by A. C. Bextor
“Baby, I can’t read your mind,” he pushes, albeit gently. “You kickin’ me out of here or not?”
“No,” I whisper. “I’m not kicking you out of here.”
As he moves closer, tossing the blankets from my reach, his large, colorful, tattooed chest shows in the moon’s light.
I huff, creating a weak attempt to sound annoyed, but this doesn’t deter him in the least. Grabbing me by the waist, he positions my body to the other side of the bed. With my back to the wall, I scowl at his hurried movements, but keep my mouth shut.
“Cricket,” he urges into the darkness once we’ve settled.
My lips part, but I can’t respond. Mirroring my position, he lies on his side with his hand flat on the bed between us. Getting a better look at him with our gazes level, our faces close, I can still make out the bags beneath his eyes, the wrinkles around them more prominent than before. He smells clean, fresh from the shower.
“Why are you in my room?” I get out, my voice a lie of annoyance.
His answer is simple, honest, and not what I expected. “Because I wanna be.”
“Why, though?”
“I’m here because you’re here.” At his response, I falter. “You wanna talk, I’ll listen. You wanna sit in here but not be alone, then you’ll do it knowin’ I’m close.”
“I don’t need someone to watch me sleep.”
“Then what was Vante doin’ in your bed?”
Sighing, I turn to lie on my back and cover my eyes with my arm. “I don’t need a babysitter, Gypsy.”
“Fuck knows you’re wrong about that,” he retorts, completely serious.
Jerk.
He takes my arm away from my face and lays it over my stomach. Carefully, he runs his finger over my cheek, cautious of the bandage over my stitches.
If I were smart, I’d pull away, turn around, and give him my back. If I were smart, I’d tell him to leave. If needed, I could get Elevent to make him leave.
If I were smart….
However, we’ve established the decisions I’ve made for myself thus far haven’t been exactly that.
“Gypsy—” I prompt.
“Your friends are worried, Cricket. You’ve been holed up in this room for days.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure, staring at the ceiling. “Most of them saw me today.”
“They saw you, but you’re still not talkin’,” he points out.
I know what he says is true, but still. Other than the unexpected crying jag in front of Vante, I haven’t shown much emotion in way of what happened.
Why does Gypsy care so much, anyway? Elevent and Mia, I get. They love me and they worry. Sunny and Sty, the same. Vante, and even Ziah. But Gypsy?
“Did you come in here to be a bossy jerk?” I query, honestly wondering if this is his play.
Gypsy sighs, not touching me at all. “No.”
“Then what is all of this?”
Gypsy doesn’t answer right away. Rolling to lie on his back, he rests his arm over his waist, his other hand runs down his face. He stares above and waits.
As I open my mouth to push for an answer, he questions, “Do you love him?”
“What?”
“Leglas,” he presses. “Do you love him?”
“Yes,” I tell him honestly.
“Are you in love with him?”
“I don’t think so.”
Gypsy turns, piercing me with the determination in his glare. “What’s that mean?”
“It means, I couldn’t…” Shit, how did we get here? “Leglas cares about me. I care about him. But--”
His body shifts. Gypsy rests his weight to his elbow and bends until we’re face-to-face. I smell the beer from his breath. His hand splays across my stomach and I take in a confused breath.
“I’ve fucked this up,” he tells me. “I shouldn’t have left you after Pyke died.”
“Then why did you?”
His eyes close and his mouth gets tight.
“Gypsy,” I call. “I never know what you want.”
Opening his eyes, he scans my expression. A single tear falls from the corner of my eye and down my temple. He uses the tip of his finger to catch the sadness before it hits the pillow.
“I can’t do this,” I tell him.
Whatever is happening between us can’t happen. Not yet. I need to see Leglas. I have to tell him what I’m sure he already knows. That I love him, but not enough to stay. Then, I need space. I’ve got to figure out what it is I really want.
“Sleep, then,” Gypsy tells me, running his hand through my hair. He pulls me close, tucking my head beneath his chin and wrapping me tightly in his arms.
Closing my eyes, I remember the first time I saw him sitting in my father’s warehouse. I think back to how, not even knowing him at all, how safe my world had been made.
Doing this again, minutes later, I’m fast asleep, lying in the arms of the only man I’ve ever loved.
“Fuck you, too, asshat.” Sty name calls with exasperation. Vante’s rambunctious bark of laughter comes next, and I swallow a giggle.
“Oh, shit,” comes from Ziah. “Now it’s on.”
On the heels of Ziah cursing, Elevent laughs and Mia shrieks, “Hey! Watch your mouth!”
Mia has more patience with Ziah than anyone else in the club. Between his knack for pestering her, and his adolescent ways of mimicking the guys, it’s a wonder Mia gets any rest at all.
“Deny all you want, but no one here is lyin’, Sty,” Max jabs back. “We’re just sayin’ if you came outta your room wearin’ Sunny’s lace panties singing kumbaya, it wouldn’t surprise any of us.”
The room teems with warm, brotherly chuckles from the men, and bright, open giggles from the women.
But, poor Sty.
His friends are picking apart his admiration and care for Sunny. For as long as I’ve known them, their fairy tale romance has been something to be envious of. They rarely argue, and when they do, it’s never for long. He adores her, respects her, and he can’t wait to marry her. She’s the same. Neither are shy about letting others know.
The sounds of a hand slapping the top of the small kitchen table comes, then I hear Sty insist, “Thank you, assholes. But I do not do everything my woman tells me.”
“Whipped,” Leglas’s gravelly voice murmurs. “For fuckin’ true, you’re a whipped puppy, brother.”
My heart pounds in my chest at hearing Leglas’s voice. To hear the tone so light, carefree, reminds me how much I’ve missed him. It also reminds me that we still have not spoken since I’ve been back.
I’ve thought about what I’d say if given the chance, such as how to tell him how much I care about him, and I know he feels the same of me, but not in the way either of us deserve.
Maybe he senses what we had is over, or maybe Gypsy was right.
The last few days, I have been holed up in my room as he had accused. I’ve been angry at the world and stewing over what happened.
Once the fear of being taken subsided, I wanted to forget. And who wouldn’t? Talking about what happened feels senseless. I can’t change anything, and telling the others won’t make moving forward any easier. If anything, my crazy, overprotective friends will be more apt to watch me closer for further signs of trauma. They don’t have time for that, and honestly, I don’t need their incessant coddling.
“Seriously, though, Sty. Don’t let Leglas get to you,” Vlad’s niece, Wren, casually asserts. “Leglas is a manly man—tough, big, and strong.”
“Thanks, Wren,” Leglas shockingly utters. “Good to know there’s a bitch in this hole who sees me for who I really am.”
Wren’s giggle is fierce and telling. I’ve known her for a while, and I also know she’s not one to let something go.
Hence, she’s about to poke an extremely large, incredibly mercurial, tattooed bear.
I find I’m right when I hear her cackle out, “Besides, it’s just a matter of time before Leglas finds the man of his dreams. Am I
right?”
The room falls silent.
She shouldn’t have said that, I think to myself as I stand alone, listening in on my friends from around the corner.
In a whirl of laughter, snorts, and sighs, Wren yelps loudly. I flinch at her ear-piercing scream. Her barrage of squeals and giggles are nearly as painful.
With my curiosity riled, I take my first step around the corner to join my friends, and to be part of the fun rather than a reluctant spectator.
Unfortunately, I don’t get far. Two large arms wrap tightly around my middle and I’m pulled back against a warm, hard chest.
I tilt my head and close my eyes, already recognizing who’s found me listening in.
“I see the shower and our talk last night did some good,” Gypsy comments, a smile in his raspy voice. My skin pebbles as the heat from his breath travels down my neck. “Eavesdropping again?”
Foiled.
“No, I just got here. I was heading in to say hi,” I tell him.
Gypsy shakes me in his hold. “Liar.”
“Let me go,” I argue.
“You gonna admit you’re feelin’ better?” he questions, then kisses my temple.
My face flushes and I inhale.
I’m not nervous around Gypsy, or any man here for that matter. I’m not uncomfortable with his touch, but I’m anxious about my reaction to it, and how easily he’s able to figure it out.
Gypsy grabs my hand and moves us around the corner. He and I stand, still not noticed by the others, and take in the room.
“Put me down!” Wren pleads, her head flying back in hilarity.
Leglas is holding Wren upside down in his arms. He’s shaking her like a ketchup bottle as if she weighs nothing. The powerful muscles of his back and arms bulge in protest. The bottom of his T-shirt rises and falls, giving way to the tanned skin of his lower back.
Wren is tiny, no doubt. Short in stature and small in frame. Even with this, Wren is strong. But Leglas manages to keep her still.
“Leglas!” Elevent barks, his expression thunderous. “Knock it off. Get Wren to her feet.”
“El’s right!” Pop bellows at Elevent’s side. “Last thing we need is you droppin’ Vlad’s prized niece to the floor.”
“Yeah, Leglas,” Wren agrees, her long hair hitting the tops of Leglas’s boots. She curls up enough to face him, taunting, “You heard them. You have orders to put me down.”
Leglas ignores Elevent and shakes her harder. Wren continues her cackling laughter.
“She wants to rattle my cage, this is what she gets,” Leglas returns.
“Baby girl?” Pop calls out.
My eyes dart from him to those in the room as the others fall quiet. Gypsy and I have been noticed.
Leglas turns around, still holding Wren down the length of his body. The smile I heard in his voice dies a thousand deaths. I swallow hard. His gaze holds mine, his eyes warm and genuine.
When Leglas moves his attention beyond my right shoulder, where Gypsy rests his chin, his gaze turns malevolent.
“Get her down,” Elevent exasperates again.
With care, Leglas handles Wren, slowly setting her on her feet. Her laughter stops when her bright eyes catch mine.
“Cricket!” Ziah calls, running toward me wearing a leather vest and a pair of old, well-worn jeans. “You’re out of your room!”
Once Ziah’s on me, he wraps his small arms around my waist, not caring if he’s also wrapping himself around Gypsy. He rests his cheek against my chest, and my arms move to encircle him.
“Hi, Ziah,” I say to the top of his head.
“Things are outta control around here,” he tattles on the others, rocking Gypsy and I back and forth in his tiny arms. “Praise be to Jesus you’re feeling better.”
I giggle at his drama, while Gypsy scoffs. When I glance up, my friends appear happy to see me.
At the same time Ziah releases us to step back, Gypsy’s arms fall from my waist. A cold chill sweeps through my body as I’m left to stand on my own. Then, thankfully, Gypsy’s arm drapes over my shoulders, pulling me to him as if this is a natural, everyday occurrence.
Ziah takes this in. His narrowing eyes assess Gypsy and his mouth gets tight. Before Ziah can comment or argue, Gypsy shakes his head.
“Cricket, you hungry?” Vante queries, sitting sideways in a chair, resting his back against the wall.
The kitchen smells like bacon and fried potatoes. My stomach growls, nagging for food that isn’t served on a tray in bed.
“She’ll eat,” Leglas states with authority, but grinning in my direction. “Ziah, get her something light. An egg. Toast. Fruit. Whatever.”
“On it!” Ziah assures, skipping away.
“Cricket?” Sunny prompts, walking toward me. Grabbing my arm, she runs her hand the length of it and asks, “Are you okay? Did you need something?”
Clearing my throat, I cast a glance around the room. Each and every person waits for something, some kind of reassurance, or some sort of promise.
“Just got tired of being in my room,” I admit. “I’m good.”
Elevent stands, his towering frame closing the short distance between us. Without a word, he grabs Sunny’s arm and sets her aside, then pulls me from Gypsy’s arms and into his. His reassurance is tight, genuine, and appreciated.
Elevent kisses the top of my head, then bends his mouth to my ear where he whispers, “You look really good, honey.”
But not good enough to convince you I’m okay. Not good enough that you’d relent your decision and let me stay.
When Elevent moves back, giving me space, Mia steps forward. She grasps his hand before saying, “El’s right. You look rested. More like you.”
Gypsy wraps his arm around my shoulders and smiles. “She’s rested. Snored like a train half the night. She rambled on in her sleep the other half.”
Mia laughs and Wren sighs, still adjusting her clothes from being tossed around. Fearing his reaction, I don’t chance a look at Leglas.
“You were in Cricket’s room last night?” Ziah demands, appearing anxious as he holds a paper plate holding a piece of plain white bread. “You slept in Cricket’s bed?”
“Ziah,” Elevent calls. “Leave alone what’s not your business.”
Ziah twists his neck, glaring at Gypsy, then turns back to look at Elevent. “But Cricket’s my sister from another mister. If she’s not my business, who is?” Ziah argues. Before anyone can answer, he points over his shoulder. “Gypsy shouldn’t be in Cricket’s room. Ever.”
“Ziah,” I address, reaching my hand out to touch his. “I asked Gypsy to stay.”
At this, Elevent makes a noise in the back of his throat and scowls at Gypsy. When his eyes come to me, mine narrow.
Breaking the tension, Mia orders, “Z, we still need to find Hamlet. He’s due for his bath.”
Ziah’s shoulders slouch as he takes in Gypsy at my side. Giving him a look of disapproval, he sets my untouched plate on the counter and walks away.
As the crowd starts to disperse, Gypsy releases my shoulders and pushes on the small of my back. “Sit down and eat. Go easy, and watch your steps.”
Before I can do as he suggests, the front door opens. The appreciative mood shifts. Every biker in the room comes to attention.
At the front door, Advay doesn’t stand alone. I grin so huge it hurts my cheeks.
Nikolas is here.
He’s dressed in a black suit, green shirt, and no tie. His attention moves to the men as he shifts his gaze from each of them, one at a time. Finally, his gaze comes back to mine, and his expressionless face shifts from blank to warm.
“Well, fuck me,” Leglas hisses.
“What the hell have I missed?” Sty questions with suspicion.
“Cool it, everyone,” Elevent clips. “Nikolas is here to check in with Cricket and have a word with me.”
Blaze enters from the stairs wearing only a pair of threadbare jogging pants. Stopping at the bottom, he scratches his h
ead. “What the fuck smells so good?”
Ignoring him, I take a few steps toward Nikolas. My limp isn’t nearly what it was; the damage done is healing fast. Nikolas glares at my feet and clenches his jaw. When I shyly smile, he does the same, but the gesture isn’t real. He’s pissed.
At my back, Leglas growls, and at my side, Gypsy whistles low. The two men take their steps in stride, matching each with mine.
Not missing this, Nikolas’s tension fades.
I don’t get any closer, as Leglas’s temper may ignite. Instead, I whisper out a quiet, “Hi.”
Nikolas isn’t intimidated in the face of angry bikers, but rather bored. He told me himself that he and Vlad have history. It stands to reason that if he refers to Vlad as harmless, he would believe the same of Saint’s members.
“Guys, I said cool it,” Elevent orders again. “Nikolas has a reason to be here.”
“He could’ve called,” Leglas suggests, drawing out his suggestion slowly.
“Could’ve sent her a text,” Gypsy adds.
Since when did these two ever agree on anything?
I shake my head and roll my eyes.
“I could have called, yes,” Nikolas answers calmly. With annoyance he adds, “However, I do not text.”
“Fuckin’ Russians,” Advay snorts. “Jesus Christ.”
When Nikolas steps in to get closer, the room doesn’t only wire, the air inside of it evaporates.
Leglas takes two long strides toward Nikolas, and Gypsy cuts in front of me, blocking my view of him completely. I toss a severe glare toward Elevent, but he does nothing.
Nikolas ignores the others, not giving anyone his time or attention. So, straightening my posture, I give him all of mine.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I see you were right about your friends,” Nikolas notes with a smug grin, reminding the others we’ve shared private conversations. “Though, a little protective is not what I would have used to describe your friends.”
On the heels of this, Leglas grinds out, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Cricket,” Nikolas calls gently, disregarding our audience. “I see that you have done well being home with your family.”
“I have,” I answer.
Gypsy shifts our position, placing my back against his chest.