Burned_Viking Bastards MC Page 12

  For a second I freeze, terrified I’ll drop it or do something equally horrifying. Ty takes it from her and leads me outside, a strong, silent protector.

  I don’t have the energy to squash the thought because right now he’s exactly what I need.

  We stand by my car, and I take a few deep breaths and gradually relax my death grip on his fingers. “Thanks.” My voice is hoarse and my eyes gritty. Thank God for sunglasses.

  “You didn’t think I’d let you face that alone, did you?” Still holding my hand, he traces the tip of his finger along my cheek, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. The truth is it never occurred to me that he’d come to the memorial service, and even if a tiny part of me wanted to ask him, I didn’t want to put him in that position.

  It’s not like we’re dating.

  “No.” The word slips out, regardless, and I sigh. “Not if we were together, the way we used to be, but we’re not. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  He releases my hand and winds his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. We stand like that for forever, or maybe it’s just moments, but his familiar cologne soothes me, and the worn leather of his vest against my cheek is strangely comforting.

  “We’ll never be together the way we used to be.” He rubs his jaw across my head in a tender gesture. “We’re not kids anymore, Jas.”

  No, we’re not. And tomorrow I return to my real life.

  I don’t want to think about leaving Ty again.

  He eases back, and it takes all my willpower to let him go. “Give me your keys,” he says.

  “My keys?” I frown at him, uncomprehending.

  “Yeah. You’re not driving anywhere, and you’re in no state to get on the back of the bike. Give me the keys to the rental.”

  “But you don’t drive cars.”

  “Not often. But I am today. Now give me the keys.”

  Wordlessly, I fish the keys from my purse and hand them to him. My heart hurts, in a good way, that he cares enough to make sure I get back to the apartment safely, but the fact he’s prepared to drive a car in order to do it takes it to another level.

  He never liked being caged. That he didn’t expect me to climb on the back of his bike while I’m wearing completely inappropriate clothing is…well, I guess it’s just another reminder of how much he’s changed.

  As if the other night when he walked away from a fight wasn’t proof enough.

  I glance along the street to where his Harley’s parked. “What about your bike?”

  He shrugs like it’s no big deal, when I know he loves his Harley almost as much as his MC.

  “I’ll ask Zach to take it back to my place.”

  He opens the door and waits until I’m seated before handing me the urn. I clutch it on my lap and watch him shrug off his cut and place it on the back seat before he swings himself in beside me.

  He handles the car with expert ease, but what else did I expect? My tense muscles relax, and I’m relieved he doesn’t try and fill the silence with idle chatter.

  As if he would…

  We’re almost there before he speaks. “Have you finished sorting out the apartment?”

  The empty rooms flash through my mind. All the junk’s been dumped, and the only things left to pack are the sheets on my bed. A painful, hollow sensation slithers through my chest. “Yes.”

  He shoots me a sideways glance. “Okay.”

  I don’t know why disappointment washes through me. What else was he going to say? I thought his question was leading to something.

  I close my eyes, and this time he doesn’t interrupt the silence that stretches between us.

  Ty unlocks the door to the apartment, since I’m still clutching the urn with both hands, and we walk through to the kitchen. It’s so bare and sad with everything gone. I’d originally intended to spend tonight in a hotel near the airport, but those plans slid when I hooked up with Ty.

  I carefully place the urn on the counter. “Did you want to stay?” He’s slept over most every other night. Why am I suddenly so unsure that he’ll want to tonight? “I’ll order takeout.”

  “No.” His tone is uncompromising, and disbelief stabs through me. Is this how it’s going to end? “Get your things. You’re coming back to my place.”

  “I’m…what?”

  “You’re not staying here.” His voice is no longer harsh, and he gives me a faint smile. “Come on, Jas. You’ve finished here. You don’t need to spend another night in this place.”

  He told me the other day he’s buying his own house, but he hadn’t invited me there. I tried to pretend I didn’t care, because it’s not like we’re serious, but it did hurt.

  I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. “I’d like that.”

  …

  Ty

  Some of the tension leaves me when she agrees. I hadn’t been sure she would.

  “Grab your things. Where’s your luggage, in your bedroom?”

  “Wait. You mean right now? But I can’t walk out just like that.”

  “Why not?”

  She blinks, like she doesn’t understand my rush. All I know is she needs to get away from this dump and the bad memories it holds. I’m not thinking about her mom, either.

  “Well…” She hesitates before taking a deep breath. “No, you’re right. We’ll go now. I just need to check a couple of things and then I’m done.”

  She disappears into her bedroom, and I prowl the apartment. All that’s left is the heavy items of furniture that she’s arranged to be collected some time tomorrow.

  It’s kind of eerie with the place stripped clean of every personal touch. An odd pang of regret grips my chest, like I’m saying a final goodbye to a part of my teens. I stop outside her mom’s room and stare at the closed door, and dread sinks through me.

  Don’t fucking do it. But I can’t help it, and push open the door.

  I exhale a ragged breath. The image of Jas on the floor, her tearstained face shredding my heart as I tried to help, flashes through my mind. Why did I come in here? Some shit about facing my worst nightmares? I stopped dreaming about that night years ago, but I never got over it.

  I force the memory away and rake my gaze around the room. Like the rest of the apartment it’s empty except for the bed and an old dresser. In all the time Jas and I dated, we never once came in here to use the double bed, or for any other reason, if it came to that. It was like this room was completely off-limits, and not because Kelly laid down the law.

  It was Jas. She just didn’t like going in her mom’s room.

  For a few seconds, the old familiar unease hovers in my mind like an angry wasp about to attack. What am I missing?

  I grip the doorframe, my gaze riveted on the floor as I recall every tortured moment of that night. And finally, the thing that’s always gnawed my subconscious hits me.

  She was here, in Kelly’s room, that night when everything fell apart.

  Why was she in her mom’s room?

  It wasn’t important. Didn’t matter at the time. But the question’s always been there, hidden in the back of my mind.

  “Ty? What’re you doing?”

  Is it my imagination or is there a hint of panic in her voice? Christ, what am I thinking? She’s just had a memorial service for her mom. I swing around, pulling the door shut behind me.

  “Saying goodbye to the old place.” I give her a faint smile. “You done now?”

  …

  When we arrive, I open the front door and she walks in ahead of me. “Crash on the couch. I’ll bring your things in.”

  She turns around, still clutching the urn. “Nice place. Have you been here long?”

  “Five years. I’m getting there.”

  “You always did say you wanted an old property so you could do it up.”

  Yeah, but I always thought she’d be a part of that life. Sure, I can knock down walls, fix the plumbing, and rip out carpet, but I’m no good when it comes to figuring out how to make a house
feel lived-in, with cushions and rugs and whatever magic touch it takes.

  I don’t answer her right away, but it’s like she knows what I’m thinking. Like she remembers those long, lazy summer afternoons when we’d lie on the grass in the park and spin endless dreams.

  “Guess I got my wish, then.”

  “I’m happy for you.” She smiles, but it’s more sad than happy, and if her mom’s ashes weren’t between us, I’d pull her into my arms and tell her I only got half my wish.

  I scrub my hand through my hair but can’t turn my back on her yet, even if it’s just to bring in her luggage. “You must have a nice house in Florida.”

  “A tiny one-bedroom apartment, actually. I need somewhere bigger but…” She gives a tired shrug. “You know how it is.”

  “You always wanted a house with your own backyard.”

  “I wanted a lot of things.” She glances down at the urn. “One thing came true, though. I became close to my dad again.”

  She always worshipped her dad, even though he packed his bags when she was a kid. At least he kept in touch with her, more than a lot of deadbeats do.

  Except her old man was never a deadbeat. He just needed to get away from Kelly before he made something of his life.

  Just like Jas.

  It drills through my brain, but I can’t escape it. Was it Kelly she needed to get away from, or me?

  …

  Jasmine

  Ty walks back to the car, and I look around for somewhere to place the urn. His house is a nice sized end-of-row with a garage, which isn’t any surprise. He always said he could never live anywhere that didn’t have a lock-up for his precious bike. Guess he wasn’t joking when he said the Hammer turns a good profit.

  The living room has a leather couch and a couple of armchairs, a coffee table scattered with bike magazines, and on the wall is a massive flat screen.

  There aren’t any framed photos or personal stuff. No bookshelves. It’s like he’s only just moved in and hasn’t finished unpacking yet.

  I stifle a sigh and check out the other room. There’s a dining table and chairs, but otherwise it’s as empty as the front room. Since I can’t hug the urn for the rest of the day, I place it on the table and bite my lip. Why did I tell Dad I’d bring Mom’s ashes to Florida? I should’ve let the people at the crematorium deal with this, too.

  By the sound of it, Ty’s hauling my luggage upstairs. I grip the back of a chair and bow my head. He’ll never know how much it meant to me, him turning up today, or how much I was dreading spending tonight in that apartment.

  Or how much I wish that tomorrow will never arrive.

  I go upstairs and find him in the master bedroom, a pile of laundry in his arms. He gives me a half smile as though he’s embarrassed I caught him doing something so domestic.

  “Just clearing up the shit.”

  “I don’t mind mess.” At least his bedroom looks as though it’s lived in. Although I probably don’t want to follow that line of thought, as the only way that can end is Ty and bedroom equals countless girls.

  Although, to be fair, it doesn’t look like a den of iniquity. And stacked against the walls are piles of books, novels and nonfiction, and nostalgia twists through me. He wasn’t a great reader when we met. Just bike magazines and the usual soft porn that teenage boys hoard. He never laughed at my obsessive love of reading, the way so many people in my life did, seeming, at some level, to understand it was my escape from reality. And sometimes he’d pick up one of my books and we’d spend secret hours sharing an imaginary world.

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugs and comes to stand by me at the door. “Why don’t you go have a long soak in the bath, and I’ll start dinner?”

  My jaw drops—can’t help myself. “Dinner?” My voice comes out in a disbelieving squeak. “You mean order takeout?” I know that’s not what he means, but he can’t be telling me that he’s going to cook something? He never boiled as much as an egg when we were together. It was almost a badge of honor to be useless in the kitchen, even though I offered to teach him some basic culinary skills.

  “No. I mean I’m going to fix us dinner.” He grins, as though my shock is funny. “Hey, I’ve been living alone for five years. It was learn to cook or die by takeout. Anyway, no one can live for more than twenty years with Angie Jenson and not pick up a few tricks.”

  I have several retorts to that remark, but none I’d ever repeat to Ty. Angie’s his mom, after all. “Well, don’t let me stop you. And I’d love a bath.” There was only a shower at the apartment, and the thought of a soaking in a tub of bubbles sounds like bliss.

  He nods along the hall. “Bathroom’s right there. Take as long as you like.”

  I watch him go downstairs, dirty laundry still in his arms, and my chest compresses with grief. For Mom, for Ty, for everything we might have had.

  The bad boy I fell in love with grew into the best man I ever met.

  …

  The steamy bath helps clear my head and loosens the knot in my chest, and when I emerge from the bathroom wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt, the mouthwatering aroma of real food cooking almost knocks me off my feet.

  Whoa. He wasn’t kidding when he said he picked up a trick or two. I sniff appreciatively as I enter the kitchen where he’s leaning against the counter drinking a glass of wine and checking his phone. A multi-tasking pro.

  “Whatever it is, smells like heaven.”

  He scoffs, but is clearly pleased by my comment. “Keep it between us. I don’t want my brothers giving me hell.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me. Both,” I add, nodding to the wine, and he gives me a grin as he pours me a glass. I crouch down and peer through the glass door of the oven, but it doesn’t help. “What’ve you done with the chicken?” To underscore my question, my stomach chooses that moment to grumble.

  “I stuffed it with herbs and cherries.”

  “Ah, so that’s your ulterior motive, then. Using the cherries to seduce your way into my good favor.” I stand and shoot him a teasing grin but it’s obvious by his blank expression he has no idea what I’m talking about. “Sorry.” I move closer and cradle his jaw, caressing his stubble with my thumb. “I was just being a smart-ass. Cherries are an aphrodisiac.”

  He doesn’t look convinced. “I thought that was strawberries.”

  “Trust me, having you cook for me tonight is all the aphrodisiac I need.”

  “You’re such a sweet talker.” He wraps his arms around me, still holding his wine and phone. “Does this mean I’m getting some tonight?”

  “Of course, you are. It’s our last night, remember?”

  “Yeah. I remember.” There’s a brooding look on his face that I don’t want to analyze, and so I go onto my toes and brush a soft kiss across his lips.

  “No more recriminations. No regrets.”

  “Are you being a smart-ass again?” He kisses the tip of my nose and pulls me a little closer. “Guess you can’t help it, being an attorney and all.”

  “Ouch. Did I deserve that?”

  “You deserve everything you’re getting later tonight.”

  “That sounds promising.” I pause, losing myself in the blue of his eyes. “I hope.”

  “Believe it.” He holds on to me a little longer, as though there’s more he wants to say, and unformed panic swirls low in my stomach. Don’t spoil our last night. I don’t want to talk about the past or discuss the future. I just want now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ty

  While Jas was in the tub, I moved the urn from the table into the living room. No way do I want that watching us while we eat. I’d never say it, but the thought of her mom’s ashes in that thing creeps me out. Is it something I’d want if my mom dies? Since I sure as hell don’t want to think about that, I shove it to the back of my mind.

  If the urn gives Jas some comfort, that’s all that matters to me.

  I lean back in the chair and watch Jas finish eating. Her eyes are half closed like
she’s savoring every bite, and I can’t drag my fascinated gaze away. If I’d known cooking for her was such a turn-on, I would’ve done it every night this week.

  “God, that was so good.” She licks her lips as though she doesn’t want to waste a single taste. “If I wasn’t a sure thing before, I would be now.”

  “Because of the cherries.”

  “Absolutely. The cherries were decadent. It’s nothing to do with the chef.”

  “I’ve never been called that before.”

  “Really? You surprise me.” She’s smiling, but she’s not joking, and it takes me a couple of seconds to figure out what she’s getting at.

  When we met up again last Friday it was nothing but a hookup. I didn’t owe her anything. But being with her this week, fuck, I don’t know how it happened, but she’s as much a part of my life as she used to be.

  It doesn’t matter what I say to her. It never did. She’s never judged or cared about my rep. Even the first day I spoke to her, and took her out for a milkshake, of all things, she never fawned over my tats or sighed over my connections to the Bastards like all the other girls. It was me she was interested in. My opinions she asked for. Her shy smile captivated me, and the arrogance and self-entitlement that had been part of me for as long as I could remember faded whenever we were together. With Jas, I let down my guard the way I never could with anyone else, even my brothers.

  I take her hand and rub my thumb over her knuckles. “You’re the first chick I’ve ever cooked for.”

  She blinks a couple of times, and her smile wavers. “Really?” Her voice is husky, and I squeeze her fingers. I’m here, babe. “Well, thanks. It’s even more special now.”

  “If you’re good, I’ll cook for you again another night.”

  The promise hangs there between us, like an unexploded grenade. I’ve put it out there; all she has to do is run with it.

  “Uh,” she says, which isn’t a great start, but right on fucking cue there’s a knock on the door.

  “Hold that thought,” I tell her before leaving the room. I know who’s at the door, and I’m right. “Zach.”