Iron & Bone (Lock & Key #3)

by Cat Porter

  A number of books filled the set of shelves on the other side of the fireplace. I ran my fingers over the worn spines of the paperbacks. Henry Miller, Charles Bukowski, Dostoyevsky, Joseph Conrad.

  Pablo Neruda. Oh, I’d enjoyed his poems years ago, and I hadn’t seen a book of his since the one I’d discovered in the library at college my freshman year.

  I pulled out the slim volume and flipped open the pages. A piece of scrap paper fluttered out at me—a palm-sized square with ripped edges, as if the original piece of paper had been torn into quarters for scrap paper. I unfolded it. Two lines were scribbled in blue pen.

  I reached out for you

  And destroyed you instead

  I blinked. It was Boner’s handwriting. I recognized it from notes he’d left for Grace on her desk. I leafed through the Neruda. Another paper had been tucked in the last quarter of the book. I opened it, my heart thumping.

  I want to remember the sound of your breath

  When I said no

  No to the smoky secrets

  No to the thick lies

  But I couldn’t say no to the mystery inside

  You laughed

  And pulled me closer

  And I kissed you

  I kissed you

  And it was like fire

  A fire of absolutes

  A fire in the dark

  A fire in my heart

  A fire that left only ashes behind

  Ashes

  Ashes

  We all fall down

  Same handwriting. These were little poems. Clips of heart-heavy emotions. Passion.

  Boner wrote these. Who were they about?

  I put the two poems back where I’d found them and went through more books, pulling out volumes, checking the insides. Nothing. I took in a small breath. I needed to stop. His poems were an exciting discovery, but it was as if I’d stumbled onto his journal, and I was reading it. Bad, very bad.

  I wanted more.

  Last book, I promised myself.

  Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke. I opened the tall paperback, and there it was—another paper. I unfolded it.

  You raised my hopes

  When I wasn’t looking

  I wasn’t sure before

  And now I’m the one who wants more

  But you’re missing

  I can touch you, I can kiss you

  You can hold me in your arms

  But you won’t let me see you

  You’re missing

  You bolted tight your doors

  Jammed your windows

  Locked your drawers

  I can’t remain in the cold anymore

  You want me, but you push me away

  You fill me up and drain me away

  You seek me out and then leave me in doubt

  You hold me tight and then let go

  You let go

  You’re slipping away

  Making a mess

  Separated by your sadness

  A sadness that has no name

  A sadness you can’t explain

  You won’t tell me

  You’re missing

  Remember when the laughter came easy

  And sweet words and kisses had meaning?

  You’re bound in a box

  And I can’t cut the strings

  You’re missing

  You want me, but push me away

  You fill me up and drain me away

  You seek me out yet leave me in doubt

  You hold me tight

  And then you let go

  You’re missing

  My body swayed. I gripped the book tightly. Beautiful. So sad. So…

  I gnawed on my lip and took in a breath. No, no. I’m eavesdropping on his heart. How would I feel if he’d cracked open one of my crazy-ass journals? I wouldn’t like it. I’d be mortified, embarrassed. My journals were my safe place, my refuge. I needed to write in them to make sense of my world and my emotions that were usually waging a battle inside my head.

  The battle to stay sane.

  Maybe this was Boner’s way of staying sane.

  I tucked the poem back into the Rilke and slid the book into its gaping slot on the bookshelf.

  I’d wanted answers, but I only got more questions.

  The need to hold him and make it better overtook me. But this was no scraped knee that a kiss on the skin and some antibiotic cream would make all better.

  I hiked up the stairs, my fingertips skimming along the smooth polished dark wood banister. The doors to two rooms were open, and one was closed. I peeked into the first open room, which had a simple pine double bed in it and a pine dresser with a small brass lamp on it. A framed crisp black-and-white poster of a mountain range was hanging on the wall.

  I passed the closed door and went on to the next room. Boner’s bedroom. The queen-size bed was made with a royal-blue-and-black-trimmed quilt. Matching curtains hung across the long bank of windows. I drew them open, and my breath caught. The view was pretty damn spectacular.

  The Black Hills stretched out beyond, pink-and-dusky-blue-sky rolled overhead, as the sun began its descent, touching the tree-furrowed low-lying mountains. It was quite unlike the country suburbia of Meager where Rae lived. Here, on the outskirts of town, was a magical hush, a quiet grandeur.

  My gaze swept over his bedroom again. Orderly and simple.

  A large round mirror sat on top of the dresser, and an unmarked dark purple glass bottle stood sentry before it. I picked up the small bottle and sniffed. That unique blaze of warmth that Boner’s scent inspired in me every time flared through my veins. I took in another whiff. Wood, black pepper, amber, maybe a hint of chocolate, too.

  Glorious. Boner had custom-made cologne? Man of hipster mystery.

  I would have expected a no-frills guy like Boner to just grab whatever man products he saw by the cash register at Walgreens—if it occurred to him that he should have them—whenever he popped in to pick up a new pack of cigarettes or gum or condoms. But no, here was something handmade-to-order just for him. My fingers lingered on the glass bottle’s decorative grooves.

  I touched a tiny knob on one of the small cube-like drawers at the wooden base of the vintage-style vanity mirror. What would he put in these? Cuff links? Not likely. A watch maybe? His rings? Extra condoms?

  I tugged the drawer open. Two rolled up balls of paper tumbled forward in the drawer. A third was open and very wrinkled. I spread it out on top of the dresser.

  If I could be with you where rules didn’t apply

  I’d live for the moment

  Without asking why

  If I could be with you

  I unrolled the next paper.

  Embraces that mean a thousand things

  Glances that hang on strings

  I let go of your hand

  Is it forever?

  And years from now

  Will you even remember?

  I want to remember

  I want to remember it all

  My pulse pounded in my neck, blocking my air. I unraveled the other balled up paper.

  Who did I cut myself into pieces for?

  The man in the moon

  Or the ghost in my living room?

  I’m nothing but cold inside

  Am I supposed to tremble at your threats, at your dark visions?

  I don’t have many tears left

  Let me slash the rope gouging my throat

  I’m to blame

  Yet I don’t get the rules of this game

  I hate you

  And you hate me

  I don’t get the rules of this game

  When did it become a game?

  When did we become nothing but pain?

  The water in the shower stopped running, and fumbling sounds came from the master bathroom. I stuffed all the papers back into the small drawer, shutting it with a loud thunk, and I stood there, staring at that tiny drawer.

  He wrote. He wrote poems. Boner wrote. And not in a notebo
ok but on slips of scrap paper bundled and hidden probably all over this house.

  Why not have a notebook? Where would I find more? Under the bathroom sink? With the forks and knives?

  He had surrounded himself with these jagged pieces of heartbreak tucked away all over his organized, simple house.

  How old were these poems anyway? I planted my hands on the edge of the dresser, and my stomach clenched. Were they all about the same woman?

  He’d told me he never had an old lady. Grace had said he’d barely ever had a serious relationship before, just very short-term serial monogamy or he played the biker field. He’d tended to keep things with women casual and light.

  Until me.

  “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want to be with anyone else. I don’t want to be inside anyone else.”

  So, who were these tortured words about? An epic first love?

  “There’s my impatient Firefly.”

  I pivoted, and there he stood, the naked pirate home after a hard day’s pillaging. A sheen of water on his skin glistened in the light from the bathroom as he toweled off, a grin on his face, his cock at fantastic attention.

  “Missed me?”

  I was unable to suppress a smile. “I did.”

  He planted a kiss on the side of my face and went to a drawer next to me. He pulled out a pair of warm-up pants and then a plain black T-shirt from another drawer. He tossed the towel at me and tugged on the pants.

  “I explored your house a little. You don’t have a television, do you?”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” He let out a laugh. “A deal breaker?”

  “No, I’m just curious.”

  He stretched the T-shirt over his head. “There’s lots of noise everywhere I go—the club, the shop, the bars. When I actually get to be here, in my own place, I want it quiet. The noise is fun, the noise is what I know, but this is apart from that. I need it.”

  I tore my eyes away from his molten gaze, hugging the towel to my chest. “This purple bottle is interesting. Is that your cologne?”

  “You like it?”

  “Very much.”

  “It’s an oil blend. Lenore started to make her own fragrances from natural oils and flowers and spices and whatever else. She made me a couple to test out. This one’s my favorite. She’s coming out with a line at her store. They’re unisex. It’s the new thing, she told me.”

  “It smells great on you, but I love the way you smell.”

  “You mean, the oil?”

  “You and the oil.”

  A low chuckle erupted from his throat. “That’s good.” He took the towel from me and brought it back to the bathroom. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Come here.” He took my hand in his.

  “Surprise? I like surprises!” I shoved his tormented poetry out of my mind and gripped his hand. He led me out of his bedroom and across the hall to the closed door.

  Oh boy, the secret room.

  He pushed the door open.

  My breath caught. “What have you done?”

  I FROZE.

  “You like it?” Boner asked.

  My gaze fell on a white crib decorated with a pink-and-green quilt and quilted paneling. A matching white dresser stood proudly to its right.

  He threw an arm around my shoulders. “I like the minty green with the pink crap. What do you think?”

  “Boner, you didn’t have to do this.”

  He only stared at me, the soft ease sliding from his face, like water down a windshield, leaving stiff, harsh angles behind.

  “I mean, this must have been so expensive,” I added.

  “I wanted to do it for you and Becs. Whenever you stay here, the two of you will be comfortable. She’ll be safe in a crib, and you’ll be relaxed, knowing she’s safe in a crib and in her own room for a change. This turns into a toddler bed, too.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He removed his arm from my shoulders and shifted his weight. “Say anything. Anything else but, What have you done?, or, You didn’t have to do this, or, I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Or, I’m sorry.”

  My hands smoothed over the polished slick wood of the crib. So solid. “It’s just that—”

  “Jill! What the fuck?”

  He was spending money, making plans, looking ahead.

  “I can’t live with you.”

  His nostrils flared. “Why not?”

  “I can’t leave Rae. I take care of her and her house. It’s a paying job.”

  “I know all that. We all know that. But there are times, like tonight, when you have a night off or a day or a few hours, and we can be together. And this way, Becca can be here, too, with us.”

  I nodded, chewing my lower lip.

  “All this would make that situation easier on everybody. You don’t have to coordinate babysitters on top of caregivers or whatever the fuck.” His head slanted. “But you like it the way it is now, don’t you? The not easy, the having to steal time here and there. Yeah, you like the not easy because it’s easier for you. That’s convenient for you, isn’t it? This here”—he gestured with his thumb at the crib, the dresser—“spells complicated, doesn’t it?”

  My face heated.

  “Because what’s convenient for you is not having to commit to anything with me. You’re in. You’re out. Bits and pieces. You get horny, you come find me, you call me.”

  “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

  “No, I don’t. I honestly don’t. What are your plans after the baby’s born? You haven’t said a thing. You staying with Rae? Moving out? Moving out of Meager? Leaving South Dakota? The United States? Which is it?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  He lifted his chin. “So, you are thinking of leaving?”

  “Initially, that was the plan.” I swallowed past the sawdust in my throat. “Have the baby, find a real job, school part-time. Move to Rapid at least.”

  “And go on nice dates to coffee shops with Matt.”

  My head snapped up. “What? No…”

  His fingers gripped the the handrail of the crib, his knuckles whitening.

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I love Rae, and she and Becca need each other. They should have time together. I really don’t want to ruin that, but I also need to do what I need to do.”

  “And I don’t fit into that category?”

  “What category?”

  “Need.”

  “For God’s sake! You know what I mean!”

  The green light in his eyes dimmed, his jaw set. “Jill, I don’t think you know what you mean. Am I holding you back? Or you’re pushing back, so you don’t get too far in it?”

  “I don’t know.” I averted my gaze. “I care about you and—”

  “And?”

  “Bone, I lived the life for almost three years, and I didn’t particularly enjoy it.”

  “I’m not Catch.”

  “I know. Oh, I know.”

  “Have things been bad for you at my club since you became my old lady?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Then, what the fuck is the problem?” His voice spiked.

  “Coming here to Meager—just ripping up and taking off to a new place, trusting people I didn’t even know—was a gamble that paid off beautifully. It was a huge step for me. But this was supposed to be my time. For me. For me to finally stand up on my own two feet and forge my future or whatever. And instead…”

  “Instead what?”

  My heart sloshed heavily back and forth in the sour muck filling my chest. “Instead, I’m attaching myself to another man again.”

  “You’re attaching yourself to me—to me—not just some other guy.”

  “To you, yes.” I held his hard gaze, which seared right through my middle. “And maybe Catch was right—to another bike club. The problem is…”

  “There’s a problem?” He gritted his teeth.

  “Let me
finish, please. The problem is, I don’t want to live a life where I just let things happen to me. I want to do things, make things happen.”

  “You made this pregnancy happen. You’re changing lives. You did that.”

  “Yes.”

  “You changed your daughter’s life and Rae’s by leaving Catch and Nebraska. And today, you got the club its piece of justice by nailing Mindy and her friend. Don’t you see that?”

  I only nodded, my lips pressed together. My face tightened as I tried to force down the lid on an unrelenting jack-in-the-box of emotions.

  “It’s something else. What is it?”

  “It’s just that, after the baby’s born, it might be hard for me to be here. Maybe Grace won’t want me here. I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what the after will be like.” My throat stung, my eyes welled with water. “I know it’s not my baby. I’m just carrying it, but I still love it and care about what happens to it. After I give birth, maybe things will be strange between all of us, and it would just be better for everyone if I left. Cleaner.” I wiped at my eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s going to be like.”

  “Look at me.”

  I met his raw gaze, and my chest hurt.

  “You don’t have to burn your bridges, Jill. You don’t have to cut all of us off, let us go.”

  “I don’t want to,” I breathed. “I don’t want to.” My vision turned watery again.

  “Don’t.” He grabbed me, his lips taking mine, his tongue invading, his taste swirling with my salty tears.

  His forehead slid against mine. “You feel that? That’s real, Firefly. Trust me when I tell you, that is being alive and free. Do what you got to do, follow your dreams, make your plans, but you don’t have to walk away from us—from me—to do it.”

  I clutched at his waist, our eyes locking.

  Dreams, plans—I had clung to them so tightly when I first got to Meager. But dreams evolved, didn’t they? They transformed into different dreams, new ones, better ones.

  Both the baby I was carrying and Boner had made one of my dreams come true for me—a home, surrounded by good people who had become good friends. No, more than that, they had already become family to me.

  “Thank you for Becca’s room. This is an incredible surprise and such a wonderful gift. No one’s ever done something like this for me. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful or freak out on you, but I did freak out. Forgive me.”