I look down at the giant egg white omelet, hash browns, fruit salad and toast that the waitress just set down in front of me. It could feed about five men, and there’s no way in hell I can eat even a quarter of it by myself.
“Looks good; but egg whites, babe?” Paxton asks as his lips curl in disgust.
“Can’t fit into my clothes if I eat the real stuff, Pax,” I explain. He shakes his head but looks down at his plate and doesn’t say a word. “What?” I ask.
“Nothin’,” he snorts.
“No, tell me, what?”
I cut some of my omelet and stab it with my fork before I slide it between my lips. I almost moan, it’s so good, the swiss cheese and ham perfectly melted together.
“Hate it when bitches talk about their weight. That’s all. Like you need to watch your figure? You look better now than you did twelve years ago,” he mutters. I look up at him, widening my eyes.
“First off, I don’t want to think about how many bitches have complained to you about their weight. Secondly, I know for a fact I couldn’t fit past my calves into my jeans from twelve years ago. So, yeah, I have to watch my weight. Aside from all of that, I like to be healthy, or healthy-ish.”
“You think I’m only talking about bitches I fuck? Babe, been around Old Ladies and heard them complain, heard them talk about working out and diets and all kinds of shit. Put that shit about me being with whores out of your mind, because I’m not gonna shove that shit in your face. I’m an asshole, but even I’m not that big of an asshole. You looked fuckin’ great back then, Clee, and that’s because you looked like an eighteen-year-old girl. I was into eighteen-year-old girls when I was twenty. But would make me a perv if I was into eighteen-year-old girls now that I’m thirty-two. I like tits, ass, thighs, hips, and long red hair. Lucky for me, you got it all, and all of it I fuckin’ like.”
With my fork suspended in the air, I stare at him, slack jawed. I stare at him while my brain processes everything he’s just said to me. The only thing I can think about is how he likes everything I’ve got; and while I should be focusing on other pieces of that speech, the self-conscious girl inside of me is beaming and excited.
Lucky for me, you got it all, and all of it I fuckin’ like.
“Paxton,” I whisper.
“Not fuckin’ with you, sweetheart. Fucked up bad back then, and I’ll tell you about everything I’ve been through one day, and maybe you can find it in your heart to forgive me for bein’ so fuckin’ young and so fuckin’ dumb,” he mutters, his eyes looking straight into mine, never wavering.
Maybe I only want to see the truth in them, but I see it, and I want to know what demons hide behind his gaze. They look like quite a burden. I wanted so badly to be his partner, to share in his burdens and his joys, but he shut me out and abandoned me before I even had the chance.
“You swear you’ll tell me this time?” I ask, biting the corner of my lip.
“Swear to fuck,” he murmurs.
“I’m not making any promises on the future or anything, but I want to know.”
“Fair enough,” he whispers with a nod before he cuts a piece of his chicken fried steak and eats it.
I turn back to my food as well, but I’m only able to take a couple more bites, my appetite lost as I start remembering the past.
“Clee,” Paxton calls. His voice takes me away from my thoughts, and I am forced to look up at him. “Think we can move on from the past, and when we do, swear to Christ, you’ll be happy with me.”
“That’s a lot to promise a girl, Pax,” I murmur.
“Not a kid anymore, babe. Ready to get this shit done and over with, and I’m ready to move the fuck on,” he announces.
“What does moving on look like, then?” I ask, narrowing my eyes slightly, my breakfast now forgotten.
“Looks like me and you—you on the back of my bike, bein’ my Old Lady and poppin’ out those coupla kids you always wanted,” he grunts.
“You’re crazy,” I whisper.
“Watch what you say. You ain’t seen my brand of crazy yet, Clee,” he rumbles.
“Seriously, you’re fucking insane if you think that’s what’s going to happen between us. Aside from the fact that I only understand about three-quarters of what you just said, how do you know I still want kids? And who the hell says that I’m going to be anywhere near your motorcycle or okay with you being my children’s father?” I rant.
“I’m your husband, so I’m pretty fuckin’ certain it’ll be my kids in your belly,” he barks, his voice rising in the diner.
“We will never work, Paxton—not for a freaking minute. There’s too much hurt between us. I’m glad you like the way I look, but you don’t know me anymore, and I never knew you.”
“The first time I went overseas, when I came back to you, I know I said some shit about my buddies’ girls leaving them, and they did; but that’s not what I was so fucked up about, Cleo. It was only a portion of my problem. I watched my best friend over there get blown to fuckin’ pieces, baby. Other guys died, too, but he was my best friend. We went through basic together, went through school together—we were brothers, babe, and he fucking blew up into a million pieces right in front of me. They sent him home in goddamn pieces, Cleo.”
Tears stream down my face at his words, at the obvious pain he still feels just speaking about his friend. I imagine his nightmares are even more painful. I reach across the table and place my hands over his wrist giving him a squeeze.
“You could have told me all of that back then. I was prepared for it, Pax. I’d taken classes and gone to meetings on how to help you acclimate back to your life here at home,” I whisper.
“Love that you were prepared, Cleo; love that you thought you were, at least. But, honest to fuck, sweetheart, you could not prepare yourself for the shit I was dealing with. Then I went back less than a year later and it happened all over again. I got out after eight years, halfway to retirement, and I’d been to that desert hell four times. I couldn’t do it again. I was lost—an alcoholic addicted to pain killers and sleeping pills. I wouldn’t have just hurt you, Cleo. I would have destroyed you.”
“I would have stayed right by your side, and you don’t know that because you wouldn’t let me try to be there for you,” I whisper as more tears fill my vision.
“Trust me. Fuckin’ hell, baby, trust me when I tell you that me leaving was the best thing for you back in the day,” he announces as he stands up.
I watch as he throws some money on the table and then holds out his palm for me. I slip mine inside as we walk out of the little diner and toward his vehicle. It’s like a pickup, as in it has a bed, but it’s low, like a car, and it’s old, seventies old. It seems like he’s fixed it up, because it isn’t falling apart and the paint is dark blue and shiny new, nothing like my oxidized maroon car.
“What kind of car is this?” I ask, turning around to face him. I watch as his face softens and he smiles down at me.
“It’s a nineteen-seventy-three Ford Ranchero,” he murmurs.
“It’s like a truck, but it’s not,” I point out. His smile widens.
“Was my daddy’s. Found it in an old barn on some property he owned and left to me after he died,” he shrugs.
I look at him, opening my mouth to say something, but he’s right there in front of me. His hands cup my cheeks as he lowers his head, and his lips brush mine, quieting me as his tongue fills my mouth. I accept his kiss, my body warming and going hot as he continues to devour my mouth. I slide my hands around his sides, beneath his vest, and fist the fabric of his t-shirt at his lower back.
We move, he walks forward, forcing me to back up until my ass hits the door to his car. He presses his hips against my belly, his length pressing into me.
My entire body shivers, and I know he’s felt it when he groans into my mouth. Then he slowly pulls away from me so that we can breathe, and his forehead rests against my own, his nose touching mine and his breath fanning my face.
“This is who we are, sweetheart. End of the day, this is what’s important,” he mutters.
“What? Because we enjoy kissing each other?” I ask breathily.
“No, baby. I could kiss a million women, could even like it a fuck’ve a lot, but not one of them would feel the way it does when I kiss those pretty lips of yours.”
“I want to know you, Paxton. I want to know about your childhood, your past, and the last eleven years. I want it all from you,” I admit, giving myself whiplash.
I want him and to know about him, but it feels like it’s all going just as fast as it did when I was eighteen. That scares the shit out of me at the same time.
He releases me and takes a step back, his eyes focused on mine. He doesn’t, or can’t, hide the pain that slices through his features before he arranges himself so that it’s hidden again.
“You’re the only one that does know me, Clee. You’ll learn more as time goes, but what you know is more than anybody else in my life,” he says.
“If you really want there to be an us, I have to be able to trust you, Paxton. In order to trust you, I need you to be open and honest with me. I’m not the starry-eyed girl I was, willing to jump into anything head first. I have to know that I won’t be abandoned again,” I whisper, my eyes connecting with his.
“No guarantees in life, sweetheart. This could go south, for you or for me. You could abandon me, too, you know.”
“I could, but we both know that I’m not that kind of person,” I say, watching as he flinches with my well delivered blow.
“When do you work again?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Tomorrow. I have to be there at ten,” I state.
“Let’s go,” he grunts, walking over to the passenger side. Opening the car door, he waits for me to slide inside.
I let him have his silence and allow the conversation we were having to come to an abrupt end. He probably had no idea the adult version of me wasn’t going to be exactly like the girl I was. I’ve been hurt, and he’s the main person who hurt me.
I’ve had years to think about those hurts, and it’s going to take more than a few empty promises to be anything other than two people who are married but estranged.
I glance at her, sitting next to me as I drive us back to the clubhouse. Fuck. I fucked her up. She’s still naïve, innocent, and shy, but there’s a piece of her spirit that’s been broken; her trust in anyone, too. I did that, just me, and I hate myself a little more for it.
I don’t know how to fix it, though, and I’m sure as fuck not going to be an open book for her. She doesn’t need to know about my entire childhood, about the horrors I’ve seen in the military, or a damn thing I’ve done or could do for my club. I don’t want to erase that little bit of innocence she so obviously still has inside of her. I love that part of her. I always have.
“Got some shit to do today. Stay in my room,” I say as I pull up to the clubhouse gate.
“You’re leaving me alone?” she asks with wide eyes.
“Yeah, but you’ll be safe in there. Just stay away from everyone.”
“Why?” she breathes. Goddamn, it’s so fuckin’ sexy.
I throw the Ranchero in park and turn to face her.
“You don’t have a brand, babe, which means someone could think you’re fair game. I’m still new here, and though I know all the brothers, I don’t know all of them real well—not like my brothers in Idaho. That bein’ said, I don’t know who would take it upon themselves to take you and not give much of a shit if you say no. You’re not claimed, so it’s a possibility,” I explain.
“Are you telling me that someone in there might rape me? And what’s a brand?” she asks. I start to get annoyed, forgetting that she’s never been a part of this life.
“You aren’t branded with a tattoo of my name, which means you’re not claimed and you’re fair game,” I explain.
“So, you’re actually saying that unless I have your name permanently tattooed onto my body, your brothers think that they can rape me?” she says, sneering.
“That’s the life, babe,” I shrug.
“I’m not comfortable being here without you, Paxton. Can’t you just take me with you?” she asks, biting her plump bottom lip.
“Sorry, sweetheart, can’t take you,” I say. I am sorry. She looks fuckin’ terrified.
“Paxton,” she whispers with a trembling lip.
“I’ll lock you in my room,” I shrug.
I step out of the front seat and walk over to her side, helping her out. She looks up at me with teary eyes, and though they pull at my heartstrings, I’m going on club business and she can’t come, even if I wanted her to.
Plus, this is something she’s going to have to get used to—my life, my club, and my brothers. I don’t think anyone here would hurt her, but the fact is that I don’t know all of them that well.
I take her to my room, telling her that I’ll be back in a bit before locking her inside. I can’t look at the way her lips tremble, the way her eyes are scared and wide. I have shit to do, and I need to get going on it. On my way out of the clubhouse, I run into Camo.
“Hey, brother, Cleo’s locked up in my room. Here’s my key. She need anything, can you handle her?” I ask.
“Sure, I’ll be around for a while.”
“She isn’t branded,” I murmur.
“Got an Old Lady,” he grunts.
“Know that, trust you, that’s why I’m talking to you. I haven’t claimed her, and I don’t know all the brothers well enough to know if she’ll be safe…”
“I got you, brother. I’ll take care of her,” he offers.
“She get’s hurt…” I trail off.
“No problem. I got sisters and a woman. Not into allowing women to get hurt on my watch,” he grins.
“Thanks, brother.”
I leave Cleo in Camo’s care and hope that she’ll be all right while I’m gone. I hope it isn’t too long, but it’s club business, and it could very well take the rest of the evening.