FOURTEEN

Mel

We roll into Fort Worth as hues of the mid-afternoon sun trickle through the clouds. I lean against Dog’s back, finding warmth in his body as we slow down and idle into the huge hangar-style garage.

Being home is bittersweet when I’ve lost so much, yet also found something so amazing.

That kiss … let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected when I stormed out of the store after him, hell bent on giving the idiot what for after the showdown I walked in on.

But I liked it. I think he did too. And I crave more. Lots more.

It’s so easy to forget the rush of that first kiss, the thrill of wanting another in such a way. It’s easy to forget the strength of lust as it slams your heart against your ribcage, imprisons your lungs, and sends your mind floating on a high unrivaled by any man-made drug.

It’s something I’ve forgotten completely over the past year—a memory that seemed redundant given my solitude.

“Home sweet home, babe,” Dog says on a sigh as he brings the bike to a stop.

I stretch out, raising my arms over my head and then dismount. “Yeah.”

He backs the bike into a space eyes on me as he kicks the stand out. Everything about him draws me in: those brooding eyes, that lush mouth, his sharp jawline, the kicking body below, and most of all, the heart he hides from so many.

The glimpses I’ve seen of Dog, the real man behind the name, are amazing. I can’t understand why he’d want to hide that kind of person away?

“You ready to do this?” he asks as he pulls the key from the ignition and dismounts.

I glance across the yard to the house. It looks fantastic, like the guys have finally bothered to put some care into the place. But at the same time it holds so much pain it may as well be a house of horrors looming over us from its side of the yard.

“Like ripping a Band-Aid off, right?”

“Exactly.” He gives me a tight-lipped smile and loops an arm around my shoulders.

I let Dog guide me toward the house, but we barely make it ten yards when Crackers bursts through the front door, arms raised.

“Hey, trouble-maker!”

Daddy might have tried and failed, to set us up as an item, but that patch of time did nothing to dampen our friendship. The lumbering clown that leaps the front steps was the first person to hold my hair out of the way as I hurled up too much alcohol, promising he’d hide the evidence from my father. The guy I could always count on to make me laugh when life as a club princess got me down.

I owe a lot to these guys. A lot.

“Who you calling trouble?” I shout back, leaping into his embrace.

He crushes me in his hold and then sets me on my feet. “How the fuck are you?” He pats my shoulders with both hands as though confirming for himself that I’m indeed here in the flesh, for real.

“I’ve been better.” I give him a tight smile, recognizing the warmth behind me as Dog.

“She knows,” he says simply over my shoulder, drawing Crackers’ gaze to him.

“Shit.” Our VP scrubs a hand over his face while looking away, and then chances a pained stare at me as I stand watching him. “I’m sorry, girl. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” He shakes his head side to side, and try as I might, I can’t keep my ducks in a row.

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore, but I guess sometimes you’ve just got to pick your battles.

“Hey.” Crackers reaches out, tapping me lightly on the elbow. “Come inside, yeah, and we’ll get the worst of it over with quick smart.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dog voices for me as he tucks me to his side.

Crackers flicks his gaze between us, the question there, unanswered.

I spend the next half an hour greeting people, accepting condolences, and sharing a few quiet moments with the people I’ve missed the most aside from my family. Fuck, who am I kidding? They are my family.

Tears are shed, smiles aplenty, and I’m greeted with nothing but sheer relief that the rumors they’d heard weren’t true—I’m alive and well. Safe and sound.

Murphy holds a stiff drink out for me, his lips curled into a type of apology. “Wish we could have been reunited under better circumstances, girlie.”

“Yeah.” I take the tumbler from him. “Me too.”

The liquor burns its way down my throat as I search out the room for Dog. I find him near the back with one of the property girls circling nearby. Yet his focus is solely and squarely on me.

I like it: the warm buzz it gives me that rivals the alcohol, and the ridiculous pride I have at being what he wants over the eye-candy on offer.

“You goin’ to tell us the real story, then?” Digits asks. “How is it we thought you were another casualty of Carlos and yet here you are?”

Murphy smacks him in the back of the head, with a scowl. “Have some fuckin’ respect, brother. You think she wants to rehash it all right this very second?”

Digits looks suitably apologetic, and yet all I want to do is hug the shit out of Murphy. He gets it. The last thing I want to do is relive the infuriating fact that I was the one Daddy decided to save, when both he and Dana sacrificed all for our club.

Why? Why did he do that?

“If it’s okay with you all,” I say, setting the empty tumbler down, “I might take ten minutes to myself.” I’m met with sympathetic smiles and a few nods. “It’s a bit tiring to be honest.” Not to mention the toll ten hours on the bike has taken on my body.

“Sure thing,” Murphy agrees.

Crackers nods and then jerks his head toward the stairs in a silent order to go as he pulls a whore onto his knee.

As celebrated as my return is, I’m no fool. My presence has injected a healthy dose of grief back into the place that’ll only be flushed out the best way they know how: getting intoxicated and losing themselves in each other.

The night’s about to get very rowdy.

I catch Dog’s eye as I head for the entrance and the grand staircase, and flick my eyes in a silent request for him to join me. He ducks his chin a little, not enough for anyone to really notice, but enough that I know he understands what I asked.

He’s probably playing it cool around prying eyes, which is understandable. Neither of us is ready to answer the questions that come with it all just yet, I don’t think.

The house has been painted and redecorated since I left, the walls a magnificent black. I wouldn’t have thought it the best color to paint the place, but it actually pulls off real nice, especially with the artwork that has been hung along the walls.

I run my hand over the painted surfaces as I make my way up the stairs and then down the hall to what should still be my room.

Everything is exactly as I left it. The familiarity is comforting, but at the same time its shrine-like feel leaves me a little creeped out. I walk into the room and collapse on the bed, closing my eyes and breathing in the familiar scents: my perfume, the lavender sachet that I kept to help me sleep, and the undertones of conditioned leather that drift from my open closet.

I roll my head to the side, hands clasped over my stomach, and stare at the clothing that hangs neatly inside. My throat swells as I gaze at the cropped leather vests, the black jeans and leather pants, motorcycle boots all lined up in a row beside my sky-high heels. It’s as though I’m staring at the shell of a different woman, someone I dreamed of being.

How can I simply slide into all that again and just transform in the blink of an eye? I drift my gaze to the left as Dog appears at my door and realize how. After all, he does it every day, doesn’t he?

“What’s on your mind?” he asks as he gently eases the door most of the way closed.

I point to the clothes. “Wondering who she is.”

“You,” he murmurs, sitting down at the foot of the bed. He reaches out and strokes my shin, and in a strange way, it brings me peace just having his touch. “Put some of it on.”

I shake my head, a sad smile pulling at my lips. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not who I am anymore.” I push up on my elbows to see him better. “It’s shallow don’t you think? The single purpose of being something pretty for everyone to admire?”

His chest rises with the deep breath he sucks in, and he stands, eyeballing the closet. I watch with interest as he crosses the room and moves the garments around, seemingly checking each and every one out before he selects an outfit.

“You think art is shallow?” he asks. “Paintings and photos? Sculpture?”

I shake my head, pushing myself up to sit as Dog lays out a pair of leather pants, a tight gray V-neck shirt, and my favorite vest; black leather stitched with an intricate design of roses and skulls.

“Put it on.” He nods to the clothes.

I hold his gaze and twist my lips to the side. Humor him, Mel. If anything, it’ll just reinforce my feeling that playing pretend isn’t going to be a walk in the park and maybe he’ll leave me alone.

All under his keen eye, I strip the shorts, sweater and loose tank I had on, off, and then tug on the much tighter, much more revealing outfit he laid out. His dark eyes blacken as he watches me from his spot leaned against the wall, his arms folded and his stare positively starved.

“There’s nothing wrong with bein’ something beautiful for people to appreciate, Mel. It’s soothing to a scarred soul.”

The stiffness of the pants seems foreign; a feeling I used to love, the way leather softens as it warms to your body. The vest however … the weight of it on my back, the ties that bind the sides tickling under my arms …

Fuck I’m sick of crying.

“Feel like home?” Dog asks quietly, his chin down as he regards me with a hooded gaze.

I swipe the stray tears from my cheeks and stiffen my jaw. “Yeah. It does. Too fucking familiar, actually.”

“It’s who you are, Mel.” He pushes off, closing the space between us. “That girl there”—he gestures to the baggy clothes on the bed—“is what circumstance created. That wasn’t you. That was survival.”

I stare at the sweater that’s a size too big, the cut-offs that are a full inch or more longer than I usually wear. They hid me, covered my curves and turned people’s heads the other way. But why? What was I really hiding?

“I got so used to being invisible, forgotten,” I mumble, my brow pinched. “It didn’t feel right drawing everyone’s attention.”

“Why not?”

I shake my head and run my hands over the leather on my thighs. “I don’t know.”

Dog steps forward, toe to toe with me, his finger coaxing my chin up to meet his gaze. “Guilt?”

I flick my gaze between his eyes, picking out the flecks of gold amongst the chestnut. “At what?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple prominent. “At feelin’ good.” His thumb skims my bottom lip. “At living.”

I turn my face in his hold again to look over the baggy clothes once more. His breath feathers my temple as I realize how right he is. I felt lost, not because I’d been out of the life for so long, but because I didn’t know how the person I was before I left, a happy carefree girl, fitted in amongst the grief and shock of what went down while I was away.

How can I come skipping back in here as though I don’t give a fuck what these people did for me? It just doesn’t sit right.

I turn back to Dog, finding his eyes intensely locked on me. “How do I do it, then? How do I be myself when it’s just so … wrong?”

“It ain’t wrong, baby.” He smiles sadly. “You just gotta see it’s what they need.” He leans in and places a gentle kiss on my forehead.

I reach up and take his face in my hands, holding his lips to my head. He’s so genuine, so raw. Why doesn’t he share this with anyone but me?

“I love this side of you, Dog,” I whisper. “Don’t ever hide it from me.”

“I promise,” he murmurs against my skin, his hands sure and firm on my hips as he tugs me closer.

I turn my head to the side and rest it against his chest as I wrap my warms around him and whisper, “You’re such a good friend to me.”

Even if the beat of my heart thundering in my ears tells me we’ve already crossed that line and moved on to something more, I’m terrified if I label this thing between us too soon I might startle him away and not only lose the thing that I cherish most—our friendship.

I couldn’t name what we have if I were asked, but whatever this thing is between us—a partnership, an understanding—it’s more than I could have asked for, and hopefully not more than I deserve.

Because right now, I still don’t feel like I deserve anything at all.