Everyone had something good about their life. Not him. He had to deal with his past.
Hell, he wouldn't be against helping Faye out or whatever she wanted, but the past needed to stay in the past. Faye was old enough now to understand it wasn't good for him to be around her.
He'd thought she'd learned her lesson when she climbed into his bed when she was seventeen years old. Half-looped after a night of partying, he'd slipped his cock between her legs before knowing it was Faye in his bed.
He'd promptly taken her back to Grandma June's house, knowing he'd fucked over her life again.
He exhaled harshly, looking up at the dark sky. His life with Tarkio warred with his feelings toward Faye.
He deserved every bit of turmoil she'd put him through. After what happened with her Uncle Walker, he deserved to suffer every minute of his life.
But, Faye. She hadn't deserved what he'd done to her.
He'd tried to keep taking care of her like he'd promised Walker after he'd slept with her. Twice a month, he'd pick Faye up at her great-grandma's house and take her to see Walker in prison. The long trip was made in silence. She walked around hurt, angry, and rejected.
What the fuck else was he supposed to do with her? He'd had sex with a minor. A minor he was responsible for.
He started the Harley and rode out of the parking lot, heading home. The fresh air eliminated any of the benefits of the beer he'd drunk. Knowing Faye was at his house kept him wide awake.
Over the years, his guilt only multiplied. He was sick about what he'd done. His responsibilities toward Faye and Walker's fate kept him from getting close to anyone else.
At forty-five years old, he should be settled down. Not dodging his old lady.
A car pulled out in front of him. He flipped the motorist off. Damn assholes, thinking they owned the road.
He hit the throttle, cutting through the gas station parking lot to skip the traffic light ahead.
It'd taken him a year before he came to terms with what he'd done to Faye. As soon as he had, he'd gone straight to Walker in prison and confessed. He wished the bullet-proof, shatter-proof partition was gone between them when Walker reacted to the news.
Because if Walker could've reached him, he'd be dead right now.
Walker could've given him a slow slice to his throat and let him suffer as the blood ran out of his body, and he would've gotten off easy.
Instead, he'd claimed Faye as his old lady.
That announcement was the breaking point with his friendship with Walker, and he'd never gone back inside the prison to talk with him. While he'd continued to take Faye to visitations with her uncle, he'd stayed in the parking lot waiting for her until she'd reached an age where she wanted to go by herself.
Faye had taken the news of him claiming her with quiet acceptance when he returned her to Grandma June's house.
Not wanting to tell the old woman about the change in Faye's status, and with no plans to move her into his house, he settled down in Tarkio and made sure Faye stayed safe in Superior.
When Faye turned eighteen years old, Grandma June had died in her sleep. A heart attack, according to the hospital.
Faye had stayed at the house by herself afterward. He'd paid for the funeral, saw the woman buried, and came back to Missoula.
Ever since then, Faye showed up periodically—sometimes going six months or more without stopping at the clubhouse or his house. He stayed away from her. Preferring to have Elliot, a Tarkio member who lived in Superior, keep tabs on her.
Her infrequent visits were for the best. The older Faye got, the more they fought. They could barely stay in the same room without things getting ugly.
While she belonged to him, he let her have her freedom. To kick her out of his life, he'd face Walker's wrath. Besides, Tarkio would strip him of his patch if he let her go. If they let him live.
Every member knew the golden rule not to mess with old ladies, daughters, or family.
He pulled into his driveway, turned the motorcycle around and backed the machine up to the garage door, before shutting off the engine. If he needed to leave fast, he'd be ready.
Trying the door handle, he found it locked. He dug out his key and let himself in.
The first step into his house, he sniffed. His cock pulsed in appreciation. It smelled like a woman inside the three-bedroom house.
Dropping his duffle by the door, he wandered into the kitchen. Faye must've taken a shower recently. The aroma of coconuts lingered in the air, reminding him of summer and girls in bikinis.
At the refrigerator, he changed his mind about grabbing a beer. He'd already made that mistake once. For him, alcohol and Faye were a deadly combination.
The sound of humming came from behind him. His gut tightened, and he slowly turned, knowing who he'd find.
Faye walked out of the hallway into the living room, not even looking toward the kitchen or him. He stepped forward, keeping her in his sight.
The strands of her hair hung wet down her back, making the caramel color appear dark brown. He'd never seen her fresh out of a shower, and his mind went straight to imagining her wet, the water rolling down her curves.
He licked his bottom lip, knowing if he had a chance to drink from her body, he'd drown.
She turned on the television and sat down on the couch. But not before noticing her breasts were braless and moving freely under her loose t-shirt.
He squinted, trying to see what she shook in her slender hand, but whatever it was, she kept it hidden.
Her arm lowered, and her head bent. He leaned to the right. From behind her, he couldn't make out what she was doing in front of her.
His gaze lifted to the television. The beginning of Twin Peaks started and failed to get her attention.
Quietly stepping forward, he rounded the corner of the couch. "What are you doing?"
She jolted. "Shit."
Scrambling from her seat, she fell to her hands and knees to the floor, keeping her back to him. "Quick, get me a rag."
One more step, he could make out a bright, red spot on his carpet that hadn't been there that morning. He looked at her hand. She clutched a bottle of fingernail polish.
"Oh, geez," she mumbled, falling back on her ass and staring at the floor.
He went to the kitchen, grabbed a towel, and returned to her, tossing it on the floor in front of her.
She frantically blotted and scrubbed, making the mess bigger. "This is your fault. You didn't have to scare me half to death."
He grunted. The stain was the least of his concerns.
Having her on her hands and knees in front of him needed to end. He grabbed her elbow and hauled her to her feet.
Light brown eyes flashed up at him. She was the only person he knew who could have whole conversations by using her eyes and expressing her emotions without using any words. Her arched eyebrows were always moving—up, down, and sometimes not in sync. She had a way of glaring, moving only her eyelids, and keeping the rest of her face frozen. When he talked to her, those eyelids danced, distracting him, and he always ended up angry because he was weak.
They were only eyes. Brown ones at that.
But on Faye, they were the gateway to her heart and a talisman for her emotions.
"I need to go get my polish remover out of my bag. Maybe it'll work to get the stain out of the carpet." She tugged her arm, trying to step away from him.
He pulled her away from the sofa, and using his knee, shoved the couch over the stain. "There, it's gone."