Page 39 of Misguided
FOURTEEN
Mel
We roll into Fort Worth as hues of the mid-afternoon sun trickle through the clouds. I lean against Dog’s back, finding warmth in his body as we slow down and idle into the huge hangar-style garage.
Being home is bittersweet when I’ve lost so much, yet also found something so amazing.
That kiss … let’s just say it wasn’t what I expected when I stormed out of the store after him, hell bent on giving the idiot what for after the showdown I walked in on.
But I liked it. I think he did too. And I crave more. Lots more.
It’s so easy to forget the rush of that first kiss, the thrill of wanting another in such a way. It’s easy to forget the strength of lust as it slams your heart against your ribcage, imprisons your lungs, and sends your mind floating on a high unrivaled by any man-made drug.
It’s something I’ve forgotten completely over the past year—a memory that seemed redundant given my solitude.
“Home sweet home, babe,” Dog says on a sigh as he brings the bike to a stop.
I stretch out, raising my arms over my head and then dismount. “Yeah.”
He backs the bike into a space eyes on me as he kicks the stand out. Everything about him draws me in: those brooding eyes, that lush mouth, his sharp jawline, the kicking body below, and most of all, the heart he hides from so many.
The glimpses I’ve seen of Dog, the real man behind the name, are amazing. I can’t understand why he’d want to hide that kind of person away?
“You ready to do this?” he asks as he pulls the key from the ignition and dismounts.
I glance across the yard to the house. It looks fantastic, like the guys have finally bothered to put some care into the place. But at the same time it holds so much pain it may as well be a house of horrors looming over us from its side of the yard.
“Like ripping a Band-Aid off, right?”
“Exactly.” He gives me a tight-lipped smile and loops an arm around my shoulders.
I let Dog guide me toward the house, but we barely make it ten yards when Crackers bursts through the front door, arms raised.
“Hey, trouble-maker!”
Daddy might have tried and failed, to set us up as an item, but that patch of time did nothing to dampen our friendship. The lumbering clown that leaps the front steps was the first person to hold my hair out of the way as I hurled up too much alcohol, promising he’d hide the evidence from my father. The guy I could always count on to make me laugh when life as a club princess got me down.
I owe a lot to these guys. A lot.
“Who you calling trouble?” I shout back, leaping into his embrace.
He crushes me in his hold and then sets me on my feet. “How the fuck are you?” He pats my shoulders with both hands as though confirming for himself that I’m indeed here in the flesh, for real.
“I’ve been better.” I give him a tight smile, recognizing the warmth behind me as Dog.
“She knows,” he says simply over my shoulder, drawing Crackers’ gaze to him.
“Shit.” Our VP scrubs a hand over his face while looking away, and then chances a pained stare at me as I stand watching him. “I’m sorry, girl. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” He shakes his head side to side, and try as I might, I can’t keep my ducks in a row.
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore, but I guess sometimes you’ve just got to pick your battles.
“Hey.” Crackers reaches out, tapping me lightly on the elbow. “Come inside, yeah, and we’ll get the worst of it over with quick smart.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Dog voices for me as he tucks me to his side.
Crackers flicks his gaze between us, the question there, unanswered.
I spend the next half an hour greeting people, accepting condolences, and sharing a few quiet moments with the people I’ve missed the most aside from my family. Fuck, who am I kidding? They are my family.