"What?" I gasped.
Unashamed, he nodded. "They meant it as a negative, but I took it as a positive. And when you never asked, I just didn’t bother to encourage you."
I just blinked at him, focusing on the first half of his remark rather than the second. "You took that as a positive?"
His smile made another reappearance, somehow filling up the gaping wound he’d just caused.
I’d always felt out of place.
Be it at home, where my religious family wanted one thing, while I wanted another. In the church, where everyone seemed to get ‘it’ without question, whereas I was just left wanting more information. At school, where I was different because of who and what my dad did for a living, as well as the malaria that flared up. Then, finally, at the clubhouse.
The only place that had ever felt right to me was standing at his side, but he’d managed to wreck that for me too.
"I did," he confirmed. "Because had I wanted someone in the lifestyle, I’d have married a clubwhore, Keira. I’d have left you alone, but I couldn’t do that. You called out to me then, and, to this day, you still do."
Swallowing back some stupid tears, I asked, "Who told you that?"
"It doesn’t matter. You don’t need another reason to hate the Sinners," he said wryly. "And their opinion meant dick to me anyway.
"My brothers never got a chance to know you, K. I figure, if they had, they’d have realized what a loving person you are." When I just blinked at him, he said, "I asked you here because I was hoping you’d help me fix this place up. Make it more… well, hell, just make it more."
The place was rundown, so it wasn’t like I couldn’t understand what he was asking.
"Me, though? How would I know what you guys need?" I queried uncomfortably, uncertain if I wanted to get that into the club lifestyle.
Maybe a part of it intrigued me. I’d seen a different side of things when I’d moved onto the West Orange compound and had gotten into the Old Ladies' inner circle. Even there, I was an outsider because of having left Storm, but they’d never really made me feel that way.
Mostly, it had been because I worked shifts at the diner unlike the rest of them. They’d included me in most things, though—at least, I thought they did—so starting up a whole new Posse was definitely something I’d have been interested in… if I was still Storm’s wife.
Which I wasn’t. Right?
"You know better than me," was Storm’s dry retort.
But as I looked at him, I slowly shook my head. "I have a lot of work at the diner, Storm," I said uncomfortably. "Plus, there’s school. I’ll have to come up with a decision soon."
He raised his grease-streaked hands, and though it was ridiculous, I saw them and realized I’d never once seen him come home with dirty fingernails.
Not once.
And I knew his bike was vintage—old, according to Rex—so it took a lot of repairs…
"I’ve never seen you with dirty nails before."
He looked down at his hands. "No, of course not. I wash them. I’m not about to touch you with filthy paws." His lips tightened. "Filthier, anyway."
Annoyed, I asked, "What’s that supposed to mean?" Was he talking about the sluts he’d touched over the years? The ones he’d sullied our marriage with?
"It doesn’t matter."
"I think you’ll find it does," I grated out, slamming my hands onto my hips.
Tilting his head to the side, he frowned, his confusion clear, but slowly, he explained, "I’ve never been good enough to touch you. Of course, my hands are filthy."
For a second, I could only gape at him.
‘I’ve never been good enough to touch you.’
Each word was like someone hammered a nail into my heart.
He felt that way?
I stared at him in consternation, then rasped, "You felt that way when we first met?"
I could literally feel my walls lowering, my defenses too. Jesus help me.
"Of course." He shrugged that off like it meant nothing, as if his complete lack of self-worth should come as no surprise to me. "Anyway, I get it. It’s a big undertaking, but I just thought if you wanted to take over the styling of it, maybe you’d feel more comfortable."
"I think being comfortable here will take more than fancy new drapes and carpets, Storm."
His lips curved. "Not sure how the guys would feel about ‘drapes.’"
I smirked. "See? That’s why I’m the wrong person for the job."
I took his humor as a chance to escape. Not only from the clubhouse, or from what he’d just said, but from him as well.
I needed to breathe air he wasn’t breathing because Storm was one of my worst weaknesses, and I couldn’t afford to be weak anymore.
Starting to back up toward the SUV, I said, "I’ll see you at dinner."
He nodded. "See you then."
"It’s your turn to pick up Cyan," I pointed out.
"I know," was his calm response as he watched me retreat.
And that was how it felt.
Like a retreat. Like I was the one escaping.
In the face of his serenity, I felt chaotic. My nerves and confusion and stupid attraction to him at war.
The bitch of it was, as I looked at him, I knew he saw it and I knew, even though the notion broke something inside me, that he cheered me on as I backed away.
He’d really meant it when he’d said he was proud of me for leaving him.
He’d meant it.
My jaw worked as I raised a hand in farewell once I was behind the wheel, but the second I was out of the gates, I put my foot on the accelerator.
My demons didn’t chase me down the dangerous road—Storm’s did, and somehow, they were more terrifying than my own.
But, for all that they had wings, as I pulled up at the house, before I headed over to MaryCat’s to hang out, I grabbed my phone and fidgeted with it as I thought about the clubhouse, thought about how the bar was right next door to the family room… and then I thought about what I’d overheard Giulia say one time. That as a kid, she’d learned, in her words… "about blowjobs and banging, because I saw brothers boning bitches in the hall and in the bar."
I didn’t want that for Cyan. I really didn’t. I just wasn’t sure if Storm was talking about a little fixin’ up or if he meant massive structural changes.
Cyan still needed the sex talk, once she was more settled, so learning that way was out of the question.
With that in mind, I knew I had to get involved. Even if it was only peripherally.
Me: The bar needs to be at the other end of the clubhouse. Away from the family room. We don’t really want Cyan learning the birds and the bees from what goes on in there, do we?
Barely a minute passed before he texted me back.
Storm: Yeah. I didn’t think about that. I’ll set SL onto figurin’ out how to make that happen.
Nervous, I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, before I typed out:
Me: I might not be able to get super involved, but you can always run things by me.
Storm: Okay. Whatever makes you comfortable.
Nothing made me comfortable right now. Rex’s words were still floating around my head all these weeks later, what I’d learned was still making me question everything but, when it came down to the wire, like with today, my instinct was still to retreat.