Page 69 of Misguided
TWENTY-FOUR
Mel
Dog walks in as I hastily stuff clothes into a rucksack I borrowed from Beth. He disappeared straight after the meeting with Crackers, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why they suddenly needed privacy.
Me.
“King give the okay?” I ask as I roll a pair of leggings into a tight ball.
“Yep, he did.” Dog leans a hip into the wall beside my set of drawers, watching with folded arms as I pick out my underwear.
“Oh, stop it.” I can’t help but smile.
“What?” He smirks. “Just wonderin’ if it’s the only chance I’ll get at seein’ them.”
I’ve got no answer for him; I couldn’t be sure myself. Yes, I could carry on with the rigid answer that I want to be treated better than what a known playboy could offer me, but what kind of fool would I be if I held that opinion up? Especially when all Dog has done is show me how caring and thoughtful he can be.
I’ve given this man nothing, not a single damn thing, and yet here he is, standing beside me ready to help without any expectation of reward.
At least, I don’t think so.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “I know you and Hooch weren’t exactly best buddies.”
“So?” He frowns.
“So, if you want to hand this off to someone else, now’s the time to say so.”
“Why do you keep pushin’ me away?”
“Why won’t you let me?” I set my handful of panties and bras down in the open bag. “You? Me? It just spells trouble.”
“Why?” He pushes off the wall and crosses over to where I stand beside the bed. “Because of what these ignorant assholes downstairs think?” He shoves his hand out toward the door.
I pull my head back and frown.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he bites out. “I’ve had the talk, too, babe. Warned off upsetting the precious little Mel. But you know what?” He thrusts a finger into his chest. “I know you better than they do. I get to see the real you, the one who isn’t worried about how she’s standin’, or what she’s wearin’. I see the girl behind that pretty face and she’s even more fuckin’ stunning than you’ll ever give her credit for. She’s strong. And what’s more, she might think she’s lost her identity, but that bitch is so fuckin’ sure of who she is it frustrates the fuck outta me that she can’t see it.”
“I don’t know who I am,” I cry in frustration. “A poster girl for the club? A name only? What the fuck is my purpose here, Dog, if you can so clearly see it? Tell me!”
His nostrils flare, and he takes a second to check himself as the tip of his tongue presses against his top teeth. “You hate bein’ called a princess, right?” He whips his head back, waiting for my answer.
“Yes. You know that.”
“What if I told you one of the women I admired the most as a kid growin’ up in my cunt of a father’s house, was a princess?”
What the fuck is he on about? I frown hard, my top lip tight as I try to work out where he’s going with this.
“Princess Diana, Mel. You remember her?”
“Of course I do.” Who could forget the amazing things that woman did before she was taken so tragically? “But what does she have to do with me, here, now?”
“You, Mel, are like Princess Diana to this godforsaken club.” He tosses his hands in the air, clearly over trying to explain it. “Compassion, thoughtfulness, not a mean bone in your goddamn body.” He paces to the closet and then back. “You got back here and the first thing you were worried about was looking after the people in your chapter. You fuckin’ organized a rally—at least planned one—just to try and cheer them up.” He laughs, clipped and bitter. “Fuck woman, you watched over me when I drank myself stupid, even after the asshole things I did.”
“Anybody would do that,” I whisper.
“No, they wouldn’t,” Dog shouts. He charges forward, gripping me by the shoulders. “You have any idea how hard I want to shake the fuck out of you, so you finally see what I see, what everyone sees?”
I wince at the grip he has on me. “I think I get it, yep.”