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“What?” A sharp pain behind his eyes had him pinching the bridge of his nose. Fuck, he could use a damn drink.
“Ex-fiancé.” Brenna clenched her fists at her side and glared at him.
Damn her for making him admire her willingness to go toe-to-toe with him.
“Ex-fiancé who thought nothing of throwing me to the wolves and who literally set me up to be assaulted. I need to see this through, Lock. You’ve gotta be able to appreciate that.” She uncurled her hands and placed them on his chest.
The gentle touch was his damn undoing.
“Fuck.” He spun and paced the room. It hadn’t registered until that moment that everyone had left again, giving them privacy as though they were a team who made decisions together when, in reality, his reasons for keeping Brenna away tomorrow were eighty percent selfish.
Of course, he didn’t want her to have to live with the weight of seeing someone she once loved be hurt, but the deeper reason had to do with the way she saw him. Last night, she’d looked at him in a way that had his heart pumping and his shattered ego piecing back together a fraction. That would disappear if she knew the real him and saw the side of his club she’d feared all along. They might never hurt her, but they spent plenty of time on the wrong side of the law, and while he wouldn’t apologize for it, it was a world she didn’t know or need to learn about. It was the same reason he didn’t want to talk about Deanna or for her to know how bad things had gotten since her death.
“Brenna.” The one word held more emotion than he knew how to express with words. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
She walked to him, and with each step, his breath caught until she was so near he could share her air. But she didn’t put her hands on him this time, and he tried to command it with his mind.
Touch me.
What was happening? He’d never felt this before—the insane need to protect her from the world while also wanting to throw her on the floor and do the dirtiest things imaginable just to hear her moan.
“I do. I do know. And I need it for closure.” She stared up at him, eyes pleading but also with something akin to awe.
He felt his resolve weakening with each word she spoke, but he couldn’t cave yet. “I like this,” he whispered, running a finger between her eyes.
Her nose wrinkled. “Like what?”
“The way you look at me.” He stroked the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “That’ll change if you’re there tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “I—”
He pressed his thumb over her lips. “It will.” He sighed. “But you deserve to make your own choice. And you deserve that closure.” Who was he to make decisions for her? Some random dude passing through her life for a few days? No one with any power to sway her, even if he liked the idea of his opinion mattering to her in a big way. Who cared if she saw him differently? Hell, it would make it easier for her to walk away, which was what she needed to do.
Maturity fucking sucked.
“Thank you.” She spoke against his finger, and he couldn’t keep his mind from running with the fantasy of her drawing his thumb between her lips and giving it a hot, hard suck.
Lock yanked his hand away. Emotions bombarded him from all angles—frustration, fear, regret, the ever-present grief, the heavy weight of responsibility over Caleb, and now a new one—desire.
Always fucking emotions.
Fuck, he wanted to get high. It was the only thing to stop the swirling in his mind. To numb the pain, kill the feelings of failure, decrease the loneliness of losing his only family, and ease the constant worry over life depending on him. But what he’d learned during rehab was how, with each hit, those feelings compounded because he added the fear of losing his club and letting down the men he’d pledged his life to. It became a vicious cycle that only the imminent threat of losing his patch had been able to stop.
“I have to pick up Caleb,” he said as he turned his back on the only woman he’d truly wanted in a long time.
“Oh. Do you want me to come?”
Fuck yes, he wanted her to come. On his fingers, on his dick, on his goddamn tongue.
“Don’t you have to finish up at the shelter with the ladies?”
She smacked a palm to her head. “Oh God, right. We were in the middle of a walk-through when Oliver’s text popped up. We still have a lot to go over.”
He nodded. “All right. Sounds good. Off to get the little man.” He’d been hanging out with Curly’s sister, Rachel, for the morning.
“Great,” Brenna said with an obvious forced enthusiasm. “I’ll see you back at home this evening.”
Home. His home. And hers for one more night. “See you there.”
