Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
DRAVEN
W hy the fuck does the doc have to be the one woman to make me feel this way?
Like my desire isn’t a sin.
Like I deserve to find happiness buried deep inside a tight pussy.
After I got home early this morning and into the shower, I quickly realized the guilt I felt at her house was nothing like the guilt I usually feel when I’m aroused. I think it was directed more toward being a voyeur to her intimate alone time.
I haven’t come so much or had as powerful of an orgasm since the day I lost my virginity. And it was the first time since then that my release wasn’t tainted.
And fuck, I want to feel that way again.
But I don’t know if I ever will.
I can’t go back to the doc. The way she was pushing me to talk about my past relationships… She almost made me blurt out everything I’ve kept locked inside of me since… Lillian.
Maybe that’s not a bad thing.
Or maybe she’ll confirm what a piece of shit I am. Over anyone else, for some reason, admitting to the doc what I did to Lillian feels like the worst kind of torture. And I’ve seen some pretty fucked-up shit in my life.
“Delilah,” Royce clears his throat. “Could you ask Draven to pass the mashed potatoes, please?”
A hush falls over the dinner table at the clubhouse as Royce drags out his silent treatment routine. He’s ignored my texts and calls all day. Refused to answer the door when I drove out to the shack earlier, too.
I can feel Delilah’s unease from beside me, so I shoot daggers at Royce for making her feel that way. He should know better. She may have become way more comfortable with us over the past three years, but she still doesn’t tolerate conflict well.
Before she can ask, I pick up the bowl and pass it in the opposite direction to Saxon instead.
“Nah, mate.” He holds his hand up, declining the side dish. “I’m not gettin’ inna middle-a dis ding-dong.”
It’s taken me years to understand what the fuck Saxon says when he speaks. His accent gets worse based on a couple factors: How much he’s had to drink and how many goals the Hammers—his favorite football club—are losing by.
I’m pretty sure ding-dong means argument.
“Draven.” I can hear the exasperation in Delilah’s voice. “Please.”
I concede and shake my head. “You’re being ridiculous, Royce.” My eyes dart to him as I hand the bowl over.
He takes the potatoes from me then slams the dish down onto the table.
“ I’m being ridiculous? I’m being ridiculous.” The laughter he forces from his mouth is unsettling. He reminds me of the Joker from Batman . “I’m sorry… Am I the one who nearly killed myself?”
He looks around the table at everyone else. Each person’s expression displays a varied degree of awkwardness.
For a split second, I want to drop my head and cower. But instead, it’s like a fire ignites inside of me. Before I can stop myself, I explode. Anger flows out of me and straight at Royce.
“I know I fucked up, all right? ”
Royce closes his mouth and focuses his attention back on me.
“I don’t need you or anyone else reminding me of that.”
Including the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
Before anyone breaks the silence that has settled in the room, I scoot backward, the wooden chair legs groaning against the floor beneath it.
“Whatever, I’m outta here.”
“Draven, wait.” I hear Delilah call out after me, but I don’t stop. I walk straight to the front door of the clubhouse and right outside. I don’t even pause until I get to my black Trans-Am.
“Hey!” Royce calls out to me.
I clench my hand around the handle, but I don’t open my door. Looking down, I steel my spine before turning around to face him.
“What the fuck do you want, Royce?”
“I want to beat the hell out of you for that stunt you pulled the other night.”
“Well, get down here, then, and do it.” I hold my hand out and wave him on.
The rest of the club, as well as Delilah and Harleigh, filter outside to see what’s happening as Royce bounds down the clubhouse’s front steps after me. Atticus reels forward and grabs Royce’s arm, but he pulls free of his grip with almost no effort at all.
Royce’s eyes are wild, filled with uncontrolled rage. At first, I think he’s going to lunge at me, and for a second, I welcome it. Anything to punish me further for my behavior. But the harsh lines of his face soften the closer he gets to me. As though he can see through me and can identify the misery and self-loathing in my soul.
“What?” My question leaves me in an anguish-filled sigh.
“I’m not sorry for being angry with you. I was pissed, thinking you didn’t care about what happened. That you were mad you didn’t die.”
“I was angry … at first. Then I sobered up in jail for the night and realized how fucking stupid I was being.”
Royce nods. We stand tense before one another. We don’t speak, yet we say a thousand things we couldn’t bring ourselves to say over the past two weeks. It’s Royce who finally breaks the silence.
“I want my fucking friend back, Mac. The guy who I have depended on as my VP and right-hand man for however many years it’s been. The one who tells me when I’m being a dumb fuck. The one the other guys look up to.” The desperation in his voice nearly makes my knees hit the ground beneath me. “Call me selfish for not giving you the time and space you need to heal or whatever you want to call me, but I can’t stand seeing you like this. Shit, had the sheriff not suggested therapy, I might have. Anything to see to it you get back to where you were before…”
Your mom died.
He swallows thickly. “Royce, even before she took a turn for the worse, I wasn’t in a good place. I haven’t been in a good place for a long fucking time. Since before you and I ever met. I’d just learned how to survive that way.”
He blinks, lips twisting with confusion, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Look, I know I fucked up. It’s not something I’m proud of. I like being the cool, calm, collected guy. I wasn’t perfect, but I was content with who I was. Right now, I don’t know who I am anymore.”
He lifts his hand and claps me on the top of my shoulder. Looking me straight in the eye, he nods.
“I’m glad you’re seeing the doc, then. I think she can help you.”
Fuck.
“I can’t go back to her.” I place one hand in the pocket of my jeans and run the other through my hair.
“What happened?” Royce tilts his head up as though readying himself for bad news. News like Doc Caraway learning a little more than she should have.
“Nothing bad. Nothing club related. She’s just … not the right fit. What kind of deal did you strike with Goddard anyway?”
“He, uh… He needed Firewall to take care of something for him.”
Firewall is our newest member. After all the shit went down with Delilah three years ago, we realized how badly we needed someone with vast tech and cyber experience in the club. We ran into him on a trip to the Northeast two years ago. He had just graduated from MIT and was in a bad spot with a loan shark. We’d crossed paths in a bar and got to talking about his black eye and fat lip.
And the interesting coding he was doing on his laptop…
So far, we haven’t run into one task he can’t perform. From upping the security around our compound to manipulating CCTV, private cameras, and other data we need messed with or created.
“So where do I fit into that?” If the sheriff needed help from Firewall, surely that should be enough to let me skip therapy.
Running my hand over my chin, I look back at the front porch and see everyone is gone but Delilah and Atticus.
“He suggested it as an additional bargaining chip. But both Delilah and I think it’s important for you to go.”
My fingers stop moving, and my widened eyes snap back to Royce’s. He’s got to be fucking joking.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Dead serious, man. Look, I know how much it sucks, but even I went when Delilah wanted me to. She was the one who brought it up, but don’t be mad at her. She cares about you and wants you to feel better. We both do.”
Wiping my hand down my face, I groan in displeasure.
“I’ll give you a week, tops. But seeing as how I haven’t even made it through one full session yet, I wouldn’t get my hopes up of this working out.”
I’m sure I can bullshit my way through a week of appointments with the doc. I think I can evade her questioning for an hour each day.
Maybe if I jerk off beforehand, it will be easier sitting in front of her without thinking about her in bed with her hand between her legs like I was doing this morning. Without wondering why she seemed relieved that I don’t have a romantic partner in my life but also troubled that I don’t want one.
She was probably just glad to know I wasn’t out here corrupting an innocent woman.
Whatever. There’s nothing saying I need to answer her questions truthfully. I’ll get through the next week for Royce’s—no, Delilah’s sake—then be done with it.
“I’ll take it. Maybe it will help, and maybe it won’t, but I appreciate you trying.”
Rolling my eyes, I purse my lips and nod.
“Now come finish your dinner. You haven’t eaten properly in at least a month. You need to keep up your strength.”