24. Plums
Temper
My fiery Temper, I love you because you see the monster in me and still choose to stand your ground. Unafraid, willing to meet my darkness on your own savage terms.
Sigh. Block.
My fiery Temper, I love you because you drink coffee like it's the only thing keeping the world from falling apart. And if anyone even looks at your cup the wrong way, they're dead to you.
He just can't help himself. And I can’t help myself from reading his shit, either. I'm as stupid as him.
I block the number.
My fiery Temper, I love you because no matter how much you fight me, hate me, burn me alive, you and I both know: there will never be a world where I don't belong to you.
Fuck, he's relentless. It's kind of worrying.
Bones
Three days later, I roll back into Silverpine, exhaustion hanging off me like a second skin. It's been a long fucking week, and I don't even have the time to feel it. The plan for Jinx is moving forward without a hitch — exactly as it should. Years of refining every last detail, running every possible scenario, ensuring no loose ends. It had to be flawless. It had to be undeniable.
For over four years, I told myself I'd let the government handle him, let justice do its thing. Let the state fry him, let them wipe his stain off the world. But the motherfucker just had to stir the shit, had to fight his sentence, had to claw his way back into the realm of the living like he wasn't already marked for death.
Now? Now, I can't take the chance that he'll breathe air for the rest of his life. Even if it's behind bars. That's not justice. That's not enough. That's unacceptable.
I step into the clubhouse, the familiar scent grounding me, but my mind is already ahead, moving, calculating. I find Tank first, because there's only one thing I need to know right now.
"How is she?" I ask, not bothering with greetings.
"Ghost is watching her now," Tank answers, his face serious. "She's been at the office every night, working till the early morning. Barely goes home. Looks exhausted."
Of course she does.
I clench my jaw, a familiar ache settling in my chest. I know how she is. She might have changed, might have sharpened her edges into steel, but the woman she was isn't completely gone.
She never could sleep when she was stressed. And this Jinx shit means stress. It used to drive me crazy. Watching her go days barely functioning on scraps of rest, trying to bury herself in work, in distractions, in anything that could keep her mind from spiraling. Back then, I had a cure. I knew how to force her into sleep, into peace. Tear her down with pleasure, wear her out, fuck her until her body gave out and her mind had no choice but to shut down.
It worked every damn time.
I exhale sharply, shoving the thought out of my head before it has a chance to root itself any deeper. I can't think about that. Not when we are where we are. I need to focus.
I nod at Tank, dismissing him, already halfway out the door.
I need to see her.
I need to check on her with my own two eyes.
Before I can leave, a prospect steps forward, holding out the package I've been waiting for. My pulse kicks up. Perfect timing.
Surprisingly, I don't have to break in or bang on the door for Temper to let me inside the building.
It's open.
The moment I step into the reception area, I spot the reason why.
Ghost is sprawled on the tiny red sofa, looking like a fucking giant in a dollhouse. His arms are crossed over his chest, his long legs stretched out, the picture of casual indifference.
His bored gaze meets mine, and he raises an eyebrow like he's been expecting me.
"Does Temper know you're inside?" I ask, stepping closer.
"She's the one who invited me in." His lips twitch, something resembling amusement flickering in his usually dead eyes. "Didn't want me to freeze my balls off outside. Might need them in the future."
I blink. The fuck?
"That's... fucking surprising."
"No shit." He stands, rolling his shoulders like he's been stiff for too long. "I guess I'll be taking my leave now. Have fun." His tone is dry, laced with sarcasm.
I shoot him a half-smile. "See you later, smartass."
He just shakes his head and strolls out, leaving me standing there, staring at the closed door to her office.
For a second, I hesitate. Just a second.
And for the first time in probably ever, I knock.
A deep sigh drifts through the door. A second later, I hear her voice.
"Come in."
I push the door open and step inside, closing it softly behind me.
She's hunched over her desk, the glow of three monitors casting an eerie light over her features. The dark circles under her eyes stand out against her pale skin. She looks worn down. Like she hasn't had a full night's sleep in weeks.
And when her gaze lifts to meet mine, my chest fucking aches.
Her eyes are red. Tired.
"I guess vacation time for me is over. What are you doing here, Bones?"
She leans back in her chair, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, her body tense but her voice resigned. She's running on fumes.
I take a seat across from her, resting my forearms on my knees. "Just wanted to let you know the Luca problem is taken care of," I say evenly.
She folds her arms, narrowing her eyes. "You could've told me that tomorrow. Or better yet, told one of your minions to pass the message along to me."
I sigh. Of course she's going to make this difficult. "I heard you're not sleeping," I say, watching her carefully. "Thought I might help."
Her eyes widen, then narrow again in suspicion. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Not like that," I wink. "At least not yet."
She huffs, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. "I don't know why your audacity still surprises me."
I shrug. "I do what I can to keep you on your toes." My gaze flickers behind me. "Saw you took pity on Ghost."
Her lips curve into something that might've been amusement if she wasn't so damn exhausted. "Yeah, well, I'm trying to walk a new path. A less bloody one. New me and all that. See if this works to calm my raging anger whenever I see your stupid faces."
Her words are sharp, but the heat isn't there. She's too fucking tired to fight me the way she usually does.
If I was a good man, I'd leave her alone. Let her rest, let her rebuild herself in peace.
But I'm not a good man. And I need her like air.
So I'm not above using the cracks in her armor to wedge myself in deeper.
"Let me take you for a ride on my bike," I say, my voice dropping low, coaxing. Tempting. "You know it always tires you out. You need sleep, Temper."
Her gaze sharpens. Wary. Defiant. "No way am I getting on your bike, Bones."
I sigh. "It wouldn't mean you're giving up something, Temper. I know how much you loved riding. And it'll help you sleep. Without those pills you hate so much. I found a great viewpoint outside of town. It'll help calm those knotted thoughts I bet are storming inside your mind right now."
Silence.
I watch her closely, waiting for the fight, the cold rejection. But instead, her fingers trace the rim of a cup on her desk, her nails clicking lightly against the ceramic. She's considering it.
Then, her voice comes, soft, almost fragile. "You know... I was with the Riders since I turned fifteen. That's when I entered their clubhouse first. I was always around them. At first because I wanted to. And then because I couldn't get away. I spent eight years with them in total." Her throat bobs. "Not once was I given a bike ride. Not even once."
Her eyes lift, locking onto mine. "You gave me one on our first date. Two days after we met." Her voice is so quiet it's almost lost in the hum of the monitors. "Why?"
I exhale slowly, the weight of that memory pressing into my chest. "Because it felt right. It felt like something I'd been waiting for my whole life. When you got on the back of my bike and put your arms around me, it felt like some missing piece of myself finally came home."
She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. It sounds like breaking glass.
"Those words are so beautiful," she murmurs, shaking her head. "Because when I got behind you on that bike for the first time, it also felt like coming home for me, too."
Then she lifts her gaze, and her voice turns cold. "And in spite of this, you still condemned me the first chance you got. Based on the word of one snake."
The weight of her stare crushes me.
"I don't deserve any justification for what I did, Temper," I say, my voice raw. "But you should know that it wasn't just the club whore's words. Ghost investigated. Confirmed your connection—"
"Oh, I know." Her tone is laced with scorn. "He also asked you to wait, to find out everything—"
"Yes, he did." I cut in before she can go any further. No excuses. No lies. Just the fucking truth. "I was just about to tell you that. I won't deny it. Unfortunately, I got too far inside my own head to think clearly anymore. Fear. Panic. The feeling of betrayal. It overwhelmed me like nothing else before. Because it was connected to you."
I pause, my jaw tightening. "I've looked back a million times. If it were anyone else, I know I would've kept my cool. But it was you. The woman who owned me completely, body and soul."
I shake my head. "I'm not looking for excuses, Temper. They don't exist. There is no real redemption for what I did to you. My fear, my trust issues from what happened to Ghost, my inability to think clearly because it was connected to the only woman I ever loved, the only one with true power over me... those are my failings. Only mine. It's all on me. I'm so fucking sorry. I wish I could turn back time, but I can't. I can't take anything I did back."
I bow my head, a heavy exhale escaping me.
"I hurt you," I whisper. "And I'll never be able to forgive myself for that, no matter what."
I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet her gaze.
"So I know it's fucking hypocritical to ask you to ever forgive what I did. To ever look at me and see beyond the monster I created. I know how fucked up that is."
I swallow hard, my voice breaking apart.
"But I can't stop, Temper. I'm connected to you on a level I never would have imagined. I never thought a woman would ever hold this much power over me. But you do. You fucking do."
She doesn't say anything.
The silence stretches between us, thick but not suffocating. For the first time since I walked back into her life, it's not filled with barbed wire and landmines, ready to tear me apart.
I watch her carefully, committing every detail to memory. The way she tilts her head slightly, lost in thought, her gaze pinned somewhere over my shoulder. The way her fingers twitch like she wants to grab something, or maybe push something away.
I take a risk.
I stand, my movements slow, measured, careful not to break whatever fragile moment this is. This truce, if only for a breath. I hold out my hand to her, palm up, open, an invitation stretched between us like a razor-thin wire.
"Let's go for a ride, beautiful." My voice is steady, but my pulse is anything but. My heart hammers against my ribs like a fucking caged animal, desperate, clawing.
I see it, the war raging behind her eyes. The battle she's fighting against herself, against me, against the past that never really left. She's teetering on the edge of something, balancing between the person she was and the person she's become.
I pushed as far as I could tonight. Now, it's her choice.
It feels like eternity is stretching before me, an endless road of waiting, of never knowing if I'll ever get her back in any way that fucking matters. Fear whispers its ugly truths in the back of my mind. That she'll never remember the good. That only the bad will remain, festering like an open wound between us. That every moment where our souls connected, where she was mine, is dead. Forgotten. Buried under the weight of my sins.
I'm drowning in my own thoughts, trying to seem unaffected, when her hand moves. Just barely.
Her fingers brush against mine, the softest fucking touch, like a ghost of something lost. Then, just as quickly, she snatches her hand back and stands from her chair.
"I'll go for a ride," she says, her voice firm, unyielding. Like a warning. Like a fucking wall. "But it doesn't mean anything, Bones. I just want to do it because I liked it before."
I nod, forcing a small smile even as my ribs tighten around my lungs. "I understand."
It feels like I just crawled out from under a fucking mountain.
The road stretches ahead of us, an endless ribbon of asphalt winding through the trees. The cool night air whips against my skin, but I barely feel it. All I feel is her.
Her arms around me. The press of her body against my back. The way she shifts slightly, tilting her head toward the sky, soaking in the stars above. We move together, in sync, with every curve of the road, every shift in the wind, as if we were made for this. As if we were made for each other.
The heat of her body burns through my cut, through my shirt, straight into my fucking soul. I feel alive again.
And yet, it's like holding a flame in my hands. Beautiful, intoxicating, but impossible to hold onto forever. Because I know this moment is fleeting. I know that this is temporary. That no matter how much I want to keep her here, with me, it will disappear like smoke slipping through my fingers.
But for now?
Fuck if I won't savor every second of it.
The towering trees blur past us, shadows swallowed by the night. She tightens her hold around me, and I swear, I could die in this moment and be okay with it.
Just her. Always just her.
An hour later, I pull into the viewpoint I found on one of the nights when desperation rode me too hard, when I needed to escape. The air is crisp, still, untouched. Silverpine lies in the distance, a soft glimmer. The moon oversees everything like an ancient goddess. And the goddess beside me takes everything in with a deep serenity. A serenity I haven't seen in her ever since I came back into her life.
The world feels smaller up here. Quiet. Like it's waiting for something to happen.
"I've been living here for over four years, and yet I never found this spot," she whispers in awe, her voice carrying into the night. "It's so beautiful."
I keep my eyes on her. "Definitely beautiful." She doesn't see me looking at her when I say it.
I reach into my saddlebag, pulling out the small box I've been waiting to give her. "I have something for you."
She turns, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? The bike ride wasn't enough?"
Her tone is teasing, light, playful. It slams into my chest with the force of a cannon ball. I didn't think I'd ever hear that again. That small glimpse of the woman I lost. For months, I've had to force hope into my chest, beat it into submission just to keep from falling apart. I had to believe that maybe, just once, she'd look at me without hate again.
And now, here she is, standing before me, no venom in her words, no anger in her eyes.
I clear my throat, swallowing past the ache threatening to choke me. "I remember how much you liked these when we went to that German shop. You bought their entire stash." I hand her the box, watching her reaction.
She blinks, and for a second, I see the old her. The wide, round eyes, the excitement barely contained in her features.
"Heidi's chocolate-covered plums..." she whispers, clutching the box to her chest like it's a lifeline. "I haven't been able to order these here. Did you know the brand's not even German? I don't know why they had these in that shop! You are absolutely awful for this! I managed to regift everything you left on my porch until now!" She glares at the box like it personally betrayed her. "I can't regift this!"
I feign offense. "You've been giving away all of my gifts?"
She looks at me like I'm a complete idiot. "What did you think I would do?"
Then, she pauses, tilting her head slightly, a smug smirk curling her lips. "Be thankful I didn't take out a restraining order against you. I played around with the idea for a long time."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "It wouldn't have stopped me."
She sighs, dramatically, like she's already exasperated with me. "I know. That's the only thing that made me decide it wasn't worth the headache. And I also preferred my other plan . Just so you know, I also thought about calling the FBI on your ass again. But I did become a kidnapper in the meantime so... I had to scratch that idea."
I smile, leaning back against the cool metal of my bike, watching her with something close to admiration. "They have zero evidence on me or the club. And they wouldn't get any no matter how many times you called them."
She hums in response, already dismissing the conversation, opening the small box of chocolates with the same kind of eagerness that she used to have when she would steal my t-shirts after we made love. Like she wasn't doing anything significant, but it meant something all the same.
Her fingers work quickly, unwrapping one of the chocolate-covered plums, and she brings it to her lips, biting down slowly, savoring it. And then she groans.
It's quiet, barely there, but fuck, I feel it everywhere inside me.
A sound I haven't heard in years.
A sound that used to mean she was completely at ease with me, wrapped up in pleasure, lost in something so damn simple yet powerful.
And for a second, I feel fucking feral. Like I want to steal every sound like that from her lips, make her remember all the other ways she's made that noise before.
Her eyes flutter open, meeting mine, and something flickers between us. An old ghost. A shadow of something that used to be effortless. Before I ruined everything.
She clears her throat, breaking eye contact, shifting slightly as if realizing what just happened. "Still as good as I remember."
I swallow, fighting the heat crawling up my spine. "Yeah?"
She nods, chewing slowly, savoring the taste.
"I am curious to know what happened when the FBI came knocking," she muses, looking at me with wide eyes. She's fucking adorable.
I smirk. "They didn't find anything. Obviously, since I'm standing here. But they did destroy the clubhouse. That was a mess. Man-sized holes in the walls, floorboards ripped apart, furniture smashed to shit."
"Oh, they really wanted to nail you guys," she says, smiling wickedly.
"Yeah, cost us a pretty penny to hide every piece of evidence and then put everything back in shape," I deadpan.
She shrugs, completely unfazed. "Too bad, so sad."
I laugh. Fuck, I actually laugh.
She turns and sits, her attention back on the view. I sit beside her.
For the first time in years, we exist in silence.
A real silence. Not the one filled with darkness, pain and jagged edges, but something almost... comfortable.
Minutes pass before her voice cuts through the night. It's quiet, hesitant. "Bones, how do you deal with the rage? The one inside you that never seems to go away?" She exhales softly. "You seem knowledgeable about all things rage."
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "My rage isn't like yours, Temper. Your demon is different. Mine is actually guilt. It took me a long time to realize it. And an ass-handing from Pops." I let out a breath, staring at the town below us. "I fight it every day. I find ways to push myself away from it. Because I know that if I let it consume me, it will devour me whole. There would come a moment when I'd wake up and there'd be nothing left of me. Just the demon."
She hums in thought. "If you'd ever actually live until that moment. Don't think I don't know it was the guilt that made you take every wound I gave without protest. It did appease my own rage demon, though. But at the same time, it's kind of scary, you know? Just one wrong slash of the knife and you would've been dead." Her voice is so quiet, I almost miss it.
"I would've taken the life of the man who once destroyed me," she continues. "But also the man I once loved, too."
My chest tightens.
"I keep thinking about coming face to face with Jinx." She exhales, slow, calming, like she's trying to stop herself from unraveling. "If your mighty plan that you refuse to talk about comes to fruition, that is. I know for a fact I want to make him hurt. Bleed. Rip him apart. But I don't know if that will help in any way, in the long run. If it won't be just another fleeting relief. Like it was with you. That's what scares me."
"How can I help, Temper?" I whisper.
She sighs. "There's nothing you can do." She looks down at the chocolate in her hand. "We can talk like this here, right now, but we both know that when tomorrow comes, we'll both be back at our battle stations. Feeding our demons."
"The only thing you can actually do is to not offer yourself as a sacrifice ever again. It would be hard to resist making you hurt, Bones, but I've come to realize that hurting you doesn't actually help me. It just makes me lose control. And I don't want to lose control anymore," she whispers.
Fuck that.
I turn fully toward her, my voice like steel. "Temper, I promise I won't let your demon feed on my blood again. I will find a way to help you calm it down. I fucking promise. And with Jinx... we'll see what happens when the time comes. Whatever you decide to do, just remember that you're not alone. And I'm not talking about myself. I'm under no illusions here. But you have Ria and that woman is clearly ready to burn everyone and anyone for you. I think Mama would actually disown me and adopt you, if she could. Layla is going through some tough shit right now, but she wouldn't leave you stranded. If she was there that night, I guarantee she would've had us all at gun point. She almost divorced Joker over what happened. It took him months to make her talk to him again."
She glances at me from the corner of her eye, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. Then, she reaches into the box, plucks out the tiniest chocolate-covered plum, and holds it out to me.
"Do you want to feed your demon something delicious?"
I take it, letting my fingers brush against hers, and pop it into my mouth. It's fucking heaven.
"Shit, I'd feed it this every damn day."
She laughs, actually laughs, and something inside me cracks open.
When it's time to take her home and she gets back on my bike, her arms wrapping around me, her body molding against mine, I feel it — the sadness, the weight of reality creeping back in.
I know these moments are stolen.
But I'll fight for every damn one.
Temper
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. The house is silent, still, wrapped in the kind of quiet that should pull me into sleep. But my brain won't shut the fuck up. It churns, relentless, dragging me through every moment of the last few hours, refusing to let me rest.
Why did I go with him?
Why did it feel so right being on the back of his bike?
Why did having an honest conversation with him bring me more peace than hurting him?
I managed to keep him at a distance these past months. But tonight, he slithered his way toward a moment of truce and it felt… comforting.
I exhale sharply, throwing an arm over my eyes, but it doesn't help. It doesn't block out the memories, the emotions clawing at my insides like they're trying to rip their way free.
For years, my rage has been my foundation. It has been my fuel, my armor, the only thing that has kept me moving forward. But it didn't feel good. Or right. It felt like a tar pit I was drowning in. My therapist tried to steer me away from it, but I dug my heels in, refusing to let go.
I hate it.
I hate him for still having this effect on me.
I hate myself for letting him.
And yet...
The truth is an ugly fucking thing, and it's whispering to me in the quiet.
Hurting him didn't bring me peace. It brought me relief. It was like finally releasing a breath I had been holding for years, like scratching an itch that had been festering beneath my skin. But relief is temporary. And now, all that's left is the exhaustion, the ache of something still unresolved. And the rage coming back. I fear I could lose myself to it completely.
It's a good thing I finally booked a session with Dr. Monroe three weeks from now. My mind is a goddamn mess.
I shift onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me, but my body still feels wired.
I know he's out there.
Somewhere in the darkness, on his bike, parked just far enough to give me space but close enough to act if anything happens.
I should be angry. I should be pissed that he's watching over me.
Instead, my eyes close slowly, and sleep finally comes.
"Baby, wake up," his rough voice whispers, warm and close. "I have a surprise for you."
I groan, barely conscious, curling deeper into the sheets. "What surprise?" My voice is thick with sleep. "Just come hold me. I don't need anything."
His chuckle rumbles beside my ear, deep and indulgent. "I'll hold you anyway, baby."
He kisses my temple, his lips moving slowly, reverently over my skin. Not urgent, not sexual, just a gentle worship of touch. He knows how hard mornings hit me, how long it takes for my mind to crawl out of the fog. He's figured out that his touch is the one thing that wakes me without the usual grumpiness.
He kisses my cheek, my nose, my closed eyelids, and finally, a slow, lingering kiss on my lips. That one does it. My arms wrap around his neck on instinct, my fingers tangling into his hair as I blink up at him, still hazy.
He smiles, his face just inches from mine, those blue-gray eyes smoldering with soft happiness, the kind that’s only shared between the two of us.
"I found something. Something you'll like. Or so I'm hoping," he murmurs.
I sigh, my lips curving lazily. "I have you. That's enough."
"Of course it is, baby," he says, and the warmth in his voice sinks deep into my soul.
He shifts, reaching over to the nightstand. A cup of coffee appears in my line of vision, steaming, rich, the scent curling into the air like temptation.
I blink at it, then at him. "Are you bribing me with caffeine?"
"Bribing? Never." His smirk is slow, teasing. "Think of it as... an offering."
I huff a laugh but take it, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into my hands. I don't question it. He knows my ritual. He knows I need at least two mouthfuls before I can function.
So I lift the cup, inhale the scent, and take that first blissful, mind-clearing sip.
And then I see it.
The words.
Written inside the rim of the cup, revealed only when I drink.
— Every sip, a reminder: I love you. —
My breath catches mid-swallow, my fingers tightening around the handle.
I lower the cup slowly, looking up at him, my chest suddenly tight in the best way.
"I love you, too." My voice comes out rough, filled with emotion.
His smirk softens into something deeper, quieter.
"I saw it and thought of you," he murmurs, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. "Figured you should have something to remind you how much I love you, every morning. Even when I'm not here."
I stare at him, then down at the cup, then back at him. My heart squeezes so hard it's almost painful.
"You sneaky, romantic bastard."
His grin spreads, wide and unapologetic. "Guilty as charged."
I take another sip, this time just to see the words again. To let them settle in my chest, warming me from the inside out.
I set the cup aside and pull him down to me, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss.
Because coffee is great.
But him?
He's everything.
I wake up late, that dream — that memory — echoing inside my head. For the first time since Bones came back into my life, I feel like crying. For all the lost moments. For all the lost memories.
For all the lost love between us.