Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Romeo
The clubhouse was always quiet in the winter months. King and the officers were once again holed up in church, Tank and Big Ben were towing cars from snowbanks, and Ace was probably tangled up with Crystal or Jade. Maybe both. The furnace coughed beneath the silence, losing its fight with the cold.
Snow crowded the window in heavy flakes, swallowing the parking lot one tire track at a time. I tucked my hands beneath my arms. Louisiana cold had never bitten through walls and leather like this.
My phone buzzed.
Ma Belle: I have a complaint about your playlist
I grinned as I unlocked the screen.
Me: Impossible. It’s flawless.
Ma Belle: There are three songs about women ruining men’s lives.
Me: Educational material.
Ma Belle: And two about running from the law.
Me: Aspirational material.
I could see the eye roll from Nebraska. That little crease would form between her brows right before her mouth betrayed her and curved into a smile.
Fuck, I wanted to see that smile in person.
Ma Belle: Should I be worried?
Me: Only if you plan to ruin my life.
Ma Belle: That sounds suspicious.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Suspicious?
She had no idea.
Me: Which song did you like?
Ma Belle: The last one.
Me: That’s the only love song.
Ma Belle: I noticed.
That wiped the grin off my face.
She’d listened to the whole damn playlist.
More importantly, she’d noticed which song didn’t belong with the rest.
The one I’d buried at the end where I could pretend it hadn’t been put there for a reason.
Me: Interesting.
Ma Belle: Don’t make it weird.
Me: I haven’t said anything.
Ma Belle: You’re being smug through text.
Me: It’s a gift.
Ma Belle: It’s irritating.
Me: You keep replying.
Ma Belle: Someone has to humble you.
Me: That sounds like a long-term commitment.
I watched the screen.
Nothing.
The three dots appeared, vanished, then came back.
Maybe I’d pushed that one too far.
Ma Belle: You wish.
Me: Maybe.
Well, fuck.
Maybe sat there on the screen, looking a hell of a lot more honest than I’d intended.
I could’ve followed it with a joke. Probably should’ve. Something charming and stupid enough to turn the whole exchange back into harmless flirting.
I didn’t.
That bothered me more than the word itself.
She was eighteen, still finishing high school, still figuring out where she wanted her life to go. I was thirty-one, wore a cut, carried a gun, and knew exactly what I wanted.
Her.
That certainty belonged to me. It didn’t need to become pressure on her.
Not yet.
The front door opened, letting in a blast of frigid air and a flurry of snow. Ace stomped inside, shaking ice from his boots and pulling off his gloves.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” he muttered, heading straight for the coffee pot in the corner.
“It’s winter in Nebraska,” I said without looking up from my phone. “What’d you expect?”
Zero came in behind him, already complaining. “I didn’t expect to move to the North fucking Pole. This shit is brutal.”
He poured himself a cup and dropped into the chair across from me.
Ace grabbed his own coffee and leaned against the counter, studying me. “You’ve been glued to that phone for weeks, man. What’s got your attention?”
I looked at him.
He waited.
So did Zero.
I smiled and looked back at my phone.
That was all they were getting.
Ace sighed, finished his coffee, and straightened. “Church is in an hour. King wants everyone there.”
“I’ll be there.”
He headed out, leaving Zero to bitch about Nebraska winters while I checked my phone again.
No new message.
Fiona was probably at school. Or the Creamery. Or doing any one of a hundred things that had absolutely nothing to do with me.
As she should.
I hated how reasonable that sounded.
I wanted to call her. Hear her voice, her laugh, the way she said Jasper instead of Romeo like the name belonged to a different man than the one everyone else knew.
But I’d already texted her.
So the phone stayed in my hand.
The call button stayed untouched.
Look at me being fucking civilized.
The uglier part of me wanted the exact opposite. It wanted her here, where I could see her. Where I’d know she was safe without having to wait for a message telling me so. Where every bastard who looked at her would know there wasn’t a chance in hell.
That part of me had terrible fucking manners.
Good thing I wasn’t letting him make the decisions.
Yet.
The next morning, I woke to six inches of fresh snow and a text from Fiona.
Ma Belle: Good morning.
I hadn’t even gotten both eyes open before I was smiling.
Me: Morning, Cher. You up early?
Ma Belle: Granny made pancakes.
Me: Lucky you.
Ma Belle: She made enough for an army. I think she forgets it’s just me and her.
I pictured Fiona sitting at Granny’s kitchen table with sleep still in her eyes and a stack of pancakes in front of her.
The image came too easily.
So did the next one.
Same kitchen. Different morning. Me sitting across from her while she gave me shit over something stupid. Maybe coffee. Maybe breakfast. Maybe the fact that I’d been staring at her instead of eating.
Jesus.
I was mentally moving into Granny’s kitchen now.
Me: Serious question.
Ma Belle: You’ve never asked one of those.
Me: Cruel.
Ma Belle: Accurate.
I grinned.
Me: How do you take your coffee?
Ma Belle: Why?
Me: I’m judging you.
Ma Belle: Cream and sugar.
Me: Acceptable.
Ma Belle: What would’ve been unacceptable?
Me: Anything involving pumpkin.
Ma Belle: I like pumpkin.
I laughed, the sound carrying through my empty room.
Me: We’ll work through it.
Ma Belle: We?
My fingers stopped.
We.
One stupid little word I’d typed without thinking. Apparently, my subconscious had gotten tired of waiting for the rest of me to behave.
Me: As your friend, I feel responsible for your questionable choices.
Ma Belle: That sounds exhausting.
Me: I’m prepared to make the sacrifice.
Ma Belle: Very noble.
Me: I have my moments.
Ma Belle: What about your coffee?
Me: Black.
Ma Belle: Of course.
Me: What does that mean?
Ma Belle: You like pretending you’re tougher than you are.
My grin faded.
Well, hell.
Most people saw the cut first. The tattoos. The charm. The reputation.
Even after such a short time, Fiona was somehow already poking at what sat underneath all of it.
Me: You already see through me.
Ma Belle: That wasn’t difficult.
Me: Still counts as intimacy.
Ma Belle: I don’t think that word means what you think it means.
Me: Give me time.
I stared at the message after I sent it.
Give me time.
There it was again. Not a joke exactly. Not the truth either.
At least not enough of it to scare her.
I lay back against the pillows and rested the phone on my chest.
Weeks of messages had taught me more about Fiona than one night at the ski resort ever could have. She hated oatmeal. Apparently had terrible opinions about pumpkin. Worked too much. Loved Granny enough that nearly every story somehow circled back to her.
And she kept coming back to me.
That mattered more than I wanted to admit.
I thought about the way she’d looked at me that night at the resort, those silver eyes uncertain while she tried so damn hard not to let me see how badly Joseph had hurt her.
Then she’d kissed my cheek.
One soft kiss that shouldn’t have meant a damn thing.
I could still feel it.
My phone buzzed again.
Ma Belle: I have to get ready for school. Text you later?
I read the question twice.
She could’ve just said goodbye.
Instead, she was asking if she could come back.
Me: Yeah, Cher. Be safe.
Ma Belle: Always.
I smiled.
Always.
One word. Probably tossed off without a second thought as she started getting ready for school.
I knew better than to make it more than it was.
Didn’t stop me from wanting to.
I set the phone beside me and stared at the ceiling.
One day, maybe that word would mean something different between us.
Maybe it wouldn’t.
That part wasn’t mine to decide.
For now, she said she’d text me later.
And apparently, that was enough to make a grown man grin at his fucking ceiling.