She hovered outside the door, before slowly, I heard her walk away, her feet padding against the tiles as she retreated. Walking when, I knew, she’d have cartwheeled down it if her dad hadn’t sounded so wrecked.
After a few minutes, Storm pulled back, and I let him. His head tipped against the door and for a second, those gemstone-like eyes of his were hidden from me until, slowly, he opened them. They were drenched, shot with redness, the pupils stark against the crystalline nature of his irises.
"I didn’t say goodbye," he repeated.
I reached up and cupped his cheek. "I don’t think he even woke up, Ash."
A heavy sigh escaped him. "It don’t matter. If I’d said the words, at least he’d know—" His jaw clenched as his words waned. "Rex... I need to call him." He dipped his chin, inadvertently dislodging my hand. He snagged it in his with a move that was as natural as breathing, bridging our fingers together before, with his free one, he scrubbed it over his face. "Jesus, this’ll break him."
"Rex is—" I winced, unsure of what to say, but after he rubbed at his eyes then looked at me, I couldn’t lie to him. Not wholly, anyway. "He’s taken some time out."
"Time out?" Storm repeated, blankly staring at me as if I’d started talking in Mandarin.
Nodding, I didn’t say anything to incriminate myself further. ‘Time out’ and ‘taking off’ had a similar definition.
He stared at me, his eyes narrowed like he’d scented something funky about what I’d said, but then he heaved a sigh. "We need to make arrangements to ride over for the funeral."
God. More complications. More explanations.
I cleared my throat. "They’re doing an autopsy."
"An autopsy? Ain’t it obvious why the poor bastard died? A fucking bomb ripped him to shreds!"
I felt his agitation stirring to life beneath me, much as if he were an earthquake that was beginning to take hold.
"It’s standard procedure."
I didn’t want to lie to him, but I figured this was the kindest thing to say. No way in hell would anyone have murdered Bear. Jesus, not unless they wanted to be killed, brutally, by the Sinners.
It’d be some kind of political maneuvering with the Sheriff’s office or something.
At least, I hoped it was or I’d just lied to him for real about a man he considered his dad.
Praying my desire to break it gently to him wouldn’t bite me in the ass, I accepted that I wasn’t just being selfless here as anxiety started choking me.
He sounded so broken.
So destroyed.
Grief was one thing, but he wasn’t just a regular guy, was he?
He had… problems.
Which was why I whispered, "Y-You’re not going t-to start on the drugs again, Storm? Are you?
His eyes tangled with mine, and his shock was clear as he shook his head. "No, Keira. No."
He sounded so sure, but I wasn’t.
For so long, he’d done stuff I’d never been able to understand, reckless things, crazy things, and I’d just thought that was his nature. He was Storm, and I was living in the eye of the tempestuous soul of the man I loved. I thought it was because he was a biker, because that was a part of the lifestyle, but maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe it was because he’d been hooked on drugs.
All our married life, I’d been naive. Then Kendra had given me some home truths. Then our daughter had been kidnapped. Then I’d learned about his addictions.
There was no diminishing the harsh reality of the world I lived in now. No putting those blinders back on.
He reached out, hesitating when I flinched as he cupped my chin. "How do you know about the drugs?"
I hadn’t told him that I knew. In the aftermath of Cyan’s return home, I’d had no need to, especially when, after closely monitoring him, I’d seen that he was clear-eyed, focused, and intent on righting the wrongs he’d done to his family.
Sorrowful, penitent—the expression in his eyes was enough to break me, but he was too different to the Storm of before so I’d known he was clean.
"Rachel told me before we came here."
His mouth tightened with displeasure. "She had no right to do that."
"She wanted to explain something to me."
"What?"
"It doesn’t matter. She was trying to make me see you in a different light—"
"The worst kind?" was his bitter retort.
"The opposite if anything. She was trying to open my eyes to the real you."
He gritted his teeth. "Do you know Rach and me used to be friends? Emphasis on used to be." His nostrils flared. "Goddammit. I didn’t want you to know—"
Reaching over, I squeezed his shoulder. "She was being a friend, Storm. You’ve always done some crazy things, pulled some weird stunts, and I was too goddamn blind to realize what was going on. At least now I know."
Our gazes clashed, held, and for a small segment of time, we were bound to one another. Bound in a way I knew I’d only ever feel with him.
On my dark days, I railed at that. Railed at a world, a fate, that tied me to a man who could treat me how he did.
Sitting here, now, I didn’t hate on kismet. I just felt sad, a little defeated. As if, all this time, I’d been blaming him, but maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have been blaming us instead.
Now wasn’t the time for this conversation, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking, "What else don’t I know, Storm? What else have you kept from me?"
My teeth burrowed into my bottom lip as I looked at him, seeing the raw pain in his eyes, accepting that there was a lot of hidden truths he’d buried. I didn’t get angry, even though it was my right to be angry. I just decided, then and there, that if I was ever going to have a decent relationship with him, one that wasn’t toxic, one that didn’t stain my daughter’s childhood, I needed to learn the real man.
Flaws, weaknesses, addictions and all.
He bowed his head, hiding his glance from mine, before he whispered, "You can’t—" I tensed up, expecting him to tell me that I couldn’t possibly handle whatever it was he was keeping a secret, but he didn’t. Instead, he continued, "—expect me to remember all the shit that’s gone on throughout our marriage, Keira. Not when I was high at the times you’re talking about."
Though my heart sank, I refused to let that sway me. "Can’t I?" I reached over, grabbed his chin. His beard tickled the pad of my thumb as I forced him to look up at me. "Can’t I?" I repeated, my voice harder. "Don’t I deserve to understand, Storm? Don’t I?
"We need to make this work for Cyan’s sake. I can’t keep on hating you for what you did when I didn’t understand it, and you can’t keep shit from me when all it’s doing is making me think the worst of you."
I stared him down, absorbing his surprise and disregarding it. I’d been a pushover for such a long goddamn time that it was no wonder he looked astonished. I’d been so eager to bury my head under the covers to keep everything peaceful at home.
Just like my mom.
A goddamn Stepford Wife.
It was time, however, that I took a firm hold of my backbone and made it mine again. The process had begun when I’d thrown him out, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a work-in-progress.