CHAPTER 4
DIMPLES
I raise my fist and hammer on Storm’s door. If she’s asleep, she won’t be any longer. I smile to myself as I hear her grumbling from inside her room.
The door flies open, and a bleary-eyed Storm greets me. “Why the fuck are you pounding?”
Her bark is worse than her bite, so I ignore her and push inside. I look her up and down. She’s still wearing all her gear, including her chaps.
Her dark brown eyes take less time to adjust to the light than my blue ones do, so she’s already fully glaring at me. As I take in her mop of wiry brown hair, I still haven’t spoken. Is her windblown look from riding without a helmet or tossing and turning during her nap? I’m guessing both.
“You look like hell,” I finally say.
“Gee, thanks.” Her voice is raspy and low. It’s always that way, so it doesn’t give anything away.
I reach out and brush her hair off her face. It’s not something I’d do in public, especially not in a club like ours. The president is above that.
She reaches up and pushes her hair farther back. “Did you come to groom me or what?”
“Do you wanna talk about church?”
“Nope.” She pulls her cut from the back of the door.
I frown. “Nope? That’s it?”
“Yep.” She doesn’t put on her cut but lays it out on her bed.
“For fuck’s sake, you don’t always have to act like you have it all figured out.”
She turns and runs her fingers across the crease in my forehead. “Remember, you’re Dimples, not Wrinkles.”
It’s her favorite line whenever I let worry overtake me, which is frequent.
I stab my finger against my forehead. “You’re the reason for most of them. If you don’t knock your shit off, they’re gonna become permanent. Then I will kick your ass. How can I attract a woman if I have deep chasms in my forehead?”
Storm steps back and pretends to look me up and down. It’s all an act. We decided long ago that we’d never jeopardize our friendship for a roll in the hay. Neither of us has been lucky in love, and club life ain’t built for stable relationships.
“With a body like yours,” Storm waves her hand like a game show hostess showing off a prize. “Six feet of leanness with legs that go on for days. Long blond hair and bright blue eyes. And those fucking dimples. There ain’t nobody going to notice a few wrinkles on your forehead.”
I roll my eyes. I’m not six foot, and Storm knows it. I’m only five-ten, but I still tower over her. She’s got the grit of a six-five linebacker, but her genetics betrayed her.
“Fucking Viking,” she says, referencing my Nordic ancestry. “You get all that.” She motions to my body again. “And all I get is this wiry-ass hair.”
I smile and touch her hair again. “The chicks love your hair. And don’t let your mamma hear you knocking the Italians, or there will be hell to pay.”
It’s another of our favorite schticks when we’re avoiding what we need to talk about. Storm is proud of her Italian heritage, and we both know it.
With a sigh, Storm plops onto her bed.
I consider asking why she’s still wearing all her gear, but I don’t since I already know. It’s her armor. She thinks it’ll keep her safe, but we both know it’s an illusion.
“Do you think the responsibility is too much for me?” Storm asks.
It catches me off guard, so I give it some thought before I reply.
“No. I don’t.” My voice is full of conviction.
A conviction I hold with every fiber of my being.
Storm is the fairest, most honorable person I know.
And beneath her dark, brooding exterior, she’s one of the kindest, too.
“You take your duty seriously. I’d think it was too much for you if you didn’t. ”
She narrows her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Frost wanted the position because she loves power. That’s all she craves. You hate the power, but you tolerate it for the girls.”
Storm nods and closes her eyes. “But what if I’m leading them down the wrong road?”
I give her my best smile, hoping my dimples will bring her out of her funk. “I’m the one leading them down the road. You’re not planning to take over my captain job, are you?”
She grins. “I know what you’re doing. Always the happy-go-lucky one. Quick with a smile for everyone. That smile hides a lot, doesn’t it?”
That stings. It’s not like Storm to say snarky shit to me. She might be sarcastic with others but never me. At least, she never takes a swipe at my sensitive spots.
Storm startles me when she jumps to her feet. She grabs my arm and looks me in the eye. “Sorry. That was a jerk move. You’re the last person I want to take my shit out on.”
She knows my past. Knows everything. She’s the only one. I know she’s hurting to have said what she did. Storm knows why I smile and what it would cost me to stop.
I push aside my own feelings. “What’s going on, Storm? Talk to me.”
I’d give anything to erase the pain from her eyes, but I stand like a statue, knowing that she doesn’t want my comfort. She’d view needing it as weakness.
“What if Aces was wrong? What if she backed the wrong horse?”
“Oh, you did not just question Aces.” I shake my head, mouth dropping open in mock horror. “If she heard you, she’d rise out of her grave and shake some sense into you.”
My over-the-top response earns me a slight smile.
“I miss her,” Storm says.
We all do, but none of us misses her the same way Storm does. The pair had a special bond.
I take a step toward her and place my palm against her chest. With her jacket on, it doesn’t feel right, so I pull down the zipper so I can put my hand closer to her heart.
“You have the best heart, Storm. I know it. Aces knew it. She chose you for a reason. You don’t always have to have the right answer.
” I pat her chest. “You just need to lead with this.”
“The girls don’t want that. They need a forceful leader who gets things right!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Aces got it wrong plenty, but we all knew she loved us, and she was doing the best she could.”
Storm shakes her head and mutters, “Trying isn’t enough. Success matters. I need to do better.”
“Okay, Antonio Santoro,” I say, calling her by her father’s name.
She glares at me, but I can tell she’s having to work at staying angry. If anyone else said half of what I say to her, she’d put them in their place.
Before Storm can respond, I pat her chest one last time. “You got five minutes to get your ass downstairs.”