“You said some mean things.”
“And you already said that.”
“They were mean, Buck, awful. Below the belt. You accused me of using you.”
His arms got tighter and his face got closer.
“Clara, baby, we were havin’ a good night. No,” he shook his head once, “not a good night, a fuckin’ great one.”
I felt my chest get tight.
He was right. We were.
The best.
Making love. Sharing souls. Accepting each other just as we were.
The kind of night that changed lives and altered worlds.
“Then Nails crashes our party and you lose it and tell me you love me in the middle of a rant at the same time tellin’ me you’re okay with me fuckin’ other women,” Buck regrettably continued.
“I didn’t actually say that, Buck. I was ranting because I didn’t want to say it.”
“Yeah, babe, but look at it this way. Last night, I gave you me. You didn’t ask for it, but I gave it to you. And when I did, you didn’t fuckin’ hesitate with showin’ me that givin’ you me was as important to you as it was to me. And you said words to me, Toots, words that meant a fuckin’ lot. Words that, if you were in my bed, on my bike, believin’ in me the way you do, would mean I’d have had the balls to move on what Aces was doin’ and I’d have done that a long time ago. Then, not an hour later, you’re tellin’ me you’re happy to give pieces of me away. Important pieces. That pissed me off, Clara. The things you said, the way you were, that meant somethin’ to me, and then you gave it away.”
“I didn’t,” I whispered.
“I took it that way,” he pointed out the obvious.
“You were wrong,” I told him.
“Yeah, I was. And I got pissed and said some shit that was jacked because of it.”
“Stuff comes out when you’re angry, honest stuff, and that tells me somewhere in the back of your head you think I’ve been using you.”
“Stuff comes out when you’re angry, Clara, stupid, jacked-up stuff that you say just because you’re angry and you don’t mean a fuckin’ word. You hurt and then, no matter it’s wrong, you can’t stop yourself. You hurt so much, you wanna strike back.”
Darn, he was right.
And I’d hurt him.
I’d hurt him by accusing him of cheating on me.
Worse, saying I was okay with that. Okay with him giving away pieces of himself that belonged to me.
They belonged to me.
If he said that to me, if he told me, even in the beginning, he was okay with me playing the field, giving myself to someone else, that would have gutted me.
Definitely now.
Yeah.
Darn.
He was right.
I pulled in my lips, bit them, and pushed my cheek against his hand to look away as the tears stung my eyes.
“Baby, look at me,” he whispered.
“No.”
“Clara, honey, fuckin’ look at me.”
I shook my head and inhaled sharply through my nose to control the tears.
Then I felt his mouth at my ear.
“You’re not reading me again,” he whispered there.
I let my lips go and clenched my teeth.
He went on, “You think I’d get that pissed if I didn’t love you too?”
At his words, my eyes instantly unfocused and my body went statue still.
His arm around me got even tighter and his lips moved to the skin of my neck where he said, “Clara, I love you.”
I remained statue still.
His hand at my jaw tensed. “Toots, baby, please, for fuck’s sake, look at me.”
My head turned, his lifted, and I looked at him.
“You love me?” I whispered.
His thumb swept my cheekbone.
“Yeah,” he whispered back.
“When?” I asked.
“What?”
“When did you know you loved me?”
His thumb moved to sweep my bottom lip when he replied, “When you were pullin’ back Tatie’s hair when she was pukin’ in the toilet.”
Seriously?
“That’s gross,” I declared.
He grinned a small grin. “Babe, you were lookin’ after my girl even after she’d been a bitch to you.” His head dropped, he touched his mouth to mine before lifting it again and saying quietly, “You look after everyone. Savin’ Jimbo a cupcake and chattin’ with Gear on the deck and doin’ somethin’ with Tatie’s space so she feels at home when she’s at home and makin’ Minnie feel important by listenin’ to her babble about her biker babe shit. But only I get to look after you.”
Oh dear.
That felt nice.
It felt nicer, how much he paid attention.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “West.”
“Get on the back of my bike, babe.”
I opened my eyes and noted quietly, “You have a really, really foul temper, Buck. It comes out physically and it comes out verbally, and I get understanding a person and how they react to things, adjusting your behavior when you can and letting them be who they are. But I cannot live with the worry I’m going to do something and you’re going to strike, poisoning me or us with your anger.”