“What does it mean for you though? They must be livid with you for getting me involved in this.”
“Yeah, they are.” I turn away and fidget with a cue on the wall rack. “And to tell you the truth, I don’t know what they’ll do. I messed up huge this time.”
“I don’t care what their fucking rules are around here,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve got a few things to say if they take this out on you unfairly. They can damn well listen, too.”
“Darlin’, it’s cute that you want to stand up for me, but I’ll take whatever they feel is fair punishment.”
“Puppies are cute, too . . . until the little fuckers are hanging off your pinkie finger with those sharp teeth.” She pouts, and it’s all I can do not to laugh at her.
“You’re fuckin’ adorable like a puppy, too.” I lean in and tuck a hand under her chin while I steal a kiss.
Callum clears his throat from the far side of the table. “A man could die old waitin’ for his next shot.”
“And a man could die young in our game, brother, so I’m takin’ what I can get while I can.”
Ryan smiles and backs away to lean on the wall and watch us play. She’s got mere minutes before her uncle arrives, and he’ll more than likely wipe that smile from her face. So I relish it, tickling her between shots and soaking up every damn musical note that comes out of her mouth when she laughs.
Because this right here? This is what it feels like to belong with someone.
I just hope she feels it, too.
CONFIRMATION
Ryan
The moment’s nice, as fleeting as it is. For a few brief minutes I feel like the woman I could have been. Watching the men circle the table taking shots, it’s easy to imagine that this is what my teenage years could have been.
If I hadn’t been too busy running from myself.
Bronx and the other guy, whose name I’ve since learnt is Callum, are down to the last two balls each before somebody has to sink the eight. Bronx leans over the table, his arm extended out along the cue, and I’d be stupid not to use the moment to admire his trim form. Well, trim isn’t quite the word for it. He’s built, and he clearly works out, but the width of his shoulders, the bulk under his T-shirt, and the narrow taper of his waist before his thighs fill out the denim he’s wearing tell me he’s serious about his sport. Working out isn’t just a hobby for him, or a necessity—it’s a passion.
It makes me wonder if he has room for anything else in his life. He says he does, but I guess we’ll only know for sure when this blows over . . . if it ever does.
His arm pulls back, and the sharp crack of the pool balls follows. His number four collides with the corner of the pocket, and bounces off the cushion as he rears back, snarling at the failed shot. “You sink this next one,” he tells Callum, “and I’m bringing in a distraction.”
The blond guy chuckles, rounding the table as he decides which ball he’ll take on first. “She ain’t here today, brother, so you’re out of luck.”
We never find out who wins. King breaks the moment, barreling out of his office and marching toward the entrance hall. “Eyes up. We have company.”
A young guy in a prospect vest runs across the common room, making ground to catch up to King as he disappears out the front of the building. I’m consumed with the activity that’s broken out around the place. Men snap to attention, their earlier relaxed demeanor replaced with keen focus as they move to clear the women and kids from the room. Within seconds it’s me, the only female left, and a handful of leather-clad men all standing with their heads high and chests pushed out.
“Are you ready?” Bronx asks close to my ear, his hand wrapped gently around my upper arm. “This is it.”
“I can’t believe he’s here,” I near whisper. “Twelve years and this is where I’ll get to see him. What if I don’t like what he has to say?”
“You deal, that’s what.” Bronx wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me around so I’m tucked into his side with my face against his T-shirt. “You say thanks to the guy for frontin’ up, and you deal.”
“I wonder if he looks the same?” My fingers find their way to my mouth, a habit I’ve had since I was a little girl in times where I need comfort.
The door at the front of the clubhouse is wrenched open, sunlight flooding the hallway that leads to where we stand in the common room. I stiffen as several deep, rumbling voices mix with one another, the echo of boots on the concrete floor in sync with my pounding heart.
King emerges first through the doorway, and his head swings about, searching me out. I slam a palm over my mouth and swallow back the vile acid that rises to the back of my throat. Please don’t make a fool of yourself, woman. Bronx gives my shoulder a squeeze as King heads our way, two men I don’t recognize emerging from the hallway as he does.
King’s eyes are gentle as he stops before me, bending his knees slightly so he’s my height. “You want to go somewhere private, like my office, or will you be better in an open room?” My heart swells for the guy. Here I am, the reason for a club he doesn’t get along with to be on his turf, and he’s still concerned about my feelings.
“In the open would be great,” I answer, pulling away from Bronx. I need to stand tall, to do this myself.
King turns back to the two men and points to the sofas. “Well get settled over there.” The men spin around, showing their Devil’s Breed patches, and head across to the seating.
I take a few steps toward them, still staying away from the entrance hall, and watch with interest as they rifle through the cushions, lift the ends of the sofas, and run their hands under the tables. Satisfied there’s no threat, one of them walks briskly toward where they came in and gives a hand signal to somebody down the hall.
King moves to my right, Bronx to my left, both standing by my side as I wait for him. The blood rushing through my body is an ocean swell in my ears, drowning out each heavy breath I’m sucking in through my nose and blowing out through my mouth. I’ve dreamt of this moment and I’ve imagined our conversation, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that this won’t be anything like that. Nothing could have prepared me for this—facing the truth, and closing the door on the last decade of my life.
Warm fingers search out mine, and I cling to Bronx as though he’s the only solid thing holding me on the ground, saving me from floating away. He anchors me, and through that connection I find the last bit of courage I need to do this.
Harris’s head is down, his eyes on the floor, but I remember that messy shock of brown hair like it was only yesterday that he was there before me, telling me to run. His lips are moving; he’s talking to himself, and a smile quirks one side of his lips up. He’s just as nervous as I am.
King steps forward, blocking me from view. Harris lifts his head to greet him, extending a large hand. King connects his, and the two men shake vigorously before breaking.
“How was your ride?” King asks.
Harris draws in a heavy breath, his huge chest rising. “Full of idiots, but what’s new?”
His voice—it’s exactly the same; exactly how it sounds in my head every time I’ve dreamt of our talks. My fingers throb with each beat of my heart, and I’m squeezing Bronx’s hand so hard.
“Thank you for coming.” King steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wasn’t sure if you’d accept the invite.”