Chapter Two #2
“This is different,” she said, surveying the kitchen building. “I delivered to the main place last time.”
“Easier here.” I moved toward her trunk, noting the stacks of grocery bags. “I got it.”
I reached for the bags nearest to me, lifting several at once.
Our fingers didn’t touch, but I felt her presence like a physical force, a gravity pulling at senses I’d thought long deadened.
She grabbed bags of her own, following me to the kitchen’s rear entrance.
I had the door propped open so she didn’t feel trapped.
I noticed her hesitate briefly before entering.
Inside, industrial stainless steel gleamed under fluorescent lights.
Walk-in refrigerator, freezer, commercial ranges.
All donated or acquired through channels best not discussed with outsiders.
Knuckles kept us in whatever equipment we wanted and, as it turned out, a few of the old ladies liked to cook. No one objected.
I set the bags on the center island, turning to take more from her. This time, our fingers did brush, a momentary contact that sent a jolt up my arm. Her eyes widened slightly, telling me she’d felt it too.
“Is all this for the club?”
I shook my head. “Some for here. Some to the shelter. Some to local families or homeless who need it.”
She paused, tilting her head as she studied me. “You feed people outside the club?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t elaborate. Didn’t explain about the families of incarcerated men we supported, the women rebuilding lives after abuse, the children who would otherwise go hungry. The club’s reputation served its purpose, but the reality was more complex than outsiders knew.
We fell into a rhythm, moving between her car and the kitchen, unloading, sorting. I doubted most delivery drivers helped unload beyond setting everything on the nearest flat surface, but the only time she hesitated was when she actually entered the clubhouse. Which is why I’d left the door open.
“You been doing deliveries long?” The question surprised me as much as her. I rarely initiated conversation and never with strangers.
She glanced up from a bag of onions she carried. “About three months. Since I lost my other job.”
I waited, giving her space to continue if she wanted. When she didn’t, I respected the boundary. We all had stories we kept to ourselves.
She’d worn a light jacket last time, but today in just the T-shirt, I could see lean muscle in her arms. Not gym-built. The kind that came from work. She moved like someone accustomed to carrying her own weight, expecting no help but competent enough not to need it.
When she set the last bag on the kitchen counter she pushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. The gesture shouldn’t have caught my attention; instead, it made my fingers itch to follow the same path.
“That’s everything,” she said, dusting her hands against her jeans. Her gaze met mine fully now, more direct than before. She didn’t look quite comfortable, but no longer truly afraid.
I followed her back to her car. I have no idea why. She could make her way out of the compound on her own. Instead I found myself moving slowly after her, just… watching.
She reached up to shut the trunk of her car when she paused. Leaning in and reaching far in the back of the trunk, she dragged out two large boxes of eggs and hurried back to the kitchen entrance.
I stepped back from the door to give her room, but she stumbled. I’d intended to reach for the eggs, but it was either catch her or the box. Gravity took over from there. The floor caught the eggs. I had my arms full of warm woman.
“Shit!” Cora gasped, looking up at me in shock. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…” She trailed off, her eyes wide as she gazed up at me.
I shook my head, not really sure why, only that I never wanted her to be sorry for being in my arms. No matter what the reason.
I knew I should let her go. Thing was, she wasn’t fighting and I didn’t have the willpower to let her go on my own.
She fit against me in a way that made my chest tighten.
Warm. Solid. Real. Her hair smelled like vanilla and clean, bright sunshine that made me want to keep breathing her in.
Her hands rested lightly on my shoulders, her fingers curling around the muscles she found.
I knew I should have stepped back the moment I caught her when I’d ensured she had her footing.
I should have released her. Instead I held on, arms wrapped around her so she was secure and held like something precious to me.
And she still didn’t fight. She didn’t push away or stiffen with fear.
She simply looked up at me with those impossibly blue eyes, breath coming fast, and her lips parted.
Around our feet, broken eggs spread in a yellow pool punctuated by shards of white shell. The mess didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the weight of her against me, the warmth seeping through my shirt into my very soul… the realization that I might not be as completely dead inside as I thought.
Her gaze traveled over my face with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. Her expression shifted. Softened. Something that looked almost like pain flickered across her features.
She lifted one hand with a slow, deliberate movement and reached up toward my face with fingers that trembled slightly. I held perfectly still, not breathing, as those fingers made contact with my skin just below my right eye on my cheek bone.
The touch was featherlight. Gentle in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.
Her fingertips traced the small scar there, a pale line about two inches long that I’d stopped noticing a long damn time ago.
Courtesy of a shiv in Terre Haute’s exercise yard, a fight that had established early in my sentence that I wouldn’t be an easy target.
“Who hurt you?” Her voice came out barely above a whisper, rough with an emotion I couldn’t identify. She stared at the scar like it personally offended her, like the mark on my face caused her actual pain.
My chest tightened with emotion. Maybe I felt this so much because I hadn’t felt anything in such a long fucking time. But I felt like Cora had caused some kind of fissure in the concrete I’d poured around everything soft and vulnerable around my heart after Sarah’s death.
The moment stretched, elastic and charged.
Her fingers lingered on my skin, warm and impossibly soft.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched me like this.
With care. With something that looked dangerously close to tenderness.
Then awareness seemed to slam into her. I saw it happening, watched her eyes widen as she realized what she’d done.
She snatched her hand back like my skin had burned her, color flooding her cheeks in a rush that made the slight smattering of freckles scattered across her nose stand out.
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out fast, breathless. “I didn’t mean to -- I shouldn’t have --”
She pushed against my chest and this time I let her go.
Released my hold and stepped back, giving her the space she suddenly seemed desperate for.
But I watched her face carefully, needing to make sure she was truly all right.
She didn’t look scared. Not the way people usually looked when they realized they’d gotten too close to me, when they remembered my reputation or the violence I was capable of.
Cora looked intrigued. Her gaze kept darting back to mine, curiosity and unabashed interest bright in those blue eyes despite the embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
She looked like someone who’d discovered something unexpected and wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information.
“It’s from prison.” I pointed to my scar. I don’t know what made me volunteer the information because I never talked about Terre Haute. But I wanted her to know. Wanted her to understand exactly what she was dealing with. “A fight. Six years ago.”
She absorbed this with a slow nod, processing. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a nervous gesture that drew my attention to her mouth. “Did the other guy look worse?”
The question surprised a sound out of me. Not quite a laugh, but I felt my lips tugging upward. I don’t think the smile made it very far, but I couldn’t be sure. “Yeah.”
“Good.” She gave a satisfied nod, as if my answer was exactly what she’d expected to hear.
We stood there in the kitchen entrance, broken eggs congealing between us, awareness humming in the air like a physical thing. Then she seemed to shake herself, looking down at the mess we’d created. “Shit.” She crouched, reaching for a piece of shell. “I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for these.”
“No.” I moved to the storage area where cleaning supplies lived, returning with paper towels and a small bucket. “You won’t.”
I knelt beside her, and we worked in silence.
The task should have given me something to focus on besides the tension stretched between us, but I was pretty sure not filling the void with conversation only enhanced my awareness of her.
And wouldn’t my brothers have a laugh if they found out I actually considered getting chatty?
“You always this helpful?” Her voice held a lighter note now, teasing almost.
“No.” The truth came out flat, honest. I shrugged to take away any sting I might have caused her. “But I think I like you. I help people I like.”
She smiled at that, a small curve of her lips that transformed her face. Made her look younger, less guarded. “I feel special?”
I met her gaze directly, letting her see the sincerity. “You should always feel special.” There. I managed to string more than three words together. Progress.
The color returned to her cheeks, deeper this time. She looked away first, ducking her head and letting the thick wave of auburn curls partially cover her face.
We finished the cleanup quickly after that, disposing of the ruined eggs and soiled paper towels. “Um, I should get going.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “Will I see you next time?”
I moved to the counter where I’d left the envelope earlier.
The brothers had pitched in again, probably more than was reasonable.
But no one had objected when Hannah suggested increasing the amount.
I walked back to where she stood near her car, envelope in hand.
She watched me approach, her hand on the door handle, but she didn’t get inside the car.
“Yours.” I held it out.
Her eyes widened when she felt the weight of it. “This is too much.”
“No.” I kept my voice firm. “It’s not. Everyone chipped in. They’re grateful.” I cleared my throat and swallowed. “Me, too.”
She stared at the envelope, then back at me. Something worked behind her eyes, emotions I couldn’t quite read. Finally, she nodded, tucking the envelope into her back pocket. “You guys order a lot?” The question came out casual, but I heard the real question underneath. Will I see you again?
“We do. Your first delivery was the only time anyone ever showed up. Usually gets cancelled for us after a couple hours.” I paused, knowing I should leave it there.
Knowing I should let her go without pushing, without revealing too much of the desperate hope that had taken root in my chest. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“You planning to keep taking our orders?”
Her expression shifted, softening into something that looked almost like relief. That genuine smile returned, the one that made something warm unfurl behind my ribs. “Looks like I’ll be your regular driver, then.”
The words hit me with unexpected force. Regular. She’d be back. I’d see her again. Christ, I was so fucked. “Good.” The word came out rougher than I intended, loaded with more meaning than I should have let show.
She held my gaze for another heartbeat, something passing between us that felt like acknowledgment. Like she understood exactly what I wasn’t saying. Then she slid into her car, started the engine with that familiar rough cough.
I stepped back, giving her room to reverse. Watched through the windshield as she adjusted her mirrors, tucked hair behind her ear with fingers that still trembled slightly. She glanced up once before pulling away, catching my eye, and I saw my own recognition reflected back at me.
Her car disappeared toward the gate. I stood there long after the sound of her engine faded. My hand came up without conscious thought, fingers finding the scar she’d touched. More in remembrance of her touch than how I’d gotten the scar.
Those few minutes had shifted my insides.
Holding her had shoved me headfirst into a world I wasn’t certain I was ready for or deserved, but a fundamental change burst through me and I felt the alteration in every cell.
The numbness I’d maintained for so fucking long, the careful emotional distance I’d constructed to survive my grief, developed a crack.
And through that fissure, something dangerous had crept in.
Interest. Attraction. The first genuine spark of feeling I’d experienced since Sarah’s murder.
I should have been terrified. Should have recognized this as the threat it was to my carefully maintained equilibrium.
But standing there in the compound with my skin still warm where Cora had touched me, I found I couldn’t muster fear.
Only anticipation and the certainty that everything had just changed, and there was no going back.
She’d come to me again. And I’d be waiting, this spark she’d ignited already burning brighter than it should, already threatening to consume the careful walls I’d built around what remained of my heart.
I knew these feelings weren’t rational and I felt like some kind of stalker fixating on a young woman who’d showed me a kind smile.
And maybe that’s all it was on her part.
I needed to take a step back, stay away from her anytime she came around but I knew I wouldn’t.
Dangerous and reckless didn’t begin to describe how that scenario would play out.
But inevitable. For the first time in six years, I looked forward to tomorrow.
And I’d be Goddamned if I willingly gave up the reason my soul finally showed signs of coming back to life.