by Max Henry
I stare into his crisp green eyes and delve deep into my thoughts. I don’t want to answer out of haste. I don’t want to give him my knee-jerk reaction and say that I don’t know.
The answer isn’t so hard when I allow myself to see it.
“I love you differently.”
“How?”
I sigh. How do I put it so that he doesn’t take offence? “Less lust, more respect.”
“Respect,” he repeats, as though trying it out for himself. “Tell me one last thing, then.”
“What?” I whisper, afraid of what he’s going to ask.
“Why do you think you no longer fit?”
I narrow my gaze for a moment, affronted that he seems to have picked out my greatest fear so easily. “Is that what you think?”
“You shut yourself off from everyone else here,” he says. “You allow Dante to settle in to this life, but you keep yourself at arm’s length. Why?”
“Because if I told you how many times I’ve had people come up to me, people I don’t know from the next patched member, telling me all sorts of theories on why I’m treating you badly and how I need to be the one to do all the sucking up, you wouldn’t believe me.”
He smiles, rocking back on his heels before he stands. “I probably would. They’re a protective bunch ’round here.”
“Are they what,” I murmur.
“Are they right, though?” He jams his hands in his pockets. “Do you need to do some suckin’ up to me?”
I shrug, determined not to admit it. “My indiscretions do seem to outweigh yours.”
“Pfft,” he huffs. “So what? You want to know what I realized in those days upstairs?”
“That life’s kind of boring when you’re confined to four walls?”
He stares at me for a beat, and I realize what I’ve really alluded to—my time stuck at Carlos’s.
“You were saying?” I coax.
“I realized,” he says slowly, “that every time you and I argue, it’s over the same old stuff: the past. We can’t change that. We can’t undo the choices we made, the people we screwed around with, and what happened because of that.”
“No, but?”
“We can start from now.” He rubs a hand over the nape of his neck, looking every part the shy boy I met at a corner store. My heart slips the headphones off and takes notice of what he says next. “Let me take you out for coffee.”
As much as my sentimental side jumps at the idea, I shake my head. “No. If we’re starting again, make it something different.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Like what?”
I nibble on the end of my index finger while I think it over. “We can’t go too far from here, right? Because Carlos still has eyes on us?”
“Not for too long, no.”
Asshole. Even now, miles away, and having been out of my life for years, he still manages to ruin things for me. I catalogue the safe places we could go, the places I have been since Carlos’s men knocked in my door.
“The house,” I blurt out. The idea has me wriggling in the seat. “Show me where it was you started our house.”
His hand tracks a nervous path through his hair. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Absolutely. If you want us to start afresh, then I want it to be where you saw our future. Show me what you thought our life could have been, King.” I drop my head, subdued by the depth of the moment. “Make me believe it could happen.”
FORTY-SEVEN
King
Excited isn’t something I want to be at the idea of taking Elena to the section, but if my heart is anything to go by, I’m fucking ecstatic. She agreed to try with a clean slate. She actually agreed. I’d expected argument, reasons why it wouldn’t work, and her trademark stubbornness and reluctance to let herself feel.
But I got none of it. Well, at least not on the subject I thought I would.
“There’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about.” I tense, knowing how she reacted when I broached the subject a couple of weeks ago.
Her head tips to the side, her ponytail falling free of her shoulder.
“I found you a new place to live.”
Detonation in three, two, one . . .
“You did what?”
“I haven’t signed off on it, but I thought you could take a look.”
She drops her head into her hands and groans. “I’m agreeing to try again, King, to see if I can find what I once felt for you again. But this?” She drops her hands away to reveal wild eyes. “I asked you not to interfere. I asked you to let me figure out how to do this myself.”
“I’m just tryin’ to help,” I say a fraction too loudly.
“Well don’t.” The chair rockets out from underneath her, and she makes a line for the door.
I try to catch her, but it’s too late . . . she’s out in the damn common room with no less than a dozen sets of eyes on her.
“Don’t you think I can do it myself?” she yells, hesitating near the stairs.
“Of course I can.”
“Then why won’t you let me pick where I want to be?” She starts toward the stairs.
“Because if it were up to you, you’d fuckin’ run a mile again and I wouldn’t get to see my son.”
“And for good fucking reason.” She spins on the spot and heads back my way.
Oh, shit. I look around, but fail to see Dante or any of the kids he might be with. “Where is Dante?”
“In the garage with Fingers and Abbey,” our prospect Nathan calls from the bar.
I raise a hand in thanks and take two steps back as Elena rushes at me, looking as though she’s about to strike.
He open palm smack me in the shoulder, her jaw hard, her eyes dark with rage.
“Why the fuck are you so upset about this?” I ask, fending off another hit with my forearm.
“Because,” she snaps, “all anyone’s ever done is make the decisions for me. I came to America because somebody asked, I was married because somebody thought I should be, I was left in an abusive relationship to suffer because somebody thought it would be less confrontational for him.”
When she puts it like that . . .
“I did fine on my own for six years before you came back and fucked it all up,” she complains, backing up when she realizes her frenzied attack is useless. “Six years on my own, making my own decisions, and being free.”
“You’re free now,” I try to explain as she stalks toward the bar.
Nathan backs up and gives her room as she snatches up a glass for a drink before searching the fridge. “Do you not have anything but fucking alcohol?”
The glass tumbler flies over the bar, smashing the second it hits the floor near my office.
“Elena.”
“No.” A single finger is held up as she pulls out another glass and searches in every cupboard under the counter. “Seriously, guys. Lemonade, juice, something!” The second tumbler shatters with a growl from her.
I shake my head, done with her bipolar fucking attitude. One minute I think we’ve got something started, and the next she’s trying to single-handedly tear down the clubhouse bit by bit.
“I’m fuckin’ done, woman.” I march back into the safety of my office, throwing back over my shoulder, “I can’t keep up with your mood swings anymore.”
“Don’t you dare make out that I’m just crazy!” Something larger smashes against the wall as I pass through the door. Too close for comfort. “I’m only human, King. I can only take so much before I snap!”
I catch the murmur of the guys begging her to stop destroying glassware, but it only seems to spur her on. From where I sit at my desk with the door open, I can see it all unfold. One of Butcher Boys, the guys associated with Vince’s son, sits at the bar—Bronx. He’s the same sorry mug we sent in to the drug runners undercover. The smartass flicks a quick smirk my way before swiveling his stool, allowing him to watch Elena’s meltdown better.
Great—my non-existent love-life is now the main attrac
tion at the circus.
“Who the fuck are you?” I hear Elena yell at somebody.
“You might want to tone it down a little.” Ty. Bronx’s friend, and Ramona’s new fling. “There are kids around, you know?”
“Don’t try and reason with her,” I call out. “She doesn’t listen.” The guy’s pushing shit uphill if he thinks he can get her to stop.
“Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you!” Elena sets her sights on me and makes a line for my office.
I cut her off before she reaches the door—time to shut this down.
“How long have I been telling you that I don’t need your help,” she hollers, “and yet you still have to keep your nose in our business?”
“Yeah, because funnily enough, we have a shared interest, Elena.” I stop nose-to-nose with her. “You expect me to walk away from my kid?” Or her? The sweet floral smell of her soap gets me every time.
“Where’s Dante?” Ty asks.
“Garage!” we both shout in unison, our eyes locked.
“I get you’re pissed at me,” I growl through gritted teeth, “but tone it down, for fuck’s sake.”
“Am I embarrassing you?” she snaps.
“No, you’re making me want to take you somewhere private and fuck this anger right out of you.”
Her eyes go wide. Shit—where did that come from? Instinct. Years of unrequited love. Desire. I’ve never stopped loving this woman, happy or angry, however she comes.
“I . . .”
“I mean it, Elena. I’ve had enough of pretendin’ that I don’t get myself in knots every time I see you around here. I’m tired of lyin’ about how I’m doin’, pretending that I can handle waitin’ for you. I can’t. Now shut the fuck up, and go for a walk to calm down before this gets way more personal than it already is.”
She flaps her jaw like a damn fish before turning and stalking up the stairs. Fuck me. I run a hand over my hair and wander over to make sure the guys we’re working with to take Carlos down aren’t too put out by what they witnessed. Yeah, we’ve known each other for for a few months now, but they’re still guests in our clubhouse, and that kind of behavior isn’t what I want them associating as normal around here.
Ty quits his conversation as I approach and pushes out a stool for me to sit on. I’m still in two minds about whether I should go follow through on my spontaneous threat. If I thought Elena was hot before, something about her fired up makes me ready to tame that woman in the most carnal way.
“Fuck me,” I murmur. “That woman is incredible.”
“Intolerable, I would have said,” Bronx mutters.
I shake my head and gesture to Nathan for a drink. “Nope. I meant incredible.”
They both stare at me as Nathan slides my drink over before something drags Ty’s attention away.
“Are you sure she should be going out?” he asks.
I look over my shoulder and spot Elena with one of Sonya’s leather jackets in her hands and a set of keys. “For fuck’s sake.” Needing the Dutch courage, I slam back my drink and head after her.
She lets out an squeak as I catch her by the arm at the door. “Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’?
“Out.” She tugs at my hold but fails to break free. “Let go.”
“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” I snap. “You’re goin’ to sit your skinny ass down and wait for me to get my shit, and then we’re goin’ for that ride to see where the house was goin’ to be. Okay?”
Her lips are pursed, her stare hard. “Fine.”
I let go and turn for the bar when I realize she’s still headed outside. Fuck me. I catch her three steps out the door. “Inside. Now. And wait.”
Her nostrils flare as she stares at my hand cinched tight on her elbow. I run with it. Her steps are hurried as she tries to keep up while I drag her back across the common room.
“Ty!” I call. He spins around as we approach. “Where did Ramona go?”
“To find Mack.”
“Keep a watch on this one, boys.” I shove Elena toward them and head for the stairs.
It doesn’t take long before I find Ramona upstairs with Mack and Dante. I’m glad she kept them amused while all hell broke loose downstairs. She spots me leaning on the door and smiles.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “She’s calmed down now.”
“Is she always like this?”
I smirk, and shake my head as I walk in. “Only when she’s upset.” And even then it’s never been this bad. I move to sit next to Dante on the bed. “How you doing?”
“Good,” he answers simply. “Mom doesn’t want us to move.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “She doesn’t. Do you?”
Dante nods. “I want a new room.”
An awkward silence stretches where I don’t know what else to say; promising him things I’m not one hundred per cent sure I can deliver seems cruel.
“Would you two boys like to come help me make us all something yummy for dessert tonight?” Ramona asks.
Both boys turn their heads toward her and nod.
“What can we make?” Dante asks.
“I hadn’t decided,” she says. “What’s your favorite?”
Dante looks at me, then at Ramona. “Same as Dad—chocolate steamed pudding with lots of cream.”
How did he know? “You know that?”
“Mom always makes it for your birthday.”
That doesn’t make any sense, though. “I don’t see you guys for my birthday.”
Dante nods, matter-of-factly. “I know. Mom makes it anyway.”
I’m spent. He’s so innocently revealed the thing I’ve been fighting to get Elena to admit—she does still care. She still loves me, whether she knows it or not.
Ramona reaches out and pats my knee lightly while she addresses the kids. “How about you go and find your mother, Dante, and ask her if she’d like to join us?”
“Sure.” Dante damn near bowls me over in his haste to get off the bed and out the door with Mack.
Ramona gives me a nudge to bring my attention back around. “You okay?”
“We could have been such a good family.”
“What do you mean ‘been?’ You are.”
Not how I’d like. “I mean, the proper way, you know? With two parents in the same house.”
“Just because you two are separated doesn’t mean you love your boy any less.”
“I wonder if he’s going to look back on his life when he’s older and regret not having more time with me,” I admit. “I don’t want him to be angry at the kind of relationship he was born into.”
“He’d be selfish if he was. His parents love him; that’s all that matters.”
Is it? I often wonder if that’s all it takes.
Because love sure wasn’t enough to save what his parents had.
FORTY-EIGHT
Elena
We don’t set off until well after dinner. As usual, King busies himself sorting out issues with the club—something about setting up a room for Ramona, or packing up Sawyer’s stuff. I can’t keep up.
In that time I’ve plotted a million possible scenarios on how I’m gong to get through tonight alive.
That moment we shared outside his office . . . it evoked a desire in me I haven’t felt in years. Hearing him take charge, tell me what he wanted to do to me without sugar coating it in fear of scaring me off . . .
Yeah.
“You ready to go?”
I damn near leap out of my skin at the question. “Let me go change my panties first.”
He cocks his eyebrow with the smarmiest damn smirk.
“Not like that!” I blurt out. “As in, you gave me a fright.” I get up off the sofa I’d been waiting on and give him a smack in the arm where he stands, leaning on the back.
“Don’t know if you noticed, but I upgraded,” he says, as we walk to the garage. “We both get a seat now.” He leads us over to an all-black beast parked front and center.
“No. Can
’t say I did notice.”
He rolls his eyes and hands me a helmet. “Just put this on.”
After five solid minutes of watching me struggle with the strap, he sighs and takes it out of my hands. I watch his face intently as he concentrates on what he’s doing, the brief seconds not nearly enough to enjoy myself before we’re ready to roll.
King climbs on first, and then gestures to the pillion seat with a tip of his head. Doing my utmost to avoid any sort of close proximity, I end up tangling my foot on the seat as I try to break some sort of gymnastics record climbing over.
He sighs and drops his head into his hand. “Fuck me, woman.”
“What?”
“Stop making life so difficult on yourself.” He points to one of the pegs where I put my feet. “Stand on that, then grab my shoulders and swing your leg over.”
I can do this. I take a deep breath and lift my left leg, then do the thing I’m dreading most—touch him. As predicted, I don’t want to let go. The feel of his muscles under my hands, the warmth of his body heat radiating throughout me—they both hold too many happy memories of stolen time together.
King starts the bike and idles us out of the garage and over to the gate where we have to wait for the prospect to roll it open. I shuffle about on the seat, doing what I can to find a position that means minimal contact whilst still ensuring I’m not about to come off on a corner and sport a healthy dose of road-rash.
We hit the open road in no time at all and ride through the gray night, the moon lighting up the sky. By the time we reach our destination, my hands have slipped to his waist, and I realize as we hit the cattle stop at his parents’ gate that I’m pretty damn close to leaning my head on his back.
Why are we here? I look over at the white farmhouse as we take a side track and bypass the homestead and surrounding sheds, curving instead along a laneway and down to the back of the property. King stops every so often, unhitching a taped gate and passing the hook to me so I can re-hitch it behind us as we pass through. The earthy smells of the farm are all new to me; I never came out onto the property in those few days I was here last time. I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh, grassy air of the country.
