Page 124 of Romeo

There she went again, stepping neatly around the answer while somehow giving me one anyway.

Me: Miss you too, Cher.

Ma Belle: I didn’t say that.

Me: You didn’t have to.

Ma Belle: Goodnight.

Me: Dors bien, Ma Belle. I’ll text when I’m home.

The screen went dark in my hand, but I stayed beside the bike for another minute.

For one second, I wondered if it was you.

That sentence bothered me more than it should have. Not because Fiona had suspected me. Not because she’d been right. But because I was too much of a pussy to ask her how it made her feel.

Months ago, I might’ve enjoyed that. There was a part of me that liked being underestimated right up until the moment I showed somebody exactly what I was capable of.

Fiona was different.

She’d grown up around the Sons of Hell long enough to understand motorcycle clubs weren’t social organizations with matching leather jackets. She wasn’t naïve about violence. Knowing it existed was different from knowing I’d committed it because someone made her uncomfortable. I didn’t want her lying awake wondering whether Dennis’s injuries belonged partly to her. They didn’t. She’d done exactly what she should’ve done.

She’d said no.

Dennis had decided that wasn’t enough.

Everything after that belonged to him.

I slid my phone back into my jacket and flexed my aching hand before reaching for my helmet.

Someday, Fiona would see more than flowers, prom dates, and the man who made her laugh over text. There would come a point when she’d understand that the same hands careful enough to fasten a corsage around her wrist could also put a motherfucker in the ground when he crossed the wrong line. I didn’t know what she’d think of me when that happened.

That uncertainty sat strangely in my chest.

I’d spent months convinced I could wait for Fiona to choose me. I’d thought patience was the difficult part.

Maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe the harder part would be standing still when she finally saw all of me and letting her decide whether she still wanted what she found.

I pulled on my helmet and started the bike.

Dennis was leaving Rosewood. Fiona wouldn’t have to see him at the hardware store, the grocery store, or standing beside her table asking for another chance after she’d already told him no.

That was enough.

I didn’t need her gratitude.

I sure as hell didn’t want her guilt.

The highway opened in front of me again as I pulled away from the gas station, Nebraska still hours ahead.

I’d promised Fiona I’d text when I got home.

For tonight, keeping that promise was the only thing she needed from me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE