Ride or Die 2

by Claire C. Riley

  I should know. I felt the same way.

  Chapter Two:

  Harlow

  Dom left, and I did exactly what he told me to.

  I slept.

  I slept for hours and hours and hours.

  I slept so hard that when I woke up one side of my body was numb from lying still for so long. It was the best night’s sleep I’d had in years. But I didn’t dream. I didn’t dream anymore. Dreams were for the childish ones that believed in happily ever afters and fairy tales where princes came to save them. Yeah, dreams had no place in my life.

  I hadn’t cared enough to change the sheets before I’d gone to sleep, but as I lay there the foulness of them filtered through to my brain and made me roll over onto my back with a grimace.

  I stared up at the floral light shade on the ceiling. Cobwebs hung from it, and I had no doubt in my mind that it was probably the same one that had been up when Dom had bought this place. Floral didn’t tend to be a biker’s MO, in my knowledge.

  I stretched my fingers, working them until the tingling stopped, and then I sat up and went in search of the shower. Because if I hadn’t needed a shower before going to sleep, I certainly did after sleeping in that bed. The stench of sweat from whoever had slept in it before me coated my skin, clinging to my body.

  The bathroom was just as dated as the rest of the house, but it served its purpose, which I was beginning to realize was exactly what this house was to Dom: a place. When I had known him, all he had wanted was a home—somewhere to call his own, since his own home with his family was so crowded. But this was anything but a home. I’d change that, though, I thought with a smile.

  I undressed and turned on the shower before climbing under the warm water, letting it cascade over my body. I thought about what I was going to do now. I couldn’t go back to the Bangers’ clubhouse, that was for sure. Last night had not been my finest moment. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and tried to ignore the dirty feeling I had in the pit of my stomach when I recalled letting some of the Bangers take me into a back room and fuck me one after another. I had become that girl—the girl my parents had always worried I would become and I’d sworn I wouldn’t. Up until seeing Dom, I didn’t care what I did because nothing seemed to matter. I wasn’t ashamed of myself. I had willingly agreed to do the things I did.

  And then I saw Dom.

  And the fragile life I had made for myself crashed around me, crumbling to dust.

  Dom had always been gentle with me. Like no other man ever had. And last night had been no different. We’d had sex, but I don’t think either of us came. I was too full of shame and he was…well, he was Dom—his pretense even worse than it had been all those years ago.

  After years apart, nothing had changed. His soft gray eyes had appraised me from my wild-haired head down my skimpily clothed body, right down to my bare toes. Afterwards, when everyone else had left the room, he had helped me dress and then he had taken my hand, guided me to the small sofa, and pulled me down next to him. And with his strong arms wrapped around me, I had slept, feeling no judgment from him.

  I looked around the shelves in the shower for some shampoo and found a bottle that looked feminine. I frowned, wondering what it meant that he’d brought another woman back here. Clearly he was still trying to play the role of biker slut that fucked any woman; that much was clear after last night.

  Once cleaned, I climbed out of the shower and grabbed the nearest towel, wishing I hadn’t as I wrapped it around my naked body. The towel smelled of mildew and damp, and goddamn it Dom was a disgusting pig. I dropped the towel at my feet and decided to let myself air dry.

  I combed my fingers through my hair and looked through the cupboards for a spare toothbrush but couldn’t find one, so I ran some toothpaste around my teeth with my fingers and hoped for the best. My hangover was almost nonexistent now, but I was hungry.

  I pulled on my bra and panties, but really didn’t want to put back on the dress I had been wearing the previous night. There were stains across it that could only have come from one source, and once again shame rose to my cheeks. I went through to the other bedroom and found it in much the same state as the one I had slept in, but bigger.

  This was Dom’s room.

  His deodorant and a hairbrush were sitting on top of a set of drawers, next to a framed picture of him and his friend Butch.

  Butch.

  I remembered Butch well. How could I not?

  He was handsome, cocky, funny as hell, and he always made Dom smile—the sort of smile that he never gave me. Yeah, Butch was good for Dom…but he also tore my world apart.

  Without thinking, I reached out and turned the photo over, not able to bear looking at it anymore. I opened the set of drawers and rooted through Dom’s clothing until I found a belt and a long black Metallica T-shirt, and then I slipped it on and wrapped the belt around my waist, cinching it in. It hung off one shoulder and was a little on the short side, but it was much better than what I had been wearing.

  Sleep. Shower. Food, my stomach screamed.

  It was almost nightfall now, the sky darkening but the heat not letting up, and I made my way down the stairs in search of the kitchen Dom had shown me earlier. Sure enough, there was a wad of cash on the counter and a stack of takeout menus next to it. I grabbed the phone from the wall and called for Chinese and hung up, wondering if Dom would be back that night. I doubted it, but I hoped he would be.

  Walking around his house, I found every room the same as the last: dark, dusty, and unloved. It was so very different from what I would have thought of for Dom. He had been house-proud when we met. His room at his mom’s was always immaculate, not a thing out of place. And despite the rest of the house always being in shambles, it was never dirty. I was pretty certain his mom had never seen his house, because the woman I remembered would never let her son live like this. She was strict but fair, and her home was cluttered but clean, and I had loved it there. I think part of my initial attraction to Dom had been his family.

  I was an only child to white middle-class parents. They worked hard, paid their taxes, and attended charity fundraisers. They were suburban clichés, right down to the minivans they drove. I loved them dearly, but they had always wanted me to be something different. Someone different.

  In Dom’s home I was accepted, and loved for exactly who I was. Or whoever I was trying to be that week. Dom’s mom—Angelique—let her children experiment in whatever style they wanted, enjoying the process of watching her children become individuals, where my parents wanted a clone.

  In Dom’s home, with his five siblings, it was always noisy and busy, always bustling with people. Someone was always arguing. Someone was always coming in or going out. Something was always cooking—the house filled always with the most amazing food made by his French mom. Food that my parents would pay ridiculous money for when we went out for dinner.

  Dom’s home was filled with acceptance and love.

  My home was always cold, sterile, quiet, and filled with expectations.

  It wasn’t that my parents didn’t love me, or that I didn’t love them. It was just that when I met Dom, I had wanted something more than good grades and smiles from my parents. I had wanted the noisy, bustling lifestyle that he offered me. He was my escape from my rigid world.

  In Dom, I had found something that I hadn’t even known was missing from my life. I found myself—who I really was, not who I was supposed to be.

  The sound of an engine outside and footsteps drew my attention, and I grabbed the money from the kitchen and headed to the front door. I opened it as the delivery man raised his hand to knock. He looked taken aback, and I smiled and handed over the cash and took the food from him with a quick “thanks” before shutting the door and taking it to the living room so I could eat it on the sofa with the TV on.

  After searching fruitlessly for five minutes, I still couldn’t find the remote for the TV, so I sat in silence, tearing open the food and eating it greedily without
a care in the world.

  The food was good.

  The sleep had been good.

  The semi-clean clothes were good.

  But the best was that I felt like I was home again.

  That was more than good.

  Chapter Three:

  Harlow

  It had been twenty-four hours since I had last seen Dom. I wasn’t worried about him; we’d been down this road before, and I knew what club life with him was like. But still, this time was different. This time I wasn’t playing the part of pretend old lady. In fact, I didn’t really know what part I was supposed to be playing, or why he had really brought me here. Or the biggest mystery…why I had come with him.

  Dom had torn my heart out of my chest. He’d taken everything from me when he had left. And yet I so very easily forgave him of his actions, and I couldn’t figure out why. He deserved anything but my forgiveness after what he had done.

  I had slept on the sofa, not wanting to get into the disgusting bed upstairs again until I had cleaned the sheets, though the sofa was only marginally better. When I had woken, I felt refreshed and alert, and had taken what was left of the cash Dom had left and had taken a walk.

  The area was beautiful: attractive houses set against large green trees, quiet winding roads that weaved through the forest. And it was quiet, yet still alive with nature. I followed the road that led down to a small lake area. Families were packing up and getting ready to head home, while their screaming children continued to splash at the water’s edge and throws balls. Dogs barked, people laughed, birds flew overhead. It was surreal, and yet so real. It was everything my parents thought I could never have because I was with Dom—yet look at me now, I thought.

  I fell in love with the area the more I walked around it. I found a small grocery store and went inside, loading up a small basket with some steaks and vegetables, some half-and-half, and some cleaning products. After checking Dom’s cupboards, I had found them bare of anything that resembled a vegetable and anything that could be used to clean.

  Every hour away from the Bangers’ clubhouse—from the life that I had been leading—was clearing my head and bringing me back home to the woman I had once been. So cleaning and cooking were the least I could do for Dom right now.

  I had needed this—this space, this quiet, this glimpse of normality, of what my life should have and could have been like before it had gotten so crazy messed up. I had needed this more than I had known, and Dom had given it to me. There were no strings attached to his offer, as far as I knew. And he wouldn’t lecture me, and he wouldn’t judge. He was just giving me space.

  I took a deep breath and let it out as I left the small store with two bags of groceries swinging from my wrists. And I headed back to Dom’s house.

  By the time I arrived, I was tired and hot, sweat clinging to my skin and beading along my hairline. I put the groceries away and set about cleaning his house from top to bottom, starting with the bedsheets.

  Three hours later and the house wasn’t exactly sparkling, but it was looking—and smelling—better. I had dried the bed sheets in the tumble dryer, and hung the rest outside on the line to dry before re-making the beds ready for tonight. I had bleached, scrubbed, mopped, swept, and vacuumed as much as I could for one day.

  I chopped the vegetables and put them in an oven dish to slow roast while I took another quick shower, putting on a different T-shirt of Dom’s this time and once again turning it into a dress of sorts.

  I headed back down the stairs, my red hair still damp and hanging down the middle of my back, and I was heading to the kitchen to check on the food when the front door opened and Dom came in.

  He blinked, like he’d forgotten that I was there, and then he turned and shut the door behind him before squeezing past me and heading upstairs.

  I stood in the hallway, listening to him going into his room and then the bathroom before slowly coming down the stairs. He stopped before he hit the bottom step, a heavy frown blanketing his features.

  “You cleaned,” he said, his deep voice hanging thickly in the air between us.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I hope that was okay.”

  His gaze darted toward the end of the hallway to the kitchen, where the scent of home-cooked food was filtering through to us. “And you cooked.”

  I nodded, my tongue darting out across my lips nervously. “I was hungry,” I stated. “There’s enough for you too,” I added on. I knew there was enough, because I’d made sure of it. But it felt like I needed to invite him. Like he needed the invitation to come to dinner in his own house.

  He frowned harder and looked away. “I need a shower.” He started back up the stairs.

  “Dom?”

  “What?” he answered without stopping.

  “Nothing,” I replied, my chest aching uncomfortably.

  I stood in the hallway feeling awkward and unsure of myself, of Dom, of everything. I wondered if I’d made a mistake by staying. When he’d said I could, maybe he had meant just that one night and I hadn’t realized. Because the way he was acting, it was definitely like he did not want me to be there.

  I walked to the kitchen and checked on the food. It was doing fine; I, however, was not. I put my face in my hands and tried not to cry. I had felt unwanted for years—by Dom, by my parents, and by any man that had fucked me. This was no different. Things were no different. The lump in my throat hung so heavily it was almost choking me, and I knew I had to get out of there.

  I removed my hands and wiped under my eyes, and when I looked up Dom was standing in the doorway, his arms raised above his head to grip the top of the doorframe. His hair was wet, and his jeans were hanging low on his hips while his cut clung to his naked torso. His gray eyes stared into my soul, stealing my breath.

  Hot damn, he was still beautiful.

  Handsome. Rugged. Masculine. And yeah, fucking beautiful.

  I still held that flame for him. Always would. But me coming here—it hadn’t been about that. I had let that hope die years ago when I’d realized he wasn’t coming back for me.

  Dom watched me silently and I gripped the counter, steeling myself against the truth that he would never—could never—be mine. My heart ached. Everything ached. I had missed him. Much more than I had admitted to myself. My body still yearned for him physically, but my mind, it yearned for his friendship.

  I missed our jokes. Our routines. I missed our old habits. I missed the way he played with my hair, and the way his skin felt against mine. I missed his kisses and I missed his touch.

  But mostly, I missed talking with him.

  “Smells good,” he finally said, breaking the silence. He let go of the doorframe, his arms swinging low to his sides as he came into the room.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and forced a smile, though I felt like anything but smiling. “Almost done,” I replied, my voice barely audible.

  Dom went to the fridge and opened the door before grabbing a beer from it. Beer, the only thing—barring some rotten leftovers—that had been in his fridge. He popped the lid and handed one to me before grabbing another for himself.

  “You found my T-shirts,” he said, nodding to my makeshift dress.

  I blushed. “Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I had nothing to wear.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly and I turned back to finish cooking the steaks, the sizzle of meat filling the awkward silence. Dom sat watching me move around his kitchen the whole time, never uttering a single word. His eyes following my every move.

  I served the steak on his cracked dishes, spooned the roasted vegetables and potatoes next to the steak, and pushed a plate across to him. And then we ate in silence. Every mouthful, every chew, every swallow, audible in the silent house. I watched my food the entire time, taking myself through the motions without any thought.

  Scoop, up, tip, chew, swallow, scoop, up, tip, chew, swallow.

  When we were done, I automatically took the plates and washed them, along with the other things that I had u
sed, and Dom came and started to dry them. I smiled as he put away the plates, and he smiled back, a little bit of life coming back into his eyes.

  It was like the past was seeping into the present. Slowly, we were bringing each other back to life with the normality of the task of living.

  When everything was cleaned and put away, I turned back to Dom to find him holding out another beer for me. It seemed almost like an olive branch. Like he too could sense the awkwardness of this whole situation and wanted it to be something more normal. So I took the beer and then he took my hand, and it was as if it were the most normal thing to do. Dom led me out of the kitchen and down the hallway, and for a brief moment I thought he was going to take me upstairs, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

  Instead he led me into the living room and motioned for me to sit down. He sat next to me, so close that our legs pressed against each other. Dom found the remote from whatever mysterious place it had been hidden in and I leaned back, my body pressed against his, watching the TV and drinking my beer, but not really watching whatever it was that he had put on.

  I could see him, from the corner of my eye, every once in a while look over at me, and I did my best to ignore it—even though I wanted to do anything but ignore it. His scent wrapped around me in thick folds, blanketing me in his masculinity and making me dizzy and full of heady desire, but I refused to give in to it. To ask the unspoken questions. To question his motives. Because I knew it would ruin it. Ruin everything. I’d been down this road before, and I knew the consequences of pushing him when I already knew the answer.

  Once upon a time, Dom and I had been truly good together. I wanted us to get back to that part again. Because for every bit of pain he had put me through, it had all been worth it. To feel his rough hands around mine, and his warm breath fanning against my neck as he let his head fall back against the sofa to rest. He pulled me closer to him, and I couldn’t help but settle into his warmth, to let my heart and my guard down. Just for a few moments.