Chapter 23
Fiona
Bash and I had officially been living together for two weeks.
It wasn’t entirely smooth sailing. Moving in together wasn’t the cure.
It didn’t magically fix everything between us, but it gave us the foundation, the space to start working through things together.
Changing a lifetime of habits and responses didn’t happen overnight.
Living together gave both of us full access to each other’s lives, a front-row seat to see how we responded to everyday events.
After our last fight, we realized we had to be conscious of how both of us responded when upset, and how to be more mindful of our different fighting styles.
Bash and I were like fire and ice. In an argument, Bash worked himself up into an angry lather, whereas I froze, retreating to a safe place away from it.
It was not that one reaction is more right or wrong, but knowing that was the way we each responded provided perspective.
Not everything had to be dealt with at that moment.
Sometimes, alone time was necessary to figure out what exactly needed to be said, rather than just saying whatever you thought of in that state of heightened emotions.
It wasn’t just during fights that we had to consider our individual approaches; everyday things required open communication and compromise.
Once I moved in, Bash gave me free rein to decorate however I wanted. At first, it was thrilling, a million ideas running through my head. But as soon as he handed me his credit card, those familiar thoughts of doubt, my stubborn unwillingness to make things permanent, reared their ugly head.
It didn’t come naturally, but I had to stop myself from spiraling out, to take the time to figure out exactly what was upsetting me and how to communicate those concerns to Bash.
He came home from work to see me sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the credit card like a rattlesnake about to bite me.
I had spent the day sorting through my thoughts and the anxiety that was rising in me.
Bash sat down in the seat across from me and gently asked me what was going on.
As best as I could, I explained my feelings, the sudden paralysis I was having at that moment.
My rational brain knew it was okay, but I couldn’t break out of the panic or make my body move.
Bash listened, not interrupting as I vomited my thoughts in a completely unorganized rant.
“Why don’t we go shopping together? Stock up on household shit.” he offered, only sincerity on his face.
He wasn’t disregarding my concerns. Instead, he was offering to tackle them together.
At first, he took the lead until I was able to break through my anxiety and started having fun, picking items out and discussing them with Bash.
By the end of the trip, we had chosen several mutually approved things I was excited about—especially the high-quality sheets in dark, neutral colors for the bedroom, with an equally luxurious comforter.
I also picked out a variety of throw pillows and blankets for the large leather sofa that took up dominion in the living room in front of the larger-than-life TV Bash had installed before anything else.
A few days after our shopping spree, I was surprised with a visit from Cece and Seph.
They came with food and wanted to help unpack and get stuff set up.
It was during that time I learned about their past, and the inception of Seph’s Trail.
They had gotten permission from Reaper and Guard to tell me about the project, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
It brought me to tears, knowing that the club worked so hard to protect women and children on such a large scale.
Not once did someone intervene in the shitshow that was my childhood growing up.
I saw how little the law, social workers, and teachers could accomplish.
If something like that had existed, if Jackson and I could have been whisked away and relocated by the club, who knew what our lives would have been like.
Jackson. Our last conversation was ever-present in my mind, anger and understanding a constant war within me. It still burned, his assumptions and lazy attempts to track me down. Learning he was a key player in Seph’s Trail left a sour taste in my mouth.
As much as I hated myself for it, I was jealous and angry that he was interested in helping other families, but not his own. Just as quickly, guilt ran through me at those thoughts. Despite everything between us, I was glad he was doing something purposeful, that was close to his heart.
Eventually, I would have to revisit everything my brother had told me.
Really work through all the emotions that it brought up within me, and make a decision if there was a future in which we could reconnect.
It would never be like it used to. Growing up, he was larger than life, my hero and protector.
He was my everything. I didn’t need anyone to rescue me now, but I could use a friend.
Someone to confide in who understood where those irrational thoughts and feelings came from.
Unconsciously, I fiddled with the bracelet on my wrist. I hadn’t taken it off since that sleepless night, when I found comfort in it. Even then, the jewelry provided me with a bit of relief as I slid it around my wrist. It was like a token to remind myself to let go of the past and live my life.
Now that I’d had a couple of weeks to settle in, we decided to host family dinner instead of throwing a housewarming party.
Nervous energy ran through me. Even though I knew no one expected anything lavish from us, I still wanted to impress everyone.
I had been preparing all week, picking recipes, then quickly changing my mind.
Bash was by my side throughout all of it, helping with food prep, cleaning the house, and indulging my multiple visits to the grocery store.
He ran out for ice, drinks, and anything else we could think of.
He also surprised me the morning of with a lovely bouquet for my efforts that I set as the centerpiece of the table.
If I would let him, he would have cooked, too, but it was important to me that I handled that part.
Food was one of the few love languages I was comfortable with, and I wanted Bash and his family to know how much they meant to me.
In the end, I went with the dishes I was most confident making.
I prepared a simple roast chicken with sides of cornbread, roasted potatoes, and the same mac and cheese I had prepared for Match.
I also made some garlic bread, a fresh salad, and butternut squash soup for appetizers.
The dessert was cheesecake because Guard said he would boycott dinner if I tried anything else.
Everything was ready and staying warm in the oven or on the stove as I stood nervously in the kitchen.
Without a spoon in my hand or a dish to check, anxiety about hosting dinner climbed back up my throat.
Anxiety wasn’t the correct word; I was excited, and it was making me antsy.
I couldn’t wait to have everyone over to feed them.
“It smells amazing in here,” Bash’s rumbling voice came from behind me.
Like usual, he couldn’t wait too long without touching me, and soon, his arms were wrapping around my middle as he held me from behind.
He kissed the spot between my neck and shoulder that he knew was ticklish, and I tried not to squirm and elbow him.
“Stop pestering me. I have to finish getting everything ready,” I told him in a teasing voice.
“Babe, everything’s done. You’ve gone above and beyond.
I just finished setting the table. The family won’t be here for another forty-five minutes.
Why don’t you relax for a bit? Do you want a glass of wine?
A massage?” he asked, his voice soft and calming.
I leaned back into him, tilting my head to give him more access.
“You. All I need right now is you,” I said, meaning that with every fiber of my being.
He turned me in his arms until we were face to face before bending down to kiss me softly.
Within moments, it went from calm to heated, his arms moving from my waist to under my ass until he was lifting me up, and my legs were around his middle.
The walk from the kitchen to the bedroom was a blur, but I was consumed by all things Bash.
I had never wanted anything as much as I wanted him.
He was so far under my skin, I’d never be able to wash him off.
Bash dropped me into the center of the bed, and I tried to pull him down on top of me.
Our movements were fervent, rushed as we pulled at each other’s clothes in an attempt to get closer, skin to skin, as fast as possible.
Once we were both naked, I thought he would join me on the bed. Instead, he stood next to the bed, taking his time looking over every inch of my body. My skin flushed, and I grew even more restless under his gaze. He stroked his length, still not touching me, and I growled in frustration.
“Bash, stop playing,” I begged, uncaring of the whine in my voice.
“Just want to take this in. Never wanna forget what you look like, spread out for my enjoyment.” His hand smoothed over my calf, climbing higher until he was almost touching me where I needed him. Right as he was about to graze my clit, he slid his hand back down before pushing my legs apart.
He dropped to his knees next to the bed, then used his grip on me to pull me closer to the edge of the mattress.
Putting my legs over his shoulders, his hands cupped my ass as he lifted me to his mouth.
He dived in with fervor. The feel of his tongue had my head dropping back and my thighs quivering.