Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Romeo
The highway stretched endlessly ahead of me, white lines disappearing beneath the bike as the miles accumulated between Rosewood and what I’d done there.
The steady rumble of the engine should’ve cleared my head.
Usually, enough road could do that. Tonight, every vibration through the handlebars found the split skin across my knuckles and brought Dennis Coleman’s face right back with it.
My phone buzzed inside my jacket.
I ignored it. The road was too dark and the wind too strong to take one hand off the bars safely.
A minute later, it buzzed again.
The third time, I knew it was her.
There weren’t many people who’d keep texting after I didn’t answer. There was only one who could make me start looking for the next exit.
A gas station appeared a few miles later, with a single semi idling near the far pumps. I pulled beneath the canopy, killed the engine, and dug my phone out of my jacket.
Ma Belle: You home yet?
A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it.
Me: Not yet.
Ma Belle: You left after breakfast yesterday. You should’ve been home hours ago.
I leaned against the bike and read it again. Knowing she’d kept track of the miles and the hours that lay between us, hit me in the chest.
Me: You keeping track of me, Cher?
Me: And here I thought you wouldn’t miss me until tomorrow.
Ma Belle: You did leave after breakfast, right?
The smile faded.
That woman’s instincts were going to become a serious problem for me.
I looked at my knuckles before flexing my fingers. She didn’t need to know what kept me in Rosewood after I’d pulled away from Granny’s house or what I’d had to scrub from my hands before finally pointing the bike toward Nebraska.
Me: I left your house after breakfast.
Ma Belle: Jasper.
I could practically hear her saying my name, and there wasn’t an ounce of flirtation in it.
I wouldn’t lie to her. That had never been an option. It didn’t mean she was entitled to every detail of what I did with every hour after I left her porch.
Me: The bike gave me some trouble. Then I hit traffic. I stopped for a few hours instead of pushing through tired.
All true. The loose bolt had been real. So had the traffic. By the time I finally put Rosewood behind me, pushing straight through would’ve been stupid.
Ma Belle: Are you okay?
My hand loosened around the phone. Of all the questions she could’ve asked, that was the one she chose. The one that would do me in.
Me: I’m fine. The bike’s fine. And now I know you’ve been thinking about me.
Ma Belle: I was wondering where you were.
Me: Sounds even better.
I could picture the eye roll that answer probably earned me, but the thought didn’t last long.
Ma Belle: Something happened last night.
Me: What happened?
Ma Belle: Someone broke into Dennis Coleman’s house.
Me: Who the fuck is Dennis Coleman?
Ma Belle: The man who kept asking me out.
Me: The asshole from breakfast?
Ma Belle: Yes. Someone broke into his house and beat him up.
Beat him up was exactly the way Fiona would word it. Dennis had the shit beat out of him and walked away understanding three things he’d apparently failed to grasp on his own: Fiona wasn’t interested. Her answer wasn’t negotiable. And staying in Rosewood would be a very bad decision.
Me: Can’t say I’m upset about that.
Ma Belle: JASPER!
A laugh escaped me. She sounded scandalized on behalf of a man she didn’t even like.
Me: Cher, the man didn’t know how to take a fucking hint.
Ma Belle: For one second, I wondered if it was you.
The amusement disappeared. I read the line twice. One second. For at least that long, she’d looked at what happened to Dennis Coleman and thought of me. The question was what she’d done with the thought afterward.
Me: Don’t think for one second I didn’t want to.
Ma Belle: That isn’t an answer.
No, it wasn’t. It was as close as I could get without giving her something I wasn’t ready for her to carry.
Me: Did they catch whoever did it?
Ma Belle: I don’t think so. Dennis told Sheriff Brewer the person wore a mask, so he couldn’t identify them.
Me: Shame. I’d like to shake his hand.
Ma Belle: That’s terrible
Me: You think I’m terrible?
Ma Belle: Occasionally
Me: Yet you’re worried about me.
Ma Belle: I’m reconsidering it
Me: Too late. I already enjoyed it.
That was probably more truth than she realized. I liked knowing she’d noticed I was late. Liked that some part of her day had been occupied by wondering where I was and whether I was safe.
There’d been a time when I could disappear for days without anybody asking questions. Now a girl in Virginia knew how long it took me to get home.
Ma Belle: Dennis told Mr. Talbot he quit.
I straightened, satisfaction washing over me.
Me: His job?
Ma Belle: Yes. He’s leaving Rosewood.
Well, hell. I’d expected Dennis to need a few days before common sense fully took hold. Apparently, I’d made myself clearer than I thought.
Me: Sounds like the man finally learned how to take a hint.
Ma Belle: You’re awful
Me: And you’re still checking on me.
Ma Belle: Because you should be home.
Me: Say you missed me.
Never had I hated those fucking dots more than when I waited for her to admit she missed me.
Ma Belle: Text me when you get there.
I shook my head.
Me: That’s not what I asked.
Ma Belle: Ride safe, Jasper.
There she went again, stepping neatly around the answer while somehow giving me one anyway.
Me: Miss you too, Cher.
Ma Belle: I didn’t say that.
Me: You didn’t have to.
Ma Belle: Goodnight.
Me: Dors bien, Ma Belle. I’ll text when I’m home.
The screen went dark in my hand, but I stayed beside the bike for another minute.
For one second, I wondered if it was you.
That sentence bothered me more than it should have. Not because Fiona had suspected me. Not because she’d been right. But because I was too much of a pussy to ask her how it made her feel.
Months ago, I might’ve enjoyed that. There was a part of me that liked being underestimated right up until the moment I showed somebody exactly what I was capable of.
Fiona was different.
She’d grown up around the Sons of Hell long enough to understand motorcycle clubs weren’t social organizations with matching leather jackets.
She wasn’t na?ve about violence. Knowing it existed was different from knowing I’d committed it because someone made her uncomfortable.
I didn’t want her lying awake wondering whether Dennis’s injuries belonged partly to her.
They didn’t. She’d done exactly what she should’ve done.
She’d said no.
Dennis had decided that wasn’t enough.
Everything after that belonged to him.
I slid my phone back into my jacket and flexed my aching hand before reaching for my helmet.
Someday, Fiona would see more than flowers, prom dates, and the man who made her laugh over text.
There would come a point when she’d understand that the same hands careful enough to fasten a corsage around her wrist could also put a motherfucker in the ground when he crossed the wrong line.
I didn’t know what she’d think of me when that happened.
That uncertainty sat strangely in my chest.
I’d spent months convinced I could wait for Fiona to choose me. I’d thought patience was the difficult part.
Maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe the harder part would be standing still when she finally saw all of me and letting her decide whether she still wanted what she found.
I pulled on my helmet and started the bike.
Dennis was leaving Rosewood. Fiona wouldn’t have to see him at the hardware store, the grocery store, or standing beside her table asking for another chance after she’d already told him no.
That was enough.
I didn’t need her gratitude.
I sure as hell didn’t want her guilt.
The highway opened in front of me again as I pulled away from the gas station, Nebraska still hours ahead.
I’d promised Fiona I’d text when I got home.
For tonight, keeping that promise was the only thing she needed from me.