Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(40)

“I screwed up,” she said, shaking her head. “I was scared and I made the wrong choice. I’ll never forget the way you looked at me that night . . . like I’d betrayed you.”

“I screwed up,” he snapped, growing angry in the face of her infamous self-loathing, the one thing about her that he didn’t miss. “Me, Dorothy, get that through your thick head. I took somethin’ that wasn’t mine to take and expected . . . aw, f*ck!”

He clenched his fists and his breathing grew heavy. “I don’t know what I expected,” he gritted out. “But none of that shit matters anymore. You said you loved me, you know I love you, so I’m not seein’ what the problem is and why you’re not gettin’ your ass over here so I can f*ckin’ touch you.”

More tears, goddamn her never-ending tears, filled her eyes and overflowed.

“You still love me?” she whispered.

Jesus Christ, this woman, this silly f*cking woman . . .

“Dorothy,” he said. “Yeah, I f*ckin’ love you. Didn’t think I needed to say it. Figured you already knew.”

Once again she averted her eyes, and he knew she was doing what she did best. The wheels were spinning, she was overthinking every f*cking thing, talking herself out of anything that could potentially serve to make her happy.

“It’s been so long,” she said with a shaky sigh. “We don’t even really know each other anymore.”

He wanted to laugh at her, maybe smack her a few times, or grab her by her foot and hang her upside down and shake all that f*cking self-doubt straight out of her. Instead, he schooled his expression, maintaining the facade of calm that Dorothy had always needed from him when she was emotionally flailing.

“What’s there to know,” he said with a carefree shrug that caused every inch of the ravaged skin and injured muscle in his arms and chest to flare with pain. “My name is James Alexander Young. I was born and raised in New York. I was—”

He stopped talking the moment she started smiling.

“But that’s not who you are,” she said softly. “Not really.”

“Come here,” he said, crooking his finger and for once, surprising the shit out of him, she actually listened. Leaning down, using her hand to steady herself, she bent over the side of the bed. Still she was too far away, forcing him lean to the side, which caused him ungodly amounts of pain. And yet he persisted, keeping his struggle silent as he strained his body in her direction. When their heads nearly touched, he reached up and slid his hand over the smooth skin of her cheek and into her hair.

“Luca Polachev died a long f*ckin’ time ago,” he said. “I am James Young, a member of the Hell’s Horsemen, one of Deuce’s boys, and the proud father of Christopher Kelley. That is who I am now, and those are the only parts that matter.”

Pressing her cheek into his hand, she gave him one of her sweet smiles, the same smile that had drawn her to him in the first place. It had made him want to take all that innocence, that inherent goodness that was Dorothy, and make it his own.

“You need a bath,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. He needed a bath, a haircut, and a shave, as well as a couple dozen rounds with a toothbrush. He could probably use a new leg while he was at it, but most of all he needed to take a f*cking piss.

But before any of that would happen, before she could say another goddamn word, he leaned as far as he possibly could without screaming out in pain, and laid waste to the remaining inch between them.

“You know what I always regretted?” he whispered. “Never puttin’ you on the back of my bike. Just me and you, out in the sun. No more f*ckin’ hidin’.”

Dorothy had just enough time to suck in a small, surprised breath.

Then Hawk, despite feeling like anything he said or did could potentially break the tenuous connection between them, decided, Fuck it, and kissed her. Because when it came to Dorothy, he figured he didn’t have anything left to lose.

For the first time in almost eight long years, he kissed his woman.

She was shaking, her lips quivering, but she didn’t turn away or try to stop him. And he didn’t waste any time, he wasn’t going to waste any more time, not in a world where there were no guarantees.

They both fumbled a little at first, unused to each other. Then something clicked between them, and their eagerness for each other began to supersede any awkwardness. Her body instantly softened and she leaned forward, into his body and melting against him. One hand found his chest, her other reaching up into his hair, running through it before cupping the back of his neck.

And then, as if no time had passed, as if nothing had ever come between them, as if no tragedies had pushed them apart, she kissed him with fervor, touching him with sure hands, and he gripped her tightly, her mouth and body feeling again as natural to him as they once had.

? ? ?

Gently, I pulled a blanket up over Hawk’s torso, tucking it under his chin. He stirred in his sleep, mumbled something incoherent, and then was quickly snoring again. Looking him over, I grimaced. He had a lot of healing left to do. He couldn’t go more than an hour or two without needing more pain medication, and he was still unable to use the bathroom on his own.

But he was home, he was safe, and he was mine.

Mine.

And this time I was determined not to screw it up.