by Devney Perry
Fuck, but she was sexy. I hadn’t found a woman sexy in years. The only women I saw in prison were those who’d visit other inmates. And once I was out, I’d been too fucked up to think about a woman. Hell, it had taken me months to get used to sleeping in a regular bed again.
Or sleeping at all. For three years, I had guarded my nights by not sinking into a deep slumber. I’d figuratively slept with one eye open.
Finally, about four months after being home with Mom, the years of exhaustion had caught up with me, and I’d let myself truly fall asleep.
Then, I’d slept for days.
Mom had been worried I was sick or dying, but I’d just explained that I was tired. The burden of prison memories was mine to carry alone.
Things were easier after that. I’d found a job at a local lube shop. The owner was a friend of Mom’s and had broken company policy to hire me as a favor. I’d worked. I’d gone home. I’d slept.
I didn’t meet women because I didn’t want to meet women. Shannon wasn’t on my mind as often as she’d once been, but I thought of her. I remembered her—another burden to carry. No woman’s beauty or grace had compared to her memory.
Until Genevieve.
Nothing in the world could have prepared me for Genevieve. She’d crept up on me, consuming more and more of my thoughts, day by day. And then she’d stolen my dreams.
A month ago, I’d woken up with a raging hard-on, dreaming that she’d come to the couch and straddled me in one of those short sleep shirts she wore sometimes. The dreams hadn’t stopped since. Tonight, I’d dream of hiking up that tan skirt.
I was waking up earlier so I had time to get off in the shower and staunch some of the ache. I’d started wearing pants for sleep, anything to help hide my erection as I went into the bathroom every morning. She didn’t need to know a man who was supposed to be her friend couldn’t control his cock during a dream.
“Isaiah?”
My head snapped up from her skirt. “Sorry. What?”
“Your brother?”
“Oh.” I rubbed the back of my neck, embarrassed she’d caught me staring at her ass. “He wanted to invite us to Lark Cove for Thanksgiving. I told him I’d check. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to go.”
“Sure.” She nodded. “That sounds nice.”
“Are you sure? You can stay here.”
Her eyebrows came together. “Do you not want me to go?”
“No. That’s not it. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to stay. Maybe do something with Draven.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “No. I think Nick and Emmeline are coming up. He should spend time with them and their kids before . . .”
Before the trial.
Draven’s case had been moving at a snail’s pace, which was a good thing. It gave us more time to find the real killer—if a miracle happened and a new lead surfaced.
Since the meeting with the Warriors last month, we hadn’t heard a thing. It seemed . . . too easy. So we maintained our guard. I followed Genevieve to work every day. I went to follow her home each evening. As Bryce’s pregnancy began to show, Dash became even more protective, and she went nowhere without him now.
The vibe in the shop had shifted this past month too. There wasn’t as much teasing or banter. The air was heavier. It arrived each morning with Draven and lingered long after he’d left the office for the day.
Hope was waning. Dread was winning out.
Genevieve had been so steadfast and determined to find Amina’s killer, but as the days had gone by and no new information had surfaced, the wind had left her sails. That notebook of hers appeared less and less. Not only would there be no vengeance for her mother, she was also going to lose her father.
Over the past month, Draven had come each Sunday morning to the apartment to take Genevieve to breakfast. I hadn’t gone since the first time, making excuses so the two of them had some time alone.
Genevieve’s heart was thawing toward Draven. She was softening with every encounter. Maybe she was even growing to love him. His incarceration was going to devastate her, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
“I’d better get to work.” She sighed. “I’ve got a busy day.”
She was pulling more and more from Jim, doing whatever she could to make his life easier so he could focus on Draven’s case.
Jim would do his best to paint Draven and Amina as reunited lovers. He would tell all the truths. The two had been affectionate and there was no motive for Draven to kill her, especially since they shared a daughter.
But the prosecution had the murder weapon. They had Draven at the scene. They had everything they needed to convict an innocent man.
“Let me start the cars and warm them up.” I pulled on my boots and a coat, then took my keys and hers off the hook she’d hung beside a coat rack. “Be back.”
I went outside, the snow muffling my steps down the stairs and on the pavement. I swept off Genevieve’s car first and started it up, cranking the defrost and heat. Then I did the same for my truck. With them clear, I went back inside to find Genevieve on the couch, her shoulders slumped forward.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She stood, wincing as she did. “I’m just sore today.”
“Probably because you slept on the couch.”
She’d insisted for a month. I’d refused for a month.
Then last night, she’d finally had her way. I’d been in the bathroom, brushing my teeth. When I’d come out, she’d already been tucked in on the couch, curled up and fast asleep. She’d looked so peaceful, and I’d left her there instead of carrying her to the bed.
I should have moved her.
But I hadn’t been able to make myself pick her up. Carrying her to bed felt too intimate. So I’d told myself she’d get the couch for one night, then I’d take it back. I’d slept in the bed with the smell of her vanilla lotion and lavender shampoo on the pillow.
No surprise she’d been in my dreams.
“I’m taking the couch from now on.”
She stretched her back, planting her hands on her hips and leaning back. “No, I’m fine. I’ll get used to it.”
No, she wouldn’t. If I found her there again, I’d get over my own shit and put her in the bed. “Better wear a coat. It’s cold.”
“Okay.” She shuffled to the coat rack and pulled off a black wool dress coat. Her eyelids drooped as she shrugged it on and tied the belt around her waist. The woman was dead on her feet.
“Maybe you should stay home. Sleep.”
“I can’t.” She waved it off. “I’ll be fine.”
Her steps were sluggish as she trudged down the stairs. She cut through the snow, following my tracks to her car.
Should I drive her? Drop her off and pick her up? Yes. I reached out a hand to stop her but pulled it back.
Fuck me, I couldn’t do it.
There was no way I’d be able to put her in the passenger seat.
Shame pulled heavy on my shoulders as I followed her to the driver’s side door. This was just one of many reasons Genevieve didn’t need me in her life. She might think she needed me, but she didn’t.
How were we going to make the drive to Lark Cove? I hadn’t thought that far ahead when I’d accepted Kaine’s Thanksgiving invite. That trip would be hours. Driving separately wouldn’t work this time. I didn’t have an excuse to give.
Shit. Maybe I should cancel and blame it on the roads. But Kaine had asked me to come and I wouldn’t say no to him. Not after he’d finally let me back into his life. He wanted to meet Genevieve and it wasn’t possible for him to come down here. Piper was about six months pregnant, they had two-year-old twin boys, and they needed to be in their home.
Which left me with no choice. Somehow, I’d get Genevieve to Lark Cove and suffer through the many miles to do it.
“I’ll text you when I’m ready to come home.”
“’Kay.” I closed the door for her, then walked to my truck.
The dr
ive through town was uneventful and quiet. There weren’t many cars out yet and those that were took the roads carefully. I idled outside the firm as Genevieve parked in the lot. I waved as she disappeared inside, then went to the garage and got to work.
As expected, it was a slow day. Emmett and I flipped a coin to see who’d take the one oil change we had on the schedule—I lost. Then we watched Leo do some freestyle pinstripes on the Lincoln in the paint booth. The man had a damn gift.
I barely blinked as he created orange and red flames set against gleaming black on the car’s tail fins. I was so consumed with his brushstrokes, I nearly missed my phone vibrating in my pocket.
Genevieve’s name flashed on the screen. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon.
“Hey,” I answered, stepping out of the booth.
“Will you come get me? I don’t feel good.”
“Be there in five.” I walked for the office door, not wasting even a second to punch out. With the snow and freezing temperatures, we’d cranked the heat in the shop and kept the bay doors closed, only opening them to pull a car inside or back it out.
“What’s up?” Presley asked from her desk.
“I need to go get Genevieve.”
“Everything okay?”
“She’s sick.” And I shouldn’t have let her leave this morning.
I whipped the door open and stepped into the cold, jogging for my truck. The snow had returned. The wind had picked up, turning the loose flakes into miniature ice daggers that bit into my cheeks as I climbed into the truck.
The streets were slicker than they’d been this morning. I took a corner too fast and the end of my pickup fishtailed. I eased off the gas a bit even though all I wanted was to speed to the firm. I parked on the street, leaving the engine running as I hustled inside.
Genevieve was leaning against the reception desk. Her face was pale, her eyes red. She wore her purse like it weighed fifty pounds.
“I’ll take it.” I slipped the handbag from her shoulder, slinging it over mine.
“Feel better,” the receptionist told Genevieve while giving me a once-over. I hadn’t come inside their office before.
“Thanks, Gayle,” Genevieve murmured. “See you tomorrow.”
“No, she won’t,” I corrected. She was getting a long night’s sleep and staying in bed tomorrow. She was so weak she could barely lift her feet. I pressed a hand to her forehead. “You’re hot.”
She gave me a little smile. “Is that why you were checking me out this morning?”
“Come on.” I opened the door for her, ushering her outside.
“Brr. That’s miserable.” She shivered. “Will you dig my keys from my purse?”
“I’ll drive.”
Like I should have done this morning. There was no way she was getting behind a wheel on these roads and with her being sick. I led her to the truck and opened the door to help her inside.
The moment I closed her in, my stomach dropped.
Fuck, I couldn’t do this. How was I supposed to do this?
You don’t have a choice.
Genevieve had to get home. And I sure as fuck couldn’t call someone to come and help. How many questions would that raise? Why couldn’t I drive my wife home from work when she was sick?
I swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat and sucked in some oxygen, forcing the panic away. Then I walked around the truck, one step at a time, and climbed inside, focusing on each individual action.
I shut the door. I buckled my seat belt. I went to turn on the key but remembered the truck was already running. I put my foot on the brake. I shifted into drive.
Step by step.
I focused on driving. And not once did I look over at Genevieve. When she shifted, I blocked out the movement from the corner of my eye. I watched the road. I kept both hands on the steering wheel.
And at the one and only stop sign on the way home, I sat there, checking left and right, then right and left again, just to make sure no one would come sliding through the intersection.
Finally, when we pulled into the parking lot and I eased into her space by the office, I breathed. I blinked. I pried my fingers off the steering wheel and shut down the truck. Then, only then, did I look over at Genevieve as she leaned against the door, nearly asleep.
“Why was that hard for you?” she whispered.
Because you’re you.
She was important. She was special and precious.
And I had the power to destroy her.
I avoided answering by escaping into the frigid cold. I rounded the hood and opened her door, catching her as she nearly fell out. “Whoa.”
“Sorry. I’m a little dizzy.” She swayed as she found her feet. There was no way she’d make it up the stairs.
I picked her up and cradled her in my arms. “I’ve got you.”
“I can walk.”
“Liar,” I teased.
She let her forehead drop to my shoulder. “I hate it.”
“Being sick?” I asked, jerking my chin when I caught sight of Presley in the window to the office.
“No. Being a liar.”
“I was joking, doll.”
“I know. But it’s still true.”
At the top of the stairs, I had to set her down to get the keys out of my pocket and open the door, then I scooped her right up again.
I let all reservation fly out the window as I carried her to bed. I set her down on the edge and knelt to unzip her boots. I helped her shimmy out of her skirt and into a pair of my sweatpants. I pulled her sweater over her head, leaving her bra on as I grabbed a T-shirt from the closet and yanked it over her hair.
“I’m going to go and get you some medicine.” I yanked the covers back and guided her underneath.
“There’s some NyQuil in the bathroom.” She cuddled into the pillow I’d slept on last night. “Under the sink. It’s probably expired but it’ll do.”
I hustled to find it. It was a month past expiration, but it had to be better than nothing. I came back, helping her sit up to take a swig.
“Blech.” She stuck out her tongue. “Water.”
“On it.” I got her a glass and helped her take a drink. “What else?”
“Will you lie with me?” Her eyes were closed. She’d be out in minutes.
“Sure.” I kicked off my boots and pulled off my sweatshirt. It smelled like metal from the garage and the wind from outside. Then I lay on top of the covers as she burrowed beneath.
“Thank you for coming to get me.”
“No problem.”
“I hope you don’t get sick too. I’m probably contagious.”
“I’ll be fine.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sleep.”
She nodded. “I’m glad we’re friends.”
“Me too. Now sleep.”
“You’re my best friend.” She spoke with her eyes closed, almost as if she were dreaming. She was definitely delirious from the fever. “I haven’t had a best friend since fifth grade. Her name was Mandi. We had brass heart necklaces. You know, where one person has half a heart and the other has the other half.”
“Yeah. Now go to sleep.”
“Who’s your best friend?” she chattered on.
“You,” I admitted. Maybe if I answered her stream of crazy questions, she’d fall asleep.
“No, before me.”
“Kaine.”
“Your brother doesn’t count. He’s family. Otherwise I would have said my mom. Who else?”
I gulped. The truth would lead to more questions but I wouldn’t lie—not to her. “Shannon.”
Genevieve’s lashes lifted. Those dark eyes, so beautiful, sank right into my soul, stirring feelings I’d thought were buried in Bozeman. “Who’s Shannon?”
“Go to sleep, doll. Please?”
She nodded and closed her eyes. The questions stopped. Her breathing evened out. And when I knew she was out for good, I shifted on the bed to make myself more comfortable.
I
took out my phone and texted Presley that I was done for the day. She texted back that she’d clock me out and let Dash know.
Genevieve would probably sleep for hours. She’d be fine if I went to the shop, but I wasn’t leaving her alone. Not today. So I closed my eyes and let myself drift to sleep.
I dreamed of a woman with dark brown hair and a gorgeous smile she didn’t use often enough. I dreamed of her whispering in the dark that she needed me.
I dreamed of my wife.
Until that dream turned into a nightmare, one where Genevieve sat limp in the passenger seat of a car as blood trickled down the side of her mouth.
And those expressive eyes I loved lost all their light.
Chapter Fifteen
Genevieve
I stared out the window of the cabin, taking in the surrounding forest. The evergreens towered above us. The forest floor was dusted with a thin layer of snow. And even though I couldn’t see it through the trees, I pictured the lake in the distance, long and wide and deep blue.
The town was smaller than Clifton Forge. Cozier. Coming here was the escape I’d needed. Here, there weren’t motorcycle gangs—former or current. Here, the memory of my mother’s murder seemed further away. Here, maybe Isaiah would finally open up to me about what had been bothering him for weeks.
“Remind me why you picked Clifton Forge? Because Lark Cove is gorgeous.” Like, I want to live here instead gorgeous.
“I went where there was work.” Isaiah kept his head down, studying the coffee table. Eye contact over the past three weeks had been nearly nonexistent.
“I like this cabin.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Better than the last one we were in together.”
That got his attention. He looked over at me on the opposite end of the couch. My heart would have soared at a grin. I would have taken a frown. I was desperate for any reaction other than that fucking blank stare.
Gah! Why? I was about to leap across the couch and strangle him with my bare hands until he surrendered and told me what had happened when I’d been sick.
I remembered him coming to get me from the office. I remembered the massive surge of anxiety emanating off him as he drove me home. And I remembered him putting me to bed.
