Chapter 8
EVERLY
I give Rush three days of space before I decide I'm done with that too.
He wants distance, he can have it, but I'm not disappearing just to make him comfortable.
I show up at the clubhouse late afternoon and he's in the garage. I can see him through the open bay door working on his bike.
His back is to me and his shoulders are tense. He knows I'm here before I say anything.
"You're avoiding the clubhouse," I say.
He doesn't turn around. "I've been busy."
"Liar."
"Everly—"
"Relax, I'm not here to make a scene." I walk further into the garage. "Just wanted to see if you were still alive."
"I'm alive."
"Debatable."
That gets a reaction. His shoulders shift slightly and I know he's fighting a smile.
Good.
I lean against the workbench and watch him tighten something on his bike. His hands are steady and sure.
"Pyro told you to back off," I say.
He goes still. "How do you know that?"
"Because Chloe told me, and she knows because Pyro can't keep his mouth shut when he's annoyed."
"It's complicated."
"Everything with you is complicated."
He sets down his wrench and finally turns to look at me. His expression is guarded but there's heat underneath.
"Why are you here?" he asks.
"Because I'm tired of pretending I'm not thinking about you."
"You should be thinking about someone else."
"There you go again, telling me what I should do."
His jaw tightens. "Your dad's suspicious."
"My dad's always suspicious. That's his default setting."
"This is different. He knows someone's watching you and he's trying to figure out who."
"Let him figure it out."
"Everly—"
"What? You think I'm scared of my dad finding out I kissed you? Or almost kissed you? Multiple times?"
"You should be."
I push off the workbench and walk closer. "Stop telling me what I should feel. I'm getting bored of it."
He doesn't back up but I can see him wanting to, can see the war happening behind his eyes.
"You're playing with fire," he says.
"I know. That's the fun part."
"This isn't a game."
"I never said it was." I stop right in front of him. "But you're the one acting like it is—all this back and forth, all this I want you but I can't have you bullshit."
"It's not bullshit."
"Then what is it?"
He doesn't answer. I'm close enough now to see the pulse jumping in his throat, close enough to feel the heat coming off him.
"You know what I think?" I ask.
"What?"
"I think you're waiting for me to give up, waiting for me to get tired and walk away so you don't have to make a choice."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing it looks exactly like that."
His hand comes up fast and wraps around my wrist. The grip is firm and his thumb finds my pulse point.
It's racing and we both know it.
"You should leave," he says, but his voice is rough.
"Make me."
"Everly—"
"I'm serious. If you want me gone then make me leave. Otherwise, shut up and kiss me."
The words hang between us and I watch something shift in his expression, something dark and hungry.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he says.
"I know exactly what I'm asking for. I'm asking for you to stop being a coward and take what you want."
His grip on my wrist tightens. "I'm not a coward."
"Prove it."
That does it. Something in him snaps.
He pulls me closer and his other hand comes to my face, cups my jaw rough and possessive.
"You're impossible," he says.
"You're infuriating."
Then he leans in, and I think this is it. This is finally happening.
But he stops with his mouth an inch from mine, his breath hot on my lips.
We're sharing air again, and the tension is so thick I can barely breathe.
"Rush," I say, and it comes out breathless.
"Yeah?"
"Kiss me."
"I shouldn't."
"I don't care."
His thumb brushes across my bottom lip and I make a sound that would embarrass me if I cared about anything except getting him to close this last inch of distance.
"This is a mistake," he says.
"Then make it."
He leans in closer. I can almost taste him, can feel the heat of his mouth so close to mine.
Then he stops himself. His whole body goes rigid and he pulls back.
"Fuck," he says, and lets go of my wrist.
I step back and laugh. The sound is shaky and breathless but genuine.
"You've got to be kidding me," I say.
"I can't do this."
"You keep saying that but your body says different."
He runs his hand through his hair. I can see how shaken he is, can see the want written all over him.
"Your dad will kill me," he says.
"My dad doesn't control who I kiss."
"He controls whether I stay in this club."
That stops me because he's right. My dad has that kind of pull.
"So what, you're going to spend the rest of your life not kissing me because you're afraid of my dad?"
"If that's what it takes."
"That's pathetic."
His eyes flash. "Watch it."
"Or what? You'll kiss me? Because that seems to be the one thing you won't do."
"You're pushing."
"I know—that's what I do." I step closer again. "And you know what you do? You run. Every single time we get close you find a reason to pull back."
"Because there are consequences."
"There are always consequences. That doesn't mean you don't do it anyway."
He's quiet for a second, then he says, "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop overthinking and just feel something."
"I feel too much already."
The admission is raw and it makes my chest tight.
"Then why won't you let yourself have this?" I ask quietly.
"Because I'm afraid of what'll happen when I do."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid I won't be able to stop."
The words send heat straight through me and I know he means it, know he's been holding himself back this whole time.
"Maybe I don't want you to stop," I say.
His eyes go dark. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I know exactly what I'm saying."
We stare at each other and the air feels electric, charged with everything we're not doing.
Then footsteps sound outside and we both step back fast, putting distance between us.
Bozo walks in and looks between us, his expression knowing.
"Am I interrupting something?" he asks.
"No," Rush says.
"Yes," I say at the same time.
Bozo grins. "I'll come back."
"Don't bother. I'm leaving," I say.
I walk past Rush without looking at him. My heart's pounding and my skin feels too hot.
That was close, too close.
And I'm shaken but also exhilarated, because for a second there he almost let himself have it.
Almost let himself kiss me.
And next time, he won't be able to stop himself.
I can feel it.
I spend the rest of the week thinking about that moment in the garage, about the way Rush looked at me like he wanted to devour me.
The old ladies notice I'm distracted.
"You okay?" Gráinne asks over dinner at her place.
"Fine."
"You seem off."
"Just tired."
Chloe leans forward. "This about Rush?"
"Why does everything have to be about Rush?"
"Because you've been different since you met him."
I want to deny it but I can't. She's right.
Rush has gotten under my skin in a way I didn't expect, made me want things I shouldn't want.
"He's complicated," I say finally.
"Most good things are," Ailbhe says.
"He's also driving me insane."
"That's part of the fun."
I laugh despite myself. "You're terrible influences."
"We're realistic," Gráinne says. "Look, Rush is intense and he's got baggage. But he's also a good guy who's clearly into you."
"He's also terrified of my dad."
"Everyone's terrified of Diesel. That's normal."
"It's annoying."
"It's protective. There's a difference."
Maybe they're right. Maybe Rush is just being careful.
But careful is boring and I'm tired of waiting.
I'm in the lab late when my phone buzzes. It's a text from an unknown number.
Unknown Number: Stop pushing.
I know it's Rush without him signing it, I save his number and quickly type back.
Me: Or what?
Rush: Or I'll do something we'll both regret.
Me: Promises, promises.
Rush: I'm serious.
Me: So am I. Stop running and I'll stop pushing.
He doesn't respond and I smile at my phone.
Game on.
I show up at the clubhouse again and this time Rush isn't in the garage. He's at the bar with Tank.
I walk over and slide onto the stool next to him.
"Miss me?" I ask.
"No."
"Liar."
Tank looks between us and grins. "I'll leave you two alone."
"Don't," Rush says.
"Too late." Tank walks away and Rush glares at his back.
I order wine. When it comes I take a sip, then I look at Rush.
"You texted me," I say.
"I told you to stop pushing."
"And I told you to stop running. Looks like we're both bad at following instructions."
His jaw tightens. "This isn't funny."
"I think it's hilarious."
"Your dad's going to find out."
"Let him."
"Everly—"
"Stop. Just stop. I'm tired of hearing about my dad, tired of hearing about all the reasons we can't do this. Either you want me or you don't, but stop making excuses."
"It's not an excuse."
"Then what is it?"
He turns to face me fully and his eyes are dark. "It's self-preservation."
"From what?"
"From you, from this, from wanting something I can't have."
"You can have it. You're just choosing not to."
"Because the consequences—"
"Fuck the consequences." The words come out sharper than I mean them to. "You know what, I'm done. I'm done pushing, I'm done waiting, I'm done playing this game."
I stand up to leave and he grabs my hand.
"Don't go."
"Give me a reason to stay."
He pulls me closer and his hand comes to my face. The touch is gentler this time but no less possessive.
"I want you," he says quietly. "I want you so badly it's killing me."
"Then have me."
"I can't."
I pull back. "Yes, you can. You're just choosing not to. And I'm done waiting for you to figure that out."
I walk away and this time he doesn't follow.
But I can feel his eyes on me the whole way to the door.
I'm halfway home when my phone buzzes again.
Rush: I'm sorry.
I stare at the message for a long second, then I type back.
Me: Sorry doesn't fix this.
Rush: I know.
Me: Then what are you going to do about it?
He doesn't respond. I toss my phone on the passenger seat.
I meant what I said. I'm done pushing.
If Rush wants me, he knows where to find me.
But I'm not making this easy anymore.
I get home and pour myself wine, then I sit on my couch and think about the way Rush looked at me tonight.
Like he wanted me and hated himself for it.
Like he was drowning and I was air.
That kind of want is dangerous. It’s the kind that makes people do stupid things.
And I want it anyway.
Want him anyway.
Even knowing it's going to hurt, even knowing he's going to fight it every step of the way.
I'm a moth to his flame and I don't even care about the burn.
My phone buzzes again.
Rush: Tomorrow night. Meet me.
My heart kicks up.
Me: Where?
Rush: My place. I'll text you the address.
Me: Why?
Rush: Because I'm tired of running.
I stare at the message and smile.
Finally.
Me: Okay.
Rush: Okay.
I set my phone down and take a breath. My hands are shaking slightly.
Tomorrow night, everything changes.
Tomorrow night, Rush stops running and I stop pushing.
Tomorrow night, we finally see what happens when the flame catches.
And I can't wait.