Chapter 10

Have you ever been too nice, and ended up in a situation which could’ve been avoided if you had just been the asshole you were originally? Yeah, me neither.

-Truth’s secret thoughts

Verity

I had a feeling I had just landed in the middle of a huge shitstorm, and I could do nothing but sit still and wait it out.

I watched as father and son started throwing verbal slurs at each other, and I realized something was really wrong with their relationship. Fathers didn’t say things like this to their kids. Not now, and not ever, no matter what their age.

The entire table, all bikers, and siblings combined, all stared at what was happening, too.

Truth’s body, which had been pliant and almost relaxed only moments before, was now stiff and vibrating with anger as he pushed away from me.

“We’re not doing this here and definitely not today of all days,” Truth rumbled low in his throat.

His voice sounded nice and even, but his eyes told a completely different story.

“How’s it feel to be dating a fucking killer?”

Those words were shot out of Truth’s father’s mouth, and I could do nothing but flinch at the anger that seethed inside of him.

“Ummm,” I mumbled. “Maybe it’s time for me to go?”

Truth’s hand tightened on my hip, telling me without words that he wanted me to stay right the fuck there.

So I did, and I witnessed every single derogatory comment his father dished out.

And by the time he got to the fourth ‘fucking waste of space and air,’ I was done.

“Excuse me, Sir,” I stood up and leaned forward. “I don’t know who you think you are. I don’t know why you think this is a good time to air out these old grievances, but it’s not. It’s inappropriate. First of all because we’re in the middle of a restaurant, you’re behaving badly and people are staring at you. Secondly, it’s obvious that Truth is hurting. I can see it. You can see it. Hell, even the people in the kitchen washing the dishes can see it. So I suggest you either sit down and be quiet or leave.”

Truth’s father stood up like I’d poured ice cold water into his lap.

“Truth,” he sneered, his breath wafting toward me. I could smell the alcohol all the way over here. “Don’t you mean Ernest? Let me tell you something, Truth couldn’t be a more hypocritical name for him. You don’t know what he’s done. You don’t know who he’s killed or why. I do, though. I watched him do it once.”

My jaw clenched, and I picked up the first thing I could find, which happened to be a roll, and threw it at him.

It hit him on the cheekbone and bounced back onto the table, landing on the table next to a very amused Trent’s plate. “Go. Home.”

One of the men to my left started to chuckle, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off of the man.

“Didn’t realize you let women fight your battles, Son.” Truth’s father backed away, taking a hold of his wife’s arm. “Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you can’t handle your business.”

“I can handle my business,” Truth said, leaning back into his chair. “It’s just sexier when she does it for me.”

His dad sneered, downed the rest of his wine and left, dragging his wife by the arm as he went.

“So…” Trent broke the silence after they’d left. “Who wants dessert?”

***

I turned at my door, smiling slightly when I saw my cat through the window, tangled in the blinds and likely about to pull them down again.

“You have a cat,” Truth murmured.

He said ‘cat’ like it was something disgusting that he didn’t want to get anywhere near.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Do you want to come in?”

“Where was the cat last time I was here?” he asked.

“Mr. Stiffy doesn’t come out much,” I admitted. “And when he does, it’s only to eat or sit in the window and watch the birds.”

Truth frowned. “I’m not ready to talk about my life yet.”

Would he ever be?

I tilted my head. “You’re a big boy, Truth,” I said. “If you want to keep secrets—as long as they’re not hurting our relationship—then keep them. In the meantime, I’d like you to come inside and watch the rest of the ‘How To Get Away With Murder’ marathon we started watching the other day.”

He stared at me for a few long moments, then nodded once, his shoulders stiff.

He had lines on his face and bags under his eyes that spoke of the stress he’d been under during the last week since he’d been here, and I wished I could smooth them away with my lips.

I wasn’t sure he was in that kind of a mood, though.

He struck me as a suffer-in-silence kind of man.

I’d likely never know if he was hurting unless I witnessed him grimacing in pain or he received the injury while I was there to witness it.

Holding the door open for him to enter, he did, and walked straight into the kitchen where he got down two wine glasses, a bottle from where he’d seen me pull them down from last time, and poured wine to the brim in both glasses.

I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to mention he’d just used half a bottle of four-hundred-dollar wine.

Instead, I walked down the long hallway that separated the bedrooms from the large living room, and headed to my room, which was at the very end of the hall.

My eyes stayed on the badly-in-need-of-repair wood floors as I walked.

The moment I flipped on the bedroom light, I saw Mr. Stiffy bound into the hallway past me, causing me to gasp.

“Jesus Christ, you little fucker,” I growled, glaring at the empty hallway behind me.

“You all right?”

“Yes,” I yelled back to the stubborn man. “Cat scared me, is all.”

I walked into my bedroom and rid myself of the horrid dress that felt like it was strangling me and tossed it into the pile that I reserved for the things that needed to go to the dry cleaners…though, I wouldn’t need that anymore.

Not when the only clothes that I got dry cleaned were the ones that I wore to work at the newspaper—a place where I no longer worked anymore.

I was standing there, contemplating whether it was acceptable to put on sweatpants, when I felt eyes on me.

I turned my head slowly, unsurprised to find him standing in the doorway to my room, staring at me.

“Yes?” I asked, reaching for the sweats.

He’d have to get used to them eventually.

When I wasn’t working, I was in sweats, comfy shorts, or no pants at all.

I hated wearing real pants almost as much as I hated my old job.

He watched as I slipped my feet into my sweatpants, and continued to watch as I pulled down an old t-shirt that I’d cut up and made into a work out shirt.

The next thing I did was bend over and put my hair up into a messy bun, snagging the black hair tie that was on the floor next to my feet as I gathered all my hair on top of my head and stood up.

As I stood, I came face-to-chest with Truth and froze.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

“I had one of the shittiest days of my life today,” he swallowed thickly. “And then you defended me in front of my family and friends. I appreciate that more than you will ever know.”

I smiled and leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his hips and hugging his big body to me.

My face laid flat against the leather of his biker vest, and I felt at peace for the first time since I’d read that meme and seen my ass hanging off the back of Truth’s bike.

Though, I hadn’t felt all that great before that with the way he’d left so abruptly.

But now, standing in the man’s arms, I realized that none of that mattered right now.

Was I curious to know his secrets and motives behind doing what he’d done? Sure. Was I going to let that get in the way of what I knew was growing between us?

No way in hell.

“Let’s go watch some TV.”

He gave me one last long squeeze, and then let me go, taking my hand and leading me to the living room and my amazing couch where our glasses of wine sat.

Though, I noticed that he gave me the one he’d drank from already.

Not that I minded.

I just thought it was funny.

And as we watched season two of the show we’d started last week, I felt at home for the first time in a very long time.