Walk Through Fire (Chaos, #4)(181)
Her head jerked and he kept laughing since she was still holding the broken paper in her hand, looking adorable, her sweater from the front cut low, a vision he liked, as she asked, “What?”
“Never, baby, not ever. Never gonna lose you. Never gonna do shit to take away what I got back. Never gonna do shit to make it not worth it, all you gave to me. I’m not gonna go back there. That path didn’t feel right from the start. You at my side, it’s all kinds of wrong.”
“Low,” she whispered.
Top to toe he saw it written all over her.
She got him.
So, still chuckling, he got close to her and swept her (and her paper) in his arms.
It was wet against his chest.
He didn’t give a f*ck.
“Stop worrying,” he ordered.
She stared up at him.
He let her go with one hand to take the paper and tongs out of her hands and toss them to the side.
The tongs clattered.
The paper splatted.
He just wrapped his arm back around her.
His Millie.
His girl.
The only woman he’d ever loved, the only woman he’d ever love.
He’d take her tidy, washing out her wineglass at night, getting cats who matched her house.
And he’d take her like this, cooking shit he probably did not want to eat and getting ticked as all hell doing it in a kitchen that was a disaster.
He’d take her however she came.
He’d take anything from her.
What he would not do was do shit that might make him lose her.
“Walked into a party, fell in love with you. Walked through fire when I lost you. Got you back. Nothin’, Millie, nothin’ will make me lose you. Hear?”
Her eyes were warm, but her question was hesitant. “Did someone...?say something to you?”
They did.
She didn’t need to know that.
“The brothers are gonna do it right,” he told her.
They were, once he had words with Tack.
She studied him, doing it closely, taking her time, then she relaxed in his arms.
“Okay, Low,” she said quietly.
“Also not gonna eat f*ckin’ spring rolls,” he told her.
She gave a slight jolt in his arms before her eyebrows drew together.
“It’s only partially healthy, Logan. The rest of it is all meat and sauce.”
“I hate spring rolls.”
Her brows stayed drawn. “It’s impossible to hate them. Everything in them is good.”
He looked to the side, then looked to her. “Sprouts?”
“They’re all water. They don’t even taste of anything.”
“Bullshit.”
“Logan—”
“Turn it all off. We’ll clean it up later. Now, I’m starved. We’re goin’ to Chipotle.”
“Logan!” she snapped. “I’ve been cooking for an hour.”
“Eat it for lunch,” he replied.
“You need to eat healthier,” she declared. “We both do.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s good for you and it’s a good habit to teach your daughters.”
“Think Deb’s got that covered, babe.”
She shut her mouth.
He had her there.
He let her go but grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door. “You got some tennis shoes or somethin’ to pull on?”
“Do I look like a woman who owns tennis shoes?”
He stopped and looked down at her. “You wanna get healthy and you don’t own tennis shoes?”
She looked to the wall.
He had her there too.
He started laughing again.
She looked back to him but only to glare.
“Babe, get some shoes,” he demanded.
“You go get Chipotle. I want spring rolls,” she replied.
“Get some shoes,” he repeated.
“Seriously, Low. This might be a disaster but it also might be really good,” she returned.
He pulled her close, bending his neck to get his face in hers.
“Get some shoes.”
“This is the bossy part I’m not fond of,” she announced.
He leaned back and lifted his brows. “You gonna send your man out in the cold alone to get his dinner?”
“And this is the heretofore unmentioned hot biker manipulation I’m not fond of.”
He again started laughing.
“Fortunately for you, I’m fond of that,” she said while he did it.
“What?” he asked, still laughing.
“You laughing.”
He stopped.
Then he remembered.
And once he remembered, he did something about it.
Because he’d come home but he hadn’t greeted his woman properly.
So he tugged her hand hard, felt her body hit his, and he saw to that.
When he was done, he was fighting going hard and had to keep doing it when he saw her face dazed.
“Turn off the shit, baby, get some shoes. Let’s go get dinner. Hear?”
“Hear,” she whispered breathily. Then she held his eyes and something drifted into them that, along with the sudden tightening of her body, made him brace before she said, “I found a counselor. I’m gonna go talk to her about what happened with Valenzuela.”