50. Chapter 35
The Gift
Rain
Tonight has turned into a dumpster fire.
Cohen’s reactions to finding out the truth about the party offered me the briefest snapshot of the boy I fell in love with at sixteen.
Then he learned about my deal with Lou, and he pinged right back to the other end of the emotional spectrum.
I am struggling with the whiplash involved even now as we drive away, leaving half of our band behind.
Dutch’s big hands wrap around the steering wheel of his truck.
I catch glimpses of his tight jaw with every streetlight we pass.
Not that I’m in any better of a state. We’re both rattled to fuck by the events of tonight.
It’s why I had to get out of there. The burn of alcohol was everywhere, calling to me like a goddamn siren song.
Even here, with any lingering scent of it long gone, my hands still want to reach for an invisible glass.
I clear my throat and fight my own worries away by trying to console the man beside me.
“You’re worried about Dax.”
That’s not a question. I am too.
“Is it because of the booze and the drugs?”
Dutch replies, though he doesn’t address my question. “I’m worried about all of us. Even Cohen, though he doesn’t fucking deserve it after the way he’s treated you.”
Gratitude for the strong man beside me is a warm balm smothering my stress. I reach across the console and squeeze the muscles of his shoulder.
“After the way he’s treated all of us, Dutch. It’s not just about me.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. This fucking man. If it was safe, I’d climb into his lap right now so he had no choice but to listen to what I say next.
“You’re allowed to be worried for yourself too, you know?
” I try to infuse a little humour in the question, but it’s flimsy at best, and winds up turning earnest pretty damn quick, “This band was, is, as much yours as it is mine, or Cohen’s or your brother’s.
You are allowed to be worried for your own damn sake. ”
Another flash of light passes over his face and his jaw ticks. I’m certain he’s going to brush me off again, so I’m caught off guard when he cracks just a little.
“I don’t want to go back to hauling boxes at the Rothus Warehouse…again.”
“You won’t,” I reassure him, both with words and with a soft massage of his arm. “We all want this to work, even Cohen. Dax will talk him down like he always used to do, and tomorrow he’ll probably apologize for being such a shithead.”
“He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, babe.”
“I know.” I smile. “But I do deserve to see him try to earn it.”
Some light returns to my voice, and at that, Dutch responds with a smile of his own, “Oh yeah?”
“I’m thinking begging. Lots and lots of begging. And maybe some grovelling. The idea of guitar god, Cohen Brady, crawling on his hands and knees is pretty damn appealing.”
Dutch chuckles and his eyes briefly leave the road so he can lean my way and murmur, “Wicked girl,” before giving me the briefest of kisses. Those words and that momentary brush of his lips are enough to have me clenching my thighs.
The rest of our drive back to where the tour bus is still parked behind Vetruviut Stadium passes quietly. When we get there, Kitten greets me with welcoming purrs, while Tina screeches, “How was it?!”
After she and the Double Ds dressed me this afternoon, I asked Tina if she wouldn’t mind hanging out with Kitten for the evening, and my new friend was nice enough to agree, though she is probably about to regret her question.
“Eventful,” Dutch answers. His weariness is enough of a clue to make Tina frown.
While Dutch grabs his stuff, I make quick work of gathering both mine and Kitten’s shit.
Mostly Kitten’s, actually. In just a few weeks, she’s gone from scrawny street cat to one very spoiled princess, and I’m happy I could make that happen.
Still, she watches me apprehensively as I collect her things.
This bus has become her whole world, and anxious mews as I pack up her stuff are a frequent interruption while I repeat the events of tonight for Tina.
The mews transform back to purrs once I finish, and I lift her into my arms while Dutch loads both his stuff and my own into the truck. With a goodbye hug, I promise to keep Tina and the Ds updated via our group text chain before we’re off, back to Dutch’s apartment.
Despite our earlier teasing, all I want once we arrive is to get out of my dress and into the coziest clothes I can find.
Then, maybe eat something and fall right to sleep.
First, though, I ensure Kitten has everything she needs.
Food, water, a litter box. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t give a shit about any of those things and beelines it straight for the closed door that I can only assume hides Dax’s bedroom. Like she knows it’s his.
I’m still stuck in the condo’s narrow kitchen, and Dutch has barely got inside—the man insisted on carrying all of the bags himself—yet he manages to cross the room and open the door before I’ve finished filling a bowl with water for her.
“We both know he won’t mind.”
The last time we were here, just a few nights ago, I never got the full tour, but the room is so obviously Dax’s because both the walls and the bed inside are a dark thunder-cloud grey with what appear to be hand-painted lightning bolts artistically spread across the walls.
It’s the opposite of the light, neutral grey of Dutch’s bedroom.
Kitten seems to like it though, because she leaps onto the bed and stomps around the duvet before settling into a small black ball right in the middle.
“Besides,” Dutch says, pushing off the door frame and walking back towards me, “I want her to be comfortable here. I want you both to be.”
Sincerity shines in his brown eyes, and though part of me welcomes it, my heart is so beat up from tonight that I’m not sure I can handle any more emotional confessions. Not even a good one.
Dutch’s arms wrap under my ass, and he lifts me onto the counter.
It’s no fancy marble or anything, but Kelly’s apartment still has a nicer kitchen than any place I’ve ever lived.
Grams’ place included. It’s both new and clean.
Though Grams was a spotless housekeeper, living on a fixed income meant making things last as long as possible; appliances, pots, pans and cutlery, all very much included.
Dutch’s thumb brushes across my cheeks and he asks, “Hello? Earth to Rainy?”
I realize that while I’ve been lost in the past, he’s been watching me.
“All good,” I reply, though my smile stretches uncomfortably. My muscles are forced into an unnatural shape.
Always one to see the things I think I’m hiding; Dutch chides, “Don’t.”
He runs the pad of his thumb over the edges of my lips.
“Don’t pretend. Not with me.”
There he is, going and being all sincere again.
“It’s fine. Really. I’m just tired.”
“You’re not,” he objects softly. “You’re lying for my comfort, and if you don’t cut that shit right now I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Dutch? Because I’m not lying, I’m just fucking tired.”
“No. What you are is pissed about tonight’s events.”
Okay, maybe he has me there.
“And, in denial about your feelings. About tonight, about the past, about what you want now and, well, even about me.”
That statement makes me recoil. And to my surprise, it makes him laugh.
“You can run from my feelings all you want, Rainy-girl, but I’m done pretending I don’t love you.”
My whole body tenses again, but that doesn’t stop Dutch from holding me tight. I owe him an explanation, but all I can manage is a stuttering breath and a few measly words.
“Dutch, I…I…”
He leans in and stops my attempts with a kiss similar to the one he gifted me in the truck.
“It’s really okay, Rainy. You don’t have to say it and you don’t owe me any explanation.”
Maybe it’s his simple act of acceptance or the pure patience he’s shown since we came back into each other’s lives, but my shoulders finally drop.
It’s not that I don’t feel something for Dutch—and my body definitely has some strong feelings for him, judging by how his admission makes wet heat rise deep in my core—it’s just that admitting to any of it scares the shit out of me.
I mean, look at what happened the last time I was in love? Can you really blame me for being afraid?
Still, I want to give the man holding me everything he deserves. I want to lift the worries from his shoulders the way he does for me. I want to make his smile, this smile, the one he’s giving me now, appear over and over and over again. I just don’t know how to do that.
A tongue-in-cheek attitude is the best I can offer as I say, “I’d probably be more lovey-dovey, oh Dutchy-boy, if you made us some sandwiches.”
My tummy plays along and growls as if on cue, causing Dutch to laugh.
“What kind of sandwich, my Rainy-girl?” he teases.
This time, there’s no need to force my smile. I beam, “A grilled cheese!”
“I think I can just about manage that,” he laughs. “Good thing I keep some bread in the freezer.”
Agreed. To be fair, I doubt there’s much beyond a few odd bits in his fridge because it’s not like he’s been here grocery shopping. He strokes my back lightly, and it prickles my skin. At first, but then I hear the release of the zipper at the back.
“Hey!” I object, “What about my sandwich?”
He swats my ass and chides, “I’m making it, but I figured you’d need at least a little help getting out of this dress.” Then he steps back and starts maneuvering around the condo kitchen. He grabs a frying pan first and uses it to point me toward his bedroom.
“Go get comfortable. Take whatever you want from my closet.”