Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(41)

I didn’t get the chance to ask Lucky, since he left me alone with my book the entire day, which surprised me. I was sure he’d be like a Jack Russell puppy, constantly biting at my ankles, demanding attention. He wasn’t. He only approached me to deposit snacks—which he did on a regular basis, muttering about how I needed fattening up—and lunch. He seemed to sense I needed the ocean and escape, and a little slice of peace, even if it was tinged with the chaos inside my head.

He’d yanked the book from me when the sun started to kiss the horizon.

“All right, I don’t want your eyes going square,” he’d declared.

I squinted at him. “That’s from the TV.”

He shrugged. “Same thing. Dinner time.”

“I just had lunch.”

“Four hours ago,” he corrected. “Now up or I will force feed you. I can’t promise you’ll enjoy it, but I will.”

So I did as I was told, without sarcasm or protesting or anything. I surprised even myself. The conversation was light and easy the entire dinner, the elephant in the room still sitting there. Then it was Scrabble time. Which led me to now.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I asked in exasperation, looking up from the board.

“The fact that you would starve if you ever had to make a living playing word games and I am the king of such games?” Lucky teased, his eyes bright.

I eyed him levelly. “No, the fact that I’m recovering from a heroin addiction, almost killed myself with an overdose, and then you spirited me away here the moment you found out, despite the fact we’re….” I trailed off, looking for the words to describe what we were. I swallowed; I knew what we weren’t, at least. “Nothing. Despite the fact we’re nothing.”

All teasing glint left his face and his jaw went hard. “We’re far from nothing, Becky. You know that.”

I didn’t lower my gaze, even though his stare was getting downright scary. I forgot, what with his easy attitude and stupid jokes, that underneath was the face of something much more sinister.

“No, I don’t know that. You stalk me at the club, speak in monosyllabic grunts when I get in trouble, act like there’s some kind of brand on me I haven’t noticed.”

He gritted his teeth, looking like he was going to spout into those monosyllabic grunts, which I didn’t have time for.

I held up my hand. “That’s not what we’re talking about now, but trust me, we will talk about it.” I took a breath. “We’re talking about the elephant in the room. The fact you’ve been treating this like it’s some kind of vacation. That I’m not… an addict,” I finished.

“I know that,” he gritted out after a long silence, his voice tight. “Despite the fact I wish it weren’t the f*ckin’ truth, I know that shit, Becky.”

“So why did you bring me here when you found that out?” I asked. “You have a life, one I presume is much more exciting than this.” I held my hand out to the board. “Playing Scrabble with a drug addict.”

“Stop,” he growled, his body stiff.

I tilted my head. “Stop what?”

He leveled me with his gaze. “Calling yourself that.”

I didn’t back down. “That’s what I am, Lucky. If you can’t handle hearing it out loud, then drive me back to Amber and let me take care of my own shit.” My voice rose to a near shout while I ignored the little blossom of fear at him doing just that. I didn’t understand that fear. Of being alone. Of being without him. So I ignored it.

“Take care of your own shit?” he repeated, his quiet voice juxtaposing my shout, but somehow holding more volume to it.

I nodded.

“Taking care of your own shit almost got you f*ckin’ dead!” he roared, pushing out of his chair so hard it rattled to the ground.

I didn’t flinch at that. The rage. I was used to it. Welcomed it, in fact.

He stalked around to me, yanking my own chair around and bending to get in my face. “There’s no f*ckin’ way I’m leavin’ you alone with this shit. Riskin’ a repeat of your overdose and this time you actually pump enough shit in there to actually leave this earth,” he growled. “So, to answer your earlier question, no, I don’t have anything f*ckin’ better to do than make sure my firefly’s light doesn’t go out.”

I blinked at him. Again. And again.

“Yours?” I repeated on a whisper.

He nodded, his face still inches from mine. “Yeah. Mine. Since the moment you bared your tits on stage and threw your sass off it.” He paused, and for one terrifying and glorious moment I thought he might cross the distance between us and kiss me. Instead, he spoke. “And I can’t hear you call yourself that shit, not again. Not because I don’t know it’s true. I’m more than f*ckin’ aware of that truth.” His gaze flickered down to my bare arms. “I can’t hear it again because I know that, despite your best efforts to appear otherwise, you’re fragile as f*ck. So f*ckin’ desperate to appear hard when you’re the most breakable. So I can’t hear it ’cause I’ve got a tenuous f*ckin’ hold on my rage, and if I hear it too much, I’ll let go and break you without meanin’ to.” He reached up to brush my hair out of my face with a tenderness that didn’t match the fury on his face.