Smoke and Steel (Wild West MC #2)(5)

I watched him swallow, but he still didn’t speak.

I wasn’t holding high hopes for his bid to make partner if he couldn’t even state his own damn case to his girlfriend.

But that was beside the point.

And I wasn’t done.

“Or maybe you’ll remember this conversation, and you’ll realize the person you spend time with deserves for you to listen when they speak and give a damn about what they say. For you to take it into consideration. For you to make minor adjustments in your behavior to be a good partner and prove to the person you’re sharing time with she means something to you. And I hope that happens for you, Bryan. But I’m not putting in any more work. Someone else is going to have to guide your way on that. I have my own life to live, and I’m not going to do it in clothes that smell like pizza and stale beer because the guy I like needs me to tutor him in how to give a shit about me.”

He didn’t say anything for long moments after I quit speaking, but I said no more since I’d stated my case.

Finally, he asserted, “I can do better, Hellen.”

“This is the sad part for us both, Bryan. Because you’ve conditioned me not to believe that.”

He dropped his head, tore his hand through his (very nice) hair (I’d miss pulling on that, and I did, like I meant it, and he’d loved it), lifted his head, and declared, “Shit, fuck, I’m in love with you. Honest to God, I can do better.”

“I’ve made up my mind.”

“Goddammit, Hellen!” he shouted.

That was when it happened, to my shame.

The tears hit my eyes.

Upon seeing my emotion, his expression warmed with hope.

“And even now, you’re not listening to me,” I whispered.

His face froze.

“This isn’t easy, Bryan. But I’ve made up my mind.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” he said quickly. “We’ll give it some time. Take a break. I’ll text you in a week.”

“Please remember to leave the key,” I replied.

His body jolted, and his face fell.

“Baby, you’re killing me,” he said raggedly.

I pressed my lips together and struggled to beat back the tears.

“I fucked up, I’m so fucking sorry,” he went on, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll give you some space. I’ll take my stuff.” He slid my key off his ring. “I’ll text. We’ll go out. Sit down and talk. I’ll listen, and I’ll hear. And we’ll work this out.” He set the key on the counter.

I didn’t say that wasn’t going to happen.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

“Can I have a hug before I go?” he requested.

Translation: If you hug me, then I know there’s still a shot. I’ll give you some space. I’ll come back. Make a load of promises. Do better. Then backslide. But by then, I’ll have sucked more of your time and chipped away more of your confidence. I’ll have the chance to make you start wondering if you are being petty and then you’ll just fold my laundry and it’ll bug you, but you won’t mention it. And by the time you’ve realized you’ve subjugated all your needs to me, you’ll be menopausal and wondering what the fuck happened to your life.

Fortunately for me, my translation of going to him and giving him a hug was different.

He held me close and tight. He was tall-ish, and I liked that. He felt good and smelled good. I liked that too.

He kissed my neck.

I liked that too, even though, under the circumstances, it was an asshole thing to do.

I pulled at his hold, and he let me go.

Then he looked me in the eyes and made a promise.

“I see a future for us, babe, and I’m going to make that happen. Whatever you need. You matter to me. I hate that I didn’t make that clear the way you need it. But I’ll prove it to you.”

I pitied the woman he trapped.

He gave me his cocky grin, which was a blow because I loved that grin, though I figured that wasn’t why he gave it to me.

It was just who he was.

“Can I have a couple of cookies?” he requested.

I stepped away so I was nowhere near the tray of cookies, or him, and he frowned. He didn’t like that.

But I flicked a hand at them, an indication he could help himself.

He took a handful, five stacked and cupped in his hand to be exact.

So not exactly “a couple.”

But…whatever.

“Love you, Hellen,” he said, putting a lot of feeling behind that, and it cut me because it was genuine.

“’Bye,” I replied.

He didn’t like that either.

But he left.

When I heard the door close, I followed him.

I stood at the door and waited, and when he was sure to be away, I turned the deadbolt and put on the chain.

I then went into the kitchen, sorted the cookies, put a lid on the dough, stashed it in the fridge, wandered back to my bedroom, curled up on my bed…

And I cried.

Core





Core was kicked back in his chair, boots up on the windowsill, bag of nacho cheese Doritos on his abs, a beer and a set of binoculars close at hand, when Pretty Boy left her apartment.

Normally, Core wouldn’t register this too much, except to ignore the low-key way it annoyed him that the woman was with a dude like that.