Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Fiona
The ceiling fan turned lazy circles above my bed, shifting shadows across the walls each time the blades passed through the light coming in from the street. I’d been watching them long enough that I should’ve fallen asleep from sheer boredom.
Instead, my brain kept returning to the phone on my nightstand.
It hadn’t really been silent for three days. Jasper still answered me, but the easy conversations that usually stretched from one subject to another had disappeared. Now our exchanges amounted to a few words here. A short answer there. Hours between them.
Nothing I could point to and call wrong.
That almost made it worse.
I told myself it was club business. Jasper had a life in Nebraska that existed whether I was part of it or not, and I knew enough about motorcycle clubs to understand that some things took priority when they happened.
Still, the distance between Virginia and Nebraska seemed bigger when he wasn’t filling it with messages.
I rolled onto my side and stared at the dark screen.
Maybe I’d pushed too hard.
The thought had been circling for two days no matter how often I tried to dismiss it. Asking what he was wearing. Flirting more openly. Practically admitting that I’d thought about kissing him. Prom had felt like something changed between us, but maybe that had only been true for me.
Jasper had ridden all that way because he knew I wanted to go.
He was kind enough to do that.
That didn’t automatically mean anything else. Except kind men didn’t usually look at women the way Jasper had looked at me on Granny’s porch.
Did they?
I groaned softly and grabbed my phone. This was ridiculous. I could either spend another hour inventing explanations for his silence or ask him. My thumb hovered over his name.
Me: Are you busy?
The message delivered and nothing happened. I put the phone face down beside me and told myself I wasn’t going to stare at it.
Ten seconds later, I turned it over. Still nothing.
Wonderful.
I dropped onto my back, annoyed at myself for caring this much. Jasper didn’t owe me immediate answers. We weren’t dating. We hadn’t even kissed. Apparently, somebody needed to explain that to the nervous knot beneath my ribs.
When the phone finally buzzed, I grabbed it so quickly it nearly slipped from my hand.
Jasper: Always have time for you, Cher.
Relief arrived before I could stop it, followed almost immediately by irritation.
Me: You haven’t lately.
I regretted the message the second it left my phone. It sounded needy, as if I expected him to report in every few hours simply because we’d gotten used to talking that often.
Jasper: Fair.
I frowned. There was no argument. No flirtatious excuse. Just... fair.
Me: Is everything okay?
Jasper: Club business got complicated.
That could have meant almost anything with the Silver Shadows.
Me: Complicated how?
Jasper: Got into a fight with a very large asshole.
My stomach tightened for a completely different reason.
Me: Why?
Jasper: Amber.
I stared at the name.
Amber.
I didn’t know an Amber.
Me: Who’s Amber?
My stomach churned as I watched the dots flicker, afraid of his response.
Jasper: One of the club girls.
My stomach sank a little farther.
Club girl.
I knew what that meant. The Sons of Hell had women around too, and Georgie had made enough comments over the years that I understood what some of those relationships involved.
Women who belonged around men like Jasper.
Women who understood that world without having to ask questions.
Women who knew exactly what they were doing with men.
Unlike me.
Me: Oh.
Jasper: That was a very small word.
Of course he noticed.
Me: I’m sure you’re busy.
There. Easy. He didn’t need to explain anything to me. Maybe he was helping her. Maybe one of the other guys was being too rough and Jasper stepped in. Fighting over her didn’t mean he wanted her.
Jasper: Fiona.
My name stopped the thoughts tumbling through my head.
Not Cher.
Not Ma Belle.
Fiona.
Me: What?
Jasper: Amber had nothing to do with me.
I read the message again before replying. Giving myself time to garner the courage to ask.
Me: You fought over her.
Jasper: Massacre and I fought because of her. We weren’t fighting over her.
Me: There’s a difference?
Jasper: A very important one, Cher.
I should’ve let it go there.
Instead, my mind supplied an image of some beautiful woman in leather standing beside Jasper at the clubhouse. Someone his age. Someone who wouldn’t need him to constantly slow down or wonder whether he was doing the right thing.
Me: I haven’t heard much from you.
I sent it before deciding where I was going with the sentence.
Jasper: Because the asshole who broke my wrist needed my help staying alive.
I blinked. Then read it again.
Broke my wrist.
The jealousy vanished so quickly I almost felt foolish for having entertained it at all.
Me: You’re helping him?
Jasper: Club business rarely makes sense from the outside.
Apparently not.
He’d been injured badly enough to break a bone, dealing with something serious enough that the man responsible still needed his help, and I’d spent three days wondering whether he’d decided prom was a mistake.
That should’ve ended the Amber question.
It didn’t because apparently that courage I pulled from the depths of my soul had taken over.
Me: And the girl?
I winced at myself immediately. What was I doing? Jasper’s answer arrived without hesitation.
Jasper: Means nothing to me.
Four words. No flirtation. No joke. No careful turn of phrase that gave him somewhere to hide. Just blunt honesty.
Me: You don’t have to explain.
Jasper: I do when you’re sitting in Virginia thinking I don’t want to talk to you.
Heat crept into my cheeks even though nobody was there to see it. He always saw my insecurity. Somehow, from miles away and a handful of short texts, Jasper knew exactly where my mind had gone.
Me: You could’ve told me you were busy.
Jasper: I should have.
That answer caught me off guard more than an excuse would have.
He didn’t tell me I was overreacting. He didn’t remind me that club business wasn’t mine to question. He simply admitted he should’ve said something.
Me: Yes, you should have.
Jasper: You going to forgive me?
My mouth twitched.
There he was.
Me: Maybe.
Jasper: Good. I like a challenge.
I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
Me: Go take care of your wrist.
Jasper: Only after you tell me you missed me.
My fingers stopped over the screen.
He’d been trying to get me to admit something that would make this bigger than what I’d convinced myself it was.
The problem was, saying I missed you meant acknowledging that I’d noticed his absence because his presence had become something I expected.
That the hours without him felt different now.
That he’d become important enough to leave a space when he wasn’t there.
I wasn’t ready to hand him all of that.
Me: Goodnight, Jasper.
His response came almost immediately.
Jasper: Missed you too, Cher.
I stared at the screen.
He’d said it first.
There was no demand for me to return it and no joke afterward to make the admission smaller.
Just missed you too.
I let my head sink farther into the pillow as the tightness I’d carried for the last three days finally began to loosen.
Jasper hadn’t been pulling away.
Whatever had happened in Nebraska had swallowed his attention for a few days, and he’d admitted he should’ve told me instead of leaving me to wonder. More importantly, when he realized exactly what I’d been wondering, he hadn’t made me feel stupid for it.
He’d simply answered.
I read his last message one more time before setting the phone on the nightstand.
Missed you too, Cher.
A few months ago, I probably would’ve spent the rest of the night taking those four words apart, trying to determine exactly how much they meant.
Tonight, I let them mean what they said.
He’d missed me.
I closed my eyes, and for the first time in three nights, sleep didn’t feel very far away.