Beneath This Ink (Beneath #2)(45)

My words had the desired effect—they brought some life back to her. She shoved against my chest. “You can’t order me around, goddammit. I…I…will not be ordered around.”

And then my plan backfired.

She burst into tears and sank to the floor. She’d hit her limit.

Shit.

I reached down and scooped her up into my arms. I jabbed the button with my elbow and readjusted her so I could whisper directly in her ear.

“Baby, you scared the hell out of me tonight. I could’ve lost you. Right now is not a good time to ask me to let you out of my sight. I can’t do it. I need you next to me so I know you’re safe.”

She hiccupped through her tears, and her nails dug into my shoulders as she held on.

“But Trey—”

I held her tighter against me and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Shhh…It’s gonna be okay. Trey’s gonna pull through. He’s tough. He’s a fighter.”

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened. Her crying quieted, and she clung to me as I stepped out into the deserted lobby. I’d just crossed the threshold and exited the hospital when I remembered I had my f*cking bike. Shit. I couldn’t put her on the back of it. Not in this state.

I spied a bench and stopped in front of it. “Gotta set you down for a minute, babe. To call a cab.”

Her luminous blue eyes darted up to mine, confused. “You changed your mind?”

I lowered her as I replied, “What? No. Just can’t put you on my bike. Should’ve driven the Tahoe. But I didn’t think beyond getting here as fast as I could.”

Once she was seated, I reached into my pocket, palming my phone. I kept my attention on her even as I scanned through my contacts to find the cab company I normally used. Vanessa swiped at the remains of her tears with the side of her hand and seemed to pull herself together.

“Don’t. It’s okay. The bike is fine. I’m not going to fall off.”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. This is easier.”

I found the number and was about to initiate the call when she pushed off the bench and stood.

“What—”

I didn’t get the rest of my question out before she marched off toward the parking lot.

The f*ck?

“Vanessa, wait.”

She didn’t bother to turn, just kept walking toward my bike—which was still parked in the clergy spot I’d nabbed. I was happy to see they weren’t towing people at this hour. Either that or security bought the idea of a clergyman riding a Harley.

I hurried after her, catching up to her just before she grabbed the helmet off the seat. “What are you doing?”

Her lips were compressed, her brow furrowed, and her jaw set. Determined. Mulish, even. “I want to ride the goddamn bike. So let’s go.”

I wasn’t going to argue with the woman. It was damn near four AM, and I wasn’t going to win. I wasn’t even going to try.

“Fine. Get on. I’ll buckle your helmet.”

She didn’t ask where we were going, and I didn’t offer. There was only one place that seemed right. So I pointed the bike back toward the lake house.





I wanted to ride the goddamn bike.

Traumatic experiences affect people differently. In the past, I’d always pulled myself inward, shoring up my defenses to create a private, hidden place to let the pain batter me into submission. From the outside, you’d never know the battle raging within.

I’d been building those walls, cementing them even as I said Hail Mary after Hail Mary with Ms. Vincent. I had a feeling she was doing the same thing. Because without those walls, we’d have no choice but to break. And as women, we didn’t have time to break. We were too busy trying to figure out how to cope and fix.

But tonight? Con had screwed up everything. His surprise appearance had derailed my emotional masonry. Instead of standing tall on my own, he’d propped me up, lent me his strength. I didn’t know how I felt about that. But now, instead of keeping everything contained, the storm was blowing out of control, and I wanted to do something crazy. Instead of numbing the hurt, I wanted to feel alive.

I wrapped my arms around Con as we rode. He was so solid. So steady.

I didn’t think when he pulled between the stilts of the lake house. I didn’t try to stay his hands as he removed my helmet. I didn’t protest when he led me toward the back stairs and then up and inside. I waited for him to pause inside the massive sitting room just beyond the doors.

And then I acted.

I shoved him toward the sofa where he’d given me the most intense orgasm I’d had since…that night he didn’t remember and I remembered all too vividly.

“Whoa, princess. What the hell are you doing?”

“Shut up.”

Con’s head jerked back, and his eyebrows went up as he let me push him down into a seated position.

I reached for the hem of the scrub shirt and…my not-quite-a-plan unraveled when I remembered that I was still gross from crawling around on the ground.

The wave of disappointment hit me so hard, tears burned behind my eyes. I’d already cried too much tonight. I didn’t want Con to see me cry again—not when I was just feeling sorry for myself. I spun, turning my back to him, and wrapped my arms around my middle.