Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(5)

As we walked, Deuce stared up at the cloudy gray sky, chain smoking, and not speaking.

“Are you sad?” I asked.

He glanced down at me, and his brows furrowed. I bit my lip. Had I said the wrong thing? Maybe he didn’t wanted anyone to know he was sad. My heart started beating faster and faster. I felt my palm grow clammy, and because my hand was in Deuce’s hand, I became embarrassed and started sweating even more.

“Little brother died, darlin’. Few days ago.”

I stopped walking and threw my arms around his waist, squeezing as hard as I could. “I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered.

Deuce sucked in a breath. “Darlin’.”

Then he fell to his knees and squeezed me until I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t care because it felt so nice, and I knew he needed it.

“You’re a good kid, darlin’. A good, sweet kid,” he whispered in my ear.

He pulled away and looked me in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay that way, yeah? You and me, kid, we were f*ckin’ born in the life, reared by the road and the wheel. It’s what we know and where we belong, but that don’t mean it won’t take its toll. So you promise me, no matter what you see, no matter what sort of f*cked-up shit happens to you, don’t let this life turn you bitter.”

I stared into his icy blue eyes, entranced by the safety and comfort blanketing me, warming me. I couldn’t look away. I wanted to tuck this feeling in my back pocket, take it home with me, and keep it safe under my pillow to have when I needed it most.

Eventually, when I remembered what he’d said, I nodded.

He brushed his knuckles down my cheek and stood. I slid my hand back into his, and we resumed walking. Deuce resumed smoking, and I began pointing out unusually large pumpkins.

“You ever watch It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown?” Deuce asked. “Stupid f*cker makes me laugh.”

I decided I, too, really liked that stupid f*cker Charlie Brown and made a mental note to watch everything featuring Charlie Brown as soon as I got home.

“You gonna dress up for Halloween, darlin’?”

“I haven’t decided,” I told him. “Halloween is very tricky. Once a year you get to dress up and pretend you’re something or someone entirely different than you are. There’s nothing else quite like it. You don’t want to mess that up, you know? It’s important to pick carefully—that way you have no regrets, only fabulous memories.”

Deuce stopped walking and stared down at me.

“What are you thinkin’ you might wanna be?”

“Maya Angelou,” I replied immediately. “Or Eleanor Roosevelt.”

He started choking.

“But,” I hurriedly continued, “in order to dress up as Maya Angelou, I somehow have to make my skin black without insulting the African-American community. I’ll probably end up as Eleanor Roosevelt. Not that I mind. She was an amazing woman.”

“How old are you?” he asked roughly, pounding on his chest with his fist.

“Twelve.”

“Twelve?” Looking bewildered, he shook his head. “Thought you were a pretty smart kid when I first met you. Now I know you are.”

I blushed. Deuce—president, according to his cut, of the Hell’s Horsemen—thought I was smart. How cool was that?

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Thirty, darlin’.” He looked down at me and wrinkled his nose. “Old, yeah?”

I shrugged. “My dad’s thirty-seven, and he’s still pretty cool.”

His eyes bugged out of his head. “Lemme get this straight. You’re twelve years old. You’re probably gonna dress up as Eleanor Roosevelt for Halloween. And you think your old man is cool?”

I nodded.

He shook his head again, smirking. “Damn.”

My stomach dropped. He was making fun of me.

I ripped my hand out of his and crossed my arms over my chest. “I know I’m weird. Everyone at school always tells me that. Everyone except my best friend, Kami. They hate my music because it’s old. They hate my clothes ’cause they’re boy clothes. They think I’m a freak! So go ahead and say it! You think I’m a freak, don’t you?”

Deuce knelt down in front of me. “Darlin’, you ain’t weird. You’re twelve. And those kids don’t hate you, not even close. The girls are jealous ’cause you’re so damn pretty, and the boys are just bein’ boys, tryin’ to flirt but not havin’ the first clue how to go about it.”

You’re so damn pretty.

“I’m pretty?”

His lips twitched. “Only twelve and already fishin’. Yeah, darlin’, you’re pretty. Gonna be beautiful someday. Gonna make some boy happier than a pig in shit.”

I grinned. Who would have thought the words “pig” and “shit” used in the same sentence could make a girl blissfully happy?

“There it is,” he said quietly. “That’s what I like to see. Nothin’ better than a pretty girl smilin’.”

I stared up at him; he stared down at me. His hard eyes gentled, and I felt my body go butter soft. Something was happening to me—something important, monumental even.

The shift from child to teenager. Although I wouldn’t understand this until I was much older, what had happened and why it had happened, standing there in the middle of a pumpkin field, I’d known I was irrevocably changed. And that I’d changed because of and for this man.