“That is not a sacrifice I’m comfortable that you made,” he said quietly.
I licked my lips.
“Even sayin’ that,” he went on. “Knowin’ that’s the kind of love you have for me, that rocks me. Rocks me in a good way, baby. Knowin’ you were in so deep for me you didn’t let go even for a hookup, makes me feel like a dick sayin’ this, but I’m sensin’ you need to hear it, it means a lot.”
“I think you kinda communicated that with our, uh… latest session.”
His gaze softened with humor but the intensity stayed put.
“I hate that for you,” he whispered. “I hate that you had that kind of lonely without me. And I love it at the same time.” His head tilted on the pillow. “Do you get that?”
“I think so,” I whispered.
“You suffered,” he whispered back.
“At my own hand,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t come back.”
I shut my mouth and felt my head twitch.
“Knew you. Knew us,” he declared. “Knew what we had. You got shot of me, knew that wasn’t right. But I didn’t come back. You suffered at my hand, too, Millie. And that fuckin’ sucks. I hate that most of all. But I vow to you right now, I’m gonna fix it.”
“I…” I shook my head. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t all yours either and it’s not cool you take that on.”
“But it was me—”
“And it was me who didn’t come back.”
I opened my mouth but he spoke.
“I didn’t love her.”
I shut my mouth again.
“You know that. Now you’ll know I never got close. Didn’t even try. What we had wasn’t about that and I think that’s part of the reason we had it. She’s not a woman who wants to be loved. She loves our girls but that’s all she wants out of life and she’s good with that. She made that plain. She did not suffer through what we had. We existed. And that’s all the effort either of us gave it. She gave as good as she got to us. That bein’ nothin’. She was down with that and so was I. Lookin’ back, that’s one of the reasons why I went in with her. Because I didn’t have to make the effort. I didn’t have to bury what was always at the surface even to pretend. Even in an effort not to hurt a decent woman.”
He stopped talking and when he said no more, I replied on a prompt, “Okay.”
“In other words, Millie, it’s only been you.”
I dragged in a ragged breath.
“It’ll only be you,” he went on.
I stared down at him.
He swept his thumb along the apple of my cheek. “So it’s gonna be my throat.”
My head twitched again.
“What?” I asked, and it came out breathy.
“You made the choice and even if you said you wanted it on my dick, I’d do that. I’d ink my cock with you. But I want anyone who sees me to know. Anyone who gets a look at my face. Not the back of my neck. No way somewhere hidden. They look at my face, they can see, right across my throat, I’m yours.”
A badass biker with his woman’s tat emblazoned across his throat?
That was huge.
Mammoth.
Oh shit.
I was going to cry again.
To battle that, I started breathing deep.
And to battle it, I had to concentrate on that and nothing else.
Therefore, I didn’t speak.
“That work for you?” he asked.
“I… uh… you…”
I cleared my throat.
Then it overwhelmed me and my body bucked with holding back the sob.
I couldn’t look at him, he was too beautiful, what he was saying was too colossal.
So I shoved my face in his neck and started deep breathing again.
Logan slid his hand into my hair and through it. Back to tangle his fingers again, he glided them through. And repeat, all while he muttered, “I’ll take that as it workin’ for you.”
I nodded.
Then I took time to pull myself together.
Logan let me.
Once I accomplished that gargantuan feat, I remarked, “Getting a tat on your throat is gonna hurt, Low.”
“So?”
He didn’t expect a response and even if he did, I had none. As far as I knew, he’d taken the needle four times. The Chaos insignia that spanned his back. My tat, which was now gone. The tat that covered it. And whatever that was on his ribs (which I wasn’t sure I had the strength to understand right then so I avoided even thinking too much about it).
He’d know how much it’d hurt.
I let that go and carefully noted, “Your girls are gonna see.”
“Millie, look at me.”
He sounded serious.
All that was happening was serious, huge, unbelievable, overwhelming, in good ways and in some bad.
So I didn’t want more serious.
But I had to get my shit together.
Over the years, I didn’t even allow myself to dream that this might happen.
However, now it seemed I was living a dream I hadn’t had the courage to have.
Since it was here, though, I had to find the courage to face it.
Nourish it.
And unlike the last time, hold on and not let go.
So I lifted my head.
Logan slid his hand to the side of my neck, holding me there with that hand and the one at the back and keeping hold.
“I hesitate with this, beautiful,” he started gently, “’cause you’re fragile. I get that.” He gave me a light squeeze with both hands when he saw what I knew hit my face. “I don’t judge it. You’re not in my shoes. You don’t feel the gift it is that you gave me living the way you did for twenty years, keeping yourself only for me. Honest to Christ, it’s not a gift I want but it’s precious all the same.”
I took in another deep breath.
Logan kept going.
“I know you weren’t hibernatin’ and I woke you up. I know what I gotta do is like breathin’ life back into you. And I hope it’s sinkin’ in that I’m all in with that. So I’ll say careful-like that my girls are my girls. They might not have been raised in a home where their mom and dad loved each other, but they were raised in a home where there was a lotta love. They’ll want you for me.”
“Okay, Low,” I replied shakily, hoping that was true.
“Cleo, she always had her head screwed on straight,” he told me. “She’s a lot like her old man. Sees the world as it is and takes it as it is. Zadie…” He paused and held my gaze. “My Zadie’s a dreamer. It never touched her, the void of what her parents should have had. She made up what she wanted to be there and lived in that place.”
Oh man.
Logan continued. “So what I’m sayin’, gentle-like, is that I know I got my work cut out for me with you. But you gotta go into this knowin’ we both got our work cut out with Zadie. You with me?”
Wonderful.
“Have you… I mean, you’ve been here awhile. Have you spoken to them?” I asked.
“About you?” he asked back, but answered before I could even nod. “No. But while you been asleep, I talked with their mom and I talked with them.” His voice dropped. “Talk with them as often as I can so I’ll be phonin’ them today while I’m with you.”
He sounded like that would bother me, but of course he would phone them.
So I just nodded.
“I’m going to do my bit,” I told him, likely with more bravado than bravery. “I mean, with you. With us. I won’t fall apart on you again.”
Something changed in his expression right before he changed our positions, rolling into me so I was on my back and he was pressed into my side, his face close, his hands moving so he had one arm wrapped around me, his other hand still at my neck, thumb stroking my throat.
“Never,” he whispered, and my hands resting at his sides curled into his flesh at his tone. “Never, Millie, don’t you ever hide or feel asham
ed of the emotion you have for me, for us, for what we lost, for all we got back. Don’t ever do that. All a’ this is gonna be pain right along with pleasure. That is, until we work through the pain and got nothin’ but the good left over. And I swear to you, fuckin’ swear, I’ll get us there.”
“I’ve changed,” I admitted, a tremor of fear lacing those two words.
“That isn’t lost on me,” he returned instantly. “There’s shit you gotta know about me too. But we didn’t walk through fire only to get to the end of that and not get our reward. If we can walk through fire, baby, we can do anything.”
I wanted that to sink in.
But there was still fear in my voice when I said, “I’m worried it’s too late. I’m worried too much time has passed. We’ve both changed. Probably a lot. I’m worried—”
He cut me off to ask, “Does this feel like it’s too late?”
I took him in, lying on me, touching me, holding me—he was my whole world in a variety of ways and had been since we met. But right then, that feeling was literal.
So it totally didn’t feel too late.
Not at all.
“You make it sound so easy,” I whispered.
“Doin’ anything at your side, no matter how hard it gets, it’s still gonna be a fuckuva lot easier than tryin’ to do anything without you. So, you’re right. It might not be easy. Life is what it is and we’re gonna face shit along the way. But I know what it was like, doin’ that not havin’ you. And I know what it was like doin’ that havin’ you. And I know which way I like better.”
See?
He was so good at the flowery, biker goodness.
Too good.
So good I was close to crying again.
And in order not to do that, I got bitchy.
“You’re gonna have to stop being so awesome or I’ll be bawling like a lunatic all the time,” I snapped.
He gave me more of his weight as he dipped his face closer.
“Not sure I can stop bein’ awesome, beautiful. It’s just me.”
I rolled my eyes.
When I rolled them back, I saw his were dancing.
God, I loved that.
I melted and lost the bitchy.
Then I realized I’d melted and lost the bitchy so I regained the bitchy and declared sharply, “You’re being awesome again.”
He started chuckling.
In order not to let how good that felt, and better, how good that felt having it back reduce me to a blubbering mess, I glared.
While glaring, I announced, “Right, so, this being at each other’s sides business, you should know the obstacles you face include, but are not limited to, me being scared absolutely shitless about meeting your girls and them not liking me. Me not having a good idea about the other tat that’s new that’s inked into your ribs. And last but not least, me warning you I’m no longer anywhere near an old lady. I’m boring. I watch TV, wear designer duds, and work most of the time. And don’t get any ideas because my halter top, cutoff shorts days are way behind me. And, although I hold no judgment against pot smokers, you still do that shit, you do it outside. I don’t want the smell in my furniture.”
He’d stopped chuckling but was still smiling when he returned, “Got kids, babe, don’t smoke pot except on occasion, only when they’re not with me and I’m at the Compound so I can commune with the brothers, then crash.”
“That’s acceptable,” I stated haughtily.
“And I dig your new threads. In fact, you’re gonna be wearing that sweater dress thing you had on that day you got up in my face when I was deliverin’ the champagne and you’re gonna be doin’ that soon so I can do the things to you I been thinkin’ about doin’ since I saw your ass in it.”
His words had a variety of effects but I elected to focus on just one.
“I didn’t get up in your face. You got up in mine,” I reminded him.
“I did,” he agreed cheerfully. “But then you got up in mine.”
“Only because you got up in mine,” I retorted.
“Whatever.” He blew that off and reverted back to the earlier subject. “As for you workin’ all the time, you’re gonna have to cut that shit out.”
Suddenly, we hit rocky ground.
But it all had to be faced and maybe sooner, having it all out there, was better than later.
“I like working,” I told him carefully. “And my job is busy.”
“Millie, you think I’m gonna settle for you carvin’ out time for a quick blowjob every once in a while, you best think again. We gotta lotta time to make up for. While we’re doin’ that, you’re gonna be takin’ my dick a lot, doin’ it in a variety of ways, and I’m gonna be takin’ my time givin’ it to you.”
These words only had a special subset of effects and I was so busy focusing on them, I had no reply.
“I see that’s caught your attention,” he muttered, and I hazily focused on him. “So we’ll start with that. But fair warnin’, your life is gonna be filled, beautiful, with the good shit that makes life worth livin’. So when you get back to work, you gotta think about how that’s gonna come about because your days livin’ as a ghost plannin’ parties for other people to enjoy and not havin’ that for yourself are done. Hear?”
I heard.
I liked.
I didn’t know how it was going to work out.
I just knew I was going to do what I could to find those ways.
However.
“Are you bossier than before or did I just not notice how bossy you were before?” I asked, and it wasn’t testy, it was voiced as I felt it, like I genuinely wanted to know.
Logan grinned. “No fuckin’ clue. What I do got a clue about is you best get used to the bossy. You give me stick about any a’ this shit, you’re gonna see a lot of it.”
My gaze drifted to his ear as my lips mumbled, “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“I am,” he replied firmly, and I looked back to him just in time to watch his head angle to the side. “Now, we woke up. We had a surprise family reunion. We had waffles. We had a drama. We had a spectacular fuck. We got some shit straight. In all that, you know what we haven’t had?”
“No,” I answered.
“A kiss.”
My “Oh” was a soft breath.
“So kiss me so we can shower,” he demanded. “Then, you’re right, we gotta get to a place with my girls before I get you inked to my throat. So the tat is out.” He dipped closer. “But I’m thinkin’ we’ll find ways to spend the day.”
I should spend it in my office, sorting through stuff, setting a meeting with Claire to debrief, not to mention unpacking, doing laundry, and getting the stuff Dottie loaned to me ready to return to my sister.
I didn’t mention a word of that.
I lifted my head the two inches it took me to press my lips to Logan’s.
He slanted his head farther and took my lip press, added tongues, and our lip press turned into a bodies melding, arms clasping, fingers clenching, tongues dueling make-out session.
Logan’s phone rang in the middle of it.
He ignored it and carried on.
When he broke the kiss, he did it only to drag me out of bed and into the shower.
It was a good shower.
Excellent.
We used to do that a lot together and I’d missed that too.
I felt the pain.
Then I set it aside to focus on something else. A number of something elses. All of them having to do with Logan, me, warm water, and slithery soap.
And that worked.
Magnificently.
High
His phone beeped with a voicemail after it quit ringing and High looked from it to Millie.
She was sitting cross-legged beside him on the couch. Her bottom half was under a fluffy afghan even though the house was warm, the fire was going, and one of her legs was resting on his thigh that was stretched out seeing as his feet were on her coffee table (something that brought
him a look, which got her a grin).
She was staring at the TV, cheeks wet, sniffling.
When what went down went down on the TV screen and seeing her reaction, High’d been worried. This was because the bitch on the television had bit it after having a baby and when that happened, Millie had mildly lost it.
He was concerned this was about why the woman bit it, dying after childbirth.
Then he realized Millie’s blubbering wasn’t about the woman losing her life after pushing out a kid. It was just that she was wound up in the show.
So he relaxed.
As the episode went on, she kept blubbering.
Since she was into it, he reached out and grabbed his phone.
He saw the call was from Tack, as was the voicemail.
This was Tack’s fifth call that day.
None of them High had returned.
He’d spoken to his girls that afternoon and he did it with Millie around. He didn’t lie when he said she was fragile. She’d suffered more than he’d thought she’d suffered. She was happy to have him back but she was piss-poor at hiding the fact that she was also terrified of it.
He got that.
He just had to go gentle.
At the same time she had to find it in her to suck it up.
When he talked to his girls, he noted she found that in her. The conversation wasn’t long, it happened while they were putting together a late lunch, and all he got from Millie were some sweet smiles, and after he disconnected, a hug and a murmured, “You’re cute with them.”
He wasn’t cute with them.
He was a father with two daughters.
That was it.
Millie thought it was cute, though, and he’d roll with that.
While talking to them, he made plans to take them to dinner the next night. He’d also talked to Millie about it. She wouldn’t be there and she’d agreed that was the way to go. He wasn’t going to spring her on his girls. Not like that.
He also wasn’t going to delay. Cleo and Zadie would learn about Millie the next night and they’d meet her soon after.
They were going to have to suck it up, too, or at least Zadie was.
There was not much that was shit about being a dad.
But the part where you had to teach your kids that life could throw curveballs and you had to dig deep to find it in you to adjust was a part of that shit.
Walk Through Fire Page 28
