Page 17

17

Calista

I 've always loved kids. Any time the topic came up in conversation, I could easily picture them in my future. But after spending the last three hours with Mia, that hope feels even more certain.

She’s absolutely adorable and talks non-stop. I don’t know much about ten-year-olds, but she seems way smarter than I expected.

When dinner came, she insisted I sit beside her and her baby cousin—the one who needed the booster seat. His name is Dylan, though she calls him Lin. She mentioned that his parents left him with her dad because they couldn’t raise him right. My heart broke a little, but Mia’s smile reminded me to focus on the bright side.

It was clear that Dylan was loved by everyone, from Ken and the guys with the various hair colors to Amy, and even Ronan in his own way. He kept sneaking the little boy fortune cookies until Ken noticed around the third one.

Even though Ronan didn’t laugh or smile at everything that had the table bursting into laughter, when he did, it was glorious. I don’t know why seeing him break from his stoic shell sends such a rush of serotonin through me, but it does. With tattoos from his neck likely down to his ankles, a hard-set jawline, and full lips that rarely show emotion, he’s the definition of unapproachable. The kind of person you’d instinctively avoid rather than seek out for comfort.

Hard on the outside, and just as hard on the inside.

But I’ve broken through that barrier a few times. After I was attacked, when he stayed by my bed after the bar to make sure I was alright, and again today. The look in his eyes when he first saw me was intense, like he was ready to set the world on fire for hurting me.

I don’t deserve that but damn, I want to. I want his protection, even though I know I shouldn’t; it could put him at risk of far worse than just going back to prison. He shouldn’t have to bear my burdens, and maybe I should be the one saving him, not the other way around.

Seeing him let his walls down here at the dinner table makes my heart sing. I love the side that pinned me to the counter, but I’m drawn to this one, too. He’s not two-dimensional—he’s a man of many layers, stitched so tightly together that unraveling him will be painful, but I know it will be beautiful when he’s fully revealed.

I'm beginning to fear more what he’ll uncover beneath my sheets than anything I might find beneath his.

I’m bent at the waist hugging Mia after the evening has settled.

“Will you come back?” she asks as I pull away and stand.

Humming, I look to my side at Ronan who is talking with Ken and everyone else. “The boys” as he calls them—Cedric, Lux, and Emilio or Em for short—all look at him like he’s their role model, an idol they’d only ever seen on TV but are now finally meeting in person. All smiles and joyful laughter, and I can see that they struggle to not touch him, unlike Ken.

Ronan said he’d tell me about them chasing the car later. I asked about Amy in passing, but he just gave me a strange look so I immediately deflected, saying it didn’t matter.

I won’t be bringing her up again. Honestly I don’t want to know, and I’ll just pretend I don’t care about whatever he might have done with her.

Yeah, right. Just thinking about it now makes my stomach hurt.

“We will see. I’ll talk with your uncle.” Mia grins up at me, and I wonder how she would feel if I told her that I was technically her step-cousin.

As I turn to face the group, it’s Cedric that’s coming over my way. His hand running through his blue hair. “Barbie, I’ll make sure your car is back to you by next week.”

Doll face, Barbie, little lamb. So many nicknames and they’ve only known me for a few hours.

I shake my head, offering a smile. “Don’t worry, take your time. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It goes without saying I owe you guys big time.”

When he grins, I worry for a moment that my comment sounded suggestive. But before I can dwell on it, he lets out an “oof.” I glance down to see his hands covering his crotch, and Mia pulling back her fist.

“Keep your eggplant away from Cal.”

I let out a huff of a laugh and look up at Cedric whose face has turned a bright red and is stepping away. Through a strained breath, he says, “I—wasn’t—oh my god, where’d that strength come from?”

“Me.” Ronan’s voice carries a thunderous edge as he rounds Cedric and opens his hand down at Mia, who gives it a smack with her own. “See you, sprite.” He turns his blue eyes on me, and gestures his head to the door behind me, but doesn’t say anything.

“How?” Cedric’s playful wheeze has me barely holding back a laugh.

“I told you.” I look over at Mia, who is play-boxing the air. “You should’ve come as often to see Uncle Ro-Ro as we did. Even through the glass he…” Her words trail off and my heart wrenches.

I’m not allowed to settle into the dismay when Amy shouts, “Come back around, and bring the little lamb.”

I look up at Ronan who doesn’t turn back to them, but I do and offer a smile. “Thanks again, everyone.”

“You got it, doll face.”

“See ya, Barbie,” Lux says with a grin. “Aye, Ronan, don’t be shy about bringing that pretty face back.”

I can’t hold back my laughter this time, especially as Lux continues, “I ain’t talking about Cal. Been gone for fifteen years, we’ve missed that scowl of yours.” He kisses in his direction, and once again I’m hit with such a gut wrenching feeling I actually trip on the small metal lip of the door frame. If it weren’t for Ronan grabbing my elbow to steady me, I would’ve fallen out the door.

He left them when they were still kids. None of them appear to be older than thirty, which means he didn’t see them graduate high school, didn’t see so much of their life because he was in prison.

I need to know how they all came together. He indicated he met Ken in prison, but if he knew the boys before, how? I want to know him so badly it actually physically aches.

And the fact that he met Mia while in prison—for her to call him “uncle” having only known him from behind glass—he has to realize how incredible that makes him. Right?

As we head down the driveway, I can’t help but notice that he hasn’t let go of my arm and I’m not about to draw attention to it.

“Please tell me you’ve ridden a bike before.”

A low, nervous groan slips through my tightly closed lips. He only sighs and releases my arm, and suddenly it feels ten times colder where his touch had been. My body feels uneasy, already missing the warmth of his contact.

When we make it to his motorcycle, I stare down at it. It’s sleek, all black with a white stripe, just like the jacket he shrugged on after dinner. As I look up to him, I’m not entirely sure why he is pinching the bridge of his nose.

I look back at his bike, then to him again.

Realization washes over me.

“Why would it make a difference if I’d rode on one?” I sound nervous, but internally I’m screaming because I’m going to have to hold him.

“I’d have you ride pillion with the rear grips,” he says as he steps forward, tapping on the back of the seat where what looks like railings reside.

“Fucking shit.” He doesn’t even attempt to hide his disapproval.

Alright well, now I feel like total crap. I’m well aware it isn’t just me he doesn’t want touching him, but damn, he couldn’t look more upset by the prospect. I drop my chin to my shoulder, looking away as he comes to terms with what we are going to do.

“I can order an Uber…” I mumble, not truly wanting him to hear me, but feeling I should at least give that out as an option.

“Speak up,” he barks, and I immediately wrap my arms around my waist. “I—damn it, sorry.” A thunderous growl comes just before he grabs my chin and directs me to look at him.

“Why…” I ask softly. “Why can’t I—”

“It’s not you.” He swallows roughly and releases a heavy, weighted sigh. In a much gentler tone, he asks, “What did you say just a moment ago?”

I roll my lips together, reluctant to repeat myself, but his eyes are commanding, and I know if I keep hesitating he’ll demand it with his words. “I said I can order an Uber.”

“No.” He immediately dismisses the idea. “That’s unnecessary.” He glances back at the house, but I keep my gaze fixed on him. The hard set of his jaw tightens, and I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter “Sort it out” though I can’t be entirely sure.

He turns back to me. “Cal, riding a bike is dangerous. Trust is so important, and I can’t lose control because you don’t listen to me.”

I stay silent, pressing my lips together as I stare into his stunning blue eyes. They sharpen, and I watch his pupils contract, as if adjusting from darkness to light.

“You will sit on the back of the bike, give me your hands, and I will put them where they will stay the entire ride. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say while nodding. “I promise.”

He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring.

“I’ll take things slow…” I’m such a slut, because the urge to tell him I don’t need it slow has me swallowing down the words before they spill out. “And I’ll take the backroads, since this will be your first time.”

He sets the helmet down on the seat of the bike before shrugging off his jacket. I take in his frame; strong and undeniably masculine. He’s lean and toned at every visible place, and even the simple motion of removing a piece of clothing has his arms flexing, veins visibly pulsing beneath his skin. The black shirt he’s wearing is slightly oversized, not tight by any means, but god, I wish it were.

He steps closer and drapes his jacket—which is far too big for me—around my shoulders. “Rocks can fly up and cut you,” he says. I slip my arms in, letting the warmth of the leather settle against my skin. The moment it envelops me, I’m hit with his scent, and despite myself, I sigh in relief.

After zipping it up, he grabs his helmet and gently slides it onto my head. It’s warm, infused with the familiar scent of amber that I now associate with him. Though it’s already dark outside, the visor makes everything nearly impossible to see. It’s only when he flips it up, adjusts it, and secures the strap under my chin, that my vision clears.

I lift my gaze to his. “Thank you,” I say as he moves to situate himself on his bike, kicking up the stand and gestures for me to sit behind him. “Aren’t you worried? You know, no helmet, and the rocks?”

There’s no hesitation to my movements, and I swing one leg over, sliding right up against his back. I can see his shoulders tense for a moment, then relax.

“I’ll be fine.” I don’t entirely believe him, and it has nothing to do with the lack of safety for himself.

When his hands come down by his hips and gesture for mine, I place my wrists into his grasp. He pulls me forward, and my chest squishes against his back. God, he is so warm even through his jacket I’m wearing, and if it weren’t for this fucking helmet, I would be having a hard time not nuzzling against him.

He places one hand across his chest. “Grab onto my shirt.” I do as he commands, and as my other is guided to the opposite side, crossing my arms at the wrists, I grab on.

“I’m going to lean forward, do your best to stay close without moving your hands. However…” He pauses, as though fighting with himself on even saying the words. “If you feel like you're going to fall, grab onto whatever you need to stay with me. You understand?”

I don’t say anything, just nod.

“I hate when you do that,” he says while revving the bike to life.

“What?” I shout, the sound reverberating around in the helmet.

“Just nodding in agreement. I like to hear you. Now, do you understand, Cal?”

My cheeks burn. “I understand.”

“Good girl.”

Instant clit tingles.

As soon as the bike starts moving, I press myself closer to him. I understand why he had me cross my arms now, because the moment we surge forward, my chest lifts off his back. My arms pin me in place, but I quickly adjust, pulling myself right back against him.

As we take our first turn, my instinct is to lean in the opposite direction, afraid I might tip us over. But instead, I go pliant. I let him take control, moving with him and letting go of the worry about what might happen.

He takes it with ease, and as we are upright again, I release a heavy breath I’d held through the turn.

“Don’t worry, baby girl, I’ve got us. Relax.”

“Okay…”

I squeeze tighter, not from fear, but from sheer selfishness. My thoughts drift to getting my car back, and how badly I don’t want that. What I want is this—jumping onto his bike, wrapping my arms around him, and letting him take me wherever. Even if that’s nowhere at all, just for the ride.

I want him so badly, and I don’t know if that makes me crazy or pathetic, but I’m done caring. It’s such a one-sided attraction, but maybe that’s for the best. He’s forbidden to me, and I just wish there was a path where it didn’t have to be that way.

We never go too fast, even though I swear he’s pushing top speeds at times. When I glance up, the visor of the helmet lifted, it’s so dark I can’t see a thing. I wonder if that makes my nerves feel less frayed. If I can’t see what’s out there, why should I be afraid?

My ass is starting to go numb, but I don’t complain. I haven’t said a word since he comforted me, assuring me that he wouldn’t let anything happen to us. He hasn’t tried to start a conversation, but I guess that makes sense. Bugs probably aren’t his friends, and he’s kept low the entire ride. Hopefully the small ‘window’ in the front helped with that.

Far too quickly, the paved road turns to gravel, and I know we’re pulling up the driveway.

I want to beg him to turn around and do another lap, to never go back to the cabin. I want to disappear somewhere with him, even if it’s just him dropping me off where no one can find me and then leaving me there. The thought stings, but it feels more like a reality than the idea of him staying somewhere with me.

The garage door begins to open, and the soft light spilling out into the night makes everything feel just a bit more final. As we come to a stop, he kicks out the stand and leans the bike. I haven’t moved my hands, and while it isn’t cold outside, my fingers feel stiff from holding on so tightly.

Just as I’m swinging my leg over, his hand grabs my hip. “Steady, your legs may feel weak for a moment.” He’s right, and I’m cautious as I step over to the weight bench to shake my leg out like I’m some dog.

I slowly shrug off his jacket while he gets off, kills the bike, and walks over one of the benches where he grabs a towel. After wiping his face, he untucks his shirt.

Then his head falls back, and he releases a frustrated sigh. Without looking, he slams his hand against the garage door opener, and it starts to close with a slow, metal thump, thump, thump.

My heart races as he turns his head toward me and asks, “Who is after you, Cal?”