Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

When I got back home hours later I still didn’t know what to feel, but I did know I wasn’t going to run back into Ian’s arms. Too much had happened. Ian was drinking beer in the kitchen when I arrived home, he stood, eyes on me.

“You’re back.”

“You’re perceptive. Bet that’s why they’ve got you in the army, huh, soldier?” I remarked dryly.

He grinned. It was his cheeky grin with the side of his mouth and it made his hard army façade crumble and remind me of the playful guy underneath. He tapped his head “I’ve got it going on up here.” After an expectant look he asked, “So, you’ve thought?”

Irritation bloomed. “Really? You think after I go for a drive I’ll have it all wrapped in a tidy bow and ready to give you what you want, after you’ve decided you want it?” I snapped.

Ian’s brows furrowed. “Well, I know it’s what you want too. The way you kissed me this morning, babe, you still want me. I sure as shit still want you.” His eyes darkened and I ignored the flutter between my legs.

“You’re a hot guy. Of course I want you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive you and decide to wait on the sidelines patiently for you to finish playing war,” I snapped.

“I’m not playing war, Amy. It’s my job, it’s my duty! It’s been my life for ten years—it’s not something I can just walk away from,” he argued. He stepped forward and his gaze turned feral. “This is about the lowlife biker. He’s in your head,” he growled.

“Don’t talk about him like that! You have no right to act jealous. You gave away that right when you dumped me,” I hissed at him, hurt seeping into my tone.

Ian looked frustrated. “I told you, I thought I was doing the right thing, what was best for you.”

“Oh yeah, keep telling yourself that,” I muttered.

The roar of a Harley interrupted the conversation and I realized Gwen would have questions. And maybe a semiautomatic weapon.

“Gwen,” was all I said.

“I’ll deal with my sister,” he declared.

“You’ll have more luck dealing with whatever war you’re fighting,” I replied. “She’ll either be pissed as hell or come in planning our wedding. I don’t really know how to explain to her that’s not going to happen.”

Ian got a weird look on his face. “Sit. I told you I’ll handle her.”

I frowned at his order but did as he said. We sat in uncomfortable silence to wait for Gwen to come in.

Ian was right, he did handle it. He handled it by distracting his sister with the news he was quitting the army. His little declaration had Gwen squealing and laughing after he told her.

I was a little more conflicted. I still loved Ian. I loved Gwen. Of course I was happy he was leaving a job which endangered his life every day but I was also angry. More like furious. He decided now he would leave the army? Not when I wanted him to, not when I pleaded with him to. Not when his sister had been recovering from a traumatic attack. But now. Now when I had started to move on. Started to recover from the wounds I had sustained with him. Now I had Brock. Or maybe I didn’t have Brock. Fuck, I didn’t even know if Brock wanted me. But I knew the situation was complicated enough without adding Ian to the mix. I wanted him back safe. I also didn’t. I wanted the geographical buffer that I had once cursed. I was a terrible person. I felt all the more terrible when Ian looked at me across the table with a heartbreakingly tender expression on his gruff face.

“Ames?” he said softly.

He expected me to jump for joy. To kiss him. I would have. Two years ago. Heck, even three months ago. Before Brock.

“Fuck you, Ian,” I spat, pushing out of my chair and storming into the house. I made it to my room when Ian grasped my arm.

“What was that, Amy?” he growled, whipping me around. “I expected a different reaction, babe.”

I glared at him. “What were you expecting? Me to scramble over the table and jump into your lap with joy?”

His face was impassive but a small spark of amusement danced in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have complained,” he replied.

I ripped my hand out of his grasp. “Why now?” I asked, the fight gone from my voice.

Ian stood close to me, penetrating my space and letting his large hands span my hips. “Because I realized what I want out of my life. I don’t want to die over in some sandbox. I also don’t want to continue living in one, devoting my life to it then coming back to nothing.” His eyes searched mine. “I want a life where I can see my sister more than once a year. I want to stop my mother from going grey with worry.” His grip tightened on my hips. “And I want a certain beautiful redhead to be mine. To sleep next to her every night. To wake up to her every morning. To laugh at all the funny shit she says. To slide inside her and forget everything else but the two of us exists. To marry her, to grow old with her.”

Holy shit. I stared at Ian, unable to believe he just said that.

“We were together for two weeks, you’ve been gone for a year and all of a sudden you’re expecting marriage and a white picket fence?” I said, shocked.

Ian stroked my face. “The amount of time we were together doesn’t mean shit. I’ve known you for years.”

I stepped out of his grasp. “You’ve known certain parts of me for years, Ian,” I shouted. “You’ve only been around long enough to see what you want to see, not everything I am. You’ve formed some ideal opinion of me based on things you’ve seen in a short amount of time.” I paced the room. “You don’t know the bad things about me.” I stopped, deciding to enlighten him.