TARA

We haven't spoken much since we got in the car, but we're almost at the lake now, and I want to apologize for the way I acted, and for letting the darkness get the better of me. Yet I can't quite find the words. But it was for the last time. Today was it's last and final attempt to drag me back under all that hurt and sadness.

I'm leaning against him as he drives, his arm wrapped around my shoulder. My hand's resting on his taut, muscular thigh, the denim of his jeans coarse against my palm. I don't think I've ever been this at peace in my entire life.

"I didn't just say I love you because you said it first, you know?" I tell him as he's getting the blanket and the bag with our towels and stuff from the back of the truck. "I would've said it anyway."

His eyes lock on my face for a second, and it feels like he actually caressed my cheek. "I know."

He heads down the ravine toward the lake, and I fall in step beside him. "And I didn't mean all those things I said either. You've already given me more than I ever hoped to receive."

He glances at me and smiles, but there's a tightness around his eyes that I don't quite understand. "You weren't completely wrong in your assessment though."

His words land in the pit of my stomach like a bag filled with stones. Of course I was right, he is a criminal, but does it really have to change anything? The old Tara would have said yes immediately. But the new me would do anything to keep Tommy. Even break the law. It never did a thing for me, so what do I even still owe? Do I have to sacrifice the only person who's ever made me happy just so I can say I've done the right thing, the proper thing, the legal thing? Just so I'll still be obeying an arbitrary set of rules, which never protected me from years of pain and abuse. Not the way Tommy has.

"I'm leaving the MC," he says. My mind's still reeling from all those hard questions and bitter realizations, so his words don't immediately register.

"You're what?" I ask.

"I'm getting out, starting over," he explains rather breathlessly.

He's gazing at me very intently, not even looking where he's stepping. I trip on a stone and almost fall. But he reaches out, catches me before there's any chance of that happening.

"But can you just do that? Leave, I mean." It goes against everything I know about motorcycle clubs.

He frowns, releasing my arm and continuing his trek down the ravine. "No, they won't just let me go. I'll have to disappear."

The lake shore finally opens before us, but even all that beauty can't chase away the darkness filling my mind. "And if they find you they’ll…?"

I can't finish that sentence, can't bring myself to utter the words.

"They'll probably kill me," he says matter-of-factly, like we're just discussing the weather.

He dumps the stuff he's carrying on the ground and grins at me. "But I'll make damn sure that doesn't happen. Let's go swimming now."

He's doing it again. Calming me with his reassuring certainty, going for lightness even in the face of this terrible prospect he just unveiled for me. But it's madly contagious, this ability to let go of the dark and just stay in the light. It's something I've never been able to do before I met him, nor really wanted to, since I thought clutching onto the pain was the right thing to do. But all I want now is to feel good. And it really is as simple as letting him take my hand and lead me into the water.

We don't do much swimming. We just kiss for a long time, my legs and arms wrapped around his strong body, only a thin film of water separating us. This weightlessness mirrors what I feel inside me perfectly, the world outside and the world within blending seamlessly, everything finally the way it should be.

Once it gets too cold in the water, we move outside, lay side by side on the blanket, kissing some more. I've touched every inch his perfect torso, his glorious arms, his stunning face, his strong neck, since we got here. I've also memorized all of his many tattoos, and I know every bump created by his muscles by heart. He's done the same with my body. We're like two blind people getting to know each other. Though all I really need to know I already do. It's all around us, in this sweet, pleasant yet charged energy passing between us, in his love pouring into me through his kisses, and mine flowing right back.

"Want to take this up a notch?" he asks, smirking at me. His cock is rock hard, and I want to touch it, want to taste it.

But we're not alone at the lake. We might be alone in this little alcove, but others are nearby, I can hear them laughing and talking. Every once in a while a motor boat whizzes past, or someone comes paddling by on a SUP board or in a rowboat. Though those are getting to be few and far between, since the sun has already disappeared behind the hills bordering the lake.

I lift up out of his embrace. "Let's go for another swim so you can cool off. That should keep you from getting any more bright ideas."

I smile at him as I say it, and he's trying to look disappointed, but he can't quite fight down his own smile.

"Fine, you go on," he says.

"You're not coming?" I ask, and there's no hiding the disappointment in my voice.

"I am," he says, smirking. "But first I want to watch that perfect ass of yours as you walk down to the water."

He squeezes my butt cheek to accentuate his statement, and I feel so desired, so wanted, that I almost reconsider, almost tell him he can take me anyway he wants to, right here on this shore.

But that'll keep. I kiss him again, then walk to the water, glancing back over my shoulder every few steps to see if he's really watching, to see some more of that desire in his eyes. But I didn’t really need to check, since I could feel his eyes on me the whole way.

Twilight is making everything look washed out, grey and two-dimensional as we sit by the water later. I'm leaning against him, my head resting against his shoulder, our fingers laced together in his lap. And I'm trying hard to hold onto my happiness, but it's fading as fast as the daylight.

"I'm starting to accept that I might never see my sister again," I say.

He grips my hand tighter but doesn't reply, doesn't even look at me.

"And that scares me, as much as it makes me sad and angry," I continue into the silence.

"I know what you mean," he says, still just looking off into the distance. "But you shouldn't lose hope yet. If she was seen alive six months ago, chances are good she still is."

“Are they?” I ask quietly.

"I understand where you're coming from though," he says, not answering my question. "I know what it's like to be angry over something you can never change or fix. But that shit just eats you up inside."

What does he really know about my pain? Him and his kind might be taking advantage of Sam right now. No, not him. And certainly not his kind. I want to believe him, want his words to just comfort me, not open any more terrible, unthinkable questions.

"And it can destroy you," he goes on. "Trust me. I've been struggling with the first line of the serenity prayer for years. Though I'm getting better at two and three "

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.

I used to recite that to myself constantly for awhile, after I first heard it during therapy long after I'd given up on God. It sounds so freeing, so attainable, and I like to think I got it down at least to the point where I understand that forgiveness will bring me peace.

"What's the thing you can't change that trips you up?" I ask. "Aren't you planning to leave the MC behind?"

I still don't know if that means he's planning to leave me behind too. I was afraid to ask, since the wrong answer would crush me, so I just let it go as I surrendered to the bliss that was this afternoon. But that's fading fast with the light now. I'd go with him if he asked. There's no part of me that resists that. But he hasn't asked, and I'm growing very frightened he isn't planning to.

He looks at me like my question shocked him. But his eyes are searching my face, not glimmering in anger.

"I am," he says, looking back at the water. "But that might still not help completely."

He's speaking so cryptically, I don't even know what to ask. It feels like he'd rather not tell me, so I probably shouldn't even try to force it out of him. But he sounds like he wants to talk about it, so maybe I should.

"You seem very put together to me," I say, choosing a middle of the road approach, letting him know I'll listen, but not trying to drag anything out of him.

"For the last four years or so, sure, but before that I was totally out of control, did way too many drugs, spent days and nights high, and I did a lot of bad things. I don't even remember most of it, but the stuff I do remember is horrible enough. And it was all because I was so fucking angry."

"At what?" I say automatically, without thinking. He needs to talk about this. And I'm here to listen. I'll always be here to listen. I want him to know that.

"I don't even know if I should tell you," he says, looking at me again. I hope he can read in my face how much I'm here for him if he needs me. "It's not a pleasant story. And I haven't talked about it very often."

"My story wasn't very pleasant either," I say. "Yet you listened, and you stuck around. I'm tough, I can handle anything."

I said the last as a joke, to lighten the mood, make it easier for him to talk.

"I know you are," he says, smiling at me. "You're a lot stronger than me."

I open my mouth to argue, because he's wrong, I'm fragile and brittle, at least I was until I met him. But he lays his fingers over my lips to stop me.

"I'm still angry at my father, even though he's been dead for thirteen years. I wish I was the one to kill him, but I never got that chance and it tore me up inside for years. It still bothers me on my darker days."

"We have that in common too, then," I say, smiling. "Minus the killing and dead part. What did your father do?"

I meant it as a way to lighten the mood, but it came out somber as though we're at a funeral. Because that's exactly what it feels like right now.

"He strangled my mom and made me watch to teach me how women are just disposable beings, and how they should be put down the moment they get out of line." He says it all in a rush, not even pausing for breath, the panic, fear, sadness, confusion, dread rising inside me at his words nowhere near the peak yet already unbearable. "I was ten years old, I didn't understand shit, and by the time I did, it was too late. She was dead and I did nothing to stop him from killing her. I’ll never be able to live with that comfortably."

He glances at me, but looks away immediately, probably scared off by the shock that must be plain on my face.

"That's so…that's…" but I can't find a word strong enough to describe what he just told me. What he lived through.

"Horrible?" he says. But that doesn't even come close.

"What happened to him? Did he go to jail?"

"No, nothing happened to him," he says. "I don't even know where my mom is buried. He was old, almost seventy, and died a couple of years later of a heart attack. I didn't speak much to him after it happened."

"I can imagine," I blurt out to fill the silence, to let him know I'm still here, still listening, that I am strong enough to hear all this, that it doesn’t kill me inside, make me want to hide and cry. Though it does. But my wish to stay by his side, make it all better for him is stronger.

"My mom was trafficked too, just like your sister," he says. "But my father liked her, took her for his own. She was only seventeen when she had me. It could've turned out alright for her if my father wasn't such a women-hating psycho. Or if she kept her head down, and did what she was told to do. But that wasn't my mom. She was a fighter."

He chuckles a little as he says it, gazing off into the distance, his eyes no longer just sad and angry, but kind of happy and proud too. I understand now what he meant when he told me how she taught him to treat all women like princesses. She wanted to make sure he didn't end up like his father.

"So I have her to thank," I say, squeezing his hand tighter. I wish she was still alive, so I could thank her in person.

"Yeah." He turns to me, his eyes darker, scarier than the blackest night right now. "And I want you to know that finding your sister and saving her if she's being forced into prostitution is personal for me. The MC hasn't been running whores since my mom died, my father abolished all that, thinking that would make it right between us again. And I'll do everything I can to stop it, if it's happening again. I'm not just doing it because I want to keep fucking you."

His words sting, but I know it's just anger talking right now, because he's forced himself to relieve all those terrible memories. And I know I'm the one who needs to create the lightness now, needs to chase away his darkness the way he's done so many times for me.

"What did you even mean, saying we never fucked?" I ask snappishly. "I remember that very differently. In fact, I'll never forget last night, for example. Not even when I'm old and senile."

He grins at me, kissing the top of my head. "I just meant you haven't really let me fuck you the way I want to, which is also the way you really need it."

What is he even talking about?

"Is that your expert opinion then, given your wealth of experience in the field?"

He laughs, releasing my hand and wrapping his arm tightly around me. "Yes, I am very experienced. So you should just trust me."

His voice still sounds weighed down, but it's getting lighter.

"Alright, doctor," I say. "I trust you."

He releases me, and stands offering me his hand. "Let's go then. It's getting dark anyway, and snakes are gonna start coming out."

I smile wryly at his bad pun and let him pull me to my feet. "There's snakes during the day too. They like to sunbathe on boulders."

He shakes like he's trying to get rid of a bad thought. "Don't even say things like that."

I laugh at him, and it's a free, melodic sound, not the strained, choked one I'm used to hearing. He smiles at me, softly and serenely, like he knows it too, knows that my laugh, my carefree laugh is finally back. I thought I lost it forever.

"Just so we're clear," he says as we're walking back to the car. "You can still be on top sometimes, but it's not gonna be all the time anymore."

Oh, that's what he means. It's true that we've only done it with me on top until now, because I've been too frightened by him holding me down. But I absolutely yearn to feel his weight on top of me right now.

"Whatever you say, Doc," I say, but he's too focused on checking the underbrush for snakes to look back at me and smile. But I still know he's looking forward to being alone with me in his bed almost as much as I am.