"N-Nothing," she said shakily, sounding real convincing. Not.
"Is something going on at the diner? You don’t have to work so hard, Keira. Hell, you don’t have to work there at all."
For a second, she just stared up at me. I wasn’t sure what was going on with her, but her face crumpled as she asked, "Why are you so good to me?"
My mouth tightened. "Baby girl, you’d better tell me right now if someone has hurt you or—"
"No," she mumbled, both her hands slipping onto my chest. "It’s nothing like that."
"Then, what is it?" I reached for my phone, about to check if Jump had texted me while I was cleaning up the yard. "What’s going on with you?"
Keira wasn’t the most emotional of women unless she was under immense strain. I figured that was because of her upbringing so you could bet your ass this had me concerned.
Her forehead came to rest between my pecs, and as she leaned against me, I swore, it felt like the hinges to heaven’s gates creaked a little.
My arms wavered as I wondered if she wanted me to put them around her, then I decided to man the fuck up and did as I needed to.
As I embraced her, my concern for why she was doing this was at war with how good she felt.
She fit there, always had. Always goddamn would. No other bitch’d take her place because Keira was my angel. She was my everything.
I leaned my chin on the crown of her head, letting her huddle into me. "Tell me who to kill and I will."
She gulped. "I promise, it’s not like that."
I loved that she didn’t tense up.
A few years ago, I’d never have been able to say that, but while hanging around Giulia had made our kid really good at head-butting, it had also broadened my wife’s horizons.
She knew what the Sinners were firsthand, and I doubted she was afraid of it.
Especially as, the bastard who’d tried to hurt our daughter was dead now, not rotting in a jail cell like the laws of the land would have preferred—just waiting to get back out onto the streets so he could hurt some other little girl in the future.
Amara, Hawk and Quin’s Old Lady, might have been behind the kill, but it was the Sinners who’d made sure that fucker’s death was covered up. Who’d made sure she was celebrated for what she’d done, not denigrated like the pigs would have.
"Then what’s it like, Keira? How can I fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong?"
She gulped, the sound audible. "I-I’ve let you down, Storm."
Whatever I’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that.
My surprise was such that I’d have reared back if that hadn’t meant disconnecting from our embrace.
"What?" I barked dumbly.
"I’ve let you down."
"Why? What have you done?" I asked carefully, reaching up to stroke the back of her head, to hopefully soothe her.
My mind started racing, wondering if she’d done something at the diner—I could fix most problems before they derailed if I was just given enough warning.
"I haven’t done anything and that’s the problem. I come home today, and you’re mowing the lawn. Yesterday, you picked up Cyan from school and took her to gymnastics.
"I haven’t cleaned the bathroom in over a month because you’ve done it. You make soup and you fixed the dryer last week—" She sucked in a breath. "You’re so here and I’m just… I’ve just—" Her mouth worked as she pulled back, not out of my arms, just enough for me to see the war in her eyes. "Why do you love me?"
The question had me staring at her in confusion. "Why wouldn’t I love you? You’re—"
"Don’t say it! I’m not perfect," she snapped.
I smirked at her anger. "You asked, but if you don’t like my answer that’s on you."
"I’m not perfect, Asher," she rasped, and I knew she thought she meant business by using my real name. "I’m the opposite."
"Your version of perfect isn’t like mine." I pressed a finger to her chin. "You were raised by a Stepford Wife." Her nose crinkled but I knew she agreed. "You were told that you had to do well at school, you had to behave, do as you were told, and the second you didn’t, the second you went against the house rules, your dad got your mom to beat you.
"Perfection to you means putting on makeup to hide a bruise so you can attend church.
"Perfect to me is different." I placed my hand on the flat of her chest, only the touch wasn’t sexual. "Perfect is someone who fights against the perfection she was raised in to allow our baby to be born." My mouth tightened as I remembered the day I’d found out she was pregnant. Her terror had the power to fuel me with rage all this time later. Her father was lucky she’d pleaded with me to leave him alone because that fucker would be six feet under by now if I’d had my way. "Perfect is someone who sees me and still wants me. Perfect is someone who will clean up my wounds when I come back broken from a fight—"
"Nothing about that speaks of my character," she whispered miserably. "That’s probably because all my life I’ve been spineless."
"Where’s this coming from, Keira?"
She swallowed but reached up and tapped her temple.
I had no idea where she was going with this, no idea if I could fix it, no idea if she even wanted to know this, but I murmured, "The first time I saw you, you were smiling, but it didn’t die when you caught sight of me. You carried on smiling at me. It changed, turned nervous, sure, but you smiled at me.
"You didn’t gape at me, gawk at my bike. You didn’t look at me like I was a criminal which, let’s face it, I was then and am now, and to your folks and with your upbringing, that’s exactly what you should have seen.
"You didn’t act coy because you had daddy issues and wanted to walk on the wild side. You just smiled at me. You were so fucking clean, and even though life has sullied you, you’re still pure to me."
"I’m not pure," she mumbled.
"You are. But you’re judging yourself from a different place than I am." When she peered up at me with watery eyes, I rumbled, "I spent my childhood between Rene and Bear’s place and my mom’s.
"Whenever she was out of jail, she took us to whatever dive she lived in, and we were surrounded by dirt, eating fucking SpaghettiOs from cans I hacked open so Scarlet and I wouldn’t starve.
"She brought guys back so they could shoot up before they fucked and—" I sighed at the look of horror on her face. "I loved you as you became Cyan’s mom—a woman who made sure the house was clean, who watched over our daughter, who protected her, cherished her. But I fell for the woman who smiled at a dirty biker like he wasn’t scum."
Her breath seemed to freeze, but then, in the tiniest whisper, she asked, "But what about now? Why do you love me now?"
I eyed her warily. "Do you want me to love you?"
"Yes," she breathed.
My jaw worked as I processed that.
Jesus, was she saying what I thought she was saying? Was there hope?
"Is this because some guy you’re dating has treated you badly—?"