by Cat Porter
That fuse that we’d shorted was lit once again.
She stumbled, her body twisting just a bit, and my eyes widened. That white dress stretched over a high, round middle. Her hand rose, pressing against her full belly as if guarding it from the rays of my vision.
She was pregnant. Pregnant.
Something wrenched in my chest, jamming there. A cold hammer banged at my pulse, zapping the easy lethargy of the beer and weed I’d consumed all afternoon. A fist twisted inside me and yanked whatever there existed inside me, flinging it on the ground, shredding it as it went, pitching it between me and her.
Rings were on that finger on her hand. Did she get married like she said she would? Now she was having that fucker’s baby? My eyes snapped to the stage. Of course. The guitarist.
After that time I’d tracked her down in LA, I’d found out she’d been seeing a musician, Eric Lanier.
“I’m getting married.”
Congratufuckinglations.
Now she was having a baby. His baby.
She was in someone else’s tide. A moon in another solar system. Another hemisphere. She’d dropped the axe, cut the line. Her taste of normal was working out for her.
My head spun. I didn’t have to do the math in my head. That could be my baby. Would she really have married someone else if it was? Fuck, I didn’t know. I was going to find out, though. My chest was on fire. Somehow my feet remembered how to walk, my knees to bend. I moved forward.
Her eyes widened, her mouth tightening as I stalked toward her. She reached back, grabbing her long blonde hair, pulling a stretchy around the thick handful into a ponytail.
My signal. Keep moving. You don’t know me. Don’t contact me.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
She removed a large ring on her index finger and put it on the index finger of her other hand, and my pulse kicked at my veins.
Her signal. Keep moving. You don’t know me. I’m okay, but you have to go. Don’t contact me.
Double signals. Both of them. Definitive.
I raised my chin, my jaw grinding together.
Her hand remained on her stomach, her back rigid. She turned away, focusing her attention back on the stage. On her new man up there playing his fucking guitar, howling out his douchebag lyrics.
My heart pumped hard, straining against the thick wave of venom filling my veins. My eyes remained glued on her.
Why couldn’t it be us, dammit? You and me? I screamed at her across the campground.
I roared.
I pleaded.
My fingers crushed the packets of weed, blow, and assorted pills I had in my pockets. I swallowed hard, my heels digging in the damp ground.
Here I was cutting deals, scoring big, scoring little, but what did it amount to? She was the only person on the planet that I’d ever felt close to, and now she was bearing a living, breathing miracle in her body, where once our miracle had taken root. But I had no part in it. Not me. Her body was not mine to hold and take care of, that body growing inside her not of me. Nothing to do with me.
Nothing.
A bucket of ice water smashed over me.
New life. New world. And I had no clue.
I blinked, willing my vision to clear, my breath to even out, the back of my hand scrubbing across my mouth. I’d never know that kind of life, that level of intimacy. I never would, not if it couldn’t be with her.
A heavy hand fell on my back, and I bolted upright.
“Man, I can’t listen to this shit,” muttered Drac. “Let’s head over to the other side of the concert area. Our bros from Oregon are over there.”
“Yeah.”
What I had now was good. I was an officer. I had brothers who I trusted and who trusted me. I was doing good. I wasn’t the “kid” any more.
So why did I feel like I was on the outside looking in again? Tossed back on the dusty shelf, labeled, “just not good enough.” That shadow of Meghan’s withering looks passed through me again. “He’s not coming to our house.”
Second best. Second rate. Under the table. Unwanted. Dirty little secret.
“Let’s go.” Drac nudged me with his shoulder.
Women were screaming, singing along with the band. I threw a final look back at the stage. The band’s name was “Cruel Fate.”
Fuck you.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Flexing my throbbing fingers, the fingers that weren’t there, I forced my lungs to take in air, forced my cold brittle bones to move.
Move forward.
Move.
Move.
And don’t look back.
36
“I forgot how good your margaritas are, Jerry.” The girl at the bar licked her lips as she slid her empty glass toward the bartender.
A prickle tracked up the back of my neck at the sound of that silky voice.
I was on my way home to bury my head in Nebraska soil and forget everything I’d seen and felt in Colorado. The four bros I’d ridden with from Denver were hanging with women at a table by the dance floor, but I wasn’t much in the mood.
Those new scars over my soul still stung.
I leaned my head lower to get a better look at the woman. One thick lock of shoulder-length dark hair hung over an eye, and she shook her head to get it out of the way. She straightened her shoulders, letting out a quick breath. “Make me another, pretty please.”
“You sure, honey?”
“Extremely sure,” came the reply. She was determined. She was getting hammered.
Three boys down the bar gawked at her as they drank, getting their engines ready to close in on her finish line. I drained my Bushmills and set the glass back on the counter, wiping at the edge of my mouth with a flick of my thumb.
Tania looked good.
I hadn’t laid eyes on her in years, but I couldn’t mistake that shiny black hair and those huge dark eyes holding court at the long bar of Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse just outside of Meager, South Dakota. I moved down the bar over to Tania as a blond guy strutted toward her. I gave him a searing get-back-into-the-hole-you-just-crawled-out-of look and he stopped short, his buddies grabbing his shirt, reeling him back in.
I bent over her shoulder, catching her gaze in the mirror behind the bar. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She jumped, twisting around, her glossy hair flying in my face. “Oh my God! Where the hell did you come from?”
“Colorado.”
She punched my shoulder and gripped my tee. “Finger!” she whispered, a grin lighting up her face.
“Actually I came from a couple of barstools down. I stopped for a drink. Been riding all night, needed a break. How about you? What the hell are you doing here? You left Chicago and living here now?”
“No, no. I had business out here, and now I’m on my way home to see my mom.” A huge smile broke out over her face as she released my shirt. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too.” I settled onto the stool next to her. “What business?”
A huge margarita slid towards Tania.
“You good, babe?” the bartender asked, glancing at me, his lips tight.
Tania waved a hand as she leaned over her new glass of booze and slurped from the frosty green top. “Yes, Jerry. I know this guy, don’t worry. He won’t bite.”
Jerry made a face. He didn’t look convinced.
“Actually, he does bite.” Tania drank more, rolling her eyes.
My head knocked back, and I let out a dry laugh. I could still laugh, and it felt fucking good. “What are you doing here by yourself?”
“Pul-leaze—I’ve been coming to Dead Ringer’s since I was in high school.” She batted her thick eyelashes at me as she drank.
“You’re here, at a known biker bar, on your own getting sloshed.”
“Is that tot
ally unacceptable behavior for me?” She set her glass back on the bar top.
“Yeah, reckless.”
She wagged a finger at me. “You hit the nail on the head, darlin’.”
“Which nail would that be?”
“One of the many.” She laughed, her eyes darting over me. “Let me get you a drink.”
I shook my head at her as I raised my glass at Jerry. He shot into action, bringing over the bottle of Bushmills and refilling my glass.
“A bottle of brew too,” I said.
“Which would you like?” he asked.
“As local as you got.”
“Coming right up.” Jerry sprang down the bar.
“How are things?” I asked Tania.
“Still in Chicago. I was roaming around here on family business and me business. At least I like to think so.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“The me business was looking at antiques, buying, reselling. Going to garage sales, estate sales, stopping on the road whenever I notice fascinating junk piled in someone’s yard.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
“I like the scavenging, talking with the collectors, the artists. I’m good at it. Actually, I was supposed to be on this trip with this guy I’ve been seeing, but he decided to do something else. Or I should say, do someone else.”
“Asshole.”
Her black eyes flared. She was angry. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, something more!”
“Fuck him.”
“Yeah, fuck him.” She held up her glass. “Let’s drink.”
“We are.”
“Keep it coming then.” She gulped down her margarita.
“You drink. I’ll get you home. Meager’s on my way.”
“How gallant.”
I pushed aside my empty whisky glass as Jerry popped open a large bottle of a local craft brew. “Yeah, that’s me, gallant. I’d only do that kind of shit for you.”
“I’m touched.”
I chuckled. “Chicago still being good to you?”
“Still struggling for bucks, but it’s better.”
I raised my beer bottle at her. “Drink.”
She told me stories about her art dealing business struggles and recent travels through Michigan. I told her stories about my bros and their women.
“You don’t have an old lady?”
“Nah.”
“Why not? No, wait, don’t tell me—”
“Don’t you fucking say her name,” I said on a hiss, my eyes holding hers.
Her back straightened. “Okay. Well, she probably got herself a new name anyway, right?”
“She did.”
We drank in silence.
“My sister’s getting married next month.”
“Congrats.”
“I’m the maid of honor, and that’s the family reason I came out here. To try on the dress and help with the planning. I hate the stupid dress. It’s yellow. I can’t wear a yellow dress with a huge bow over my ass. Ugh, it’s so ugly. She’s doing this to me on purpose, I know it.”
“Simple solution. Wear the dress for the ceremony, the pictures, then don’t wear it to the party.”
Tania stilled, gesturing at me with her near empty glass. “That’s brilliant.” Her face dropped, and she swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know these days. I’m drifting. My sister’s getting married to her first love, most of my friends are in serious relationships and making the big bucks, getting on with their lives like they’re supposed to, and—”
“Supposed to? Supposed to what? That’s your problem right there. You’re hung up on that shit word.”
“Finger, I can’t even hang onto a boyfriend. I know I’m difficult. Hard to please, can’t admit I’m wrong. I didn’t even want anything serious—I thought guys liked that. So it must be me.”
I took a swig of my icy beer.
“But when I caught Andrew in bed with Shelly the other day, I freaked. I heard them, I saw them...it was awful.” Her voice shook, her head sinking into her hand on the bar. “I didn’t think I’d care so much, but I did. I do.” She raised her head. Her eyes were wet. “Paying my bills is hard enough, trying to keep a business afloat...there has to be something I’m not doing right. Obviously, my karma is crap, and I’m fucking doomed. I should just give up.”
“You never fucking give up.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“You think?” I shot her a look.
“No, no. I’m sorry.” Tania jumped up on her toes and threw her arms around me. She nestled her face into my neck and sighed, her body pressing into mine. “Forgive me.”
She smelled good. Of pricey perfume, of clean. Her skin was warm against mine and had my pulse drumming a little faster. Tania’s skin, her skin...all three of us in that bed came running back to me, flashing behind my eyes.
I wrapped my arms around her.
“They’ll be other chances, other assholes,” I murmured.
“Is that what you tell yourself when you look in the mirror every day?” she asked.
“I don’t look in the fucking mirror.”
A sad smile clung to one side of her mouth. “Well, you know what I see?” She leaned in close to me. “Hurt, pain, anger, resentment. And love. So much fucking love,” she whispered in my ear, her lips grazing my skin, her fingers at my neck.
“Shut the fuck up.” I tightened my hold on her, liking the feel of her pressed against me, sharing her frustrations with me.
“Tell me it’s been easy without her. Tell me you’ve forgotten her,” she said.
“I don’t want to forget. I can’t cut her out.”
Tania slid down my body, releasing me. “You two...you were my idols. My sure thing.” Averting her gaze, she grabbed my beer bottle and drained it.
I brushed the hair from her face, my fingers lingering on her neck, her shoulder, catching in her sleeve, pulling it. A shiny black bra strap revealed itself. Tania eyed me. I held her gaze, the question, the idea.
“There’s a motel across the highway,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “I know.”
“That Andrew any good in the sack?”
She let out a curt brittle laugh. “He was...fine.”
“Let’s go,” I said.
Her face reddened.
I tugged on the black strap. “You want to fuck? You want me to give it to you?”
Her shoulder jerked under my hand. “Shut up,” she whispered roughly, her dark brows twisting.
“What do you want, Tan? You. No past, no future. Just right the hell now. Tell me what you want.”
“Stop. It.”
“Why? Stop what? Wanting?” I slanted my head. “I want you. Now, you tell me. Come on. I dare you.”
Her jaw slackened, her heavy gaze on mine.
“Say it.”
“Finger...”
“Say it now.”
“Yeah, I want it. I want it from you.” She pressed her lips together. “But somehow this feels like cheating.”
“On who? Andy and Shelley?”
“Oh, geez, come on—”
“Tania, she’s married.”
“She what?”
“You heard me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. And pregnant.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry. I—”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Finger, wait…”
“What do you want, Tania? You want pretty words and slippery suggestions? You want me to tell you how those cut off shorts you’re wearing have been turning me on since the se
cond I saw you? They have. You want me to say I remember how your tits feel in my mouth? I do. You want me to say I want to make you come on my cock all night in that dirt bag motel? Most definitely.”
“Slow the hell down—”
I grabbed her upper arm and yanked her in close to me. “Tell me. Now. Right this very second, do you want to feel alive? Do you want to feel something good? Because you know I can make you feel good.” I kissed her, and it all came surging back: the grasping in the dark, the moans of satisfaction, tongues and flesh and sweat everywhere. “And you do the same for me.”
Her gaze darted to my lips. Her breathing picked up.
“This ain’t some trashy anonymous pickup, if that’s your hang-up here,” I continued. “We’ve done this before. We know each other.”
“Yes, but—”
I grabbed her hand and planted a kiss on one finger after the other, my tongue lashing at her skin. Her eyes narrowed as if she were in pain, and she let out a jagged gasp.
“Where’s the fucking but, Tan? Why the fuck not?” Goosebumps rose on the skin of her arm under my grip.
A pact. A goal to forget, live, exist in the now.
“Hey, everything all right here?” Jerry, the bartender’s stiff voice sliced between us.
Tania’s shoulders dropped and she licked her lips, her eyes remaining on mine. “Everything’s good. Real good.” She turned to Jerry. “What do we owe you?”
I threw a fifty dollar bill on the bar top. “Keep the change.”
Tania and I strode out of Dead Ringer’s. We were on a mission.
She got in her car and I got on my bike, and we went to the motel across the way where I got us a room. We shed our clothes and I made her forget any second thoughts, any rights, wrongs, supposed to’s that were taking up space in her head. I made her body respond to mine, and got gasps and curses and moans in return.
I made sure we both enjoyed it.
I didn’t have to bother with small talk, or waste time being annoyed that she expected more from me afterward like some of the girls I’d been with recently, because Tania didn’t. And she knew me, not the Flames officer. This was blunt. Straightforward. And it felt fucking good.
To be with Tania again. To fuck the ghost of Rena, Serena, Ashley, Lenore out from under me. To fuck past the disappointment and that never-ending ache with someone who knew. Yeah, she was with me and Tania on that bed. I searched for her on that bed. And Tania? She shot the finger at her disappointments as they fell to the wayside. A gloom hung in the air of that motel room, but we both worked hard to ignore it.