I don’t want to fight with her. Not today. So I nod and let her think I agree.
“Do you wanna shower?” she asks. “I’ll make you something to eat while you’re in there.”
“Yeah.” As she moves off me, I reach for her arm, stopping her. “I want you in the shower with me.”
“Okay,” she says without hesitation and I let her go.
She heads into the en suite and flicks the shower on. When I meet her there, she’s got her clothes off and is reaching for her bra to undo it. I take over, growing hard as my hands glide over her skin. It’s been over a week since I’ve fucked her. This is exactly what I need to forget everything that’s happened today. If only for a small amount of time.
I bring my lips to her breasts as her bra hits the floor. Sucking a nipple into my mouth, I push her panties down and stroke her clit. Her arms slide over my shoulders and she grinds herself against my hand.
I kiss my way down to her pussy before pushing my tongue inside her. Gripping her ass, I eat her. The pleasure of having my woman in my hands and between my lips helps me escape the nightmare on repeat in my head.
Birdie’s hands come to my head and she pulls my hair as she comes. The sounds she makes reach deep in my gut, and I stand and lift her into the shower. Her legs and arms wrap around me as I thrust inside her.
“Fuck,” I growl, pulling out and going again.
My veins fill with more need the closer I get, and I pick up the pace, slamming harder and faster into her. I come long before I want to, because going without Birdie for as long as I have always results in a fast orgasm.
Dropping my head, I take a moment to get my shit together.
She tilts my chin up and finds my eyes. “I love you,” she says softly. Three little words that I fucking crave from her.
I kiss her before saying, “I love you, too.”
We shower and once we’re dressed, Birdie says, “Take me home. We need our bed.”
She means we need our space. Birdie isn’t a fan of spending the night at the clubhouse. Tonight, I agree with her. We do need our bed. But more than anything, I just need her.
25
Winter
* * *
There’s nothing in the world like burying a loved one. Fucking nothing. I’ve done it three times now and, fuck me, each time has shredded me a little more. Saying goodbye to my brother has been the hardest. We’d grown closer than ever over the last eight years; losing him feels like someone has hacked through my veins and spilt my blood all over the fucking place. We might have held a funeral to say our goodbyes, but I don’t know how to begin saying goodbye.
I scrolled my phone for photos of him yesterday and every memory killed me a little more.
The fishing trip we went on last year during which he counselled me over Birdie’s and my latest IVF disappointment.
A photo of the two of us at my fortieth birthday party Birdie organised.
The time Birdie convinced him to dress up as a dick for another party she threw.
There won’t be any more fishing trips or parties or Christmas’s or anything with Max and I can’t fucking imagine a life without those things or him in it.
Birdie and I flew to Brisbane for his funeral. I wanted us to spend some time with Max’s sons, and we did, but their mother restricted it to half a day. Jesse and Thomas are as broken over their father’s death as Birdie and I are. That half-day with them didn’t come close to being enough time together. I’ve made it clear to Melissa that there’s no fucking way Max’s death will stop me being a huge part of their lives.
Birdie steps out onto the deck where I’ve been sitting lost in my thoughts for the last half hour.
I run my eyes over her, taking in the sadness that clings to her. “Did you sort the shifts out?” She’s been on the phone trying to rearrange shifts at her work so she can take another couple of days off. We arrived home from Brisbane this morning and I told her I want us to take some time together. Fuck knows we need it.
She slides her hand over my shoulders and bends to kiss me before folding herself into the chair next to mine. “Yeah. Andrea’s taking care of it. I’ve got two days.”
I place my hand on her thigh and we sit in silence for a long while. It’s been five days since Max’s death and we’ve spent a fair bit of time sitting in silence. Birdie appears to be as lost as I am; instead of talking like she usually does, she’s turned inward.
Finally, she takes hold of my hand and says, “I’m scared for you.”
I frown at the fear in her voice. “Why?”
She brings her legs up to sit cross-legged. “Your brother was just murdered outside your clubhouse. And while I’ve learned to live with what club life involves, this has me freaked out.”
Fuck.
It hadn’t occurred to me that Birdie would internalise Max’s death in this way.
“Angel, you don’t need to worry about this—”
“You always say that, but I can’t not worry, and I just needed to say it out loud this time. I can’t keep it on the inside anymore. It feels too heavy and it makes it hard to breathe, especially when I think about you getting…” She chokes up and her eyes fill with tears. Gripping me harder, she continues, “I can’t lose you. It’s been hard enough losing Max, but if I lost you, I don’t know how I’d go on.”
I pull her into my lap as her tears fall. Smoothing her hair, I say, “Baby, I’m not going anywhere. I fucking promise you that.” Tipping her chin to bring her eyes to mine, I add, “Max’s death wasn’t part of a situation that you needed a heads up on. It wasn’t even really to do with club shit. We don’t have anything going on right now that should give you cause for concern. I need you to know that and believe that, because I need you to focus on our baby and to stay as calm as you can.”
She wipes her eyes and nods. “Okay.”
“You don’t sound like you believe me.”
“I do believe you because you’ve never lied to me before. It’s just going to take me some time to sort through all my thoughts.”
Birdie’s quiet strength helps get me through club shit. It has since the day she moved to Melbourne. She may worry too much about me, but she doesn’t often express those worries. She doesn’t hesitate to let me know all the things she frets over when it comes to IVF and infertility, but when it comes to the club and me, she locks that shit down tight and stands fiercely by my side. I appreciate the hell out of that because it gives me the space to take care of everything I need to.
“Keep talking to me about those thoughts,” I say. “I don’t want you struggling with this on your own.”
Her lips press to mine before she says softly, “I’ve missed this.” At my confused expression, she elaborates, “Us connecting like this. Sometimes you feel so out of reach to me.”
“I feel that, too.” I smooth her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear as I contemplate what I’m about to say to her. “Max was coming to talk to me about you on the day he was killed.”
She stills. Her eyes bore into mine as she says, “What about?”