Chapter 12
Fawnie
Mom and I went out earlier today. We did some shopping and tried to get lunch, but it was a pretty wet affair.
It rained all day. Not the kind of rain that comes in a gentle trickle, but a full downpour.
We were soaked just running from the car to the restaurant.
We called it early and came back here just to talk.
She’s been texting me on and off, keeping me updated on the massive party going on in the room right next door to her at the hotel.
It’s late, and they still haven’t shut it down, but maybe that’s the definition of party.
I’m lounging in bed, wearing the same leggings and tank top I did yoga in earlier this evening.
I was trying to read, which I love doing, but I couldn’t focus.
Between Mom’s texts, Bubby sprawled out directly on top of my head on the pillow, and my thoughts about a certain shadowy shadow who happens to call himself Shadow and thinks he needs to stick to them.
I’ve been reading the same page over and over.
It’s a great book. Soulmates who don’t know they’re soulmates because the world sees them as sort of enemies.
They have great chemistry. They hook up.
That’s all it is. But then… it’s not. It’s more.
They don’t want to admit just how far they’ve fallen.
There’s a very good chance that I get that level of self-denial and there’s no way I should be reading spicy romance books.
I have a big stack of historical fiction.
They’re amazing. Not spicy. Mostly. Or maybe I should be reading an encyclopedia or a home improvement guide.
Definitely nothing to make my thoughts wander to certain sexy, asshole bikers in there.
A sharp knock on the door scares the hell out of me.
My book goes flying out of my hands and lands on the floor. I sit up sharply, nearly tearing half my hair out because Bubby couldn’t be bothered to stop snoring for anything.
It’s still pouring, and I’m pretty sure that Mom gave up on her hotel and drove over here to try and get some sleep.
I rush to the door, ready to pull her inside and make us tea to help her warm up.
But it’s not my mom.
It’s Shadow.
He’s cast in shadows by the light from my apartment flooding the metal stairs as soon as I open the door.
Dressed in his leather vest, jeans, and his biker boots.
His helmet dangles from one hand, but I don’t see his bike anywhere.
The rain pelts down on him, running off his head and down his face in rivers.
His jeans are slicked down to his muscular legs, and his leather jacket isn’t doing much to keep the rain off because it’s too sodden.
Despite the frigid rain, his eyes meet mine. They’re hot, rich and dark, sparking with amber lights.
He stands silently, like a statue in the worst weather, but he’s not a statue. He’s flesh and blood, and I know he feels the wet and the cold.
This man who so badly wants the world to believe that he doesn’t feel anything, just so that he can convince himself. He doesn’t want to be capable of happiness, or love, because if he admitted that he is, and he thought he couldn’t ever have it, what a horrible aching void that would be.
He didn’t just give me a future by saving my life. He might be my future. It’s not a question if I’m brave enough to fight for him. I have to figure out how.
“God, Shadow!” I blink, still a little stunned, also trying not to cry at the stupidly horrible metaphor this is. “It’s pouring out.” Like he doesn’t notice. “You’re soaked. Come inside.”
His eyes stay on mine, burning with so much emotion that his voice is flat, almost like they’ve sucked it all out of him. “No. I… just wanted to tell you that I’ll go to the symphony.”
“Seriously?” I clap my hands like I’m five.
“That’s amazing. I was so worried about you.
That we’d pushed you too hard and that I’d said everything wrong.
We never should have come to your club like that.
Best intentions. I keep apologizing for them, and that’s not right.
I’m truly sorry and I promise, that was the last time that I’ll catch you off guard. ”
“I mean, I get that uh… Preacher and Rita are worried about me. Maybe other people too.”
My heart slams to a stop and restarts, crunching gears and grinding hard like an old machine.
“You are so loved, Finn. You have no idea.” Fuck.
Fuck, shit, oh god. Did I really just say that out loud?
Shadow drags in a shaky breath. Yeah. I really did just say it.
He heard it. I reach for him before he can bolt.
“God, will you please come inside? You’re going to get sick. ”
“That’s such an old person thing to say. It’s a complete fallacy too.” He exhales a shaky breath, trying to cloak himself in humor and put distance between the words I said before they sink in.
My hand slides along the slick leather, trying to gather enough in my fingers to haul him inside, but it’s stretched so tight over his muscular frame that there’s almost nothing to grab. “Where’s your bike?”
“I parked a few blocks over. I didn’t want you to hear me coming in case I changed my mind about… about coming.”
“You could have texted me.”
“I didn’t want to text you.”
Those gruff words dig their way under my skin. “I don’t like the idea of you riding your bike when the weather’s bad and it’s dark.”
“I’m a good rider.”
“I know, but what about everyone else?” I run my hand down the front of his leather jacket, gathering up the wet. “Let me get you a towel. You’re going to ruin your vest. My dad would have a heart attack if something happened to his. I know how much it means.”
I hold my hand out, but he doesn’t take it. His eyes narrow, and he can’t keep the twisting turmoil he’s feeling from showing naked in his expression for an instant.
“Shadow. Come on. Let me get you a towel and something hot to drink.”
His hot eyes take on an edge of wildness as he studies my palm. He has gloves on. He wouldn’t even have to touch my skin. There’s no danger to him in getting warm. No danger but kindness and… and… alright, I know what the danger is.
My pulse flutters madly against my neck.
The second he reaches out, my hand shoots out the rest of the way and grasps his. I tug him inside.
He’s off balance and he stumbles before he catches himself, but it’s too late.
I shut the door behind him. He stares longingly at it, and then back at me.
He looks scared. Uncertain. Maybe more open than I’ve ever seen him.
It’s heartbreaking. It’s even worse when I watch his top lip, shaped in that perfect bow, too ridiculously and unfairly sexy in every way, start to tremble.
I grasp his face between my palms because I can’t help myself. His skin is like ice. “Sit down,” I instruct gently. “Let me get you that towel.”
I go to the small linen closet beside the bathroom and get more than one towel. I have four big bath sheets. They’re the softest things ever. Someone was giving them away for free at a garage sale years ago, and I can still remember how excited I was to find them.
That’s me. Happy over darned terrycloth.
I’ve never been happier to have them than when I walk back to the kitchen and drape one over Shadow’s lap. He eyes me warily, like that towel can do some real damage.
Like I might.
I use the other, running it over his short hair and then gently dabbing his face with the corner. I’m half expecting him to stop and grab the towel from me. Tell me that he’s not a child and can dry himself off. Or something similarly snarky. But instead he just sits there.
Finished with his hair and face, I move on to his jacket. I might be able to do something about all the beaded water, but it’s sodden. I don’t think leather should get this wet.
“You should take this off. Let me hang it over a chair so it can dry a little.”
“No. Thanks.”
I set the towel down on his lap. I know he doesn’t want to stay long. “Tea?”
“I thought we’d established that—”
“That you love tea, I know.” I give him my most innocent smile. “Coffee it is. I have one of those freezer cakes to go with it. I had a dirty craving for one. I know they’re basically plastic, but whatever.”
I get it out of the freezer, ignoring his grunt of protest. I have the coffee going a few minutes after I serve him a decent sized piece.
When I set it down in front of him, his eyes get even darker. I hate that I can literally see the demons chasing across the dark depths. It kills me that it’s so hard for him to accept even the barest amount of kindness.
It kills me more that he’s still wearing those gloves and all his wet clothing.
He picks up the fork, stabs the cake, and takes a bite. “This is disgusting.” He takes another bite anyway. “Truly gross.”
Little beads of water start to pool on the floor under his chair. He rests his elbows on the table, two towels sitting uselessly in his lap.
“Terrible,” he grunts as he pushes his now empty plate away. “I never want to taste that again in my life.”
I fill up a mug with steaming black coffee and set it in front of him and take the empty plate to the sink. “I can tell you hated it,” I tease. I notice a smudge of icing at the corner of his lips. I want to take my thumb and wipe it away.
I want to take my tongue and lick it away. Part the seam of his lips and dive into his mouth until I feel the hot stroke of his tongue delving against my own.
I’m staring right at his mouth. I know it. He knows it.
He knows it more when I flick my eyes up to his. I’m wearing almost no makeup. I’m sure he can see that my cheeks are pink. I hold his gaze without looking away. I don’t back down. I want him. I’m sure it’s the most poorly disguised secret.
Before he can burst out of the chair and leave because he’s so uncomfortable, I turn and get my own plate. I stand and eat, barely tasting anything. I can feel the plastic texture of the icing, but that’s about it.