  My husband was dead.

  The doctor explained that a spasm of the coronary arteries was to blame and that there was no way to predict it. It didn't comfort me.

  He further explained that four to ten percent of heart attacks occur before age forty-five. That didn't make it any better either.

  Lynn exploded in a fit of rage as soon as the doctor left. "I told you over and over you needed to watch his diet better!"

  Too broken to respond, I turned and left the hospital.

  Numbness set in. I'd have to take care of things. Tomorrow. I just needed to sleep.

  I drove home in a fog. In a zombified stupor, I made my way into our room and crawled into bed. The tears started to flow the minute my cheek hit the pillow and I inhaled Clay's scent.

  He was gone.

  By accident, I read the obituary for Hope's husband. I knew his first name, but I didn't realize she'd kept her maiden name. For some reason, the paper printed a picture of the two of them. Possibly an old engagement photo, I wasn't sure. Seeing her eyes and bright smile jump off the obituary page scared the fuck out of me. I almost never read the paper, and I'm still not sure why I did that day. Some would suggest fate, I guess. But as soon as I saw it and understood what had happened, I knew I needed to go to her.

  The beef with the Vipers had been settled. It had been a long, bloody year, but we'd come out the other side with an understanding in place. An understanding, and a lot less Vipers walking the planet, which didn’t bother me a lick. They'd made a mistake in going after civilians with loose connections to both the Wolf Knights and the Lost Kings. Hope wasn’t the first or last person outside of an MC they’d targeted. We may have been outlaws, but we also lived by a certain code. Setting their sights on people who had no clue they were even in a war and therefore had no chance to defend themselves garnered them no respect or mercy. In the end, the old, original Vipers had come and begged the Lost Kings and the Wolf Knights to help them rid their club of their new ruthless leaders, and we’d been more than happy to help—after negotiating some favorable terms for our respective MCs, of course.

  With this newfound peace, I was free to go back to my regular marijuana trafficking and wink of the pink business. Hope still lingered in the back of my mind. I couldn't shake thoughts of her. No matter how many dancers or club girls I fucked, Hope’s face was the last one I saw when I closed my eyes at night. It annoyed me, angered me, then fueled me. I'd always told myself if I found a good woman—a sweet, honest, intelligent, loyal woman—I would stop fucking around and settle down with her. Unfortunately when I found the perfect woman, she was already married to someone else. Of course I'd never find what I needed hanging around my MC or at Crystal Ball, and I wasn't sure why that was or what to do about it.

  Although I was a bastard, a criminal, and pretty damn crude at times, I respected Hope enough to leave her alone. Surely another perfect woman waited out there for me. One who understood my lifestyle and the role of the MC in my life. That was the one thing Hope did not have. Her identity was wrapped up working within the confines of the law. Mine existed mostly outside of the law. If I could tear myself away from my insane fantasies, it would be clear that a relationship between us could never have worked anyway.

  Then suddenly, Hope wasn't married anymore. I honestly took no pleasure in her husband's death. I couldn't imagine how painful it must be for her to be widowed so young. The obituary didn't give a lot of details, but it sounded health-related. Inconsiderate prick that I was, I straddled my motorcycle and headed to her house.

  Cars lined the driveway and both sides of the street. I backed my bike into a spot and walked up the long driveway. People stood around outside chatting. I followed the noise to the back of the house. Three women stood clustered together. The tallest one sniffled and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

  "My baby brother. I told her so many times to take better care of him. But she's always, ugh. They didn't even—I'll never be an aunt now." The woman started wailing, while her friends consoled her. It didn't take a genius to know she must be Hope's sister-in-law. The tone she used when speaking about Hope really pissed me off. Her "baby brother" was a grown-ass man. Clearly her sister had some misplaced grief, but putting it all on the widow's shoulders was some fucking bullshit.

  Ignoring the drama queen, I shouldered my way through the crowd. Even though I'd left my cut outside and long sleeves covered the majority of my ink, people moved out of my way. I guess I’d perfected the sort of demeanor that said "move or else."

  Maneuvering through the house, I realized how little I knew about Hope. Throughout my obsession with her, I'd never stopped to consider who she was as a person. I'd pinned a whole lot of fantasies on my idea of her based on the little I did know. The kitchen was covered in food items people had obviously brought with them, but, the bright splashes of color and number of unidentifiable appliances had me wondering if Hope enjoyed cooking.

  Photographs lined the walls of the short hallway. She and her husband had liked to travel. I imagined how painful it would be for Hope to pass these photos every day from now on and wondered if anyone here would do her the kindness of taking them down and putting them away.

  At the end of the hall, a door stood open and I poked my head inside. Soft sniffling sounds came from the dark. When my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I recognized Hope's crumpled form on the bed. Afraid of startling her, I called out, "Hey."

  She mumbled what sounded like a greeting but didn't sit up. I crept into the room, feeling like a lowlife. We hadn't exactly parted on good terms, and here I was invading her space at what had to be the worst moment of her life. As I approached the bed, I took in the bright orange comforter. Since the day we met, I'd pictured fucking Hope in many different places: over my desk, up against the wall in my office, on the back of my bike, in the shower, on the kitchen counter at my house, in my bed at the MC. But I'd never once pictured what her house or bedroom might be like. Probably because I knew she shared it with another man. None of that crossed my mind as I crept up to her. No, instead I had inane thoughts about how I never pictured her in orange bedding. A regular fucking Martha Stewart, aren’t I?

  Sheer, black stockings covered her legs, leaving the pale soles of her feet visible through the dark, silky fabric. It seemed like such an odd, intimate piece of her to notice. It’s not like I suffered from some foot fetish. I clenched my fists to avoid running my hand up her leg. I genuinely wanted to comfort her, not perv all over her.

  "Hope, honey, I'm so sorry."

  She bolted upright at the sound of my voice. Her hands fluttered over her face, wiping away stray tears. I plucked a tissue off the nightstand and handed it to her. Wide, green eyes stared up at me. Still as beautiful as I remembered.

  "Rochlan? What are you doing here?" Her raw voice using my full name twisted my insides. How had I survived the last year without her in my life? I breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t start screaming at the sight of me or smash a lamp over my head.

  "I heard about your husband…about Clay, and wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m so sorry, Hope."

  She scooted back on the mattress a bit then settled back down, snuggling into the pillows.

  "I'm just peachy," she mumbled.

  I eyed the extra few inches as an invitation to sit down next to her, so I did. My hand found its way to the middle of her back and moved over the soft fabric of her dress in what I intended to be soothing circles.

  "I can't believe you're here," she said after a few minutes of silence. "It's been a year since you disgraced me and tried to destroy my career. Now you're in my bedroom the day I buried my husband."


  Her voice never rose above a rough whisper, but the words wounded just the same.

  "Hope, now isn’t the time to explain, but please believe me when I tell you I had a very good reason for doing what I did."

  "Does it have anything to do with Glassman getting shot?"

  I'd forgotten how fucking sharp she was.

  "Yes."

  "So, are you putting me in danger by being here now?"

  "No. God, no."

  "Knock-knock." A husky feminine voice came from the doorway. I turned to see the visitor. A slender brunette with striking blue eyes stepped into the room. Beautiful eyes that narrowed with suspicion as she took me in.

  "Everything okay in here? Hope?"

  "Sophie?"

  Like the jackass I was, my eyes skimmed over the woman's tight black dress, appreciating her wispy curves. As she took in my hand on Hope's back, her delicate features screwed up in a tight scowl. I unfolded myself from the bed and stood against the wall closest to the bed. Sophie sat down next to Hope, still eying me with caution.

  Hope reached out and wrapped her hand around her friend's. "Thank you for everything."

  "You're welcome, sweetie. Are you sure you don't want to come stay at my place for a few days? I have to fly out Monday, but my brother will be around if you need something."

  "No, I'm okay. My mom and stepdad are going to stick around for a couple days. I appreciate it, though."

  "Well, after they go, come by if you want. Call me at any time."

  Hope nodded then asked, "How's your rock star?"

  Sophie snorted. "Away. We're almost never in the same place at the same time. But we can talk about that later, buttercup."

  "No, I need to take my mind off things."

  "Why don't you introduce me to your friend?" Sophie angled her head in my direction.

  Hope glanced at me and waved her hand in the air. "Rochlan North, this is one of my best friends, Sophia Alfani." I raised my hand in hello.

  "Oh! This is Rock?" She cocked her head and took me in through narrowed eyes.

  She'd definitely heard about me. Interesting. Although the look on her face told me whatever she knew didn’t flatter me.

  "Did Lynn leave yet?" Hope asked, changing the subject.

  Sophie dragged her penetrating gaze away from me with obvious reluctance. "No. I'm sorry, but she's being a complete bitch too."

  "That the one wailing about how she'll never be an aunt?" I asked.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. "Jesus," she muttered under her breath.

  "I understand. They were all they had left. I just wish…" her voice trailed off.

  "Hey, Mara and her judge stopped by."

  Hope actually let out a giggle, and even though she had no clue, Sophie earned my undying devotion that instant for doing something to cheer Hope up.

  "I can't believe Judge Oak was in my house. He scares the pants off me."

  Sophie chuckled. "She wanted me to tell you if you need her to cover any of your cases to let her know. If she can't cover it, she said Ross or Beth can. Adam said he'll go through all your files, so don't worry about that. You know I'd help you too. I'm just never here."

  "No, you've already been a big help. Thank you."

  "All right, I have to get going." Sophie lifted her gaze to me, but her next question was directed at Hope. "You sure you're okay here?"

  Hope opened her eyes, meeting mine. "Yeah, I’ll be okay."

  After Sophie left, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Rock shifted away from the wall. For the first time since I’d met the big, scary biker, he looked uncertain.

  Nope. Hadn’t lost my mind. Rock was actually here. In my bedroom. I was sure any minute now Lynn would stick her nose in the room and blow a gasket.

  The walls pulsed and closed in around me. Pulling in air became a struggle. Why had I let Lynn talk me into hosting all these people in my house? I couldn’t handle the additional stress. Entertaining made me nervous on a good day. Today, all I could think about was Clay. I wanted to make him proud, but I was failing miserably, which was why I decided to give up and lie down on our bed.

  Then Rock showed up.

  To see if I needed anything.

  After what he’d done, I figured I’d never see him again. Figured he hated me for some reason I’d never understand. How could I anticipate he’d care enough about me to not only learn about my husband’s death, but to find out where I lived and to come see me? It made no sense.

  Maybe I was hallucinating?

  "You okay, doll?" The bed dipped as Rock sat next to me. His big, warm hand rubbed over my back in a soothing motion, and I leaned into his touch. Nope. He felt much too solid to be a figment of my imagination.

  An idea popped into my head, and I grasped his other hand.

  "Did you bring your bike?"

  He didn't hesitate before answering, "Yes."

  "Would you take me for a ride?"

  He cocked his head to the side, watching me with hooded eyes. "You need to get out of here for a few?"

  "Please."

  This was crazy and all wrong. I knew it deep down. But I just wanted the pain to stop, if even for a few inappropriate seconds.

  I’d never been sentimental, but Hope’s simple request, coupled with the bereft look on her face, left scratches on my heart. I didn't know if having her family see her ride off with some strange guy was the best idea, but I couldn't say no to her.

  "You can't ride in that, though." I nodded to her dress.

  "Okay." She stood and crossed the room to flip the lights on. I took in everything. Lots of smooth, gleaming wood furniture. Two dressers stood against opposite walls. One looked like a tornado had blown through, the other neat and orderly. The awkwardness of sitting on the bed she'd shared with her husband sunk in, so I stood. Not sure what to do, I offered to leave so she could change in private.

  "No, please stay?" She shut the door and locked it, then ambled toward one of the doors facing the bed. Looked like an explosion of clothes inside a modest walk-in closet. She shut herself inside, and I cursed myself for imagining her naked on the other side. After a few minutes, she emerged in a pair of dark jeans and a loose blouse in swirls of black, green, and blue. Her long hair flowed free around her shoulders. I took in her bare feet. "You got a pair of boots with a small heel?"

  She nodded and stepped back into the closet, this time leaving the door open. A few thumps and shuffling noises later, she surprised the hell out of me by coming out in a pair of knee-high black leather boots adorned with silver studs. It seemed Hope had an inner bad girl I knew nothing about. She shrugged into a form-fitting black leather jacket and looked up at me questioningly.

  My mouth watered at the sight of her.

  I cleared my throat. "That'll do."

  She walked me through the house, stopping to speak to her mother for a few seconds. Even though the woman eyed me with suspicion, Hope didn’t bother introducing me, and I didn’t take offense. She ignored her sister-in-law altogether, which made me proud of her.

  We left through the front door. For some ridiculous reason, I wanted to take her hand as we walked through the grass and onto the driveway. Like the decent guy I wanted to be, I kept my hands to myself. I didn’t need to tell her the bike at the end of her driveway belonged to me. She knew because no one else in her life rode a bike. Only one on the street.

  "I've never been on a motorcycle before," she said softly.

  That didn’t surprise me at all.

  I kept staring at Rock's bike. I was terrified of motorcycles. Or at least I used to be. I didn't know what I was anymore. A big, hard ball of pain surrounded by bone and flesh. Animated, but barely. That's all I was in that moment. Numb, but hurting. Awake, but unaware. The agony was physical and relentless. I wanted to claw my way out of my own body. I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

  Rock regarded me with a soft expression. I expected him to snort when I told him I'd never been on a bike before, but j
ust as he’d been in the house, he was sweet and understanding.

  "It's easy, doll. I'll get on first." He bent over and folded down a peg on either side at the back of the bike. "These are the passenger footpegs. Once you're on, plant your feet there, and keep 'em there. You don't want to come into contact with the rear wheel or anything else. These are the exhaust pipes. They get hot. Do not touch them with any part of your body."

  He took out a helmet and adjusted it, then placed it over my head, fastening it, then checking to make sure it stayed put.

  "Where's yours?" I asked.

  "You're wearing it, doll."

  "Rock—"

  "We'll be fine. You got a lot more important information in that pretty little head than I got in mine." He tapped the top of the helmet twice for emphasis.

  I couldn’t help but smile, and the corners of Rock's mouth turned up in response. He extended his leg over the bike and sat in one graceful move that I instantly envied. From his pocket, he unfolded a pair of sunglasses and slipped them on. Looking back at me, he continued explaining what I thought would be a simple process.

  "Put your hand on my shoulder, then swing your leg over the seat. Slide gently up onto the bike. Once you're on, put your feet on the pegs. Even when I stop, you keep your feet on those pegs where they'll be safe." He stopped and cleared his throat. Sitting on the bike was more comfortable than I expected, at least at first. There was a small bit of space between us, and I struggled to maintain it.

  "Doll, you're going to need to get a little closer than that."

  Oh.

  I let gravity do its job until my thighs snuggled up against him.

  "You can place your hands on my hips or wrap them around my waist to hold on. It will keep you in touch with my movements. Keep your weight centered over the bike. Don't move around a lot. Lean when and where I lean, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Nothing happened for a moment, and I realized my hands were still resting at my side. I settled them on his hips. Absently, my hands slid over the smooth material of his Henley. Satisfied, he twisted the handle and the bike roared to life. My heart fluttered, and I opened my mouth to tell him I’d made a mistake when he rocketed down the street. We were probably going slow, but it felt crazy fast to me. I squealed and wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him tight. When we reached the end of my street, he stopped at the sign and put his feet down. His words sailed through my head, and I remembered at the last second to keep my feet on the pegs.