Chapter 9
Hyde
“Yeah, I’ll have another beer and my Ol’ Lady and I will both have a cheeseburger, medium, hers with waffle fries and sweet potato fries for me,” I tell the waitress, not looking up at her as I slide the menus in her direction.
She stands over us, tapping her pen against the pad of paper like she’s expecting me to take my eyes off of my woman. Naw, all I’m interested in is the pretty blush that spreads across Leslee’s cheeks as her eyes widen in surprise.
The waitress finally gets the hint and walks away.
“Ol’ Lady?” She hesitantly repeats my words back to me. “Your Ol’ Lady?”
“I don’t know why you look so surprised. You’ve been that since I popped your cherry,” I tell Leslee before I take the final swig of beer from my glass and ignore the self-satisfied smile on her lips.
“I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted. You always give me shit…”
“Why? ‘Cause I don’t let you run over me like you do everyone else? Yeah, I give you shit because no one else does, consider it a character builder. But I never would have fed you my cock if I wasn’t gonna wife you up.”
Reaching behind her head, I grab her braid and tilt her face back up at me, giving me a full view of her thoughts. Thankfully, I can read her like a book. Between the happiness in her eyes and the way her lower lip is trembling, I know she’s happy but on the verge of crying also.
It’s the blush that’s spreading downward from her cheeks that has me looking at her cleavage, peeking out from her V-neck shirt and teasing my cock when I see the matching pink spreading down her body.
Shoving my beer mug toward the other side of the scarred, wooden table, I stick my finger between her tits at the lowest point of the V and slowly drag it up until it’s under Leslee’s chin. At my touch, her eyes dart around to see if anyone’s paying attention; and yeah, I already know we have an audience.
“What have I said about showing these off to others?” I harshly ask her.
“I like V-necks, you’re just going to have to live with that.” Leslee’s fire overrides her embarrassment at being touched in public and she straightens her shoulders, jutting her chest up and out.
“Is everything alright here?” the waitress asks, heavily setting my new beer down and giving me a hard look before hesitantly reaching out to squeeze Leslee’s shoulder. “Do you need me to call someone for you, dear?”
Leslee’s eyes darken for a moment, before she realizes the implications and again, surprises me with the maturity of her response.
“Thank you for asking, ma’am,” she starts, reaching up to thread her fingers through mine, moving my hand from her chin to her thigh. “We’re good.”
Taking the hint myself, I release Leslee’s braid and grin at the waitress.
“Okay, you let any of us know if that changes,” the woman replies, before giving me a hard look. “You should know the owner trained the security camera on you, so we’ll have plenty of footage to show any law enforcement types that come asking.”
“Those burgers almost ready?” I ask, feigning boredom. “And another cola for my Ol’ Lady would be great.”
“Shit, so much for a lowkey place that’s off the radar,” Leslee whispers when the waitress leaves us.
“Yeah, but now we gotta sit here and eat slowly.”
“And hope to hell that my friends don’t have fake badges,” she adds, squirming in her seat.
I can’t help my smirk when I lean over to her, my whiskers barely touching her cheek. “That tight pussy’s all wet for me again, isn’t it?”
“Ha! You wish,” she sasses back, lifting her nose up in defiance.
“Tonight, I’m going to give you a little taste of what happens when you lie to your man,” I promise her. Catching sight of the waitress approaching with our food, I lean back in my seat and try to ignore the obvious sight of Leslee’s nipples as they make themselves known through her lightly padded bra.
Eating our burgers, I ignore the watchful gazes of bartender and waitress, unabashedly reaching over to push a finger past my girl’s lips at one point. Leslee’s amber eyes take on a hazy glow when she tentatively starts to suck my digit, but the quick flash in them should have warned me—I’ll blame the fact that my blood has all rerouted to my dick—and the nip that she gives me has me yanking my hand back.
“What do you want to do the rest of today?” I ask her, after seeing the twinkle in her eyes again. “Outside the cabin, my darling sex fiend.”
“Are you tired of me already?” she asks, her expression feigning a pained look.
“Never. And don’t you dare say: sex in the woods,” I answer as I try to stay a step ahead of her. I’m find it impossible to stop myself from kissing her when she looks annoyed that I knew what she would say.
“Bowling,” she replies when our lips part.
I laugh, thinking she’s kidding until I see the look on her face. “Really? Hell, I haven’t bowled since your eleventh birthday party.”
“That was my tenth,” she answers. “And you didn’t bowl, you played pool with the guys.”
“Because I hate those fucking shoes,” I tell her, but the second I see her cross her arms over her chest, I know we’re going bowling. “You know, when you squeeze your tits together like that, it reminds me that I haven’t fucked them yet.”
“Bowling or back to the cabin to try that, then,” she counters, standing her ground.
“Just remember,” I tell her, reaching for my wallet and tossing enough cash down to cover the tab and tip. “You aren’t ten anymore, I’m not going to let you win.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she sasses back, threading her fingers through mine as she hurries to meet my stride as I head outside.
Leslee
Joe’s shoulders are tight with frustration as he scans the table in front of him. I already know the outcome, but I’ll let him give it a whirl anyway.
Sometimes I drive Xander and his friends to the local bowling alley, and while I’m not great, as Joe said, he doesn’t bowl at all.
After he proved to be zero challenge at bowling, Joe suggested pool; naturally thinking he’d have the upper hand. And while he may play a few times a month, I was practically raised in a clubhouse. As a toddler, Dad would lift me up onto the table and tell me how to line up a shot. Some of my friend’s parents even have pool tables instead of dining tables.
I suggested bowling to fuck with him, but right now, as he’s about to lose his third round of pool to me—I’m hoping it’s really sinking in that I can hold my own in his world.
“Man, why don’t you move along and let someone who knows how to handle their stick have some fun with her?” Some big, sweaty dude sneers, bracing his hands on the table across from where Joe is standing before running his eyes up and down my body.
Joe slightly shifts before making eye contact with me and when I look down, it’s to see that the eight ball is now directly lined up between the pocket and the cue ball. He makes a clicking sound before he shoots and neither of us have to look down to see the outcome.
“I win,” I needlessly announce, clapping my hands in delight and crossing to kiss him.
“Winner gets to pick their prize,” Joe drawls out the words like it was his plan all along, and gives me a kiss when I wrap my arms around his neck; completely ignoring the cretin and a couple of his friends who have wandered our way.
“Breakfast in bed,” I announce just loud enough for our audience to hear, trying to keep a serious expression on my face—but I know my eyes are telling him exactly what I want.
“Only about nine hours between now and then,” he replies, shifting his left foot back, allowing him to bend and toss me over his shoulder. “Better get a move on.”
Holding onto the back of his cut, I smile to myself, happy that he doesn’t allow his ego to override his good sense and challenge a guy who probably knows half the men in the bar. Not to mention the local cops.
That’s the thing about Joe, he’s tall with wide shoulders but otherwise lithe enough not to look too worrisome. Men who don’t know him would probably feel comfortable picking a fight with him.
One of the, I’m sure, many things that I know, that those men don’t? The result would be the same as if they had fought my dad. Considering he’s the one who trained Joe.
*
Getting back to the cabin, Joe seems determined not to touch me. Yes, I’m a bit sore, but it’s like my body is craving him and that’s more frustrating than any discomfort I’d feel by taking him again.
After he grabs a beer, he pauses to mix some of the vodka with a ginger ale and bring that to where I’m already seated on the couch.
“Contributing to the delinquency of a minor?” I raise an eyebrow at him, taking a sip.
“Eighteen’s old enough. Besides, I’ve contributed to it a dozen times over the past few days,” he responds with a growl which quickly turns into a laugh as I straddle his lap the moment he sits down.
“Joe,” I say his name hesitantly, feeling a little insecure. Especially after he grunts. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
Looking me square in the eyes, he leans in to lightly kiss my lips. “No. You’re kind of a troll.”
“Asshole!” I growl, and shove at his chest.
“Yeah, I mean, I think you’re dynamite in the sack, but your legs are too long.” His left arm has me trapped, while he takes a long sip of beer with his free hand. “And your hair, I mean the way the sun hits it, suddenly the light red bits make you look like a ginger instead of a blonde. Just makes it hard to look at you.”
“Oh, really?” I try to sound annoyed even though I’m starting to get into his insults. “At least I’m funny, I guess.”
“No, you really aren’t.”
“All of my friends laugh at my jokes,” I insist, taking a sip of my drink.
“Nah, you laugh like a hyena, so they’re all just laughing at you.”
There may be a little bit of truth to this comment, but only when something super funny happens.
“And this ass?” he continues, squeezing the asset in question. “Well, never mind, it would be rude of me to comment.”
“Oh, I think we’re past that,” I drawl out, shifting my butt back into the palm that’s now kneading it. “But I do have perfect vision.”
“Yeah? Do you think I’m good-looking,” he asks me, his voice suddenly all deep and sultry.
“Absolutely,” I whisper, leaning toward his mouth again.
“Then you’re probably half-blind on top of everything else.”
I bite his lower lip. “Are my teeth too sharp?”
“As a matter of fact, they are,” he replies, holding his beer bottle against the spot I bit.
“You best keep that in mind, Old Man,” I warn him in my sweetest voice as I reach over to take another sip of my drink.
“I know damn well, you’ve been told you’re beautiful—either in words, or the looks men give you—every day of your life. You’re also way too smart to think that looks truly matter to any man worth a damn,” Joe tells me, putting his bottle down to free his hand, wrapping it through my hair in a grip as firm as his words. “Now put your glass down and kiss me properly, Ol’ Lady.”
With that, I get a feel for how my life with Joe will be.
From how he expects me to know that he finds me attractive, to teasing me, to fucking me hard and rough up against the kitchen counter, to now.
When he’s got me flat on my back, kissing his way down my body, slowly exploring my birthmarks, freckles, and scars. I groan in frustration, when instead of proceeding down past my hips, he flips me over and meticulously starts back up at my hairline.
“I don’t know why it always made me smile when this strawberry mark would darken,” he whispers against the mark on the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to break out all down my arms.
“Probably because that happens when I get mad,” I answer him.
“Or when you’re laughing so hard you start to snort.”
I grunt, wanting to pretend that I don’t snort when I’m laughing my ass off, but he’s not wrong.
“Will you get bored with me? Since you know all my secrets already?” I ask him, keeping my voice soft to hide my emotions.
“I may know your stories, Le-Lee,” he replies, pulling me tighter into his embrace and tucking his chin into my neck. “But your thoughts and what guides your heart? Those’ll take a lifetime to ferret out.”
“And will you tell me all of your stories?”
“No, but I’ll tell you all the ones that matter,” he promises and I know that I can live with that.
When he shifts my leg forward and slides his long, hard dick into me from behind, I have the fleeting thought that he’s unprotected but considering the cramps that have been signaling my impending period, I decide not to worry about it.
He loves me slowly this time, without the urgency we’ve felt every time since the beginning and when my impatience starts to rear its ugly head, I focus on his soft touches and gentle kisses along the base of my neck.
He comes right after I do and just as I’m falling asleep the words he whispers nearly break my heart.
“You’re what I always wished for, but never thought I deserved.”
Long after he’s snoring in my ear and I’ve used some of the tissues on the bedside to clean myself; his words remind me that while I grew up with loving parents, he was merely tolerated. Never knowing a real family until Bree and Flint took him in.
*
Later that night, I wake up sweltering. Mainly due to the big guy who’s still spooning me. Slipping out from under his arm, I pull on my hoodie and head out to get a bottle of water from the fridge along with a couple of ibuprofens.
When I’m halfway through the bottle, one of his saddlebags catches my eyes and I grab the handle to move it back to the laundry room, figuring it’s the rest of his clothes.
Not getting a firm grip on the bag, it tilts over, spilling its contents out. There aren’t any clothes in this bag. There are some travel-sized toiletries and postcards. Dozens of them.
Staring down at the pile, my eyes fill with tears and I eagerly sit beside them, reaching out for the first one.
Most of them have a quick note about where he bought it. Some just have a date written on them. But each one is addressed to me.
“Leslee?” he softly whispers my name when I’m over half-way through the pile.
I’m full out crying with my back to the bedroom door, shifting just enough so Joe can see what I found.
“I dropped your bag,” I sob the words out, more ashamed that he would think I was snooping than of my tears.
“Don’t cry, Le-Lee,” he murmurs, crossing to me.
“You didn’t forget me,” I croak the words out as I lift my arms up to him.
“I couldn’t. I needed you to forget about me,” he replies, scooping me up into his arms before turning and bringing us back to bed.
I’m loathe to be carried away from my postcards. Each one that I cried over not receiving during the years he was gone is justification that I was right. Some part of him knew that I was meant to be his ride-or-die.
But once he lays me on that bed to start kissing my tears away, that worry slips from my mind. Then, when he finally moves down to lick and nip my breasts, I let out a long, contented sigh, knowing that he’s going to follow a long winding road of his own making, down to my pussy, and while I love what Joe does with his tongue once he gets there, I stop him.
“Um, things are about to get messy down there,” I warn him, pretending I’m strong enough to pull him away from his charted destination.
“Let me have my fill, while I can, then,” he replies, pushing my knees back apart.
“It broke my heart that night, Leslee,” he whispers to me afterward. “How upset you were. How adamant you were that you loved me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I was going to give it another couple of months, wait until you went away to college before I went back. Then, Flint called.”
“I love you,” I tell him some hours later, feeling completely wrung out from all the orgasms and confessions.
Hyde
“I put a change of your clothes in my saddlebag, leave everything else. It’s time to move,” I tell Leslee, having waited until the sleep cleared a little from her eyes. “Don’t turn on any lights. Take the tunnel and I’ll circle around to pick you up.”
She sits up, looking down at the pile of clothes that I place on her lap, the walkie talkie sitting on top of them.
“Do you have my postcards?” Is the only thing she whispers in response to my instructions, and that they’re her top concern sends my pulse through the roof.
I nod, unable to speak. It takes her gentle nudge to make me move so she can do what I asked her to.
Crossing back out to the front room, I keep an eye in the sky for the drone that I saw circling the property at least twice this morning.
With a little luck, the fact that my bike’s in the barn might buy us more time. If the drone is being operated by the same group from the airport, they’ll have my plate number, in addition to the make and model.
“I’m going now,” Leslee’s soft voice comes from behind me. “Why don’t you come with me? We can walk until…”
“No. Get going. Stay in the tunnel until I call you on that,” I tell her, looking down to the radio in her hand. “If you don’t hear from me by nightfall, make your way to that diner in town and ask the waitress to call Alex. They all know her. Keep your head down, but stay there until she comes for you.”
Now, the smart thing for me to do, would be to leave my bike behind and take the old truck that Alex leaves on the property.
But without any idea of when I’ll be back this way, I can’t part with it. Still not seeing the drone, I quickly lock up the house and cross to the barn. Getting situated, I check the skies again and text Alex, letting her know she’ll want to clean out the fridge and apologizing for leaving without cleaning up.
Considering the bedroom reeks of sex, she’s going to give me shit for years to come.
Stopping about thirty yards away from the hidden exit to the tunnel, I give Leslee the all clear and jump on my phone. Whoever’s hunting my Ol’ Lady will be looking for this bike, so a moving van is our best bet for now.
I hand my helmet off to Leslee when she approaches and I nod, more to myself, in appreciation of her silence. Time is of the essence, but it’s when she wraps her arms around me, slipping one of her small hands under my cut that I realize how fast my heart is beating beneath her palm.
In her own way, she’s letting me know she understands that I’m running on adrenaline, and she trusts me to get her through this. With a little luck, we’ll have time to discuss it later.
*
Driving past the truck rental location, I scout the area a bit before deciding to drop Leslee off at a Catholic church that’s just up the road.
Without any way of knowing the reach that this cartel has, I’d rather not leave a trail of witnesses that have seen us together.
“Take my phone,” I tell her, reclaiming my helmet when she slides off the seat behind me. “Call Flint and tell him we’re in Asheville and I’m going to rent a truck so I can load up my bike.”
“What happened back there?” she asks me.
“There was a drone circling the house. Gotta keep moving, babe. Get on inside.”
I soften my brusque words with a quick kiss and smack her ass. Suddenly looking over her shoulder as an image of nun with a ruler comes to mind.
Waiting just long enough for her to open the intricately carved wooden door, I turn back to the rental location and deal with that.
Just under an hour later, I pull the rented truck into the church parking lot and head inside. My pulse kicks up a notch when I don’t see anyone sitting in the pews and I lengthen my stride as I get closer to the altar.
I pause before the four steps separating the pews to where all the holy stuff happens, wondering which way I should go and that’s when I hear her laugh. It’s quickly followed by deeper peals of laughter, and I turn to follow the sound.
“Dammit, Le-Lee,” I mutter after I’ve been standing in a doorway to some sort of office for several minutes, listening to her exchanging Dad Jokes with a couple of priests as they all sip red wine.
“Wait, one more!” The older of the two priests says, acting as though he only just noticed me. “A man walks up to a priest and says, ‘I’m Jesus Christ.’ The priest naturally replies, ‘No, you’re not, my son.’ The man says he can prove it and asks the priest to follow him. They walk a couple of blocks down and enter a bar. ‘Jesus Christ, you’re back again?’ The bartender yells out.”
“That one’s older than she is,” the younger one chides his associate as the three of them chuckle.
“Joe, what did Tennessee?” Leslee asks me with a silly grin on her face.
I take a deep breath and even though I close my eyes before exhaling, I know the two priests are studying me, waiting to see if I’ll bite. “The same thing as Arkansas. Gentlemen, I don’t mean to be rude, but we need to get on the road.”
“Ms. Sorenson, it’s been a delight! Now, you have my number, be sure to text me and if we can help you with accommodations, we will,” the older priest says, standing to shake her hand, before turning to pin me with his gaze. “You take good care of this young lady, Mr. Kelly.”
“I intend to,” I reassure him, nodding to each of them as Leslee reaches out for my hand. It’s not easy, but I wait until we’re outside before I ask, “What the hell just happened there?”
“Well, you told me to call your dad,” she starts, and my eyes widen at her referring to Flint as my dad. I mean, he is the closest thing I have to one, but I’ve never called him anything but his given name. “And he recommended that we stay south until we’re past Texas then cut north. When I hung up with him, I noticed the older priest and it turns out his last name is also Kelly. He’s visiting from the Boston area and when I looked confused, he told me that the Catholic Church owns a lot of property—besides the obvious, they have retreat houses and homes for their priests and nuns. So, I took a chance and asked him for confession.”
“Did you become Catholic in the last four years?” I ask, somewhat dumbfounded by this whole explanation. Hell, Ma’s Catholic so I can live with that, I’ve just never found the Sorensons to be particularly religious.
“He didn’t seem to care that I wasn’t, so I told him a very abbreviated version of events and asked if there were any places along our path that might take us in for a night. I mean, a random rectory has to be better than a hotel that would have cameras, right?”
“That’s fucking genius, Le-Lee,” I murmur, leaning over to kiss her.
“I thought so,” she agrees, looking proud of herself as she pats my knee. “Anyway, Father Kelly said that Father Thaddeus was a veritable expert on the subject. And that’s when we caught him opening the wine—he didn’t skip a beat, just pulled out two more glasses and filled me in on possible places to stay. I forget who let out the first pun but once that cat was out of the bag, there was wine and more jokes.”
“You are unbelievable.” I can’t help but continue to shake my head at the turn of events. “I shouldn’t be surprised though, you were never shy about talking to anyone.”
Leslee
Five hours later, I wake up when Joe pulls over for gas. Slowly sliding out of the truck, I step into Joe’s embrace.
“Sorry I crashed,” I whisper against his chest. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. I wouldn’t mind a break if you’re good to drive for a while.”
“Of course. Is it alright for me to run in for a pit stop?” I ask, pulling my hood up over my head.
He grabs his wallet, giving me some cash to pay for gas and snacks. I take care of things as quickly as possible and when Joe heads for the bathroom, I start texting Fr. Thaddeus.
Checking the GPS, I work out the best option that the priest has for us.
“What are you doing?” Joe growls, reaching for the phone when he opens the passenger door.
“I needed to coordinate where we could stay, not to mention the GPS,” I snap back, crabby from the crick in my neck and not liking his tone. Until… “Crap. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It’s okay, I’m going to pop the sim card out, so we don’t slip up again,” he replies, kindly saying ‘we’ instead of pinning the mistake on me.
“It’s a hike, but I want to get closer to home. The place we decided on is in Colorado. I figure, we split the drive time with one more break and we can, hopefully, sit the rest of this shitshow out at this retreat center.”
“Y’know, I keep waiting for you to have a meltdown. For this to be too much for you, but you just keep impressing the fuck out of me. I should have reminded you not to use the cell and I’m sorry for raising my voice to you,” Joe apologizes, leaning across the cab to kiss my cheek.
I turn my head to properly kiss him, letting him know, without words that I know I screwed up and will be more careful.
“I am scared, Joe. I’m worried about my family, and now you, since you’ve been dragged into this. Every time I close my eyes, I have to push aside the image of Parks crumbling to the ground,” I whisper my fears against his lips and he tightens his arms around me. “But if I focus on all the things that could go wrong, I’d curl into a ball and be absolutely useless. Anyway, I’d like to reserve the right to have a breakdown when everyone is safe again, deal?”
“Deal.” He smiles like he wants to say something else, but he stays silent for another moment. “You sure you’re okay to drive?”
“Yeah, why don’t you get some sleep?”
“You need to keep an eye…”
“I know, watch for tails and drones, and lions and tigers and bears,” I cut him off.
“Brat.”
*
Waking up in the small dark room, I immediately freeze—until I remember where we are, and why I’m alone. Then I hear the scratching that must have woken me up.
Arriving at the retreat center after a long day on the road, we were informed that we could have separate rooms. Even Joe was too tired to argue. Then we saw the tiny rooms with single beds and a small sink, before understanding that even if we were married, we would have been given our own rooms.
When my door cracks open and Joe sticks his head inside, I let out a sigh of relief.
“The lock is so damn old, I’ve never picked that kind before,” he whispers, coming over to sit on the side of the bed. “Make room for me?”
I let out a snort. While he’s a few inches shorter, and not as broad as my dad, he’s still a large man.
Moving until my back is against the wall, I watch in amusement as he fits most of his body on the remaining space, then throws a leg over my hip.
“I didn’t like sleeping without you,” he whispers when we’re nose to nose on the pillow.
His admission makes my heart leap and I reach over to cup his cheek with my palm, just before I kiss his nose.
“What’s going to happen when we get home?” I give voice to the thought that’s been bothering me for days.
“I’ll claim you properly, get you a cut, and then find a place for us to live,” he says, glossing over the part of the story where my parents flip out. “I’ve been renting my house since I left and there’s like five months to go on the current contract. I don’t feel right about trying to end it early and it’s pretty small, anyway.”
“You’re going to find a house for me?” I slowly repeat the last part of his statement.
“I mean, it might take some time to put in the bunker and escape tunnel of your dreams, but I figure I can get us a nice three or four bedroom. Y’know, something we can grow into. I’d like a private outdoor space; hot tub, grill and smoker, all that stuff.” His list tells me that he’s put some thought into this, and I smile at the thought of filling up those bedrooms.
“You do remember my gram, don’t you?” I ask, smiling at the thought of Mom’s grandmother. He clicks his tongue at me in reply. “Well, she left me some property and if you like it, maybe we build our house? A bunker for me and the backyard of your dreams?”
“Damn. I’d forgotten,” he says with a chuckle. “She and Flint were always trying to snap up properties before the other found out about them. There was a time or two he’d be cussing up a blue streak and Ragnar would just start howling along with him.”
Bree’s dog never needed much reason to start barking, and as loud as he was, Ragnar was just the sweetest boy. Fondly remembering him, I decide to add on to our list.
“Maybe when the dust settles, we can try to find a Norwegian Elkhound, like she had?” I ask him.
“We’ll find a place to rent, then build a place on your land with a doggie door to the backyard,” he quickly agrees before letting out a deep breath. “When we get back, you should start calling me Hyde.”
“No, I’m not. Besides, I’ve never heard Bree call you that.”
His smile fades and a shadow crosses his face.
“How did you get your road name?” I ask, never having questioned it before.
“Back when you were a peanut, I was in that accident. You’ve heard about that, right?”
“Yeah, a pile-up during a snowstorm and the doctors didn’t think you’d ever be able to walk again.” I repeat the basic facts that I had heard years ago. “But you fought through it and later took up running.”
“That’s the version you heard?” His twisted grin tells me that I was told a fairytale. “I was more dead than alive when they got me to the hospital. I don’t remember that part of it, just later on when I finally woke up. Bree, Mom, I mean, was with me through it all. Every day. She never stopped fighting for me, even when I had given up.”
I can’t help the tears that well up in my eyes at the pain I hear in his voice. He swipes his thumbs over them and kisses my forehead.
“I was a shit to her. To everyone really. Mom, Flint, and your dad were the only ones I gave permission to visit.”
“Why my dad?” I ask, having a good idea what his answer is going to be.
“Because of his own scars,” Joe chokes out the words. “He was the only one who could really understand how I felt. Gunner never once looked at me with pity, never placated me that ‘I’d be back on my feet in no time’. We talked through my options and when I was tired, he’d give Bree a break and sit next to me, telling me about all the shit the guys were getting up to around the clubhouse.”
“That sounds like him,” I whisper back. When I was old enough, I ran a search on my dad one time. That was when I found out about all the medals he had been awarded while in the service, surprised since he had never talked about them.
“One of the times he stopped by, I was fighting physical therapy and just laying into Mom something awful. I looked up to see him frozen in the doorway. His face was bright red, but that scar stayed white—it was like the old warriors who had painted their faces. He told Mom to leave the room, she fought him, telling him it was alright. That I was just in pain and that everyone needed to calm down.
“He picked her up and put her in the hallway, then secured the door. Now, back then, I was still a bit nervous around your dad on a good day. He clamps his hand around my leg and tells me that he’s certain, with the right amount of pressure, he could snap my fibula. Then he started squeezing.” Joe barely pauses, even as I feel a chill go through his body. “I’m pretty sure I started crying, I don’t fucking know, what did occur to me was that if I could still feel that much pain, then, somewhere inside of me I must have enough strength to walk.”
“What happened next?”
“He told me that if he ever heard me speak to Bree like that again, he’d rip my tongue out of my mouth. The next morning when I woke up, instead of Bree on the window seat, Flint had pulled a chair up next to my bed.” Joe doesn’t try to hold back the grin that splits his face. “Suddenly, Gunner didn’t seem so scary.”
“So, Hyde is because Flint threatened your hide?”
“Allegedly it’s as in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. You may have noticed I’m a pretty even keel kinda person, so the moral was to keep my monster under control,” he tells me. “But yeah, it’s a reminder from Flint.”
“And that’s why Bree will never say it,” I conclude, before asking the bigger question. “Now, how are we going to break our relationship to my parents?”
“I’m gonna look Gunner in the eye and tell him you crawled, naked, onto—ouch—my lap—crap, stop that,” Joe laughs as he tries to pin my hands. “And really, what choice did I have when your titties were inches away from my mouth. Fuck!”
The last word explodes from his mouth when his ass hits the floor, misjudging the space he had when I jerked my knee up to squash his dick. Peering over the edge of the mattress, I glare at him and try to pull my wrists free from his grip.
“God, I love you,” he groans, reaching his free hand down to rub his tailbone.
I freeze.
“You do?”
Looking up at me, he stops his inspection of his rear and reaches over to pull me down on top of him.
“In a very different way than I cared about you when you were a kid, yes, Le-Lee. I love you,” he tells me as I straddle his stomach, grinning down at him like an idiot.
“I love you, too,” I needlessly reply before our lips touch.
Just then there’s a knock on the door.
“Ms. Sorenson? I apologize, I heard a crash and wanted to make sure you were alright.” A man’s tentative voice comes from the hallway.
“Yes, Father! I’m sorry, I rolled off the bed,” I fib, trying to place his voice. “Good night, Father Mosley.”
“Oh, and Ms. Sorenson? If you could please turn down the volume of whatever show you’re watching on your device. Many of us are early risers,” he requests, and even with his serious tone, I can picture the good-humored face of the man I met earlier.
“Of course, Father. Sorry about that, too,” I reply, biting my lip against the giggles that threaten to burst forth.
Once there’s silence again, I chance eye contact with Joe.
“You’re going to Hell,” he whispers.
“Come with me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“At least until you get us kicked outta there…” he kisses me as he moves us into a sitting position so we can make our way back onto the bed.
I know there would be so much more space if we would spoon, but I want to see Joe’s face as we continue our conversation.
“Why?” he asks me, referring to my earlier declaration. “You always have cared about me and I’ve never understood it.”
“I’ve thought about this over the past few years and even in my own head it sounds weird. I mean, I’m surrounded by good people who love me, but with you, I think my first feelings were how comfortable I was around you. And happy too. You never minded playing with me, so at some point I started thinking of you as ‘mine’,” I whisper back, focusing on his chin when I get embarrassed by my feelings.
“And when you’re my age? How do you think you’re going to feel about the old man you’re saddled with?”
“I can’t imagine a time that I won’t love you with every part of my soul,” I fervently reply.
“Babe, you have to be prepared for when we get back,” Joe counters, placing a finger over my lips when I try to speak. “Gunner’s going to kick my ass, and I’m going to take it.”
“No,” I growl out. “That’s totally ridiculous. We’ll tell them, they’ll yell, I’ll probably cry and…”
“And then your dad. Is. Going. To. Kick. My. Ass. It’s going to happen. And you aren’t going to say a word about it.”
“I won’t allow it,” I insist, getting a soft chuckle from Joe.
“Now, that’s Riley speaking, through and through,” he retorts. “I’ve always loved how you do everything hard. Love. Fight. Cause mayhem. Laugh. And care about everyone in your orbit…”
“Except some people,” I mumble, thinking of the bitch who got us into this mess.
That comment earns me another kiss. “And hold a grudge.”
“Of all people, Mom and Dad can’t get hung up on our age difference,” I defiantly whisper against his lips.
“The thing that really sucks, is that your mom probably won’t cook for me for a while,” he mournfully pouts.
“I’ll make it up to you.” I seal my promise with a kiss.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but it wasn’t nearly long enough before I wake up.
Do you want to know where the worst place to get your period is?
A retreat house. In the middle of nowhere. Run by Priests.