by Paula Cox
“I didn't think much of it,” she lied while she forced her heart to calm its erratic rhythm. Though, it was slightly true. Friday evening, at the bar, the mere prospect of spending the entire weekend with Tyler was unthinkable.
“And you didn't even bother to text me?” Naomi's hand landed on Miranda's shoulder and she forced her to turn around. With a tight hold on her shoulders and an eager glint, Naomi could barely contain her curiosity. “Dish. Now.”
“What's there to dish?” Miranda averted her gaze while her face burned. She shrugged off Naomi's hands and backed away. She wanted space. She was sure Naomi could hear her heart slam about in her chest. What did she have to be ashamed of, though? They were all adults. “We hung out over the weekend.”
Naomi's eyebrows tilted upward. “Did he spend the night?”
“Yes,” grunted Miranda. The urge to confide in Naomi swelled in her thoughts. The blonde would know how to handle the feelings battling inside her head. There was no one else she could turn to. Well, no one who wouldn't go running to her family about the news. Annoyance wrinkled Miranda's thoughts. How did her family have everyone curled around their little fingers?
Curiosity knew no bounds in Naomi's head. She leaned forward, the grin broadening across her lips. “How many nights?”
The blush flared hotly across Miranda's face. It clawed up her neck and down to her center. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Averting her gaze, she answered, “The whole weekend.”
“That's my girl!” Naomi squealed and clapped Miranda on the shoulder. She was all grins and sparkling eyes. “Are you going to see him again?”
“It's complicated,” Miranda pulled away, again. She fussed with the hem of her blouse, before she scuttled down the counters. She filled pencil cups and replenished sticky notes, busying her nervous fingers. She could feel Naomi’s critical gaze on her.
“No, it's not,” Naomi said as she pursued Miranda. “If you want to see him again, send him a text.”
“We broke up.” The words spewed from her lips before she could censor them. Their breakup made its rounds in her head, followed quickly by her loved ones going behind her back and ruining her relationship. Bile climbed up Miranda's throat, but she ignored her feelings.
“Over the weekend?” Naomi snorted and mock stage-whispered to herself, “That was fast.”
“No, ten years ago. I guess my family didn't really like him,” Miranda paused, her eyebrows furrowed unhappily, “Or my friends.” That sense of betrayal inflated in her thoughts. Miranda's thoughts became barbed and her words embittered, “They talked to him, apparently, and that's why he broke up with me.”
Naomi went silent. The ambient temperature seemed to drop a couple degrees. Miranda turned back to the counters and she aimlessly fiddled with loose supplies. She knew what her friend was going to say.
Naomi hated when people tried to run lives that weren't theirs. Miranda never had an issue with her family's pushiness. Well, not until Tyler revealed their private discussions with him. When Naomi spoke, her voice held a cold tone of displeasure, “Sounds like he broke up with you because of them. Not you.”
“It was ten years ago,” Miranda reiterated, as if the point hadn't sunk into Naomi's head. She shot her friend a pointed look. Naomi wasn't this dense. Plus, where was the 'love them, leave them' attitude she usually possessed? Miranda resisted pressing her lips into a frustrated line. “They thought they were helping.”
“Who cares what they thought?” Naomi leaned back against the counter, her eyes warm and bright with idealized romance. “Fresh start, new chances. You seem happier, even if it was only a weekend.”
Miranda shook her head. The blush flared hotter than ever. Even though she despised her family for their meddling, Miranda couldn't just fall back into Tyler's arms. They were from two very separate worlds – even if he did make her unbelievably happy with his mere presence. “We're not good for each other.”
“What makes you say that?” Naomi listed her head to the side, her brows dipped in curiosity.
“He's just… I get…” Miranda stumbled over her words. She got hasty and reckless around Tyler, but she never hurt anyone, despite what her parents thought. As she pressed her lips together, her eyebrows furrowed. Freedom and confidence always flooded her senses around Tyler. Was that really a bad thing? Feeling as if she could do anything with him by her side? “I'm someone different around him.”
“And you don't like that side of you?”
“No, that's not it.” Miranda's shoulders hunched to her ears. Frustration and embarrassment licked across her face. She didn't have the words to explain herself.
“Then what's the problem?”
Miranda fell silent. There wasn't a problem. That was the problem, though. She became reckless and careless around Tyler. When she was a kid, she missed school. As an adult, what would she sacrifice just to be around Tyler? What responsibilities would she shirk? A job was different than school. People counted on her at the bank. An impatient knock rapped on the glass door. Miranda jolted and shook the thoughts away. This was not the time to dwell on her personal problems.
“Let's talk about this later, Naomi. The bank needs to open” Miranda jammed the excess pens and sticky notes into a supply drawer. She glanced up at the clock. They were ten minutes late opening the doors. Guilt pinched at her thoughts as she imagined her family blaming Tyler for this incident. Somewhat thankful for the distraction, she switched into full-bank manager mode as she power-walked to the front door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A sense of sadness swelled up in Tyler's chest as he stepped into the motel room. The whole ride from Miranda's apartment, his mind contrived new ways to go see her again. Stepping into his room only solidified their separation. Of course, he could find her at the bank. Maybe a dinner, a movie, bowling? Tyler groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He was acting ridiculous. Like a teenager again, who plotted 'coincidental' meetings with his crush.
“Where have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you!” Jack stormed out of the bathroom, dressed in jeans with a towel coiled across the back of his shoulders. His eyebrows lowered in anger and his eyes brightened by worry as he advanced on Tyler.
Tyler cocked an eyebrow, confused by Jack's sudden irritation. There had been plenty weekends where either one of them disappeared with a pretty thing. A small bead of guilt rolled about his thoughts. He had blatantly ignored uncharacteristic texts. Tyler forced a shrug to his shoulders and an airy lilt to his words, “I was enjoying my vacation.”
“Yeah, well vacation is cut short, Ty.” Jack's expression pinched and soured.
“Why?”
“Lloyd found me Saturday.” Tyler's blood ran cold and his stomach clenched. Jack's expression darkened with discomfort. “Pete knows we blew the whistle and wants us back ASAP. Lloyd owes me, so he gave us some time to pack up and get out.”
The world felt like it had spun out beneath Tyler's feet. His stomach clenched and nausea rose in his thoughts. Thoughts of Miranda danced about his head. He clamped down on them. No, he had to sever the tie before it got any worse.
The whole reason for their trip was for distance and safety. Jack, being the only number-savvy member of the Blacksteel Bandits, had confided in Tyler about some number discrepancy in the books. Upon further investigation, the numbers all traced back to their president. After handing the necessary proof to one of the senior members, Jack and Tyler rode of into the sunset for a vacation approved a week prior.
Tyler clenched his fists, unable to look at Jack as he asked, “How long?”
“Tonight, by ten,” Jack muttered, his hollow tone laced with irritation. Obviously, Tyler should have addressed his calls and texts sooner.
“Shit.” Tyler hissed and ran his hand through his hair. Weighted disappointment slammed into his stomach. Of all the foolish, stupid things he had done, this took the cake. Yet, he couldn't find it in him to regret any second spent with Miranda.
Tyler
clamped down on all thoughts of her. He tied them up and shoved them into a mental box, into a far corner of his mind. They had plans to make. They needed to pack, check out, empty his bank account. The thought of the bank made Tyler's brain freeze. Miranda would be there. His stomach lurched unhappily before his inner biker took over.
Tough shit for Miranda. Tyler had to do anything to stay alive, even if that meant breaking her heart. Again. It also meant keeping her safe. The thought brought the taste of bile to Tyler's tongue. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to turn his back on Miranda – again. But he had no choice. If he stayed, he wouldn't stay away from her. Tyler's stomach dropped to his knees, imagining what Pete would do if he found out about her.
* * *
As soon as Tyler stepped into the bank, the silence descended immediately. Eyes were on him and whispers followed. Faintly, he wondered if anyone had recognized him by now. That thought made Tyler's skin itch with uncertainty. This time, however, he was alone, which made it worse. Jack was busy packing up and preparing for the long road ahead, so it couldn't be helped.
He made his way to the tellers' counter. The line had suddenly dispersed as soon as he joined it. A bald man stood behind the counter when Tyler stepped forward. “How may I help you, sir?”
Tyler leaned on the counter and hunched his shoulders. His eyes darted around the back area, faintly wondering where Miranda was. He didn't want to see her with the request he had. “I'd like to close my account.”
“Certainly, sir,” the man answered with crisp professionalism. His smile retained that glassy expression as he asked Tyler a few questions. After gaining the information he needed, and accessing Tyler's account, the bald man asked, “Is there another bank account you'd like to transfer your money to?”
Tyler forced himself to remain breezy and cool. He hated the runaround banks gave him, especially when it entailed a good deal of money. It was his money, wasn't it? “No, I'd like to cash it all out.”
The teller's eyebrows twitched upward, almost imperceptibly. The air in Tyler's lungs locked. This was going to be a problem. He could smell it on the air. The teller retrieved his smile, though, and replied, “I'll need to go get my manager to make sure it's okay.”
Before Tyler could answer, the man scurried away. He puffed out a sigh of exasperation. The less he saw Miranda, the less likely he'd want to spend another night with her. His stomach coiled unhappily as he heard her familiar footfalls on the carpet.
“Mr. Ferguson,” Miranda smiled glassily at him. She was all professionalism. “I hear you want to take all your money out.”
Tyler couldn't meet her eye. He kept his face trained on her, though his gaze flickered elsewhere behind his sunglasses. He simply nodded and grunted, “Yep.”
“That's a lot of money to carry on your person.” Her warning tone had a lick of worry to it. When older patrons wanted to cash out their seventy-odd thousand dollars, there was quite a lot of hoopla. Thankfully, though Tyler had a decent amount of cash in his bank account, he didn't have enough to call for an escort out. Besides, he was a big, strong biker. No one would posit a complaint about her breach of protocol.
He hunched his shoulders and pursed his lips. “I know.”
“All right, I'll handle this, Lenny.” Miranda smiled as her employee scurried away. She turned back to the computer, resisting the urge to frown. She typed in the override commands, adding a note that the patron was out-of-town. Faintly, she wondered if her mother – who took to overseeing most transactions – would recognize Tyler's name.
The musing of her mother didn't quite overwrite the other thoughts circulating in Miranda's head. Tyler was taking all of his money from his account. That meant he was leaving. Her heart ached and the back of her eyes burned. She took deep, inconspicuous breaths through her nose. She couldn't turn into a puddle of tears while at work – especially, not in the middle of a transaction.
As her fingers clacked across the keyboard, she took a straightened her thoughts. Whatever Tyler did, it was his business. They weren't dating and he had no obligation to her. Her heart hiccupped at the very thought. Regardless, Miranda turned to Tyler, her own glassy smile affixed to her lips. “Mr. Ferguson, typically, we have a waiting period to withdraw money from the bank. It's highly unusual to withdraw everything.”
For a second, anger flickered across his features, followed closely by a pinched worry. Who was a bank to decide when and how he could have his money? And if he didn't take it all, they'd have a credit trail, easily traceable by Lloyd or Pete. The thought made Tyler's stomach fall to his knees.
He ran his hand through his hair, his brows furrowing. Before he could manage to mutter dissent, Miranda sighed. She turned back to the computer and typed something in. Then, without a word to Tyler, she turned away and waltzed into the back room.
Overall, Legacy's bank did extremely well. The amount Tyler wanted to withdraw wasn't so extreme and wouldn't require the bank to report it. However, worry did tinge at Miranda's thoughts. Tyler breezed into town and out, again. He withdrew all of his money. And the face he made when she mentioned the odd situation. Was he in trouble? The thought made Miranda's stomach churn.
When she made her way back to the counter with the stacks of money, she switched to a numb autopilot. She counted the money, almost in an automaton-like trance. Tyler listened with dull eyes, nodding his head once she was finished. After she neatly placed the money in the bag and held it out to him, a need sliced through her thoughts. This may be the last time she ever saw him. Ever.
Something snapped in her thoughts. The weekend had been long and lovely and gratifyingly exhausting. She almost thought it would never end. Yet, it had. And here he was, withdrawing money and about to disappear off the face of the earth again.
Tyler's fingers brushed against hers. She sharply inhaled, her eyes widening as she felt sparks along her arm. Over the short distance, she and Tyler locked gazes. Heat and pressure slammed between them. Miranda knew what she wanted.
“Mr. Ferguson, I must discuss a few things with you in my office,” Miranda lied through her teeth. The back of her neck warmed under the curious glances of her many co-workers. She pushed all of her embarrassment and uncertainty away. This might be her last chance. Plus, she was the bank manager. She could make unorthodox requests. She just needed a good lie for later when her family and co-workers asked.
After they stepped into her office, Tyler shut the door silently behind him. Miranda drew the blinds to the windows that looked into the lobby before she sauntered to her desk. She leaned against the surface while Tyler's eyes trailed around the room.
There wasn't much to it. It was done up in the same cream and cool grey motif as the rest of the bank. There were small splashes of color thanks to the mahogany desk and shelves, but – otherwise – everything was muted and dull.
Miranda tried not to think how the room represented part of her. It felt so sterile and foreign. She hated her office and she did everything she could to avoid working in the room. When she did have to sit at her desk, she would keep the door propped open or the windows flung wide. The chatter of the lobby or the heat of the sun livened up the place.
Painfully, Tyler noted there was little to no familial or friendly pictures hanging up in the room. Overall, the office was painfully sparse. When his gaze fell back to Miranda, he realized the room didn't represent her. It was a façade made up of appropriate features her family would most likely approve.
She watched him, carefully.
Tyler pulled his gaze away and ducked his head down. As he slid the paper bag of money into his inner vest pocket, he asked, “So, what's this about, Mir?”
She swallowed, her thoughts turning over a whim that had drifted in and out of her mind all morning. Well, it was no or never. Otherwise, Miranda felt she'd never have another chance. “Do you want to come over to my place tonight?”
Tyler hid his surprise and his delight. He was certain Miranda would move on after their constan
t time together the last few days. A part of him still rallied against the offer. “We spent the entire weekend together.”
“So, no,” murmured Miranda as she dropped her eyes to the floor. Dejection and rejection sifted through her thoughts. Faintly, she wondered if Tyler only wanted a sex-filled weekend. Was she that easy of a target for him?
“Mir, I'd love to, but–” I'm leaving and I don't want to hurt you again. That's what he wanted to add, but he couldn't find the words. He didn't want to leave and he didn't want to push her away. The very thought sent an ache through his heart.
“I get it,” Miranda sighed and held up a hand. Tyler snapped his lips shut as she continued, “I just thought, since we ordered in every night this last weekend, I could make you dinner.”
“What's on the menu?” Tyler's stomach coiled. The few times Miranda cooked for him in the past had been delicious. Even his taste buds hadn't forgotten.
“This is going to be a low blow,” Miranda laughed and smiled. It was a backup that a sneakier, sly part of her mind came up with. She felt a little bad for pulling this card, but she had long ago learned his secret weakness. With a coy grin, she said, “I was thinking of your favorite hot wings.”