But for now, I’m stuck in this dreamy bubble, where my real-life doesn’t exist and I don’t have to deal with my mother or Grant. I know it’s fake, that my life in Kingsley isn’t mine, but I can’t help but cling to it. If I’m being honest, I don’t want to return to my life in Manchester. Everything is hard there. Here, I have the illusion of easy.
And then there’s Jem. I’m warming to him. I shouldn’t be, but I can’t stop myself. I have no misconceptions about who he is and what he is. Beneath the smiles and jokes, I know he’s dangerous, but there’s something strangely compelling about his silly antics. I find myself eager to see him in the mornings when he picks me up. Since he blacklisted me with the local cab firms, he’s assigned himself as my personal driver. I thought maybe the prospects would run me around, but after visiting ended with Josh, it was Jem waiting in the corridor to drive me home. The next morning, it was Jem who knocked on the door, and it was again Jem who took me home.
I try not to read too much into this, but I can’t help it.
Is he only doing this because of loyalty to Josh?
Probably.
But it’s nice to live in the fantasy for a while.
I’m just considering texting him to see where he is when there’s a knock on the door. I still have nothing on my feet, but I rush to the door anyway to let him in.
“I’m late, too,” I blurt as I tug it open. “Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready.”
But he doesn’t fire back the expected smart remark. In fact, he looks worried and that sets me on edge.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
He scrubs a hand over his bearded jaw. “Wade’s in ICU. They think he’s got an infection or some shit from the second surgery. I don’t understand the medical crap, but—”
My legs go wobbly even before he finishes speaking. Josh had to go back under the knife earlier this week to further repair some of the damage caused by the shooting. This wasn’t unexpected, the doctors told us this could be a possibility. The surgery went well, though. He was recovering fine. They were talking about discharging him in a few days’ time. This is not good news.
Then again… I think back to yesterday during my visit. He seemed lethargic, a little out of it. He’s been a little out of it since the surgery, if I’m being honest. I thought it was just part and parcel of the process. What if he’s been worsening again and I didn’t realise?
My knees threaten to fold and Jem reaches out, grabbing my elbows, keeping me upright.
“Whoa, easy, angel.”
I cling to him, my nails digging into his biceps. I can’t lose Josh. Not like this. Not before we’ve truly fixed things.
“Oh my God.” Cold fills my belly. “Is he… is he going to—”
I can’t say the word, but it sits on the tip of my tongue and fills the air. Is my brother going to die?
Jem cuts me off with a finger to my lips. “No. Don’t think it.”
I stare up into his dark brown eyes, begging him to tell me things are going to be okay. “I can’t lose him, Jem.”
“You’re not going to. It’s just an infection.”
I feel suddenly cold and I shiver. Infections kill people all the time.
“You can’t know that.” I sound on the edge of hysteria.
“No, I can’t know that, but I do know Wade. He’s a tough bastard.” He rubs my arms and the warmth of his hands infuses my skin. I take comfort from the gesture. “He’s going to be okay. Believe that.”
“He’s in the ICU.” I sound shrill.
“It’s a precaution given the other shit he’s been through, that’s all.” His voice is soft, reassuring, and I feel reassured by it.
He keeps hold of me with one hand, the other cupping my face. The air between us changes, feels suddenly charged with electricity. I should pull back, move away, but I can’t. Instead, I stare into his eyes, eyes that are watching me intently. This is more than just offering comfort, but I don’t know what he is offering.
My tears, which have been brimming, break through the moment by spilling over. Jem watches them fall for a beat before his thumb swipes over the apple of my cheek, wiping them away. Then he pulls me against him. I stiffen for a beat and then I cling to him, taking the comfort he offers. His chest is hard, and I can smell the leather of his vest, his aftershave and a scent that is just him. I don’t want to think about how good and how right it feels to be in his arms, to have him wrapped around me. I can’t.
“It’ll be okay, Piper. I promise. I’ll take you to him, so you can see for yourself, okay?”
“Okay.”
He lets me go, but I sense his reluctance and when I stumble, he reaches out to steady me again. “You need help?”
Yes.
But I shake my head. Having Jem in my space makes my head foggy and I need to think clearly right now. Time is of the essence.
Before he can say anything, I stagger into the bedroom and scrabble around for my boots. Hugging Jem Harlow is not what I should be doing after learning my brother is ill again, but I can’t beat myself up either for taking a little comfort when it’s offered. I’m alone here in Kingsley, and while I’m used to being on my own, I don’t go through life without support. I have Cami. Okay, latching onto Jem while having a mental breakdown is not the best plan, but I can’t be held responsible for my actions when learning bad news, right?
Shucking into my jacket, I make my way down the hallway to Jem, who is leaning against the kitchen counter when I step back into the living area. He glances up when I re-enter, his face still unreadable before he does a full body scan of me.
“You’ll do.”
My brow knits together. “I’ll do?
“I didn’t have time to get a cage, Piper.”
A cage is a car in biker vernacular.
“Okay…” I have no idea why he’s telling me this.
“I’m on the bike,” he explains. “You need to be wearing suitable clothes, so you’re protected on the back. You’ll do.”
There’s a lot to unpack there, but I start with the first thing. “You’re on the bike?”
“Yeah, Piper. As soon as I heard the news, I got on my bike and came right here. I knew you’d need to get there.”
He came straight to me.
He knew I would need to get to Josh.
This statement warms me in a way I don’t expect. It surprises me that he cared about what I would need.
Why does he care so much?
I know we’ve been getting on a little better lately, but this implies something more, something deeper.
The man is an enigma. First, he told me he thought I was beautiful, then he let me sleep on him, now this…
I can’t figure him out.
“Babe, come on, we need to go.”
This statement breaks through my reverie, and brings me back to my current predicament: transportation.
“Hold on.” I hold up a hand. “Are you expecting me to get on the back of your bike?”
“Well, unless you plan on holding onto the handle bars...”
I ignore his sarcasm. “I’m not getting on that death-trap.”
He stares at me a beat, then shrugs. “Fine. Make your own way there then. I’ll see you at the hospital.”
Bugger. I don’t have time for this. If anything happens to Josh while I’m arguing about road safety, I’ll never forgive myself.
I grab his hand. It’s warm, rough beneath my palm, and reassuring. I don’t want to let him go, but reluctantly, I release him.
“Wait…” I swallow hard, staring up at him.
He stares at me through the blond curtain of his hair.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Pip. You’re safe on my bike, I promise. Trust me, yeah?”
I ignore the fact he calls me ‘Pip’. I also ignore the fact I find this name, like angel, makes my belly flutter when it spills from his mouth. It no longer annoys me, as it did previously. And I ignore what this means.
“Fine,
I’ll trust you, but if we crash, I will kick your arse.”
The smile he gives me is worth risking my own sanity. It’s so radiant, so beautiful.
“I haven’t crashed my bike since I was a wet behind the ears prospect. I’m not about to do it with precious cargo on the back.”
He called me precious cargo before, when I first arrived in Kingsley, but then it had been a slight. Now, I don’t think he means it as an insult, not if I’m reading the soft look on his face right. My heart gives a quick lub-dub.
Why is he looking at me like that?
He juts his chin at me. “Grab your stuff. We need to get going.”
Right. Stuff.
I shrug my bag over my shoulder and snag the house keys off the table near the door.
He follows me out of the flat and waits for me to lock up. His hand goes to the small of my back, steering me out towards the exit of the building. The urge to step away from his touch is intense, but I don’t want to cause a scene. Besides, part of me likes the feel of his touch on me.
When we get outside, he leads me over to his bike and my heart starts to pound in my chest. I cannot ride that thing. Don’t misunderstand me, I can appreciate it is a beautiful piece of machinery, but they are not safe.
I give Jem a concerned look before bringing my attention back to the bike. It’s sleek and a light red, almost blood red. He hands me a helmet. It’s not a fully enclosed thing with a visor, it’s open at the front.
“You need to put that on,” he instructs, “and this.”
Jem hands me a piece of material with a bold blue skull on it. When I stare blankly at it, he says, “It’s for your face. Unless you like eating flies.”
He’s far too amused by this entire process. I resist the urge to punch him in the gut.
I make a disgusted sound while wrinkling my nose, then I turn the cloth in my hand, trying to fathom how best to put it on.
“How do I…?”
Placing his helmet back on the bike to free his hands, he demands, “Didn’t they teach you this shit at private school?”
His tone pisses me off. I am well educated, but just because I wasn’t running around learning ‘Bikers for Dummies’ doesn’t make me stupid. I hate that he’s talking down to me. Jerk.
This makes my next words terse. “They taught us maths, English, science… you know, the things we needed to learn for everyday life?”
His lips tip slightly as he snatches the cloth from me and shakes it out a little. “So, you did go to some fancy as fuck school.”
I’m not sure why he sees this revelation as a victory, but he does. I actually went to a very prestigious school, but I keep this to myself. No need to keep handing him ammunition—especially since I have no idea what he’s keeping it for.
“I went to a school, Jem. What does it matter what kind it was?”
“It doesn’t.”
I stare at him. “I know you revel in giving me a hard time, and usually I wouldn’t care, but right now, I don’t have the strength to come back with a witty retort. Please, just help me get on the bike so I can see my brother and make sure he’s okay.”
His entire face softens in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Fuck, angel… I’m just messing with you. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m a wanker; it’s a reflex action.” One of his hands cups my cheek. “Wade’s going to be fine. He will. It’s just part of the process. The doctors said infection was a risk of the second surgery, didn’t they?”
They said a whole bunch of stuff. I was more focused on getting my brother conscious and talking to me than listening to potential outcomes.
My eyes fill with tears. “I just want him to be okay, Jem.”
“And he will be.”
He surprises me by leaning forward and kissing my forehead. It’s a gesture that wouldn’t be out of place if my own brother did it, but it doesn’t feel familial. It feels like more than that. It holds the promise of so much more. It tells me he cares, and that he wants me to know. It feels protective.
I raise my eyes to his when he pulls back and ties the face covering around my nape. Despite my outburst a moment ago, my heart starts to quicken as his fingers brush over the sensitive skin there and I have to swallow hard to control myself. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he gently pulls it up over my mouth and nose. My breath is warm behind it.
“There you go,” he says quietly.
“Thank you.” My voice sounds muffled behind the material, which makes him smile a little.
“Helmet now. We have to protect that clever brain of yours.”
He reaches for one of the helmets on the back of the bike and helps secure it onto my head. It’s an intimate gesture, buckling it under my chin and even with the worry for Josh, I can’t help but squirm under his gaze. I’m glad when he finally gets it locked into place and turns to pull his own on.
Finally, he secures my bag in the locker on the back.
I raise my eyes to Jem.
“How do I get on?”
He runs through the process and I wait for him to throw his leg over and climb on before I attempt to follow the instructions he gave me. It’s simple enough. I have to use his shoulders to steady myself, but I manage to get on the back and seated without issue. I scoot back so there is a little distance between us.
“What do I hold on to?” I ask him.
He doesn’t respond. He grabs my hands and pulls them around his waist, which drags my pussy closer to his back.
Tension ripples between us.
Maybe this was not a good idea.
He glances over his shoulder at me and heat stirs in his eyes. I have no idea what is happening, but I get lost in his eyes for a moment.
“Jem…” I murmur behind the bandana.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
Then shakes himself.
Jem turns forward and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. He pulls a pair of sunglasses out and puts them on. Then he starts the motorcycle up. It roars to life, and the vibration of it beneath me is intense.
“Hold on,” he yells back at me.
Revving the engine again, he gives it a hit of gas and the bike takes off. I squeal and grab him tightly around the middle, holding on for dear life. This was a bad idea. I should have got a taxi…
I close my eyes, burying my face against his back, and I feel him vibrate. It takes me a moment to realise he’s laughing at me, and despite the gravity of the situation, despite knowing we’re riding to the hospital where Josh might be in a bad way, I’m so glad he is, because it makes me laugh, too.
And my only thought as he weaves the bike through Kingsley’s mid-morning traffic, curled against the back of a giant of a man who looks like a modern-day Viking, a man who drives me insane, is Cami would be so bloody jealous if she could see me right now.
Chapter Ten
“Will you stop staring at me?”
Josh doesn’t open his eyes as he says this, so I have no idea how he knows I’m watching him, other than the fact I have not moved from his bedside for the past twelve plus hours other than to pee. His infection is severe, but he’s doing well, all things considered. My heart has been in my throat from the moment Jem brought me here this morning. The doctors spouted a load of medical jargon at me, but the upshot is they’re pumping industrial grade antibiotics into him with the hope it will clear it fast. His immune system is already working at less than optimum levels because of his recovery. My watching him like a hawk is seemingly not appreciated, however. Not if the impatient timbre of his voice is anything to go by anyway.
I can’t help it, though. He looks small in the bed, a shadow of the man he was four and a half weeks ago when I first arrived in town. He’s lost weight, a side effect of being bed bound for so long, and probably the hospital food. If they’re serving the same stuff to the patients as they are the visitors in the canteen it’s no wonder he’s shifting the pounds. I’m certain I’ve lost a little off my hips myself.
Joking
aside, Josh is going to need serious building up when he gets out of here. I told Cami I was going to return home, but that’s not looking likely now. Even if the infection clears up, it’s obvious Josh is going to need help when he’s discharged. He’s weak—not that I would ever utter those words to him—but he can barely take care of himself. I’m sure his strength will return before they toss him out of the hospital, but he’s going to need support, and while the Club have been good taking care of him, I can’t see him allowing anyone else but me to stay with him.
And that’s what he needs. He needs someone in the flat with him until he’s back on his feet fully.
“I’m not staring at you,” I mutter, lowering my gaze to the magazine I’ve been pretending to flick through for the past hour.
“I can feel you watching me.”
“You’ve got your eyes closed, so how would you know?”
His voice is softer when he says, “I’m not going anywhere, Piper.”
Bugger.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. He’s not allowed to do that, go from gruff to soft. I don’t know how to handle when he does. He’s always so guarded with me. I thought my trust issues were bad, but Josh is another level. He’s doing his best to let me in, I can tell, but he’s wary. Curtis really did a number on him. I don’t think Josh has ever been loved a day in his life. I wish I knew where our father was. I’d like to smack him, hard.
This time around, I can see the damage done to my brother, but I’ve got my own issues, too. I was too wrapped up in my own issues, my own pain, to recognise how screwed up Josh was back then. If I hadn’t been, I might have been more forgiving of his behaviour. I might not have ignored him for as long as I did. He’s as much a victim of his circumstances as I am.
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