| |
I wake up bathed in sunlight. The room seems familiar; the bed feels familiar; but it looks different.
The curtains are pushed open wide, letting in the mid-morning sun from the east. The walls, once a rich golden color, are now off-white. There are no pictures on the wall. I look around and there is the familiar bathroom. This is Grisham’s room, but with a clean slate.
I reach up and feel a bandage on my head, scrapes on my face. My hands are covered in scrapes, too. I swallow, feeling constricted. The last few days start to come back to me—Spree attacking me, Kit attacking me. Spree again.
“I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you,” Grisham says.
I jump at the sound of his voice. I thought I was alone, but he’s sitting at the foot of the bed, head in his hands. I hadn’t even noticed him there until he spoke.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, my voice thick with sleep, scratchy. I clear my throat and wince at the pain.
“You have a concussion,” he says. “We’ve had to wake you every couple of hours to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m okay,” I say quickly. “How long have I been out?”
“Two days,” he says, sighing heavily. “I was ...”
“Concerned?” I try to finish for him.
“Beside myself with worry,” he says. He grimaces, as if admitting this hurts him. “I can’t ... this might surprise you, Tanzie, but I do have feelings.”
“It doesn’t,” I answer. “I knew there was a beating heart under all that ... crankiness.”
His lips quirk, an almost-smile. “Crankiness?”
“You’re kind of a cranky old fart for a young dude,” I say, smirking.
He stands and comes to my side. “You’re asking for it, woman,” he says. “I warned you about talking back to me.”
“Bring it on, Ebenezer Scrooge,” I say, giggling as he tosses his big body up onto the bed next to me.
“If you weren’t already beat to shit, I’d bend you over my knee, young’un,” he says, still trying desperately not to smile.
“Was that a joke, David Grisham?”
“No.”
I roll to my side. “I think it was.”
“Nope,” he says. “I don’t joke around about punishment.”
“Oh?” I ask innocently. “So this is real punishment we’re discussing? I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
“Just you wait,” he says with a huff of a laugh. He turns to his side, facing me, his face going serious. “Tanzie, I ... I need to talk to you. Kit is dead. Spree is dead. Your father wants to absorb Barking Angels into the Blazing Pistons club. I’d be his vice president. It feels like defeat.”
“Then don’t do it,” I say. “Maybe there’s another way.”
“It’s the safest thing to do,” I say. “For you. For me. For the club.”
I start to speak, to tell him I believe in him. I want him to know that there is at least one person who believes in what he’s built here. He seems to read my mind though, shaking his head, reaching out to pull me closer.
Grisham kisses me then, slow and long and deep. It makes something tense unspool inside of me. This feels like home, being with him. I’m glad to be back, even in the midst of all this turmoil.
I pull away, grinning shyly, covering my mouth. “I should brush my teeth,” I say from behind my hand.
“Take your time,” he says, flopping onto his back.
I spend time cleaning up, behind closed doors. I look at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman I see. I’ve lost a few pounds, but I’ve always been thin. It’s not that I look so very different, I guess. It’s just that this woman is covered in scratches and bruises—she’s seen something in this past week. She’s grown up a bit, seen some of the things her father tried to shelter her from seeing.
I never thought much about what I’d want for my own life. Something I haven’t told Grisham is that I actually went to community college, got a degree in communication. I had a little job working in the public relations department at my mom’s company. It was nothing serious, and certainly nothing I loved.
Somehow I feel like connecting with Grisham will lead to something more than whatever my existence was before. I’m inspired by him, by how hard he’s worked, by how much he’s built on his own here. It makes me think that I can find something I’m passionate about as well. And maybe I can help him figure out what’s next, too.
I have no idea what that will be, but I’m excited to explore it. First, though, we have to get to know each other. See how deep this connection really goes. I think it’s real, but I’m not dumb, I know that sometimes sex is just sex.
When I wander back out into the bedroom, I laugh out loud, finding Grisham dead asleep, shirtless, one arm up over his handsome face. It melts my heart a little. He said someone had been waking me up regularly for the past two days. I now wonder if that someone had been him. Poor guy probably hasn’t slept in days.
I crawl back into bed next to him, nestling against his big body, fitting myself along his form as if I was customized to be there. His arm tightens around me.
I’m pretty sure I love this man. I’m cautious, realistic, but I feel it. I can’t believe that I’ve developed this depth of feeling for a man I only sort of knew existed a week ago. I’m in love with a man I met when I was bound, gagged, and beaten. I was expecting rape. Instead, I found a man with honor. A man who works hard for his club, who loves his daughter, who’s seen loss.
Grisham is like no man I’ve ever met before. As I close my eyes, allowing my body more time to heal and Grisham time for much-needed rest, I find myself hoping against hope that he loves me, too.
*
