by Tijan
He sighed. “I know.”
I started pacing, back and forth. We could hear the people outside. Some had parked behind the house and were cutting through the back to Manny’s, but they were blind to me. I heard their voices, their laughter, and I hated them.
I hated everything.
I hated him.
“You fucking asshole.”
“Let it out. We don’t talk about he—”
I flung a hand at him. “You don’t talk about her! Ever!” I flicked him my middle finger, continuing to pace.
I was about to explode.
More pacing.
The need to do something violent stirred in me. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to yell, curse, fucking smoke! I needed something, because I was feeling, and I didn’t want to feel.
Goddamn.
I didn’t want to feel, because all I could feel was her again.
How she’d felt in my arms, how tiny she was, how I’d wanted so bad for her little eyes to open.
Tears rolled down my face. I felt them on my arms, but I couldn’t stop.
I couldn’t do anything except keep moving.
If I stopped, I didn’t know what I would do.
I would crumble.
I would collapse.
I would fall apart.
Heather motherfucking Jax did not fall apart.
It wasn’t in my DNA, and I wasn't about to start now.
But it was the silence in my head that killed me. It felt so loud, so pronounced, and it was there because she was supposed to have been crying. Screaming. I would’ve taken anything. Not wanting to hear nothing another second, I pounded my ears and let loose my own scream.
“AGHHHHHH!!!”
He crushed me. Channing’s chest silenced me, and I was caught up in his arms.
I sagged. The fight was gone. I needed to replace it with something else, and he was the only other thing that made me burn.
“Channing!”
He was already carrying me up to my room, pulling off my clothes. He wasn’t even kissing me. This was going to be rough—but then he pulled me into his arms again.
He kissed the right side of my mouth, then my left.
I curled my hands into his hair and gasped, “Don’t! I need it rough tonight.”
“No.” Another soft kiss to my lips, and I felt him sigh against me. His body shuddered. His hands swept back my hair, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead, then held me tight. “I don’t want to fight. I’m tired of fighting, so tired of it.”
He pulled back, and I saw his eyes shining.
“I loved her too,” he said, every word painful. “I wanted what you wanted. I wanted her. I wanted the stupid fucking white picket fence. I wanted the marriage. I wanted everything too.”
A tender hand moved down the side of my face, tucking some of my hair behind my ear.
I cried more tears. I could taste them. They were hot and salty, and I didn’t want them. I wanted to forget them.
I didn’t want to be taken back to that time, but as I struggled, as Channing’s arms tightened, apparently he was going to torture me with it.
He ducked his head to rest his forehead in the crook of my shoulder, and he held me. His mouth moved against my skin. “This is usually the time we fight. You yell at me because I’m not putting you first. I feel like a piece of shit because I know that’s what you deserve, but I’m too selfish to walk, and we go round and round.” He molded me against him, his hand falling down my back, pressing my thigh. “But I don’t have it in me, not tonight. You’re right.”
He lifted his head, and the rawness in him was almost too painful to see. He wasn’t hiding anything.
“I protect my town. I protect my crew. I try to protect my sister, and I am putting all of them above you, and I am a complete asshole because of that.”
But…
But he couldn’t change it.
But he would continue to pick his town, his crew, his sister over me.
I knew it. He knew it. And we were back to the start of our problems.
I tapped his shoulder lightly, to let him know I was a little more sane, and pushed him back a step. I needed some space, and I crossed to my bed. I lay down, not wanting to see him. That would’ve made this worse, because then I would only want him inside of me, and this conversation wouldn’t happen.
“I understand about Bren,” I started, whispering brokenly. I cringed though I knew we needed to say these words. That didn’t make it any better.
“Heather.”
“No. Let me talk.” I waited a beat. He was silent, so I started. “I have watched you love those guys. I’ve watched you become their friend, their leader, and I’ve watched you protect them. I know how many rely on you. I do.”
I looked back at him now, but he wasn’t watching me. He sat next to me on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands.
“You pushed me away when your mom died. You pushed me away when your half-brother died. Then your dad went to prison. My dad took off. Our little girl died, and we were together for that night. It was just the two of us. No one else mattered.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“She was more than just our daughter. She was the promise you were giving me for our future, and without her…” My voice wavered, starting to shake. “Without her we’re back to how we were before.”
The crew.
The sister.
The town.
Then maybe me.
And I was an ungrateful bitch for not being okay with all of that.
I sat up, resting my soaked cheek against his back. “You and I don’t talk about feelings and shit, but maybe we should.”
He turned around, grabbed my shoulders, and lifted me to his lap. He was so strong. I parted my legs, sinking down on top of him, and he stared right at me.
I saw his pain, his regrets, his indecision. They were usually masked by cockiness, jokes, innuendos, and anything flashy and charming, but not tonight. And despite myself, I felt my love for him blooming inside of me again.
I raised a hand to rest against the side of his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into my palm.
His hand rounded over my hip, tugging me closer. “We’ve got shitstorms upon shitstorms of feelings inside of us. You sure you want to start dealing with them?” His eyes opened. He was watching me.
No.
My answer was immediate. That wasn’t us, but I was a mess without him.
Hot and cold. Fire and ice. Oil and vinegar. We were all of that, but we were also the second half to the other.
I answered honestly. “I don’t want to, but I think we have to.”
He nodded, his eyes heavy and lidded. “Okay.”
I nodded too. “Okay.”
His hand slid over my thigh and dipped between my legs. “Do you realize how hot you are when you’re all pissed?”
I smiled, not answering.
He smiled back at me. “Can we start sharing our emotions tomorrow and share something else tonight?”
Honestly.
This guy. I started to shake my head, not because he was incorrigible (which he was), not because this was the worst time ever (which it was), but because I was going to give in (which I totally was), and I knew I would have no regrets.
Like always, I kissed him.
Who cared about the stupid reopening?
Nothing else mattered, and not for a long time after.
20
Heather
“Are we together again?” I asked. “And I mean together together, you know? Not just together like we always are, but together together. That kind of together.”
Channing smiled next to my breast, and I nudged him hard.
“Ow.” He sat up, rubbing his head with that annoying grin.
“You're not funny.”
His hand dropped to the bed, like I’d offended him. “I beg to differ. I'm hilarious.”
“You’re not Logan Kade funny.”
He snorted. “Logan's got nothing on me. People who don't even know me know Logan's got nothing on me. That's how much Logan's got nothing on me.” He was deadpan, but then a smirk popped out.
Channing could huff and puff all he wanted, but he was the one in this bed who loved Logan. Their bromance had reached new levels. He’d always had one with Mason, but on a recent trip, Logan and Channing had bonded over their love of burritos. Once I heard that, I didn’t want to hear anything else about it.
“Speaking of the Kades…” Channing lay back down, but this time he pulled me to his chest, his arm curving around me. “Have you talked to your friend lately?”
I thought back to the quick video chat from my office the other day.
“She’s happy and pregnant. Have you talked to Mason?”
“He sent a text the other day. Sounds like things are good with them. He’s busy with football and getting ready for the baby.”
The baby.
Rolling to my feet, I sat on the edge of the bed, naked, with the sheet around my waist. I was about to stand up when Channing touched my arm. “Hey.”
I glanced back over my shoulder.
The cocky humor was gone. “We should talk about her.”
I stiffened. “About Sam?”
He frowned. “You know who I’m talking about.”
We’d named her, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
“Not now.” Good God, not now. Not when my throat was burning, when my chest felt like it was going to cave in and squeeze my heart until it shattered. Not when it was all I could do to keep from turning my house upside down, looking for a pack to smoke.
The sex had helped distract me. We’d kept at it hard most the night, but it was six in the morning now, and I was ready to run a marathon. Talk about understanding Sam on a whole new level—I could’ve strapped on some sneakers and taken off, just like her.
Slipping into the bathroom, I showered and dressed. Manny’s was already open, but I still wanted to go over and check in. Channing got the coffee pot going. He was at the stove when I padded downstairs. I could smell the fresh coffee and whatever he was making.
It smelled good, but damn, not as good as he looked—barefoot, no shirt, his hair still messed from the last time I ran my hands through it. His jeans had fallen low on his hips, and his entire back was like a sculpted statue. He’d added more tattoos, so they ran up and over his shoulder, then down his back. One went under his arm and wrapped to his backside. As he stirred something on the stove, I saw the skull and bones tattoo he’d put under his bicep. Even though he claimed to hate his father, Channing also had a sense of obligation to the man. He loved him too, and I know it tortured him at times. After one of his last visits to the prison, he’d gone off with Moose, and they’d both come back with the same tattoo. I hadn’t asked, but I’d always figured it had something to do with his dad.
Going up behind Channing, I ran my finger over one of the bone tattoos and realized there was a word over it.
I paused, and he tensed.
It wasn’t a word. It was a name. “You put her name here?”
He hadn’t told me.
My mind spun. I felt those tears again. For fuck’s sake.
A ball lodged smack in the middle of my throat, and I couldn’t talk for a second.
Naly.
I traced the N. Channing stood stock-still, not even breathing.
A.
My hand skimmed down his back, falling to my side. “I didn’t know you did that.”
He turned, putting his hands on the counter behind him, but his eyes remained locked on me.
“You didn’t want to talk about her, and I didn’t want to forget her,” he said.
“When?”
He lifted a shoulder, his gaze falling away. “A few months ago. After my last fight.”
“For the underground ring?”
He nodded, his eyes flicking back up. “It was the same night I decided I was retiring. I won the championship, and I was drunk. Linc does tattoos, and we were celebrating, so…” Another shrug. “I did it.”
I burned with jealousy again, but not for Sam. “Do the guys know her name?” We hadn’t told anyone.
He shook his head. “I told them it was code for retiring from the ring.” He laughed under his breath. “They still think that.”
God. I wanted her back. I wanted to be holding her again. I didn’t want her name just on him.
“I want it too. Today.”
“Today?” He didn’t look surprised, but he raised an eyebrow.
I moved in front of him, tracing the LY I could see on his arm. “Yes. You can go check on Bren before school. I’ll make sure Manny’s is okay, and then after that.”
“Okay.”
His chest lifted as he took a breath and skimmed a hand down my arm, curving to my back. He tugged me close and bent down, grazing a kiss to my shoulder. “Can we skip whatever else we have to fight about and just be together? I’ve really, really missed you.”
I moved my forehead to his chest and closed my eyes. I breathed in his scent, the smell of his lingering cologne mixed with his permanently sun-kissed skin, and slid my arms around his sides. I hugged him back.
If we were official again, we needed to do something different. This time needed to stick.
I needed him too much, and so I kissed his chest and looked up.
“Yes.”
We were together again, but really, when had we ever been apart?
Lincoln was waiting for us when we arrived at Channing’s warehouse.
I hadn’t been out here for a long time. Being broken up with Channing meant my trips were generally just to his house (aka his bedroom) or him to mine. There were usually a few random visits to his bar, but I hadn’t been there during this last break. He’d come to Manny’s, but now that we were together together, I’d start visiting these spots again. I knew I’d be hanging out at Tuesday Tits later in the week, so a trip to the warehouse seemed fitting.
It also felt awkward, as if I shouldn’t have been away as long as I was.
I tried to shake off the feeling when we parked and headed inside, but it seemed settled in my shoulders. It wasn’t going to be leaving.
A few guys were lingering outside the door. They stepped back to talk to Channing as I went in.
Lincoln rolled back on his stool when he saw me. “Heard you wanted a tattoo?” He motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. You ready for some pain?”
I wasn’t sure if he was joking, but I sat. I’d gotten a tattoo before. And I was plenty familiar with pain of all kinds.
I laid my arm on the table and turned it over.
He glanced over. “That’s where you want it?”
I touched from under my wrist to my elbow. “Small letters spaced out.”
“You have a pattern in mind?”
I showed him the font I wanted and where I wanted the letters inked.
He nodded, measuring me. “Same as Chan’s?”
I didn’t know Lincoln well. He’d joined the crew a year ago, but even if he’d been around for years, I didn’t think I’d know him any better. He was quiet. There was a roughness to him, and he had an almost feral look in his eyes at times. It faded when he was around the others, but I saw it more clearly now that we were alone.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, but I had to trust myself. Under those hairs was nothing. The door was open. We could hear the other guys in the warehouse, and no matter what, I knew Channing wouldn’t allow me to be alone in a room with someone he thought might hurt me. If this guy tried anything, one, I’d beat his ass, and two, Channing would give him a second beating.
As I studied him, I caught a flicker in his gaze.
“You guys know?” I asked.
He’d started cleaning my arm, and now reached for a razor to shave it. He didn’t respond at first.
“It’s a guess,” he eventually said. “He told us he’d picked her up from the hospital. And he’d won so many f
ights, I didn’t think it had much to do with that.”
A knot infused in my throat.
Everyone assumed it’d been a miscarriage because I’d been so small when she died. We hadn’t told them how far along I’d been. I didn’t know the guys knew she’d been stillborn.
“Yeah.” I couldn’t say anything more.
I’d wanted to pick her up, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Brandon just told me he’d asked Channing, and it was done. He’d asked to bury her next to his mother, and I was okay with that. We had a small memorial for her, just a few of us.
It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
Lincoln finished shaving the area and drying my arm. “A few of us thought about doing something in her name for you guys—just haven’t figured out what it would be yet.”
He’d kept his head down, focused on his work, but he looked up at me now. Just a small pause, but enough that I could see he meant every word he’d said. His sympathy was genuine.
He looked back down.
He grabbed the stencils with the lettering, and added, “You don’t really know me, but I was in a bad spot for a while.” He laid the Y down. “When Channing brought me into the crew, he saved my life.”
This wasn’t what I’d expected from Lincoln.
As he worked, I studied a scar that ran down the length of his face, almost from his forehead to his jaw. It hadn’t healed properly, and it seemed to stretch the skin. That scar, mixed with the air of violence around him, contrasted strikingly against the meticulous care he was taking with my tattoo, and how soft his voice was as he spoke.
It also struck me how much reverence I heard in his voice for Channing, and if he was crew, then Channing felt the same for him. It was moments like these when I understood why Channing lived the way he did.
Warmth spread through me.
I was proud to know Channing. I was proud to know these guys. They weren’t criminals, but I knew they’d committed criminal acts, and because of that, they might be looked down upon by outsiders. Rich folk in Fallen Crest feared us, and they should, but they should never think they were above us.
In that instant, I felt foolish. Ridiculously foolish.
These guys were home to Channing. Channing was home to me.