"I love that you think I’m strong, but I feel like an impostor. I-I wanted to talk to you about this, not because I wanted you to sing my praises, but because I wanted to understand why you feel the way you do about me.
"I don’t think I get it, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe love doesn’t always make sense." She gulped. "I-I want to be friends, Storm." Disappointment hit me, but before I could take my next breath, she whispered, "If we get back together, I want to know everything. I want to know you. The real you. Your flaws, your strengths.
"I want to know when you’re feeling weak, when you think you might relapse. I want your highs and your lows.
"No hiding at the clubhouse on dark days, no hiding when you’re craving your next fix—whether it’s a chemical one or a…" She licked her lips. "Physiological one.
"I come to you with a problem and you try to fix it. I want to be that for you. It’s taken me far too long to realize that our marriage has been one-sided in some things, in a lot of things, and, going forward, if we’re going to make this work, then that can’t be how we proceed.
"I want us to be stronger, I want to fuse what was broken and to make it better."
I slipped my arm around her waist and hugged her to me. "I want that too."
Christ, more than she could know.
Was this a dream? What the fuck had happened that was making her come to this conclusion? I had no idea, but neither was I about to question this.
It might come to nothing, but if baring my wretched, pock-marked, twisted soul to the woman I loved was the price of a future together, then I’d pay it every day for the rest of my life.
Twenty-Four
Keira
PRESENT
It was seeing him mowing the lawn that did it. Dressed like a badass biker, still in his cut, hair flowing and dancing in the bitter, chilly wind. Laughing and clapping even as he was shaking his head at Cyan’s antics…
It felt normal.
I wanted it to be normal.
I was tired of it not being our normal.
So I decided to be brave, and I made an overture.
It had stuck, but we were still wary around each other.
Still sliding alongside one another like two ships that passed in the night, except, this time, these ships lingered after dinner. They talked about things other than Cyan.
And one ship bought the other ship some flowers, just because, ‘The color reminded me of your eyes.’
Swoon.
He didn’t even give me the damn flowers. Just left them on the hallway console beside my bedroom door so I couldn’t miss them, much as he placed my clean laundry on there when it was done.
His lack of ass-licking made it seem more sincere, and I guessed I needed that. I needed to believe in him even though I was the one who’d instigated this new normal. But he was showing up. Time and time again. How couldn’t I start to have faith in him?
As we rode up to Cyan’s middle school for a parent-teacher conference, that faith settled in my bones with a lead weight. Something I’d need tonight because we all knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
Cyan’s stay of grace had come to an end long ago. New school or not, new people or not, her temper was back in business when she was in class.
Like our minds were in sync, Storm groused, "Cyan, we both know you’re going to get called out for aggression."
"I’m not aggressive! They’re bullies."
I saw Storm fight to hide a smile so I just heaved a sigh. "There are ways to mediate these situations."
"Like Rachel? Rachel’s a mediator."
I arched a brow. "Who told you that?"
"Katina. She said that Rachel was mediating peace between Giulia and Kendra." Both Storm and I tensed up at the same time. "Who’s Kendra?"
"You never saw her at the club?" I asked warily, uncertain if that bitch would have tried to seek out my kid to wreak even more havoc on our lives.
"Nope."
Although, why would she? The bitch was always in a brother’s bedroom, probably gagging on slut biker cock.
Okay—maybe Cyan wasn’t the only one with hair-trigger aggression.
Oops.
"She’s just one of the women who help clean the clubhouse."
"Oh. Those women. Why don’t they wear a lot of clothes?"
"Because they have low self-esteem and daddy issues," I sniped.
Even if Storm said they hadn’t had a relationship, not like the bitch had made out, there was no hiding from that fact. Nor was there any hiding from the fact I loathed her.
"Dr. Janowicz says I have low self-esteem, but I wear a lot of clothes," Cyan pointed out. "Apart from at gymnastics."
Storm cleared his throat. "I don’t know how you can have low self-esteem. She must be wrong. You’re about as shy as thunder."
Cyan giggled. "That can be my road name! THUNDER!" she boomed.
"Lady Thor," I teased, turning back to smile at her, loving that giggle, and relieved to see her happy considering the situation.
I knew she was nervous about the first parent-teacher conference and, to be frank, I was too. God only knew what the teachers would say about my daughter who headbutted first and asked questions later.
Dr. Janowicz insisted Cyan was improving and the last time she had headbutted someone was over a month ago. That was a good sign, right?
"When’s Rachel going to have her baby, Mom?"
Storm and I shared a glance as we pulled into the school parking lot. "She said September."
When we’d returned to West Orange for a two-day weekend celebrating Bear’s life with a funeral that could only be described as ‘eventful,’ we’d come across Rachel with a baby bump, Giulia who looked like she was about ready to pop, and a bunch of the Posse who weren’t afraid to make their stamp on the newly constructed clubhouse…
Naturally, that meant the family room was painted pink—I was pretty sure the Posse were being passive aggressive because no woman in their right mind liked that specific shade of baby pink unless it was for a nursery—and there were throw cushions everywhere as well as hot pink candles.
It had been quite amusing actually.
"Can we visit in September?"
"It depends, honey. You’ll have school then, remember?"
She huffed. "We have to meet the baby."
"I’m sure we will. We’ll figure it out nearer the time," was Storm’s gravelly retort, and I was grateful for the finite note to his comment because Cyan tended to wheedle things out of me, but rarely tried that on with her dad.
It was quite nice having him drive as well. Even though the trip was short, I appreciated his driving us through this freak snowstorm in spring—who said global warming didn’t exist?—glad he wasn’t on the bike so I didn’t have to worry about all our asses.
Mostly, it was just nice to sit next to him. To smell his patchouli aftershave. To watch him fiddle with the crucifix around his neck—my gift to him on his first Father’s Day. To appreciate that loose hold he had on the steering wheel, the way he was sat back in the bucket seat, driving one-handed, confident and cocksure…