Brute: The Valves MC

by Faye, Carmen

  I reached for his cheek and turned his face gently towards me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry about what I said. I promise I will help you in any way I can, even if only by forgetting everything that happened today, in this room.” I tried to relate the seriousness of my promise. I looked deep into his eyes, hoping he’d feel how I felt.

  He slowly put his hands around me and dropped his head and my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

  “It’s all right, baby. It’s all right.” I caressed his back, hugging him tight, trying to bring a little comfort into his world.

  We spent minutes connected like this, two bodies so close; we shared the warmth of our blood. I could feel his heart and he could feel my ragged breathing. I was fighting tears I didn’t want him to see. I knew they would make him feel guiltier.

  He broke the embrace and finally looked into my eyes. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  I smiled, regaining control of my expression. “We probably need a new batch of coffee,” I said, immediately feeling stupid for my choice of changing the subject.

  “Sure. I can help with that.”

  He took my hand and led me to his favorite barstool, then proceeded to make coffee. I watched his back, muscles moving delightfully in rhythm. He was much taller than me so my low set kitchen looked Lilliputian around him. This man, with his dark secrets and warm heart, mesmerized me.

  I couldn’t stop my mouth from asking, “Why did you tell me?”

  He didn’t look at me. I could see him thinking. “Because you asked me,” was his unfortunate choice.

  “I know it was hard to talk and you could’ve said anything when I asked you.”

  “I love you. Because I love you.”

  I gasped and stood up. This was the evening of the shocking news and I didn’t know if I could stand it anymore. Good thing he had his back turned, avoiding us the same way I wanted to. I couldn’t risk showing my feelings so I walked towards the window, finding myself grabbing the sill with such force, my knuckles turned white.

  His warmth startled me, as he approached from behind. “Well?” he asked in a concerned voice.

  I couldn’t respond. I was crying and my voice would’ve betrayed me. I wasn’t sad; these weren’t tears of hurt. No, I was happy. He loved me. And I knew, from the way his words kept resonating in my body, that I loved him back. I just needed to stop being a teenage girl and say it.

  His hands encircled me and pulled my body into a comforting hug. “Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, silly,” I sniffled. He had discovered me so what was the point in hiding? “I love you, too, that’s why.”

  I heard him chuckle in my ear. “By your reaction, is seems like the most awful predicament two people could find themselves in.”

  I turned to him, but couldn't bear to look up. I felt like a girl first falling in love. I buried my face in his broad chest and whispered “Happy tears. These are happy tears.”

  Hugging him tight, I felt how his body was tensed, on guard. I thought he found the moment, and the confession, hard to deal with, so I ran my hands slowly on his back, trying to relax him. Something still kept his muscles ready to fight, his body like steel.

  I felt mellow and exhausted from the events of the night, so I didn’t think anything of it. After all, he was trying to bring down the worst gang in the region. I sighed and hugged him tighter, showing him I’ll always be there to support him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Without Ginger, Sunday afternoon seemed empty. I had grown used to her beautiful mop of hair and her presence around the house. I missed her more than I thought I would. But Dawson picked her up earlier than usual to attend Ginger’s friend’s birthday party.

  Alone, I sat on my living room couch to consider my newfound feelings. I lifted my feet and stretched, desperately in need of sleep. But the increasing inclination for that sleep fled with a stab in my thigh. I scowled and shifted my weight in search of the culprit to find I had sat on one of Ginger’s elaborately-etched mini tea cups.

  I shook my head, placing it on the coffee table. God, I loved the girl and everything connected to her. I had long since realized I had a special place to carefully arrange the occasional toy she left behind, and that spot was the only one I took great care to clean daily. With a sigh, I laid back and hoped I would fall asleep. I felt especially languid this afternoon, but I couldn’t shake the sensation I had something to do before getting comfortable. I frowned, eyes half-closed, straining to figure out what I’d forgotten. My body responded, my stomach rumbling loudly in the complete silence of my surroundings. I cringed as I remembered the errand.

  “The farmer’s market!” I grumbled aloud. How had I forgotten?

  I took the designated notebook out of its felt pocket and went to check the contents of the fridge to make a shopping list. I used the notepad of household and chore-related notes, as well as to-do lists, and as I searched for a free page, I stumbled on a message to myself from last week.

  You’re in love. Buy yourself some flowers and get something with Ginger.

  I smiled. Flowers were just the thing to cheer me up, and I knew a short trip to get something for Ginger wouldn’t hurt, either. It might have been better if she were with me as I apparently had planned, but not much could make me give up a shopping trip. Her absence wouldn’t stop me.

  Half an hour later, I was ready to go out, having changed into a comfortable but stylish two-piece cotton suit with a detailed shopping list in my hand, the kind I rarely made. I chose a soft cardigan that fit loosely enough to be mistaken as a cape, and I grabbed my largest purse from the closet, dumping the contents of my usual bag into it. Then, I headed for the door.

  I felt good about myself as I settled into the driver’s seat. I wanted to hit the largest farmer’s market in the area, so I braced for a considerably long trip. Of course, knowing of a nice coffee bar and a beautiful jewelry shop around the corner from the market added motivation to my choice of shopping venues.

  Halfway there, I found myself listening to songs of the Brit Invasion, and I smiled, realizing some of Dawson’s taste must’ve worn off on me.

  The parking lot was packed, but this was one of those days I had from time to time when nothing could bring me down. Besides, I liked being surrounded by crowds, and walking never killed anyone. I parked a couple blocks away and turned back to the indoor market.

  The unique smell so characteristic of the market hit me immediately as I entered, and the familiar relaxation settled in my limbs. I breathed in deeply. Shopping always improved my mood. The solitude, the freedom to walk the aisles at my own pace and leisure, not having to worry about getting home to someone or chasing after a small child was one of the best feelings I could imagine. I didn't have too many indulgences like that, even simple things to curb my boredom. But shopping was one thing I always looked forward to. Often, I didn't even make a purchase. Just the act of being out in public by myself with no one to answer to was enough.

  I perused various departments, careful to stick to my list and not buy on a whim. I even negotiated my way through one or two purchases. One girl, dressed in a cow costume, offered me some artisan cheese samples, and they were delicious. I just had to buy some of it.

  My arms full of groceries and my heart full of triumph at not having given in and wasted my whole day at the market, I walked back to my car. I regretted my greed as I pushed hard to make it the last few feet, hoping my arms wouldn’t collapse under the weight of my purchases. I was almost there when I bumped into a familiar face.

  “Hello, Mari! My God, those look heavy,” the woman said, a small plastic bag dangling from one hand.

  I grimaced, my attempt at a smile. My neighbor reached and stacked a few of my packages in her arms, significantly easing the load. The relief was welcomed. “Thanks, Lorene, I don’t know that I would have made it to my car.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, girl. But damn! You really d
id some shopping!”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “Sorry.” I tried another smile but suspected it came out the same as before. It took all my strength to hold onto the packages with trembling arms. I had none left for pleasantries. We walked together, but I grew increasingly uncomfortable as she eyed me in a way I couldn’t quite describe. I attempted polite conversation. “Boy, these are heavy,” was all I had.

  “Is your car close, or did you walk here?” she asked.

  I didn’t get the joke at first and started to respond, but she laughed and I finally understood the question. “Oh, lord no! My car is just around the corner.”

  She giggled and proceeded to talk nonstop all the way to the car. Without asking, I learned in a couple of minutes about her husband’s oh-so-successful latest entrepreneurial endeavor and her kid taking first place at another beauty pageant. And that didn’t take into account her minor personal achievements. “My Tommy never really lets me do anything. He takes such great care of me. This,” she said pointing at her tiny bag, “is all I am allowed to lift. I’m actually glad I found you. Carrying these groceries makes me feel alive.”

  I laughed, though I felt complacent, and hurried to my car, struggling to unlock it. I finally just dumped everything in the trunk.

  My neighbor was still talking. “Then again, you’d expect him to be caring and successful. He doesn’t have any bad habits like smoking or drinking or motorcycle fetishes or drugs. He’s very family oriented and proposed very early in our relationship. As a man should,” she said to my back.

  I froze, my hands on the ornate package with the artisan cheese. “What?” I blurted out.

  “Huh?” she asked with false innocence, her big mascara thick eyes blinking back at me.

  I shook my head, trying to dispel the anger growing inside. Then, I turned to her and started taking the bags she held and placing them haphazardly on top of the other groceries. I didn’t look up at her. I couldn’t. Instead, I focused on transferring the bags as fast as possible into my trunk. When I finished, I turned on my heel and went around to the driver’s side. “I have something to do,” I mumbled, getting in. I couldn’t believe my ears. The nerve!

  I drove off without saying another word, leaving her standing in the street and staring after my taillights. I was far too angry for coffee or presents. The drive home was long, so I had time to think, whether I wanted to or not. I realized I wasn’t as angry with my neighbor as I was with myself.

  And at Dawson.

  Where were we going? I needed to talk to him about us, about everything. At the same time, I didn’t have a lot to go on. What would I say? What would I ask? The difficulty I had with starting this sort of conversation had been the reason for many things that had gone unsaid between us. Or rather, they would have if Dawson didn’t have his way of reading my mind. It was one of the things I loved so much about him. Surely, someone who knew me so well, inside as well as out, would be the one I should be with, right? Regardless of a ring on my finger.

  I smiled at that thought and some of the tension dissipated.

  Still, I sighed and wondered how to go about asking the problematic relationship questions. Especially when two people shared a damning secret as Dawson and I did. It seemed like professing our love to one another was such a small matter that, in our case, it was practically irrelevant.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A warm feeling of comfort washed over me as I stretched my limbs. I woke in Dawson’s arms, one of my favorite ways to wake up, the heat of his body delicious and satisfying. Turning on my stomach, I reached out and caressed his bare chest, a grin creeping over my face as he stirred. He didn’t open his eyes yet and I looked around, letting the joy of having him in my bed sink in a little more. He was perfect, and I loved him.

  He snuck in last night, after Ginger and I had fallen asleep in the living room watching television. His soft lips had pleasently awoken me, and just the memory made me shiver in delight. Silently, I’d nodded as he carried Ginger to the guest room, where I placed stuffed animals all around her so she could sleep comfortably. Then, we had retired to my room in a hurry, as if the short time apart was too much to bear, and made love slowly, reveling in each other as if it was our first time.

  For early on a Monday morning, everything seemed beautiful, and I almost wanted to close my eyes and go back to sleep. I traced my fingers over his tattoos, following the intricate lines that came together in a motorcycle made of vines, bones, and dark fire. I marveled at how dangerous he must’ve looked, how terrified people might be to walk past him, no one actually knowing the kindness beneath or the sweetness he exuded when he was with people he loved.

  The reality set in. He was, indeed, dangerous, and people rightfully feared him. He was coming to get them, extort undeserved money, a thousand times over what they had borrowed from the Valves. He was a gangster.

  Yes, he was a criminal, but he wanted out. His love of motorcycles didn’t extend to the gang, or the criminal activity. And he was working hard to sever ties amicably. He had Ginger to care for at the end of the day.

  I sighed and found myself wishing people around us wouldn’t be so quick to judge him so harshly. But then, I judged him, too. I had typical feminine worries, like being first in his life. But my worries were light compared to the issues he faced daily. So, why couldn’t he take the support I offered him? Why couldn’t he allow me to be there for him, to be his shoulder to cry on? I only asked to lessen his burden by sharing it. And in return, I only wanted the certainty of a stable relationship. I didn’t understand why I could never stay at his place without planning ahead. And I couldn’t be there when he wasn’t around. When I asked, he just told me to trust him.

  I did, but I needed him to replenish my reassurance. A heavier sigh escaped my lips as I lay my head on his broad chest.

  “What is it?” I heard him ask.

  I lifted my head and felt his welcoming kiss on my forehead. “Nothing.” I couldn’t start a conversation like this.

  He raised his head to look me in the eyes, and then he rolled on top of me and kissed my lips. “What time is it?” he grumbled, trailing kisses down my neck.

  “Time for me to go to the bathroom,” I replied, my urge to go sudden. He laughed, and pulled me into an even closer embrace but I insisted, “I’m serious! I need to go. Now.”

  “Okay. Go.” He rolled to his back again with a disappointed look, and I ran.

  As I relieved myself, I decided to gather my wits and clear things up once and for all. He said he could focus on himself until business with the Valves completely came to an end. I wanted to present all the arguments and show him I couldn’t think of him, if he would let me.

  I brushed my teeth and rinsed my face with cold water, and I finished with some tonic lotion. Then, I stepped out with determination to find a way to start the discussion. But the bed was empty, and there was no sign of Dawson in the bedroom. From the hall, I smelled fresh coffee. He was taking his breakfast chef job seriously. I reached the kitchen with a wide grin, looking forward to his pancake magic. Ginger and I could eat this breakfast every day, and it would never get old.

  I went straight for the coffee, pouring myself a cup as I watched Dawson prepare the batter with infinite care.

  “What?” he asked, catching my feline grin.

  I shrugged. “You’re an awesome dad, Dawson.

  “Why, thank you, Miss Bennett. You’re generous today. But you haven’t told me what’s on your mind.”

  I liked him fussing over the smallest sign I was upset. He had a way of knowing what I was thinking, and I always wondered if this was everything that every woman wanted. No need to spell it out – he would just look at me and find his way into my head. And my heart. But this was one of the few occasions when things needed to be spoken aloud, if I ever got up the nerve.

  “What?” He tilted his head, drawing out the word in a mocking insistent tone.

  It eased my tension a bit, and I cleared my throat. “I met
one of our neighbors a couple days ago.”

  “Uh-huh.” I watched his back moving, the muscles fashioned from some godly template.

  “She helped me with groceries.”

  “Nice of her,” he commented, carefully shaping the pancakes into various animals for Ginger.

  “Yes.” I paused. “She…we talked.”

  “What did she say?” His tone changed, harsher and a bit concerned. His magic was at work. He had an idea of what transpired between us.

  “She insinuated that, by shopping alone, I could’ve needed a helpful hand with the bags. A male hand, and…”

  “And that I’m a bastard for not being there,” he finished, cutting me off. “And you should divorce me immediately.”