Safe Rider (A Lost Saxons Novel Book 2)

by Jessica Ames

  And I lose it completely.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I twitch, savagely bucking against his hold, and let out a garbled wail that doesn’t sound human. Dean releases his hold on me immediately, sensing this is not part of the training. I stagger away from him, my entire body thrumming with fear. I don’t give him my back for more than a second, rounding fiercely on him as muttered words spill from my mouth at him. Whatever I’m saying, I can’t make sense of, so God knows how he is, but I can’t seem to stop it coming out.

  The girls try to calm me, to get close enough to soothe me, but I don’t allow them to. Dean, for his part, doesn’t move. He keeps completely still, his arms hanging loosely by his side as he watches me lose my shit. The distance between us is growing as I edge further from him, but he doesn’t move to bridge it.

  “Girls, can you give us a minute?” Dean finally says.

  “Maybe we should stay,” Clara replies, her voice soft. “Just until things settle down.”

  Dean shakes his head. “I’ve got this.”

  My anxiety levels do drop a little as soon as it is just me and Dean, although not enough. This… this right here is why I can’t be with him or anyone because I’m fucked up.

  “I need to leave,” I fire out, even as I back up towards the exit.

  “Don’t go off like this.” He edges towards me slowly, like he’s dealing with a feral animal. I don’t blame him; I’m acting pretty feral right now.

  And this is what Simon did to me, the legacy he left me. He made it impossible for me to ever be loved again because who could love such a fucking lunatic?

  The thought makes tears brim in my eyes because no matter how hard I work, no matter how much I try to put myself back together, I’ll never be whole again. Dean doesn’t deserve my brand of lunacy in his life.

  “I need—” I don’t know what I need, but I reach the door and try to open it. The handle turns but nothing happens. “You locked the door?” I hear the hysteria in my voice.

  “All the doors lock behind you. It’s a security thing. There’s a release button to the side.” He points to the exit button. He’s closer to me now, which should worry me but it doesn’t. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I would never hurt you.”

  I sag, my forehead pressing against the door. I’m breathing heavy, so heavy my head feels floaty.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  “Liv?” His hands come to my shoulders. I flinch; I can’t help it.

  “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m such a fuck-up.”

  “Don’t be sorry and you’re not a fuck-up.” He slowly but carefully turns me to him. I don’t meet his eyes. I can’t. Shame flushes through me.

  “I should go.”

  “Not like this.” He places a finger beneath my chin and applies enough pressure to make my head raise. With no choice but to meet his gaze, I acquiesce. I expect to see anger, censure, but his expression is one of concern. “Just take deep breaths, get yourself back under control.”

  And I realise I’m in the middle of a panic attack, and that is why my head feels floaty. My chest is also tight.

  “Come and sit down—catch your breath.”

  I want to say no, but my brain is too frazzled to think on its own, so it jumps at the command. I let him lead me over to the bench pushed against the wall and guide me onto it. As each minute passes, I’m beginning to feel more and more ridiculous. How did I allow myself to lose so much control?

  I’m safe. I’m in control…

  Yeah, right.

  Dean orders me to take deep breaths. I do as I’m told, grateful for the distraction from the scene I caused. Then he just sits next to me, close but not touching me. I’m grateful he’s giving me the space I need.

  “I got my first bike when I was sixteen,” Dean says quietly.

  I don’t respond, I just listen to his voice as I try to regain control of my ragged breathing.

  “It was a Harley Shovelhead—nineteen seventy-two. It was older than me and it rode like it should have been dismantled a decade before I got my hands on it.”

  I manage to draw in air past the block in my throat, which is getting smaller with each word from Dean.

  “I restored that bike—me and Jack. Fucking worked on it every day after school. When it was finished, I took it out for a ride. I was on top of the world. Best feeling ever. I crashed it within thirty seconds of hitting the A723 out of town.”

  I snort at that.

  “You did?”

  He nods. “Yeah. The brothers thought it was fucking hilarious.” He smiles and looks at me. “You feeling better?”

  I am. My breathing is almost back to normal now, but my humiliation is growing with each passing minute.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, my eyes locked on my shaking hands folded in my lap.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened back there?”

  “Not particularly.” I keep staring at my hands. It’s been a long time since I last had a freak out on that scale. In fact, I think I was still living in the flat, not the house. I’m always so controlled, so on top of my moods, but he caught me off guard, completely.

  “It wasn’t really a request.”

  His voice is so serious, I can’t help but raise my head to gauge his mood. This doesn’t help much because his face gives nothing away. His lips are pulled into a tight-line, his eyes narrowed, but there is no anger there. There’s nothing.

  “Dean—”

  “No, you don’t get to talk your way out of this, Liv. I need to know what I did wrong, so I don’t do it again.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about doing it again because I’m pretty sure we can’t speak after I die of embarrassment.”

  He scowls at me. “Stop it. Just talk to me.”

  This is not a conversation I want to have, but I also know I have to. I can’t leave him wondering what he did.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dean. I’m just a fucked up mess.”

  He grabs my hands and squeezes—and not all that gently. “You’re not a fucked up mess. Don’t ever say that.”

  I bite my lip and stare at the floor. Oh, God. How can I tell this man my past? This tough, rough, heart of gold man. I can’t. He can never know.

  “Liv?”

  I raise watery eyes to him. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  “Okay, and who do I think you are?”

  “This strong woman who has her life on track and her shit together. It’s all a front.”

  “Darlin’, we are all selling that lie.”

  I doubt this, but I don’t challenge him.

  “I used to live in Bedford… with my husband.”

  This makes him jolt. “You’re married?”

  The accusation in his voice makes me wince.

  “Only on paper, Dean.”

  His finger and thumb pinch the bridge of his nose. “Can we just go back to the part where you’re married.”

  “I couldn’t get a divorce without letting him know where I am.”

  “And why would you care if he knows where you are?”

  I stare at the floor, my eyes unfocused. “Because he isn’t a good man.”

  I feel him stiffen next to me and I know I should stop talking but I can’t. I’ve opened the floodgates and the words are pouring out of me.

  “I thought he’d file himself eventually. After all, I walked out of his life without a word. I just vanished. He could have filed for that alone, but he never has. I think he likes knowing he still has this one last thing over me, that he’s stopping me from moving on.” Not that it has. It certainly hasn’t stopped him from moving on; he’s living with another woman and has a child with her.

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “It is. But Dean; I don’t care what a piece of paper says; that man is not my husband. He’s nothing to me—not any longer. And if I could I’d divorce him in a heartbeat.”

  Silence follows for a moment before he says, “He sounds
like a piece of work.”

  My smile is tight. “He wasn’t always bad. Not in the beginning. Then a few months after we got married he started to… change. He’d do things that would make me doubt my own sanity and he’d make out it was all in my head.”

  “What kind of things?”

  I don’t tell him; I can’t.

  “It doesn’t matter; it’s in the past.”

  Dean watches me, then says, “He hurt you.”

  “It’s done, Dean.” But he’s not done and he doesn’t let it go.

  “Did he put his hands around your throat, like I did?” From the low timbre of his voice he already knows the answer, but I give it to him anyway.

  “Yeah.” Memories flash through my mind, horrors from another lifetime. I blink rapidly and tamp them down.

  He doesn’t speak for a long time, which I’m glad of because it gives me time to regain my own control. But the silence is also sending my anxiety through the roof. I want to look at him, to get the measure of his thoughts but I don’t dare move my eyes.

  “Please say something,” I beg, unable to bear it any longer.

  “I’m trying not to explode.”

  His words cut through me, leaving a very real pain in my chest.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His hands cup my face, bringing my gaze to his. His grey eyes flash fury.

  “You don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong. I’m angry as all hell with your ex. There’s no reason for a man to ever put hands on his woman—ever.”

  I get lost in his eyes for a moment, wishing they were not angry but his usual soft.

  “It’s over now, Dean. Simon’s a footnote in my history—nothing more. I came to Kingsley for a new start and that’s what I found.”

  “But you volunteer at a women’s shelter. How can you see this shit day in, day out and not lose your mind?”

  “It’s hard being there some days, but I need to give back. I need to do something to help others like me.”

  He lets out a low breath. “I’m sorry.”

  This time I snap my gaze to him and grab his shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Dean. You’ve been so good to me. I’m just sorry you witnessed that.”

  “This stuff with your ex—this is why you froze when I went to kiss you?”

  My shoulders tense, nearly touching my ears.

  Fuck.

  I avert my gaze, embarrassed as hell. I would really like to stop having this conversation right now.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’. I had no fucking clue you’d been through any of this. If I’d known, I would have done shit differently. I would have handled last night differently.”

  “You wouldn’t have tried to kiss me?” I don’t know why I ask this.

  He brushes my hair back from my face and my eyes come to his. “I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I met you.”

  His words stun me. “You have?”

  “Yeah. You were fucking adorable that day, surrounded by milk and groceries.”

  “But… I insulted you.”

  “Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I overreacted completely. I felt like a total tosser when I calmed down. I didn’t know if you’d speak to me again. I was glad you did.”

  “Me too,” I tell him, meaning it. “But last night…”

  He groans. “I knew I’d fucked up the minute I did it. I moved towards you, intent on kissing the shit out of you and you looked fucking terrified. I backed off. I had no idea then why you were freaked out, just figured you weren’t interested, but now it makes sense. If you’d just told me I wouldn’t have gone in like that.”

  My cheeks heat at his revelation. He takes my hands in his and squeezes. “You’re not ready, Liv. I get it; I now understand it, but don’t ever think I don’t want you.”

  I stare at him, my mind in turmoil, but one thought is strong among the chaos.

  “Dean… I… want you too, but I don’t know that I can give you what you need.”

  He considers me for a second, then says, “Do you like hanging out with me?”

  I nod.

  “So, let’s just keep doing that, yeah? We don’t have to label this as something. I don’t give a fuck about labels, Liv. But I do know I want you in my life, however you want to be there.”

  My breath catches in my throat at his words. “I want that too.”

  He leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Then we just keep doing what we’re doing. You and me… we fit. I’m happier when I’m around you. So, I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you to be ready, darlin’.”

  I stare at him, gawk at him really. He’ll wait?

  “What if I’m never ready?”

  He gives me a smile. “You will be.”

  He sounds so sure, and I want to believe him.

  “But what if—”

  “Woman, quit borrowing trouble we don’t have. We’ll worry about that shit when we get there—if we need to worry about it.”

  That is a good approach, so I say, “Okay.”

  “And I’m sorry, darlin’. If I’d known, I’d never have done that move on you tonight. I just… I didn’t even think.”

  “Well, why would you? I didn’t even know myself that would trigger something.”

  He studies me a beat, then says, “Liv, no matter what happens, I want you to know that I’ll never put my hands on you in anger. Ever.”

  “I know,” I admit, and it is the truth.

  “You still want me to take you home?”

  “I can call a taxi.”

  “I’ll take you home,” he says, and I smile at his bossiness.

  “Okay.”

  For once I’m glad the bike means we can’t talk on the way home. Being left to my thoughts is not always a good idea, but on this occasion the quiet is healing.

  By the time Dean pulls the bike onto the driveway and cuts the engine, I’m feeling calmer. I climb off, struggling with the helmet strap and Dean has to help me unfasten it. His fingers scrape over my jaw as he unlatches the strap.

  He moves closer, our bodies inches from each other. I tip my head back to look up at him. “Are you going to be okay?”

  I nod. I’ve worked through worse. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I want to hurt your ex.”

  “I felt like that for a long time, but he’s in the past and he’s staying there, Dean. What’s the point in worrying about him?”

  Christ, I sound like Kath. She’d be so proud.

  “Come on; I’ll walk you home.”

  He gets my bag from the locker on the bike and carries it in one hand, while taking my hand in his other. I like the feel of him against me although I can’t help but feel that I’m just needlessly torturing myself.

  My heart is racing the entire time but I keep everything locked behind my walls. He waits for me to dig my keys out of my bag and unlock the porch and the front door. When I have both open, I flick the hall light on and turn back to him.

  “Most of the time, I’m strong. I don’t think about him, about our past, about what he did to me. But what I went through… it never goes away. It’s a part of me now—the fear. I’ve learnt to deal with it, to compartmentalise it, to find the good in each day, but it never goes. It’s not just a hand on my throat or a raised voice—anything can trigger me at any point. Half the time I don’t even know what might set me off.

  “And that’s why we can’t ever be more than we are. Because underneath it all, I’m not capable of being with someone. I wish I was because I love being with you, but I can’t give you more than I have.” I give him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

  I don’t give him a chance to respond. I shut the door and then I sag against it wondering if I’ve just destroyed one of the few good things in my life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Friday morning dawns too quickly. I barely slept last night, going over and over in my head what happened between me and Dean in the clubhouse. I don’t know if I feel better or worse that everything is sort of out
there. Where we go from here is an even bigger mystery—and it’s one that will have to wait until later for me to work through because my alarm clock is once again shrieking at me. I don’t want to get up. I just want to stay in bed and hide from the world. It’s going to be awkward with him.

  At least, this is what I think until I lean over and grab my mobile from the bedside table to silence the alarm. As I do I see a message alert and I squint, trying to read the message.

  DEAN: Morning, beautiful. Have a good day at work.

  I read it, then re-read it, then look at it again. Beautiful. He called me beautiful. It should annoy me, but it doesn’t. We’d talked about my stance, about what I could give him at this stage. None of that included being called ‘beautiful’. Clearly, he’s ignoring our rule book.

  But I do want him; that hadn’t been a lie. I want Dean so much but I’m scared of letting someone else in. I’m scared of getting hurt—not physically (I know Dean would never lay a hand on me) but emotionally. I’m invested in him. I feel things for Dean that I’ve never felt before—even for Simon. This thing with him… it’s different. Being in his presence makes my heart race, even as it makes my world stop. Everything feels right when he’s with me. He makes me laugh, he makes me feel… good.

  And that terrifies me.

  It would be so easy to get back into a relationship and fall back into old patterns. Dean isn’t Simon; I know this, but it’s a hurdle I can’t get past. Not yet.

  I fire a quick response back, moaning about being tired and not wanting to face the world. He sends back a one sentence response to stop whining.

  My alarm goes off again. I hit the snooze button for the third time and groan. I want to pull my pillow over my head and go back to sleep, but since that is not an option, I force my body to get moving. I feel sluggish, tired and I have the slight hint of a headache.

  I go through my morning routine on autopilot, barely thinking as I shower, dry my hair and get ready for the day. I pull on a pale pink sweater and a pair of black jeggings along with my ballet flats. I forgo breakfast, mainly because we usually place a breakfast order at work. I’m partial to a bacon butty, even though it means I’ve added at least three pounds to the scales this week alone.