Chapter 25
twenty-five
. . .
SUTTON
I had given myself nearly sixteen years to get over Lane, to move the fuck on, and I hadn’t managed to accomplish it.
Two months living with him and all my poorly constructed walls were crashing down.
When I told him I wanted to try, I’d meant it.
And his response made my heart soar. But when he hadn’t demanded to take me to bed, when we’d instead gone upstairs and gone our separate ways, my intrusive thoughts took over.
What if he didn’t actually want me? What if he’d just been saying that, telling me what I wanted to hear in my moment of weakness?
Or maybe he had meant it but would change his mind? Especially after he realized how broken I still was?
He kissed you, I reminded myself. In a room full of people, no less. And he’d explicitly stated he’d been ready to give our relationship a second chance.
Lane Lawless never did anything he didn’t want to do.
He wanted me. Full stop.
Still, he hadn’t pushed.
Maybe because, in those five days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, we’d both been busy. There’d been another break-in on the twenty-seventh that had Lane working overtime, even bringing Trey in to try to catch the responsible party.
So far, the department hadn’t had any luck.
As usual, I didn’t have any big plans for New Year’s Eve beyond curling up on the couch with, surprise, my cat and my Kindle, and trying to stay awake long enough to watch the New York City ball drop on TV, even though we were two hours behind them.
Naturally, Aspen and Reagan had different ideas.
ASPEN
Get dressed. We’re going out.
I groaned. Going out was the last thing I wanted to do.
REAGAN
Don’t have to tell me twice.
ASPEN
Sutton?
ME
Ugh. I have to work in the morning!
I didn’t, but they didn’t know that.
ASPEN
Liar. Crew is off, so I know you are too.
Damnit.
REAGAN
Oops, looks like your excuse just evaporated!
ME
I’m not a big drinker…
ASPEN
So don’t drink? You can still come out with us.
I swallowed hard, taking care to formulate my response. The truth was, while I would love to spend time with them, New Year’s Eve was a trigger for me. I purposely hadn’t gone out to celebrate the holiday—even though it was also my birthday—since that night.
But maybe this was a chance to replace that shitty night with a better one, to get out of the endless thought spiral and enjoy myself for once.
Besides, Aspen had a point. There was no law that I had to drink to enjoy myself.
As if sensing my indecision, another message came through.
ASPEN
C’mon, Sutton. You know you want to.
ME
Ugh FINE. I’m assuming the boys are going?
REAGAN
Duh. You think Finn would let me go out alone?
ASPEN
Or Crew?
ME
So my roommate was already planning on going out?
REAGAN
yes. I’m surprised your ROOMMATE didn’t ask you to come himself.
Personally, I wasn’t all that shocked. Even though it was my birthday tomorrow, Lane had spent those early hours of my twentieth in the hospital with me. He’d known how much trauma I had tied up in the day and would do what he could to spare me.
Before I could respond to the girls, a soft knock came on my bedroom door.
“Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and Lane stuck his head in through the gap, smiling at me.
“Hey you.”
“Hey,” I grinned back.
“So, you can totally say no if you want to because I know these couple of days probably bring up a lot of shit for you, but we’re going out tonight, and I wanted to see if you’d join us?”
I wiggled my phone. “Aspen and Reagan beat you to it.”
He cursed lowly, and I laughed. “Well, are you coming?”
Taking a deep breath, I slowly got to my feet and smoothed my clammy palms over my pants at my thighs. “Yes.”
A grin split Lane’s face damn near in half, and I couldn’t help matching it.
“I’ll take care of you, sunny. You know that, right?”
I nodded, emotion clogging my throat. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”
“We’ll head out at like nine?”
“I’ll be ready.”
The Swallow was not the kind of place you got fancy for, New Year’s Eve or not.
Plus it was cold as hell, snowing, and I was no longer in my twenties.
I dressed comfortably in my favorite pair of jeans that made my ass look incredible, and a ribbed tank with a cardigan thrown over top that I could remove when I inevitably got too hot at the bar.
I rarely drank, but I also never went out on New Year’s Eve, so when Finn, oblivious to the trauma I’d suffered in my past that surrounded this night like a shroud, asked what I wanted, I boldly ordered a beer.
Lane’s hand found my leg beneath the table, and he leaned close to speak in my ear to be heard over the din. “You don’t have to do that.”
Turning to him, I gave him a reassuring smile and covered his hand with mine. “One won’t kill me.”
He pulled back and stared at me, those ocean blue eyes darting around my face, searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to find it, because he visibly relaxed after a moment.
Tonight, I was surrounded by people who would take care of me, people I could trust not to take advantage of me.
Hell, every single one of the Lawless brothers would bash the face in of anyone who tried, and Lane would be at the front of that line.
The drink was only meant to take the edge off, to dull the thrumming in my veins when Lane was near by replacing it with a different kind of buzz.
When Finn returned and began passing drinks out, Crew leveled me with a playfully disapproving look.
“I thought you were my sober buddy?”
I raised a brow. “Do you really need one?”
Crew grinned. “You’re really going to drink in the face of a recovering addict?”
In response, I lifted it to my mouth and took a healthy pull from the bottle, swallowed, then grinned somewhat maniacally at Crew. He laughed harder, shaking his head.
“Stop giving me shit and worry about your brothers. Or your wife.”
He turned to Aspen, apparently about to take my suggestion to heart, but Aspen pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t start, hotshot.”
Crew raised his hands in surrender. “Fine.”
With everyone settled, drinks in hand, Finn raised his over the center of the table, and the rest of us followed suit.
“I love you all,” he said plainly. “Can’t wait to see what crazy shit next year brings us.”
“Hopefully not too crazy,” Reagan muttered from his side.
“I’ll cheers to that,” Lane said, clinking his beer against the others.
West clapped Lane on the shoulder once we’d all cheersed.
“You’re a pain in our ass, but I’m really fucking glad you’re sitting here and not in a grave next to Dad.”
I choked on the sip I’d just taken, and Lane chuckled. “How much have you had to drink?”
West frowned. “A few shots at home because—” He shook his head, as if tossing away whatever he’d been about to say. “Never mind why. The point is, drunk or sober, I’m man enough to admit a piece of me would’ve died if you had died that day.”
Then his gaze focused on me, his blue eyes—the same shade as the four other men at this table—swimming with emotion. “Thank you.”
I shrugged, downcasting my eyes as my cheeks heated. “Just doing my job,” I mumbled.
“Hey!” Crew protested, breaking the awkward tension. “I helped.”
“And I flew the fucking chopper,” Finn reminded us unhelpfully.
“It’s not a contest,” Lane said with a sigh. I risked glancing up at him, realizing the skin stretched over the sharp blades of his cheekbones had grown as rosy as mine felt.
“But if it was,” Crew started, and Lane growled low in warning. He merely grinned. “Sutton would win. She was a fucking badass that day.”
“She really was,” Finn agreed. “I don’t know how you did it.”
“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes, desperate to get the attention off myself. I wagged my finger between him and West. “You’ve been to war. If anyone is a badass, it’s you two.”
“No,” West said, vehemently shaking his head, and Finn nodded along, as though already clued into what his twin would say next. He probably was, actually. Their twin-tuition had always been next level. “We killed people, Sutton. You save them.”
Well, when put like that, I supposed he had a point.
I dared another look at Lane and found him watching me. I could feel all eyes at the table on us too.
Lane opened his mouth, but I cut him off.
“Don’t say it.” I reached for his hand, and he laced our fingers together, holding tightly. “I’m just happy you’re okay.”
He gave me a small smile. “Me too.”
One of the other boys awkwardly cleared their throat, shifting the conversation to the upcoming NFL games. Though their brother had played for the Detroit Mustangs for a decade, the family remained diehard Denver fans.
Though he joined in on the conversation, discussing Denver’s young quarterback who was making a strong argument for earning Offensive Rookie of the Year honors, his hand remained in mine.
The closer to midnight we got—and the drunker the Lawless boys got—the rowdier the crowd turned.
In honor of the occasion, Benny had foregone the usual live band that performed rock and country hits in favor of a DJ who played more club music.
Bodies writhed to the steady beat, and I watched, mesmerized, wondering how it’d feel to be so carefree.
The buzz from my beer had long since worn off, leaving me anxious as time continued to fly off the clock on the year. Ticking closer to my birthday—and the anniversary of my rape.
Lane must’ve sensed the change in me, because with about ten minutes left in the year, he did the last thing I ever expected from the big, broody county sheriff.
He got up, extended his hand, and said, “Dance with me.”
Aspen and Reagan had long since dragged Crew and Finn away from the table, and West and Trey sat on one side, heads bent together, engaged in a seemingly serious discussion.
I raised a brow at the demand in his tone. “Do I get a choice?”
“You always have a choice with me, sunny. But I’d really like to dance with you.”
When he said things like that, I wanted to melt into a damn puddle at his feet. Instead, I took his hand and let him lead me into the throng.
It’d been a long time since I’d been dancing to this kind of music, and even longer since I’d done so sober. In fact, the last time had been the last time—this exact night all those years ago.
The songs blended seamlessly together, most of them ones I’d never heard, but then t.A.T.u.
’s “All the Things She Said” came on, and I couldn’t help smiling.
It brought me back to middle school, discovering new music on NOW!
CDs that my parents got me for Christmas and my birthday.
I’d worn a groove in NOW 12 listening to this one over and over.
Lane surprised me again by dragging my back to his front, his hands settled on my waist.
It was impossible to miss the hard length of his cock pressing into my lower back—or the groan that rumbled against me when I wiggled my ass against him.
“Sunny,” he warned against my ear in a low growl.
I angled my head back to look at him, putting us close enough that his mouth was now a breath away from mine. “What?” I asked innocently.
“You know what, you little brat.”
With a giggle, I turned away from him, lacing my fingers with his over my hips and leading him into a rhythm synced to the beat of the music.
As the bass thumped on, and the DJ smoothly transitioned into a new song, my inhibitions melted away.
My arms came up to cradle Lane’s head, fingers slipping into the short hairs at his nape.
His hands blazed an endless circuit up and down my sides along my ribs.
The contact was far too seductive to be on display like this, but I was disconnected enough from the constant whirlwind of anxieties in my head to not care.
For a long time, I couldn’t bear physical contact. Anytime someone came within a few feet of me, I reared back and shrank in on myself. I was more content to lock myself in the solitude of my room, losing myself in books.
Aside from therapy, books saved me. They reminded me of my strength, gave me something to root for, showed me all relationships weren’t doomed to fail.
But for nearly half my life, I wasn’t interested in a real relationship unless my partner was Lane. In truth, I’d been content to go my whole life without it, knowing there would never be anyone who could fill the void inside me while also soothing the sharpest of my jagged edges like he could.
To have him now, holding me, ducking his head to press a kiss to the side of my neck, broad palms splayed across my pelvis and abdomen, was the most surreal thing I’d ever experienced.
“Come home with me,” he whispered, lips brushing against the shell of my ear. Shivers coursed down my spine.
I flipped around to face him, placing my hands on his chest. I’d never get used to the sensation, his warmth, his vitality beneath my palms. Not when, not too long ago, I’d had to use these very same hands in a very different manner to prevent too much of his blood from spilling. To keep him here with me.
“We live together,” I reminded him.
But I knew what he was really asking.
Be with me.
In a way beyond how we were together right now. In a way we hadn’t been in years.
Before Lane could retort, the DJ lowered the volume on the music and shouted into the mic. “It’s almost time!”
I twisted my neck to glance at the screen he’d set up behind him, which showed a countdown to midnight.
Less than twenty seconds remained.
I faced Lane again.
He didn’t speak. He merely stared at me, waiting.
The crowd around us launched into the final countdown.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
I had mere seconds to make up my mind. Lane’s fingers flexed against the upper curve of my ass, like he wanted to pull me closer but refrained, letting me take the lead in this moment.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
He always knew exactly what I needed.
God, I loved him.
Two.
One.
As confetti and cheers exploded, I pressed up onto his toes and kissed him. One of his hands came up to cup the back of my head, threading through my hair, but he didn’t try to deepen the kiss. He allowed me to control the pace and pressure.
Finally, I pulled back.
“Happy birthday, sunny,” Lane murmured against my lips.
I grinned. “Thank you. And I know what I want as my present.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Take me home, Chief.”