Chapter 9 #2
I opened the door and halted, taking in the sight of PD’s bare back and ass. He stood on the opposite side of the bed and stretched his arms above his head, giving me the most delicious view of the long lines of his body.
I wolf whistled as I shut the door behind me.
He turned languidly toward me and smiled, an underlying cautiousness lingering in his eyes. I understood. After how angry I’d been last night, it made sense he was wary of my reaction the next morning. I was still pissed, but after the conversation with Quain, I was also feeling pretty damned good.
“Hey.” PD ate up the distance between us and curled his arms around my waist, dragging me closer. He kissed me, and I cringed, since he had bad morning breath, but I also didn’t care because it was PD. I gave him another chaste kiss and pulled back.
“I got a job.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“You heard me.” I slapped his bare ass and it wobbled under the force. I watched, fascinated, then grinned wider. “Quain hired me.”
“To do what?” His eyebrows furrowed and he stepped back. He crossed his arms, the annoying concern flashing in his eyes. Fuck. Couldn’t he even trust me with this? A hot sensation streaked through my stomach and my lungs tightened as I took a step away.
“To paint him some artwork.”
PD’s shoulders loosened, and I gritted my teeth.
“Fuck, PD, I’m not that useless.” I scoffed.
“I never said you were.”
I waved my hand at him. “You did. Your face showed everything. You thought I was going to do something dangerous, and you were going to bitch.”
PD heaved a sigh and rubbed his jaw. “I don’t want to argue, Will.”
I shrugged, ignoring the pain snaking through my heart, and this time it wasn’t because of the physical issues. “He’s gonna give me seventy-two grand to spray paint him eight pieces. Nine a pop.”
His eyes widened and he whistled. “Nice.” Then, his expression softened. He shifted in closer and laid a hand on my hip. “It’s been a while since you’ve painted.”
I tensed. Was this where he was going to ask if I needed help? Was this another thing he didn’t think I could do?
“I’m glad you’re getting back into it.” He smiled and touched his forehead to mine. “You deserve all the happiness. I’m sorry if you feel like we’re stonewalling you. We’re worried for you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need you to be.” I didn’t have the energy to fight him, so I leaned into him, closing my eyes and inhaling his natural scent—a dash of masculine sweat and something spicier. “Let me do this on my own.”
“I’ll try.” He sighed. “But it’s hard letting you do this without my help. Even before your accident, it was me and you, not just you. Now you want independence and I don’t know how to give you up.”
I’d forgotten what my life was before because it was nothing more than a distant memory.
All my mind could focus on was now, what I’d become.
I was all pain and a mess of grief—an unbalanced chaos that I couldn’t control.
I’d spent months in the hospital, more in rehab, and I craved autonomy, normalcy, and a life without all this.
I needed to be me and not the injury that had manipulated my life.
I was a puppet being forced to move in directions I didn’t want to.
It was time I found myself again. Four years of wondering what the hell I was going to do was more than enough.
I didn’t know how to explain any of that to PD in a way he’d understand. He’d try, he would, but he’d aim to make it right. I needed him to support me, not fix me. He couldn’t turn back time.
“I’m not asking you to stop being here with me, but I do need to have control of my life again.
So, I’m asking you to treat me the way you would’ve before the accident.
” I raised a hand when he looked like he was about to argue.
“I know I’m not the same guy, but I’m also not a kid, PD. You’re my boyfriend?”
He nodded with a smile, and I grinned, too.
“Yeah, you’re my boyfriend, not my father.” I patted him on the chest. “Let me show you what I can do.”
He squinted at me in thought. “Okay. Fine. But you know you’ll need to go through King first when it comes to the club. He needs to be sure you’re ready. He’s the pres.”
“I can do that.” Though, I wasn’t sure how. King was tough, and if he was going to allow me on assignments that could end in one of my brothers—or me—killed or in prison, he’d give me tests to prove I was fit for the job.
PD cupped my face and stroked his thumb over my cheek. “I believe in you, but promise me that if you can’t, if you’re not prepared, you tell us. There’s no shame in it. You almost died. I can’t go through that again.”
I leaned into him, wrapping him up in a hug with my arms around his neck. Burying my face against his shoulder, I breathed him in again. “You won’t have to.”
Convincing King that I was in fighting form was an entirely different story.
“No.” King crossed his arms and raised his chin.
The gruffness of his tone made me wince.
“You can barely balance your bike some days. That’s why you go to rehab.
You’re not ready to be back on the road when someone could be shooting at your ass or chasing you. Forget about doing a run out of state.”
He spun on his heel and stalked over to the ebony bar in the far-left corner of his office.
I sat on the leather couch with PD beside me, while Undertaker and Jester each took a wingback chair.
Undertaker was the treasurer and one of the men King trusted most, while Jester was the vice president of the club, so it made sense that they were both here.
Undertaker leaned back in his chair and threw a leg over his knee, not a care in the world.
His kilt rode up and I caught a flash of ball sack.
Men around here fucked in public, so seeing dick in the wild wasn’t anything new.
He always looked good, too, and today was no different.
To match the kilt, he had black army boots and a black tight-fitting T-shirt, finished with his leather Kings of Men jacket.
Jester, on the other hand, appeared worse for wear. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were nearly falling out of his head. He played with the gold band on his ring finger, eyes drawn to it thoughtfully.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I’m ready, I fucking swear, King.”
After my conversation with PD, we’d found King and asked for a meeting the next day. Now here we were.
He uncorked a whiskey bottle and poured a drink. It was barely nine in the morning, making it too early as far as I was concerned. He hummed. “Your brothers depend on you. If you fuck this up—”
“I won’t.” I winced as he scowled.
“As I was saying, if you fuck this up, you can get someone killed.” He took a sip of whiskey from his tumbler, then grabbed a stool from the bar and walked back over to us. He plopped the stool down beside Undertaker and sat on it. “What do you think, Tim?”
Undertaker eyed him. “Rook’s been out of the game for a while. But, if he says he’s ready, maybe we should put him to the test.”
“Nothing dangerous,” PD said, and I sent him a glare.
Undertaker gave him a sly grin. “Danger is the fun part.”
King grunted. “Let’s start him off small.” He pointed at me. “If you want to get back on the big stuff, you need to prove you can handle the small things. I’ll think about what I want you to do. Until then, make sure you’re going to your rehab and shit.”
I held in a snort at the irony as he took another sip of the alcohol. His boyfriend, Dallas, had been trying to get him to cut down on his boozing for years now. Maybe he needed to go to rehab, too.
“You also need your license back.” King pointed at me again.
“That doc took it off you until you retest because of your brain injury. I need you to go back to the doc and the DMV and do what they want you to, all right? I can’t risk you getting arrested for not having your license.
Rule one when you’re doing illegal shit, have your paperwork locked down.
Don’t give them a reason to pull you over. ”
I held in a growl. “He was being a prick, Pres. He took it years ago at this point.”
King grunted. “You need it back. Get that shit done and we’ll see about the rest.”
I nodded my thanks and stood. Giving Jester a final concerned glance, I let PD lead the way out of King’s office and into the hallway.
“That’s a good start,” PD said as he guided us out of the hallway and across the barroom toward the front door. We had plans to go to the art shop beside the Ink Well to buy spray paint and a couple of canvases for me to work with.
“Is it?” I gritted my teeth and exhaled through my nose.
The outcome wasn’t what I’d wanted, but it was better than nothing.
A dull ache throbbed in my forehead, and I rubbed it, irritation bubbling up in my chest. I’d had this headache since this morning and couldn’t get rid of it.
Meds weren’t helping. At least my ribs and back didn’t hurt as much today.
PD grabbed my arm and gently turned me toward himself as we reached our truck. “If you want to do this right, Will, you need to start slow.” He cupped my face and kissed me gently.
I closed my eyes, reveling in the touch of his lips against mine.
He broke the kiss but stayed close enough that our noses touched. “I’m fucking terrified because I want to keep you safe, but whatever King assigns you, I’ll support you from the sidelines.”
My stomach went light and fluttery, and I grinned. “I love you.” A couple of nights ago, I was too angry at him to tell him, and I needed him to know what he meant to me. “I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you, Paris.”
He exhaled and closed his eyes, then opened them just as fast. “I love you, too, Will. I’ll make mistakes because I’m worried about you, but I want you to succeed.”
“Let’s not think about it.” I kissed him again because I was a weak man when it came to Paris Deiters. “Let’s go get the supplies and have some fun. It’s been a while since we’ve painted together.”
He’d taken another day off work for this and I wanted to enjoy it while we could.
He smiled and laced his fingers in mine, tugging me toward the truck.