Chapter 9
NINE
ROYCE
Me: Is this too much?
*Attached Image*
Taryn: Is that a gift basket?
Me: Yes…I’m trying to say sorry to Ford.
Taryn:…
Nerves attacked my stomach as I bit my thumbnail. Her not replying was a reply within itself.
Me: He’s going to laugh at me, right?
Taryn: No. I think it’s nice, but giving him a whole ass gift basket sort of sends a message.
My fingers flew over the screen as I replied.
Me: What message?
Taryn: ….
Me: WHAT MESSAGE?
Taryn: Just that you care, sis.
Me: What’s wrong with caring?
Taryn: Nothing…it’s just, you used to care a lot about him, and I’m worried what it could lead to if he doesn’t respond the way you want him to.
Me: I was a kid, T…I’m not still into him or anything.
Taryn: Good. Then, yeah, give him the basket. I think that’s a good idea. You have a big heart, sis, I just want to be sure it’s never taken advantage of.
Me:
It was the day following our karaoke night, and the guilt over Dad hitting Ford had eaten me up.
I rode my bike toward the new part of town and slowed once I got to the flashy sign revealing the up-and-coming neighborhood.
I wasn’t sure where Ford was exactly, but I planned to ride around until I found him.
A myriad of vehicles lined the narrow street, while a massive industrial garbage bin sat against the curb, totally in the way.
Further down was a flatbed truck loaded with heavy machinery.
The new neighborhood had three homes already complete with for sale signs out front, and the rest of the lots were either dirt or concrete with framing set up. Men milled about like little ants, all over the lots, each doing something different.
I had no idea how to find Ford in the mix, but I had a general idea of where to head.
The only open spot I could find to park where dirt wouldn’t land all over my bike seat was near one of the completed houses, which was rather far from where all the movement was.
A little walk wouldn’t hurt. Sliding my helmet up, I set it on the seat and then began unwinding the bungee cables I’d wrapped around the basket to keep it on the back of my bike.
I was sure I looked ridiculous riding around Rose Ridge, but I didn’t really care.
Gathering the basket in my arms, I began walking down the paved road toward the largest mix of people. There was someone pointing, yelling, and seemingly directing people where to go. That had to be Ford.
Dirt floated in the air in a cloud, drifting in my direction, which made me rethink my outfit.
I wore a pink cropped shirt that showed my midriff and my leather riding pants.
My hair bounced against my back as I picked up my gait, trying to cover more ground.
I was nearly to the center of all the commotion when someone whistled.
I knew better than to turn my head, but I hoped it was a one-off.
Another whistle joined in, and a person catcalled, then another.
Suddenly there were machines cutting off, and men shouting salaciously as I walked.
I faltered, remembering there was a video of me on the internet, wearing almost nothing that men had been staring at for the past few days.
Could these specific men have seen it? A lot of them were members of Dad’s club.
I had done my best to push the thoughts of that video away, ignoring it as if it were something I could pretend didn’t happen.
It wasn’t just that making me want to curl into a tiny ball right there on the dirty asphalt, the red tainting my cheeks had to do with growing up around the club and dealing with the assholes there.
Ford was quick to assume that I didn’t care if someone got hurt on my behalf, what he didn’t know was how many times I hadn’t reported being touched.
There were at least ten different instances that I’d been touched, groped, or crowded into a corner at the club.
I knew that if I had told my dad, he’d have killed them.
The weight of their lives literally hung around my neck like a stone, and I felt completely silenced and forced into complacency because of it.
I walked around in a bubble because to others it was a faux confidence that they couldn’t touch. It was my own version of armor, but it took time to erect that bubble around myself. In town, it was easier, but in a place like this…with all these men, I could hardly breathe, much less pretend.
My palms began to sweat, and nerves began snaking up my body, tightening around me like vines. The whistles grew louder, and there were a few of them that began walking toward me.
“Royce?” a gravelly voice pulled me from my thoughts, forcing my eyes up.
I let out a breath of relief as I took in the familiar stature thundering toward me.
Ford wore an expression that I assumed would be reserved for someone he wanted to kill. I thought perhaps it was because he was still mad at me, but the closer he got, the more his eyes softened and his brows relaxed.
“What are you doing here?”
A ball of emotion swelled in my throat as he gently held my elbow, guiding me away from the prying eyes.
“I…”
The whistling stopped, but one guy yelled over the rest, “Show me those pretty pink panties, baby.”
I was going to throw up.
Ford shifted so that I was mostly blocked, and people could no longer see me. Which made me feel instantly better.
He yelled toward the man on the roof, “Jake, go pack your shit up. You’re done.”
The man groaned and yelled back, “For the whole fuckin’ day?”
Ford’s tattooed arm tensed as he shifted. “Permanently. Get the fuck off my jobsite.”
Inhaling a quick breath, I started to argue, but we were suddenly walking faster. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes as he gently tugged my elbow and led me to a small trailer that seemed to be his remote office. The sign next to it read, Wild Rose Construction.
Once inside with the door shut, I spun on him, one of the damn tears fell from my lash. “Don’t fire him just because he catcalled me. I didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble.”
Ford ran one hand through his hair as he set down his phone on the desk with the other.
“You didn’t get anyone in trouble, Royce.”
“I literally just got that guy fired.”
Ford eyed the basket in my arms before gritting his teeth. “He got himself fired.”
“Ford…” I droned, annoyed that he wasn’t saying what I knew he was thinking. Regardless of what he said, he blamed me for this.
He gestured toward the basket with his chin and leaned his butt against his desk.
“What’s that?”
Lifting my arms, I made it so he could see more of the items inside the cellophane. “Uh…this is a gift basket.”
“For me?” he asked, all gravel in his tone.
I caught something pass over his face that I hadn’t expected. Excitement or curiosity, something other than disdain, which gave me courage to step closer.
“I was wondering if you’d like to make a truce. I was really hurt by what you said at the club that one night, which is why I—”
“Got my ass kicked by your pops,” Ford filled in the rest of the sentence for me.
“I thought maybe he’d grumble and scare you off. I never assumed he’d actually hit you.”
Ford lowered his face with a bit of a laugh. “Well, you weren’t there for his lecture after I made you cry that night outside of the club. He basically told me to leave you alone and stop talking to you.”
“Oh…”
The air grew warmer and silent as he watched me with a small smile gracing his handsome face.
He really was striking. He was like one of those male models, posing in a dramatic scene that felt vulnerable and dreamy.
The kind you didn’t want to look away from for fear you’d forget how their jaw was carved or how the shape of their nose seemed to fit their face, or how that one piece of hair fell across their brow just so.
His question pulled me out of my thoughts. “So, can I have it?”
Jolting forward, I nearly tripped as I came back to the moment. “Right. Yes.”
His hands came underneath the basket, covering mine, which reminded me of when they’d grazed each other while we had pet Gus. Our eyes met, and while I had expected him to pull away again, he remained in place. His gaze hooded in a way that made me wonder what was going through his mind.
I had to snap out of it. Ford was a brute and had only proven as much the last few interactions. “This is mostly for Gus, but I added in a few cinnamon rolls from the Drip and some organic beef sticks to maybe munch on while you’re at work.”
As I said it out loud, I felt silly for thinking he’d like it.
But he took the basket from me and began inspecting it under the clear plastic.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I know.” Glancing to the side, I nodded. “I like creating gift baskets, though. I do it for the bands that come to play, so it’s sort of second nature for me.”
Ford tilted the container to the side and smiled. “You put in a few bags of peanut butter M&M’s.”
“That was always your favorite, right?”
His small nod made something flutter in my stomach. I brought my arms in over my chest, as if I could protect my heart from him finding a way inside of it.
“I didn’t think you noticed me enough to know my favorite candy.”
That was stupid. “I noticed everything about you, Ford.”
His head snapped up, and those eyes branded me so severely I wondered if when I got home I’d have shades of amber and green highlighting my skin. To prove my point, I began listing a few facts I knew about him.
“You like turkey sandwiches but hate mayonnaise. So, you use Dijon mustard and fake cheese so it’s not super dry.
You prefer purple-flavored Gatorade. You’re insanely good at fixing things, and you have a humble confidence.
You dress modestly because you don’t place any pride in materialistic things.
Your favorite Christmas movie is Gremlins.
You hum to soothe your anxiety…or at least you used to.
You turned down a full-ride scholarship to one of the top tech schools in the country to stay home and be near your family. ”
Was that too much? I probably freaked him out. His jaw was still bruised from when my dad hit him, which I noticed because a muscle inside it fluttered while he twisted to set the basket next to him.
“You think I stayed to be near my family?” His question was made up of mostly curiosity, like he was shocked that I had chosen that lie to believe of all things. What good would come from him explaining some other reason, like a girl or a relationship I didn’t know about.
“So, about that truce?”
“Consider the white flag waved, Royce Quinn.”
My nose crinkled as I worked through that. “A white flag means surrender.”
“Same thing in this situation,” he smiled at me, and it was the kind of smile I had witnessed him give my parents that one night. The kind he reserved for everyone else.
“Should we hug or shake hands or something?” I asked nervously.
Ford’s smile remained in place, but his head shook back and forth.
Rude. “Why not?”
He remained where he was, staring at me, even letting his gaze linger on my lips, and then he rendered me speechless.
“Because if I touch you, even once…I won’t stop.”
My face flushed, his eyes seemed to sparkle with something that fizzled inside my chest, and right as I opened my mouth, his trailer door burst open.
“Boss, Banner just about cut his whole goddamn finger off!” Johnson yelled in a panic.
His gaze flew to me with a bit of a wince before returning to Ford.
The moment seemed to snap back into place like a tight rubber band.
“Course he did,” Ford drawled before pushing off the metal desk. He gestured at Johnson with a tilt of his chin.
“Walk her back to her bike and fire anyone who talks to her.”
“Ford that’s not—” I started, but his stern glare told me he would not budge on this.
I closed my mouth and followed Johnson out. Right as I was about to walk past Ford, he glanced over his shoulder with a smirk.
“Thanks for the basket, Rose.”
I flushed pink all the way from my head to my toes.