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“He’s scary because he was injured somehow? That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” Crow agreed. “But that mixed with his voice, with his bike, with his cut,” he said, gesturing to his leather vest, “it all adds up to a scary guy in most women’s eyes.”
“I guess I can see that,” I agreed. “But that can’t be easy for him.”
To that, Crow shrugged. “He can find women when he really wants one. He didn’t have any issues when we were in Navesink Bank. Just seems to be in a dry spell since coming back here. Smaller town,” he added.
“And you aren’t interested either?” I asked, trying to make it sound like a casual question since we’d talked about all his club brothers.
“I’ve always seen myself settling down some day. I want kids. Want a chance to give them the childhood I didn’t get to have.”
“I get that,” I agreed, thinking of how up and down my own had been. And had I had a mother who advocated for me when I’d needed her most, who I may have become. Certainly not a recluse who shirked the world and especially mankind and spent her free time punishing abusers.
What would that version of me’s life look like?
A house with a garden not full of poison?
A husband?
Kids?
“Hey,” Crow said, reaching across the table to put his hand over mine, making me realize it was curled in a ball so tightly that my fingers ached. “Tough subject?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.
“I just…” I started, letting out a sigh I felt down to my soul. “I was just thinking of how different my life might look like right now if I’d had a better mom,” I admitted.
“Yeah, that’s a good question, isn’t it?” Crow asked, making me look up at him, seeing the understanding in his dark eyes, and realizing that he was maybe the only person I’d ever come across who had any idea what it felt like to live with the what-ifs my life had.
Our traumas may have been different, but they did speak a language similar enough that they could understand each other.
“You know what I think is a better thing to focus on, though?” he asked, and I was only aware that his hand was still over mine because it gave my fist a squeeze.
“What?”
“What our lives could look like if worked toward living more in the present than the past,” he said.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you were viewing it—the food showed up right about then, veering the conversation into lighter things.
Like Crow’s absolute disgust for the coleslaw on his plate, and my love of it.
And before I realized enough time had even passed, Crow was ripping the bill book away from me and slipping more than enough for both of our meals and a healthy tip, and we were getting out of our seats.
“It can be nice to be away from your homestead on occasion,” Crow said as he opened the car door for me.
It wasn’t a question, but I found myself answering anyway. “Yeah, I guess it can be.”
“Careful, Red, that almost sounds like you’re saying you enjoy my company,” he said, smirking before slamming the door.
There were no other outings then, and the drive back to Shady Valley felt way too short.
Before I knew it, we were idling beside my property. And the moment felt way too heavy before he finally spoke, breaking the silence that had filled the car since we left the other town.
“So you made a bunch of crow earrings,” Crow said, looking over at me.
The embarrassment was expected.
I’d hoped he would have the decency not to bring it up, to just let that night of sculpting insanity slip into obscurity.
“Don’t,” I demanded, reaching for my door handle.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tease me about that,” I said, unable even to look at him as I said it.
“I wasn’t teasing you,” he said, even as I climbed out of the car. “Hey, I wasn’t fucking teasing you,” he said, following me out of the car, going around the hood to stop me before I could even get a foot away from it.
“Then what were you doing?” I asked, forcing my chin up.
“Trying to prove that you want me too.”
“What’s the point to wanting each other?” I asked, shaking my head.
“Point?” he asked, brows furrowing.
“Yeah, what’s the point of giving in to it?”
To that, a dark promise filled Crow’s eyes as his arm lifted, his hand pressing into the car behind me, making him lean over me, making me need to lift my chin to keep eye contact.
“The point,” he said, leaning down toward me, his nose grazing the side of my face as his breath warmed my ear. His other hand lifted, resting safely at my waist for a second before moving down, slipping under my skirt, and pressing between my thighs. “Is that it feels fucking good,” he told me as his fingers found my clit through the thin material of my panties. “Or, am I wrong?” he asked. “Does this not feel good?”
