Truly, Madly, Whiskey

by Melissa Foster

  He held her for a long, long time, comforting her and making her feel safe. Every word, every sweet, tender kiss he pressed to her head, chipped away more of the wall she’d constructed around her heart, unleashing years of unspoken fear and heartache. She clung to him, sobbing not only for the attack, but for the loss of her father and the descent of her mother, letting out all the sadness she’d kept locked up until she had no more tears to cry. And then she gasped for air, whimpering like a child coming to grips with an injury that no longer threatened to steal her life but stung like a paper cut—painful and sharp, but livable.

  Within the safety of Bear’s arms, his heart beating sure and steady against her own, her ghosts disengaged from some hidden dungeon deep within her, escaping through her confession and tears, and she found a sense of peace.

  “Thank you for trusting me.” Bear’s voice was thick with emotion. “There are not enough words to express how sorry I am for all you’ve gone through.”

  She drew back far enough to see his glistening eyes, causing hers to tear up again. He brushed her hair from in front of her face and kissed her forehead. His gaze turned regretful.

  “Everything I did last week, baby. Jesus. I’m so fucking sorry. What I said. The way I pushed. Fuck. I’m so sorry. You must have been terrified. Crystal, I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t expect a thing from you. If you want this, if you want me, I will be the man you need me to be. I’ll go with you to therapy. I’ll talk. I’ll listen—”

  “Bear,” she interrupted, unable to hold in her feelings any longer. “You are the man I want.”

  His jaw tightened again.

  “I don’t need to go back to therapy, but I love knowing that if I ever do, you’d be willing to go with me. That means more to me than you could ever imagine. The reason I went to see David was that I do want to explore whatever this is between us. I want it so much it’s practically all I think about. You’re all I think about. And in my head, I worried that I’d freak out if we got close, not out of fear of being intimate, because I’m not afraid to be intimate with you. I backed off out of nervousness. I had finally found someone I wanted to move on with, and I worried I’d freak out, even though I wasn’t scared. That’s why it took me so long. And it might have taken me even longer if you hadn’t finally kissed me. I promise you, I’ve dealt with the actual…incident. It was all those months of wanting and worrying, not the assault, that made me freak out.”

  She swallowed hard, gathering the courage to tell him the rest of the truth.

  “I haven’t been intimate with a man since before the attack. I have a hard time trusting, and until you, I hadn’t met anyone who made me feel anything.”

  His brows knitted, and guilt circled her like a vulture. In addition to tricking everyone into thinking she was some kind of biker chick, she’d led them to believe she was into meaningless flings with edgy men.

  “I know none of it makes sense, given what I’ve led you to believe, but it does to me,” she said, grasping for the right words to explain away her lies.

  “When I was growing up, I was Chrissy, a girl who loved school and life, but when we moved to the mobile home, the neighborhood was rough, and I became hard around the edges. I learned to fight and talk back. A girl can take only so many catcalls before she snaps. Then, at college, I wanted to pretend that part of my life didn’t exist, so I became Chrystina. The smart, sweet, slightly preppy, academically oriented girl next door. I had a few boyfriends and dated each of them for a while, but for one reason or another they didn’t last. But after that night, I wasn’t the same person anymore. I didn’t want to be the girl everyone liked, because, well, look what that got me. And I didn’t want to go back to being Chrissy, because that was a lost girl who missed her father, had a hot mess of a mother, and wanted to be someone else. So I became Crystal. All of this”—she waved toward her clothes—“and this.” She lifted a lock of hair. “My hair, the attitude, all of it, including the stories about one-night stands, was meant to keep people away.”

  “Jesus, baby. You’ve been running or hiding for years.”

  She nodded, feeling the sting of tears simply because he understood and he was still right there. He wasn’t judging her or telling her how she should have handled it. He was holding her and still looking at her like she was the gasoline to his engine—and she wanted to be.

  “But even my best efforts at keeping people away didn’t keep Gemma away, and they didn’t keep you away.”

  “Or my brothers, or Dixie, or Tru and the babies,” he pointed out. “You’re part of us, and it doesn’t matter what you call yourself or what color your hair is.” He arched a brow and a soft laugh escaped.

  God it felt good to laugh.

  “Dirty blond.” She tapped his chin. “You can make as many naughty remarks as you want about that, but not right now please.”

  A hint of a laugh fell from his lips, but she could see he wasn’t taking this any lighter than she was.

  “You never told Gemma?”

  “No. And I feel horribly guilty about that. She’s always been honest with me about everything. I feel bad about lying to you, too. I’m sorry, Bear. I’m sorry I led you and everyone else to believe that I was someone I wasn’t. By the time I met you, I was in too deep. But you need to know, I didn’t have one-night stands, and before we met there were a few boring first dates, but not a single one since you first put your arm around me and decided I was yours whether I liked it or not.”

  She smiled, and just as quickly her smile faded. “And with Gemma, I had finally found a real friend. Every time I thought about telling her, I couldn’t figure out how. But I want to. I need to. Just not yet. I know it puts you in a tough position, since you and Tru are so close, but I would really appreciate it if you could keep this between us.”

  He gritted his teeth and gently ran a hand down the side of her face. “Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “What happened to the asshole who did this to you?”

  “Nothing. I had panic attacks for two days straight, so I packed up my stuff and left. I tried to tell my mother, but she was drunk, and basically made me feel like I’d somehow asked for it, and—”

  “Wait. Jesus. First, your mother?”

  “I know. Please, let’s not talk about her.”

  “Okay, but, sugar, nothing happened to the guy? Didn’t you go to the police?” His voice rose with anger, but she knew it wasn’t aimed at her.

  “No. I didn’t go to the police. I didn’t even know his real name. His friends called him Cas, but I heard one of them say it was for Casanova. All I wanted was to move on and to never, ever think about it again, which was ridiculous. I knew it even then, but at least I’ve done a damn good job of starting over.”

  Anger burned in her chest with the memories of how hard starting over had been. She’d spent weeks vacillating between bawling, screaming, and making it through each day like an automaton. She’d hated herself for being too weak to stick around and finish out her studies, but she’d been in no shape for classes. The fear she’d felt walking into David’s office for the first time had been paralyzing. But the weight that had lifted from her when she’d finally told him the truth about the attack, her parents, and Jed’s stealing had been equally healing.

  “What about Jed?” he asked gruffly. “Did he do something to the guy?”

  She felt his muscles tensing up. “He doesn’t know.”

  “So this asshole, this motherfucker,” he said through gritted teeth, “is still out there? He’s never been punished for what he did?”

  “Bear, listen to me, please. You have to let that anger go. You can’t seek revenge. I want to have a normal life. I need to have a normal life. And I can’t do that if I get all caught up in him again.”

  “Caught up in him?” he growled. “I’m going to make sure that you never feel unsafe again. I’m going to find that fucker and tear him apart.”


  She pushed back, anxiety climbing her spine. “No. I’m not one of the kids you can help by intimidating a bully. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve moved past that time of my life. I’ve got a new life—a good life—”

  Bear shifted rage-filled eyes away.

  “Look at me.” She grabbed his face, pulling it back toward hers, and forced the calmest voice she could, which wasn’t very calm at all. “I know you want revenge, or justice, but this is not about that. There is no revenge for what he did. Between losing my dad, my mom’s alcoholism, and what happened, I don’t have a pretty past. I’ve had no one to turn to since I was nine, and there was so much shit on my plate, I felt myself crumbling under the weight of it all. I made a choice. Rather than crash and burn, I left and I started over. I had to. I know there are people who will never understand my not going to the police. But they aren’t me. I had no one I trusted enough to turn to. Not my parent, not a best friend, not a counselor. And by the time I met David and we’d worked through enough of the issues that I could have considered going to the police, it was too late. There were no witnesses, and honestly, I wanted to move on. I made the decision that was right for me, and I stand behind it. And now that’s all in the past and none of it can be fixed with revenge. There’s only what happened and how I’ve moved past it. And”—she softened her tone—“how I want to have a relationship with you. Please don’t let your anger about what happened come between us, because it will.”

  “Fuck.” He closed his eyes. Then he took her face in his hands, restrained rage present in the hard press of his fingers. “You’re asking me to go against everything I believe. You’re asking me to let a rapist walk free.”

  “Yes, I am. It was more than four years ago, Bear. There is no evidence. You said you would be what I needed. This is what I need.”

  BEAR ROLLED INTO the parking lot of Whiskey Bro’s around midnight, surprised to see his father’s car parked among the typical lineup of motorcycles and trucks. His father came by the bar often, but he didn’t usually stick around that late. Bear checked his phone to see if he had missed a call from Bullet asking him to take a shift. He was scheduled to bartend Wednesday night, but sometimes they called him on the spur of the moment if the bar got busy. He’d been so blown away by what Crystal had told him, it wouldn’t have surprised him if he had missed a text. Luckily, there were no missed messages from his brother.

  To a passerby, the wooden building with rough, marred pillars, frequented by bikers and avoided by most others, didn’t look like much more than a shady dive. The Dark Knights clubhouse, located behind the bar, was equally unimpressive. But to Bear, who’d practically been raised in the bar, walking into Whiskey’s was like coming home, and with the way his insides were roiling and his mind was waging a full-on war, he needed as much stability as he could get.

  He stepped into the bar, inhaling the scents of leather and alcohol, comfort and stability. There were only a handful of customers sitting at tables and around the bar, nodding their greeting as Bear walked past. His father was sitting at a table with two guys from the club, and Bear made a beeline behind the bar, where Bullet was engrossed in something on his phone.

  “What’s up?” Bullet didn’t look up from his phone. His thick dark brows were drawn down in concentration. At six five, he was the most intimidating of Bear’s siblings. Bullet had a warrior inside him. The deadly kind that could kill a man with a single punch. Bear had seen his eldest brother get the most formidable of challengers to back down with nothing more than the lethal stare he’d mastered during his years in the Special Forces. But Bear had also seen him bring women to their knees when those ice-cold, coal-black eyes smoldered with seduction.

  What’s up? I want to track down some motherfucker and torture him until he can’t breathe, and then I want to help him breathe so I can torture him all over again.

  Bear fixed himself a double shot of whiskey. Not trusting himself to give a more civilized answer, he ignored the question. “What’s Pop talking to Viper and Bud about?”

  Viper and Bud Redmond were brothers and members of the Dark Knights. They owned the Snake Pit, an upscale bar at the other end of town, as well as Petal Me Hard, a local flower shop.

  “From what I can piece together, he’s on another kick to expand Whiskey Bro’s and they’re giving him pointers.”

  Their father had talked about expanding the bar on and off for the past few years. It was a good idea, but a major undertaking that Bear knew would fall on his shoulders.

  Bullet’s eyes darted to Bear, and he shoved his phone in his pocket. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Bear set the glass on the bar and went to the other side, climbing onto a stool, feeling the weight of Crystal’s confession eating away at him. He stared at the amber liquid, which he’d been ready to down three seconds ago.

  He pushed the painful reminder of what Crystal had endured across the bar. “Take this away, will ya?”

  Bullet grabbed it and downed it in a single gulp and leaned his forearms on the bar, bringing him eye to eye with Bear. “Now I know some shit went down.”

  “Yeah, some shit went down all right, but…” I can’t talk about it. His eyes skated around the bar as he replayed the night for the umpteenth time. After he and Crystal left the park, he’d driven her back to her car and then followed her home. He’d walked her up to the door, expecting to go inside and hold her, make her feel safe, but she’d said she just needed to sleep and had apologized profusely. He’d seen the fatigue in her eyes and in the drooping of her shoulders. Where her confession had gutted him and then filled the hole with a fireball of rage and sadness, it had depleted Crystal of all of her energy. It had killed him not to push her to let him stay, but he knew she’d taken a giant leap of faith by trusting him with her secrets, and he vowed to respect her wishes, no matter how hard it was for him.

  “But…?” Bullet leveled him with one of his glares. He had the patience of a saint when it came to Tru’s kids, but he had a nose for bullshit and for trouble, and where family was concerned, Bullet didn’t put up with either.

  That threatening glare was almost enough to make Bear spill his guts. Almost. But he’d never betray Crystal’s trust. Not even for Bullet.

  “Nothing.”

  Bullet leaned so close Bear could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Either spill your shit, little brother, or wipe that look off your face. You look like you’re either going to rip someone’s head off, in which case I need to back you up, or you’re going to start tearing shit apart, in which case I need to wrestle you to the ground.”

  Bear smirked. “I don’t need backup. I just need advice.”

  His brother laughed and pushed off the bar, shaking his head. “That’s a first. You’re usually the armchair psychologist standing on this side of the bar, doling out advice the way hookers dole out blow jobs.”

  “No shit.”

  “What’s got you so effed up?” Bullet filled a glass with ice water and pushed it across the bar, watching him like a hawk.

  Bullet had a way of getting into people’s heads. For that reason, Bear stared at the glass as he spoke. “Thanks. What would you do if someone you cared about was taken advantage of but wanted you to take a step back?”

  Bullet laughed again, and in the next second his eyes cast daggers. “No one tells me to take a step back.” He set his palms on the bar, leaning closer again. “You always do what’s right, little brother. It’s that simple.”

  “No, bro. It’s that fucking complicated.” He guzzled the water. “It’s Crystal.”

  Bullet’s brows slanted in disapproval.

  “Some shit went down years ago, but…Fuck, B. I don’t know what to do.” Bear felt his father’s hand grip his shoulder. He tipped his face up, taking in the familiar roadmap of wrinkles. His father’s skin was like worn leather from his years of riding all day and partying all night. Once a biker, always a biker. It was in their blood. There was no mistaking the biker in Biggs, f
rom his black leather vest with the Dark Knights patches to the leather boots he’d had since Bear was a kid, and every tattooed inch in between. His father looked as though he belonged on a mean machine, save for the cane and slight drooping of the left side of his face, which was hidden pretty well by his scruffy white beard and mustache.

  “Hey, Pop.”

  “What’s got your nuts in a knot, boy?” He sank down to the stool beside Bear and nodded to Bullet. “Mind getting me a water, son?”

  His father hardly ever called them by their given names or their road names. It was always boy, son, or kid. Asking had never been his forte, either, until after his stroke. Still, it was a rare occurrence. Bear guessed that was where he’d learned to do or take or tell. His father had been demanding things from him for as long as he could remember. Ride your bike over to the bar after school to help with inventory. Run up to the store and get [whatever he needed at the moment]. His father didn’t dole out life lessons the way most parents did, with thoughtful discussions and kind conversation. No, sir. Biggs believed lessons were learned by doing not listening. From the time Bear had gotten his driver’s license, his father would haul his ass out of bed with a phone call to drive drunken customers home. Bear would drive the customer’s car and one of his brothers, or Dixie, when she learned to drive, would follow behind and drive him back home. When no one else was available, Bear would drive the customer to their house and then take a cab back. He’d minded those trips like nobody’s business, until one day when he’d driven a drunken man home and the guy had rambled the whole way about his beautiful, smart little girl and his son who tried his patience at every turn. When he’d dropped him off, he’d seen a little girl peering out the window. He’d known then that regardless of how tired he’d be the next day at school, his father had done the right thing. The image of that little girl’s face pressed against the window had stuck with him.

  “His girl’s gone through some shit and she wants Bear to ignore it,” Bullet explained.

  “Jesus, B. Think you can let me speak?”