by Anne Malcom
Everything.
Marriage.
Kids.
The things he said he’d never have, the things I understood why he could never have. Because his soul was more scarred than his skin could ever be.
“Gage, you don’t—” I started to say, realizing a dream of kids or marriage was nothing when my beautiful nightmare was right here.
And that beautiful nightmare interrupted me, as he was fond of doing.
“You never tried to change me,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes.
That’s when I knew how much this was hitting him, how much it was scarring him, because Gage never avoided my gaze. Not once. Not when I told him about David with a pain that I guessed was hard to witness. Or the first night we became us, when he told me he’d just killed a man. Not even when he recounted the story of his daughter’s death.
“You should’ve, you know. But you didn’t. I showed you how fucked up I was, how wrong, and you didn’t try to do shit to make it right.” His arms flexed around me. “Didn’t try to make me right.”
“Just because you’re not right doesn’t make us wrong,” I said. “In fact, it’s what makes us. You. Because I don’t have to battle being broken anymore.”
He stared at me for a long time.
“Neither do I,” he said. “And that means I want to try with you. Give you things I thought I’d never have again. Because thinkin’ even for a moment that I’d never have you here in my arms again, it almost killed me. And I need to give you life in order to make sure I don’t die again.”
“Well yeah, they said it was accidental,” I replied to Jen, jerking out of those memories, the ones that should’ve been dark and painful since they took place in a hospital room after I’d almost died. But they were the complete opposite.
She turned to face me fully. “But you don’t believe them?”
I chewed my lip. “Well, they’re the professionals, so I should, and they’re right, I could’ve forgotten about my hairdryer. But I just don’t see how. I’m really particular about that kind of stuff. Like really particular. It just doesn’t seem likely that I’d forget something so obvious.”
Gage was of the same opinion. Because he knew me. And he didn’t “give a fuck what assholes with clipboards said.” Which was why, when he wasn’t with me—which was pretty much all the fricking time—he was at the club, or out “following leads.” Which he’d told me himself was literally beating up people who may have some kind of grudge with him. Enough to try to burn down my house.
But apparently that list was small.
“Anyone has a big enough grudge with me to try shit, I kill them before they get the chance to carry it out,” he’d told me.
So there was that.
Which meant we had to start to believe the impossible, since we’d ruled everything else out. That it really was just a hairdryer I’d forgotten to unplug. No late arrival of some kind of courtship drama that was somewhat of a tradition in the Sons of Templar family.
I’d expected everyone to be disappointed with all the teasing Amy had been subjecting me to before. But there had been no teasing when she came to my hospital room and yanked me into her arms.
When she’d pulled me out of her embrace, she’d wiped her eye. “Now, I’ve told Barney’s you’re a six, but you feel like a four, so I’ve got some calls to make.” She’d turned to walk out the door and paused, looking over her shoulder. “And if you ever almost die in a fire again, I’ll kill you.”
But I still had my guard while Gage was away doing Gage things. Most Gage things were him gently and maddeningly making love to me.
Not fucking.
Making love.
He had yet to handle me with that beautiful brutality that came before.
“Can’t bring myself to bruise the skin that I’ve seen burned to a crisp in my fuckin’ nightmares,” he’d rasped, slowly moving inside of me. “Need you to heal first. Need you to heal me first.”
As much as my softer and more vulnerable parts enjoyed the change of pace, the darker part of me was crying out for that roughness, relished the annoying itch in my palm.
Jen was regarding me with sympathy as I absently scratched the thin bandage. “Of course you don’t want to believe it, babe. But you’ve been kind of… distracted with your new and fabulous relationship, right? When we’re in love, all of our normal behaviors kind of fly out the window. We find ourselves stopping from doing the things we’ve always done and start doing things we thought we’d never do.”
She obviously didn’t know about the brief breakup. I thought I’d done a terrible job of hiding my sorrow. Amy certainly saw right through it, but maybe that was because Brock had likely told her something about Gage.
Jen hadn’t even met Gage, and she was busy with her own stuff, in and out of the office all week, talking about organizing the “best story of her life” and not telling anyone.
I thought on her words. On the bruises covering my body. On the handcuffs still attached to Gage’s headboard.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said finally.
Arms went around my waist and I jolted, not even realizing I was no longer alone in the guest bedroom of Gage’s house that he’d repurposed into my studio.
His house was furnished with everything from my own that we’d been able to salvage. It was more than I’d expected, since being inside the inferno had me certain it was going to engulf my entire home.
The fire crew had arrived only seconds after Gage made it to the ground with me in his arms.
Pretty much my entire living room was gone. As were all my books, carefully collated and collected over my whole life. That was what hit me. Not my expensive cushions or throws or sofas. No, the two-dollar copy of The Road that I’d bought with David when we’d skipped school and trolled the vintage shops. Or the well-weathered copy of The Bronze Horseman my grandmother had given me.
Every cover held not only the stories within the pages, but the ones attached to the books themselves. It wasn’t the things I cared about losing.
It was the memories.
I’d broken down. Once.
The first night after I’d been discharged from the hospital and Gage drove me to his place, without question. I had a hideously expensive designer suitcase full of equally hideous designer clothes that Amy had acquired for me.
I’d argued about paying her back, though it would likely cost more than my house repairs, but she’d said, “You bought a round of drinks one time. We’re even.”
And she was serious.
It was too much to take.
So I’d just smiled and nodded, Gage’s hand on the small of my back, guiding me onto the curb where an SUV was waiting. Obviously I couldn’t ride his bike, and that had me disappointed. We’d had a lifetime packaged into a week without each other. I ached to have my arms around him, to feel the vibration between my legs and the freedom in my soul.
I ached for something else.
Gage.
As if Gage sensed the way my body quivered, his hands bit into my hip. “Soon,” he growled in my ear.
And then I paused, not because of the guttural growl. Well, a tiny bit because of it.
Gage was instantly alert, dropping the suitcase with a violence that likely would’ve made Amy faint and cupping my face. “What, Will?” he demanded, searching me as if I might’ve gotten shot without him noticing.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
His eyes immediately went to my bandaged hand, and my foot, also bandaged underneath my flip-flop. Not injured enough to keep from walking, but I had to limp. “You’re not fine,” he clipped.
“Okay, whatever. But I was thinking about this.” I nodded to the curb.
“Can’t have you on the back of the bike,” he said, misunderstanding my meaning. “No fuckin’ way I’m riskin’ that.”
“No,” I protested. “That was the very spot where you dropped me all those weeks ago, without a second glance.”
He froze, then snatched me into his arms. “Oh, there was second glance,’ he growled. “There were a thousand. All I thought of was you. More than the fuckin’ junk. I only left ’cause I thought I was doing you a favor.” There was a heavy pause and his eyes darkened. “Fuck, baby, I thought that’s what I was doing before. But both times I was being a coward. Runnin’ away from you is not something I’ll ever do again.”
My form stiffened. “You better not. Because I’ll chase you, limp or no limp.”
The side of his mouth turned up. “Lotta things chase me, Lauren. You’re never gonna be one of them. Because you’re always gonna be at my side, battling the things that chase the both of us.”
And then we got in the car.
And drove to his house.
It was cute, well-maintained and not at all what I expected from Gage.
He carried me inside.
“Gage,” I squealed. “It’s a bride you’re meant to carry over the threshold.”
He stopped in the middle of the living room. “I’ll just do it twice, then.”
I froze and he gently put me on my feet, taking my hands. “I meant what I said, Will,” he murmured. “I’m not runnin’. Not from you, or myself.”
Then he laid a hot and heavy and desperate kiss on me before I could start crying everywhere.
The crying came later.
In the dead of night when I jerked awake, not because I couldn’t breathe but because I could. Because I was terrified that none of it was real. That the fire wasn’t. Because if the fire wasn’t, then Gage wasn’t either.
Then he didn’t come back.
Arms tightened around me. “Lauren?” he demanded, voice clutched in worry.
My body shook. “I almost lost everything,” I hiccupped.
“The fire didn’t take it all, baby. We’ll rebuild. I’ll rebuild. I promise.”
“No,” I said against his mouth. “The fire brought you back.”
He froze. “You can’t say that shit,” he growled. “Not when I can’t fuck you.”
I moved, careful of my hand, running the other down the bare skin of his abs. He hissed and caught my wrist before I could grasp his hard length.
“Lauren,” he warned. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Then don’t leave me again,” I demanded.
His hand flexed at my wrist. “Never,” he promised.
I laid my lips to his once more, kissing him with violence and need. He met me, only just restraining the totality of his own brutal need.
“I need you inside me,” I whispered, “so I know this isn’t a dream.”
There was a heavy pause, and then I was flat on my back, Gage’s hands ripping at my panties, kiss ripping at my soul.
“This isn’t a dream,” he growled, exploring my wetness, preparing me. “This is a nightmare.” He thrust into me with a desperation that mimicked mine.
“Then I hope I never wake up,” I moaned as he moved slowly.
“Me too, Will.”
And then there were no more words.
Only our bodies moving in a painful and beautiful rhythm, chasing away the demons.
Or welcoming them in.
“Will?” Gage said, gently taking the paintbrush from my uninjured hand and turning me to face him.
The vision rocked my world slightly, and not in a good way.
I’d been fighting dizzy spells for the past couple of days, putting it down to all the trauma of the past few weeks.
And smoke inhalation wasn’t something easily recovered from. The effects could end up being more severe than actual burns. I kept that in mind while battling nausea and dizziness.
I didn’t tell Gage because he was only just starting to treat me like the world wasn’t going to break me.
Which meant he was starting to break me again.
My wrists were red from the handcuffs used last night.
And I loved it.
No way was I going to risk that beautiful pain for something that Gage couldn’t control anyway.
“I’m good,” I told him, finding concern in his blank stare.
He frowned at me, as if he could see something more. But then he yanked me in for a brutal kiss before tucking me into his side and looking at my latest project.
No one else was allowed to look at my works in progress. It was like gazing at my insides during open heart surgery, seeing all those ugly pieces before someone covered it with skin.
But Gage had seen all my ugly pieces.
And there was no hiding from him.
“Wow, baby,” he murmured, eyes running over the canvas.
It was David’s face. Which wasn’t unusual, considering most of the paintings in the room—the ones we’d actually saved, that hadn’t been damaged from the fall—were all the broken beautiful men I loved. Gage and David.
Most of the ones of David were memories I’d snatched from him laughing, smiling, living.
This one was different.
This was his face, curled into a feral grimace, much like the one I’d seen on the dealer who’d sold him his death when he was pleading for a fix that day in Gage’s warehouse. One half of his face was painted in brutal detail, down to the tiny mole on the corner of his lip. The other half was melting, as if fire were making the paint drip and sizzle. Bones of his face were exposed, crumbling, decaying. The part of him no one had seen. Not even me.
I was seeing it now, ten years too late, and that was because of Gage. And that was the greatest gift he could give me, understanding what lived underneath David’s skin so I didn’t torture myself quite as much for not noticing it.
“Is it too ugly?” I asked, biting my lip. It was unlike anything I’d ever done. I’d painted my own ugliness, but also made it beautiful.
“Yes,” Gage said immediately, and my stomach clenched, not just from the ever-present nausea. “And that’s what makes it magnificent.”
I smiled and glanced up at him. “I love you,” I whispered.
He smiled. Actually smiled. “I love you too, Will.”
The moment was utter sweet perfection, so it only made sense that bitter ugliness would soon tear through it.
Gage
He was comfortable.
That’s what did it.
Because the fire had scared him more than anything in his entire life—he hadn’t been scared when he’d found his daughter, because the worst had already happened; he hadn’t had the luxury of fear, only the punishment of sorrow—but it had also relieved something in him. Relaxed it.
Because that was it. The thing everyone had been waiting for.
Bracing for.
But they were fucking wrong.
And being wrong in their world wasn’t just dangerous. It was fatal.
They were in church.
The women were all outside, cackling, drinking, and playing with the kids. He’d caught Lauren nuzzling Brock and Amy’s kid and it had hit him in the gut. With the thought of her holding their baby, treating it with every ounce of love and care it deserved. Showing him the beauty of hope. Of family.
It hurt because his little girl should’ve been in that family.
It killed because she wasn’t.
And Gage wanted to burn the world to the ground for that fact alone.
But Lauren was showing him that destroying the world wasn’t his only option.
It would hurt, but everything in his life did.
And it would be worth it.
“Lauren doing good?” Cade asked as he sat at the ahead of the table. “She looks a little pale.”
Of course the fucker would notice that. He noticed everything.
Gage did too.
So he’d seen her gray pallor getting worse over the past week. Watched her curves lessen slightly as she only took small bites of the meals they’d shared, lying about having a big lunch.
It worried him. But he also did the math, and it got him doing something he never should’ve been doing.
Hoping.
&
nbsp; Thinking about his woman growing with his baby.
Giving him another reason not to destroy the world.
“She’s fine,” he clipped, sitting down, not ready to voice his hope till Lauren told him.
“Good. No way could the world handle it being any other way,” Cade said dryly.
They’d been there when Gage tortured every person who may have had something to do with the fire. Watched him refuse to give mercy.
And they just knew him.
“Still can’t believe that’s your girl,” Asher said, looking to the sounds of the laughter.
Gage’s entire body stiffened as the demons she tamed when she was in his presence reared up immediately.
His eyes narrowed on his brother. “That’s my fuckin’ woman,” he hissed. “You got something more to say about her?” It was a challenge, a dare for him to keep talking about the perfect fucking being Gage had somehow managed to clutch in his scarred and bloodstained hands. He was willing to kill for her in a heartbeat.
His loyalty to his brothers wasn’t even important if someone, even fucking Asher, tried to come for her.
Asher held up his hands in surrender. He’d seen that reaction before. All the brothers had. Just not usually directed at someone wearing a Sons of Templar patch.
“No, brother. Not anything bad, that’s for sure… which is kind of the point. I don’t think it would be humanly possible to say anything bad about her. Which is why I’m confused as all hell. She’s not crazy. And she’s yours, that’s fuckin’ easy to see.” He paused, looking at the door. “And fuck, you’re hers too. Blind man could see it. But fuck, I just imagined you with some crazy badass chick who blew up kittens or something.”
Brock chuckled.
Even Cade smirked.
Gage did not. Because Asher had hit some form of truth without knowing it, and something tugged at the corner of Gage’s mind.
“Get with the program,” Lucky interrupted Gage’s thoughts on stabbing Asher. “This fucker would never find a woman to out-crazy him. If he did, it would not end well. Only so much depravity can exist within an enclosed space, you know? And Gage has Amber and the greater Southern California area covered. Even fucked-up crazy motherfuckers like Gage need something to keep them a little sane. Like their constant, you know? Like a lighthouse. She’s his lighthouse.”