Chapter 31 #2
I take it from him, turning it over in my palm.
It’s… well, I think it’s supposed to be a cat?
It has four legs, although one is much shorter than the others, a lumpy body, and what might generously be called a head with pointed ears.
It’s possibly the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen, carved with clearly inexperienced hands.
“Thank you?” I say, making it a question because I’m not entirely sure what’s happening.
Finn shoves his hands deep into his pockets, hunching his shoulders. “It’s an apology,” he mutters, staring at the floor. “For…you know.”
I blink at him, surprised. “An apology?”
“For yelling at you so much. And when I tried to kill you that one time.” His words come out in a rush, as if he’s afraid if he doesn‘t say them quickly, he won’t say them at all.
“When Viper and the Devil’s Rejects attacked us to get Naomi back, we lost men.
The club was… they were my family. The only one I ever had. I was just really angry.”
The rawness in his voice catches me off guard. I look down at the misshapen wooden cat in my hand, then back up at this boy, because despite everything, that’s what he is: a boy trying to navigate a world that’s given him nothing but hardship.
“You don’t have to keep it,” he adds quickly, seeing my hesitation. “Just if you like it.”
I close my fingers around the carving, oddly touched by this awkward gesture. “I’ll keep it,” I tell him. “Thank you, Finn.”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face, followed by something that might almost be a smile before his usual scowl returns. He gives a curt nod, then turns and strides away, disappearing around the corner before I can say anything else.
I open my palm again to look at the crude wooden cat. It really is spectacularly ugly. But I’m smiling as I tuck it carefully in my pocket.
It hits me suddenly that that’s the thing about this place, these people.
Nothing is as simple as it seems. Not Finn with his anger and his apologies.
Not Demon with his taunting words and complicated motivations.
Not Roman who let me down and has spent every moment since making sure it never happens again.
And not me, standing in this hallway, and feeling just a little bit less alone.
* * *
I find the gym by accident.
I’m not looking for it, not looking for anything in particular, just following the corridors the way I’ve been doing whenever restlessness gets the better of me.
The door is propped open. I hear the clink and drag of weights before I reach it, and then I pass the doorway and I stop walking.
Roman is at the free weights station, shirtless, doing shoulder presses.
His back is to me, and I have a perfect, unobstructed view of the tattoos covering his shoulders: the dragon coiling around the Devil’s Rejects skull, and above it the blazing sun I noticed that night in my kitchen.
My sun. It still knocks the breath out of me a little.
Physical attraction has never been our problem.
Not once in our entire relationship did I look at Roman and feel anything less than a jolt of electricity.
Even now, after everything we’ve been through, the sight of his tattooed back flexing with each movement sends a familiar heat coursing through me.
His muscles bunch and release beneath his skin, veins standing out along his forearms.
He sets the weights down and reaches for his towel, and that’s when he goes still.
A beat passes. Then he turns and finds me in the doorway, and his face does the thing it’s been doing since he forced his way back into my life, the thing I’m not entirely sure what to do with.
The hard lines of it go softer. Not soft, Roman Sullivan doesn’t do soft.
But softer in a way that it doesn’t for anyone else.
“Hey,” he says. He drapes the towel around his neck and holds the ends of it loosely in both hands. “You need something?”
I step fully into the room, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure. “No, I was just…” I gesture vaguely at nothing. “Walking around.”
Roman nods as if this makes perfect sense. “Going stir-crazy yet?”
“A little,” I admit. “Can I… can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” The word comes instantly, without hesitation. He sits on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, giving me his full attention.
“What happened to your shop?” The question has been nagging at me since I first realized he’d moved to Billings. Roman’s tattoo shop had been his pride and joy, the culmination of years of hard work and dreaming. The Roman I knew would never have given that up easily.
Surprise flickers across his face, as if this is the last thing he expected me to ask. He’s quiet for a moment, then shrugs one massive shoulder. “Sold it. When I moved to Billings.”
“But you loved that shop.” The distress in my voice surprises even me. “You worked so hard for it. You were so proud of it.”
Roman’s eyes meet mine, and there’s something raw and unguarded in them. “Didn’t matter much after you left.”
That one simple statement knocks the air out of my lungs. I stare at him, trying to process what he’s saying. “What do you do now, then?” I finally ask.
“Mostly?” He tosses the towel aside, running a hand through his damp hair. “Guard you. Come back here for a few hours’ sleep. Do whatever jobs Dragon has for me. Go back to guarding you.”
“But you loved tattooing,” I persist, unable to let this go. “You were so good at it. People came from other states to get work done by you.”
A corner of his mouth lifts in a half smile. “One of the brothers owns a shop. I work there a couple days a week. Keeps my hand in.”
He stands, and I find myself rising too. We’re closer now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, see the faint scar above his eyebrow from a bar fight long before we met.
“I don’t miss the shop half as much as I miss you.” The words are so quiet I almost don’t hear them. Almost.
“Roman…” His name falls from my lips like a prayer, or maybe a plea. For what, I’m not sure even I know.
His eyes search my face, looking for something I’m not sure I’m ready to give. “I keep wishing I could go back,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “Back to before you got kidnapped. Before I failed you. Kick my own ass and then maybe I wouldn’t have—”
I don’t let him finish. Something snaps inside me and suddenly I’m moving forward, my hands finding his face, pulling him down to meet my lips with my own.
For exactly half a second he goes completely still with surprise, and then his arms wrap around me and he kisses me back with a thoroughness that makes my knees feel weak.
One of his hands slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head as if I’m something precious, something he’s afraid might break or disappear.
The other presses against the small of my back, eliminating any space between us.
I feel the hard planes of his chest against mine, the thundering of his heart matching the frantic beat of my own.
When we finally break apart, both gasping for air, his forehead rests against mine. His eyes are closed, his breath coming in short bursts that warm my lips. I want to say something, anything, but words seem entirely inadequate for the storm of emotions swirling through me.
A cough from the doorway shatters the moment. We spring apart like guilty teenagers, turning to see Gunner standing there, a look on his face that suggests he would very much rather be somewhere else but here.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he mumbles, shooting Roman an apologetic look. “Dragon needs to see you. Now.”
Roman’s expression shifts instantly from tender to alert, and it’s like watching a mask slide into place. This part of Roman I remember. He nods once at Gunner, then turns back to me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “I have to—”
“Go,” I tell him, taking a step back, trying to bring my racing pulse under control. “It’s fine.”
He hesitates, his eyes searching mine one more time, then nods again and follows Gunner out of the room. I watch him leave, my lips still tingling, my body humming with a need I’d almost forgotten was possible to feel.
What have I done?
The question echoes in my head as I sink back onto the bench, my legs suddenly too weak to support me. What have I done, and more importantly, what happens next?