Chapter 14 Grudge
GRUDGE
“Fuck,” I curse, when I see Lucy disappear over the embankment in my side mirror.
We’re riding as a convoy, pretty fast because there isn’t usually anyone on these roads, but not at full speed because of the conditions. I put up my hand to slow us to a stop and let Smoke pull up alongside me.
“I’m going back to check she’s okay,” I say to him. “Lead everyone else.”
“You want me to go back and do it?” Smoke says.
I shake my head. “Nah. I got it. Technically, my bike was the first one she jumped away from.”
I turn my bike around and pull over to the side as the rest of the guys ride on. Eight bikes pass me as I silently fume. What the hell is she doing out here by herself after two Rebels chased her?
Atom raises an eyebrow as he goes by.
I know what he’s thinking. I should stay away from Lucy if I’m not sure what I’m doing around my ex-wife.
Hell, I’m thinking it too.
And yet…I ride down the hill a little, just in time to see Lucy emerge back above the embankment. There’s a leaf in her hair and a smudge of dirt on her nose. At the top, she bends and touches her knee gingerly where there is a rip in her running tights.
When she sees me headed toward her, she turns and begins to limp back into town. Deep down, I know I should just let her. But her independence and stubbornness were actually things I always found cute.
She’d grapple with a jar of pickles for twenty minutes rather than let me just unscrew the cap for her.
I wonder if her stubbornness and independence are part of the reason she never came to tell me what was going on before she signed divorce papers. I wonder if she ended up backed into a corner she couldn’t see a way out of.
“Shit,” I mutter. I can’t just let her walk off on her own. Pulling slightly ahead of her, I block her path. “Get on the bike, Luce.”
“I’m fine,” she says. But the crack in her voice surfaces the same conflicted feelings I’ve been grappling with since I first saw her outside the police station.
I always wanted to be her protector. From the first day I saw her being bullied at school.
No one else seemed to want to look out for her, so I did.
And I’d forgotten how much it filled a part of me to do it.
To have someone look up at you, figuratively and literally, and let you know that who you are is more than enough for them.
But…it’s also Lucy.
I reach for the leaf in her hair and throw it away, trying not to think about the way her soft curls feel beneath my fingers. “You’re anything but fine.”
She tips her head back, puts her hands on her hips, and looks at the sky. But the way she worries her lip, takes deep breaths, and swallows deeply and often, says she’s grappling with unshed tears.
“Just move out of my way and let me walk back into town.”
I grab her wrist and tug her closer to me. “You know enough about me to understand that I’m not gonna be able to do that. Just swallow your pride, or whatever fucking bullshit is going on in your head right now and get on the goddamn bike.”
I place my boot ever so slightly behind me, toe planted firmly on the ground, and Lucy looks down at it. She places her hand on my shoulder and steps up onto my boot before throwing her leg over the back of my bike.
Memory is wild. It keeps us awake at night, helps us function in our jobs and pass exams. It helps us make decisions, both good and bad.
But sometimes, it can’t ever replicate the emotion of a moment.
You won’t skid with me on it?
I’d rather be skinned alive than hurt you. I’ve got you, Luce. I promise.
Maybe it’s fate fucking with me. Giving me two first times with Lucy on the back of my bike.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath when I feel her arms slip around my waist. When I feel the way her thighs spread on either side of mine.
“I’m not wearing any leathers,” she says quietly.
“I know, Bug. Just trust me.”
The gruffness in my voice and the use of my old nickname for her catches me off guard.
I feel the hitch of her breath as her chest presses up against my back.
Like self-inflicted torture, I drive slowly back into town.
I consider what Butcher said about unfinished business.
But to finish it, I’d have to make a decision about what I want.
Do I want my wife back or gone? Do I want to try to reconcile who we were with who we now are?
Or should I accept we’re now two different people?
I glance down at her hands and see the faint tan line of a ring on her wedding ring finger. I’m not foolish enough to believe she wore my engagement ring all that time.
I wonder where the man who gave her the ring she wore is.
I wonder where the ring is.
I wonder about the man who got the chance to replace me.
Maybe understanding if she’s married again would be a good starting point.
Those first days in prison, I’d wake up with a hole the size of a grenade explosion in my chest. I’d lost my freedom protecting her, and it hadn’t been enough to keep her.
I’d lost her. The softness to my hard edges.
I’d wake up missing her. I’d go to sleep missing her.
But, slowly, with Butcher’s help, I found a way to move through the grief of it.
Maybe it hardened me. Turned me into who I became.
Because the day I saved Butcher’s life, when I leapt in front of him so they would get me instead of him, I was ready to die.
When I didn’t, I realized I’d been given a second chance.
Thanks to my lawyer, I got compensation for the attack, which provided a nice nest egg for when I got out. And it made me realize I shouldn’t let a woman who no longer wanted me dictate if I lived or died.
And that was the day I stopped thinking about Lucy De Bose.
Intentionally, at least.
But in the middle of the night, when the dreams came, or first thing in the morning, when the sun warmed my face through a crack in the curtains, I could almost imagine her riding on top of me.
Loved nothing more than the way it felt when the sun turned her hair the color of sun-kissed wheat and she looked down at me with a smile meant just for me.
Her arms loosen around my waist, and for a second, she forgets who we are and remembers who we were. Lucy’s arms go out to the side, and she flies like an airplane as I hug the corners.
There’s a naturalness to her movements. I felt it the first time she got on the back of my bike. Like she understood the laws of physics or something.
With Lucy taking tenancy of the bakery, I wonder if she’s intending on setting down roots.
If she is, Butcher’s guidance is even more vital. If I’m going to see her more often, I might need to make sure the air is cleared between us.
When we pull up outside, I park the bike and offer her my hand as she tries to get off. But I guess she’s stiffened from the fall and struggles to move. She’s also shivering, and I feel like an ass for not giving her my thick and insulated leather jacket.
“Stay there,” I say, climbing off first. “Keys.”
“I can get off the damn bike. I was just out of practice, that’s all.” She leans forward, placing both of her palms on my seat to shift forward awkwardly.
“Fuck’s sake, Luce. Just give me the goddamn keys.”
“Fine,” she snaps, and pulls the key out of the zip pocket in the back of her running tights.
“Thank you,” I say sarcastically, before striding to the door to unlock it. Once it’s open, I return to the bike and slide my hands beneath her.
“What the heck are—Zach…put me down.”
Quinn’s nose appears at the bakery window, and she grins.
I lift my middle finger to her, and she grins even harder.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
“You already said that,” Lucy says. But her head flops into the crook of my neck.
Without another word, I march as I carry her to the apartment door. Everything about having her in my arms makes me forget I’m the president of a motorcycle club. That I have responsibilities to my men. It’s like she’s a magic eraser for everything else in my life.
The door slams when I kick it shut with my heel.
“You don’t need to carry me up the stairs. I can manage.”
Finally, I look down at her as I take the first step. “Don’t make me tell you to shut up.” There’s a bump growing on the side of her temple. “Why didn’t you tell me you hit the side of your head?”
She touches her temple and winces. “Because I didn’t really have a chance to take an inventory before you told me to get on the back of your bike.”
When I make it to the top of the stairs, I put her down for a moment so I can unlock the door. But I keep my arm around her waist while I do. “It’s not that bad. Honestly, a soak in the tub and a couple of painkillers, and I’ll be fine.”
“How about we just accept I’m staying? Because now that I know you hit your head while living here alone, I’m not leaving in case you got a concussion.”
“Zach!” The word comes out on a bark. “I. Am. Not. Dying. Just go.”
The lock clicks, and I push the door open before picking her up again. “No.” Instead, I carry her straight to the bathroom and place her down on the toilet. “Sit there, Luce.”
“Stop calling me ‘Luce.’”
I get the taps running in the bathroom she doesn’t know I helped install. Every single tile on the walls was put in place by the hands now about to help her.
Once the water rumbles into the tub, I turn to face her. “Or what? What will you do, Luce?”
Pink hits her cheeks like it always used to when she knew I was about to make her take something she wasn’t sure she wanted.
Just the act of forcing her was enough to make her love the fuck out of it. When we were done making out, she’d cling to me like a damn koala, kissing my neck and chest and lips over and over again until I laughed.
I’d force the intensity to get us started; she’d break it at the end.
The only sound is the rush of water as it hits the tub. Steam starts to rise off the surface. Bubbles form as Butcher’s words come back to me for the billionth time.
Unfinished business is the kind of thing regrets are made of.
Whichever way it goes. Maybe you’ll regret not getting closure.
Maybe you’ll regret never getting the chance to show her she was wrong.
Maybe you’ll regret never recommitting to the one woman you were meant to be with for the rest of your life because she made a mistake.
Or maybe you’ll regret never telling her what a cunt she was to you.
I don’t know what this is as I reach for her hand to help her stand.
Is it a revenge fuck?
Is it the start of something new?
Is it simply closure?
For the sake of my mental health, I should probably know. But seeing the bruise on Lucy’s face is enough to make me stay, even though I don’t have any answers.
Instead, instinct takes over and I reach for the hem of her T-shirt, but I catch sight of her hand again. The tan line.
So, I ask the question I’m dreading.
“Are you married, Luce?”