Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(80)

Then she was gone and it was just me and him. The second time… since. And it wasn’t any easier than the first. He was still hard to look at. Almost impossible.

But I managed. And because I made myself look, I finally realized what all this had done.

“I’ve stolen it from you,” I whispered.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Your happiness, your life. What you had before,” I croaked out. “Before me you were happy. Your life wasn’t… tainted by me—”

I stopped abruptly because he was no longer leaning against the door. He was there, right there, in my space, taking away whatever buffer distance had offered.

“Don’t need to hear any more of that, babe,” he growled, his eyes dark. “I was happy before,” he agreed, almost reluctantly, “but it was a hollow sort of happiness, like I was only living my life on the surface.” He swallowed. “That’s the only thing I could do. Going any deeper meant meeting my demons, and I was happy for them to be strangers till I died. Then I met you, found out what it was like to be filled up, how to go deeper. Since meeting you, I’ll admit, I’ve gone deep, so deep I didn’t think it’d be possible to get out. But you were always there, my firefly. My light.” His finger trailed along my jaw. I was frozen to move, yet the feeling of ice followed with his touch, exposing the dirt below. “I’d take our most miserable, darkest day together over a thousand of those happy ones I had alone,” he said. “Real happiness, the kind that penetrates right down to the core, that’s all coiled up in pain. In knowledge of how f*ckin’ ruthless and unyielding the world can be. How it can be so full of pain you’re sure that’s all you’ll ever feel. Real happiness is comin’ out the other side of that and holding something beautiful in your arms. That’s you, babe. I wish to f*ckin’ Christ that you didn’t have to go through what you did.” His eyes were haunted by the demons of my past. “I’d have taken it all from you in a second. But the only good thing that’s come of this nightmare is I get to feel real happiness. I get to hold on tight. And now that I know what happens if I don’t hold tight, I’m never f*ckin’ letting go.”

His words, the closeness, all of it was too much. Way too f*cking much. I pushed off the sofa and as far away from him as I could get.

“You’ve got to let go,” I told him. “Because I’m not chaining you down, dragging you into this. You don’t deserve that.”

“Fuck!” he yelled, and I jumped like I f*cking scared squirrel. I hated that. Everything that took me by surprise, the f*cking wind pushing trees against the window, made me jump. Fear, an almost unknown acquaintance before, was now a constant companion.

He saw it, sensed the way my body vibrated with the stupid emotion, and immediately his face gentled. He stepped forward but didn’t make to touch me. He’d learned about that.

“This isn’t your fault, Becky,” he murmured. “Jesus. The fact you’re dealin’ with this shit and laying all the blame on your fragile shoulders eats me up inside. You’re the victim—”

“Stop!” I screamed, my voice shrill. It was his time to react bodily to my words. Though it might not have been a full-on jump, there was a flinch. “I’m not that,” I hissed, leaning forward. “I’m not a f*cking victim,” I spat the word. “I know that’s what you want me to be. Help this train wreck of a situation catalogue in your mind because if I’m a victim then you can be the hero. You have a purpose. To save me from the big bad wolf. To use that”—I nodded to his cut where I knew he had a gun underneath—“to exact revenge and save the victim. I’m not that. And you can’t fix me. I can’t give you purpose or let you sling me on the back of your Harley and ride off into the sunset. By calling me a victim you’re making me helpless. You’re taking away my power and giving yourself control over me, whether that’s your intention or not. I can’t be helpless. Not now, not ever again. Because that, that’ll kill me.” I’d petered down to a low whisper. “Do you know how much of an effort it is just to stand up? To physically hold my body upright? Not to sink to the floor and beg it to swallow me up? It takes everything I’ve got left. I’m not going to give in. I’m not giving them that power to hammer the final nail in my coffin. Because I’m not a f*cking victim. I’m a survivor.” And on that note, I turned on my heel and walked out of the room.





Lucky


He watched her leave. And it took every ounce of his considerable strength to stay rooted to that ground she said she wished would swallow her up.

Lucky’s heart threatened to smash through its cage. He swallowed roughly. He couldn’t go after her. Not now. Not if he wanted to keep her.

And f*ck, did he want to keep her.

“I’m a survivor.”

He smiled. Someone who knew him well wouldn’t recognize such a smile on his face. One didn’t exist there until before her. Before her, his smiles were happy, na?ve, empty. A concentrated observer would see this wasn’t empty. It was full. Of melancholy, anger, hurt. And love. Not the puppies and bunnies Hollywood love. The dark, gritty, heart-wrenching, blood-drenched kind. The one that either gave him a reason to fight for his next breath on the same earth she existed on, or welcome the embrace of death which had already taken her.