Own the Wind (Chaos #1)(80)

His arms curled around me.

“Where you been?” he asked, still quiet.

“Dinner with Dad,” I answered, and got an arm squeeze.

Then I got a murmured “Good choice.”

I sighed.

It was. Then again, Dad was always a good choice.

“Get your head straight?” Shy asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

He was silent a beat, then he wrapped his arms tighter around me and stated, “You got that, let’s get it all.”

Uh-oh.

Shy continued, “You f**k up food more than you don’t. You talk a lot. Coupla days before your period, sugar, you can get bitchy. It is not lost on me the way you slam the toilet seat down when I leave it up. That statement you intend to make without usin’ the words is clear. And no one should get as ticked as you do that I don’t rinse out my beer bottles before puttin’ them in the recycle bin.”

I didn’t really like where this was going.

And, seriously, you didn’t rinse stuff out before throwing it in the bin, that made the bin stink. Who’d want that?

When he stopped talking, I prompted with a slow “Okay.”

Shy went on, “I get all that’s you. I love you, so I’ve decided, instead of findin’ it annoying, to find it cute. ’Cause it’s you. So that’s what it is. Cute. Except the part when you’re bitchy ’cause you’re goin’ on the rag, but that has more to do with the fact I’m gonna lose your pu**y for a few days and that is not my favorite time of the month.”

Okay, well, I liked all that and I was with him.

Still, I said to his throat, “Beating someone up isn’t cute, Shy.”

“No, but it’s me.”

He was not wrong about that.

I pulled in breath in order to help that thought settle. When it settled, I shifted and kissed his throat.

His arms got tighter around me, and I figured that statement was clear too.

“He was f**kin’ with you, Tabby. Anyone f**ks with you, I’m steppin’ in and I’m gonna do it how I feel it needs to be done. This time, I gave you time. I’ll warn you now, I might not give you time if it happens again. All I need is for you to understand where I’m at and roll with me.”

“I’ll roll with you,” I agreed and got another squeeze.

“I’ll also say that I gave you the option of goin’ quiet about it this time ’cause we’re still gettin’ used to each other. But, sugar, in future, I’ll have a lot less patience with you goin’ into your head and keepin’ shit from me. And the only way I can think to get that across is to ask you to think about how you’d feel if I did the same to you. Somethin’ important was goin’ down, I didn’t let you in, give you a chance to help me deal even if I eventually decide not to deal the way you advise me to deal, how would you feel?”

I wouldn’t feel good, that was for sure. I’d want the chance to help him deal, but more, I’d want him to trust me to do that.

When I said nothing, he asked, “Did I get that across to you?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

Shy went quiet.

I did too.

Then I told him, “You were there but, just sayin’, I saw the aftermath and he was totally f**ked up.”

“Had a point to make, didn’t f**k around. I made it,” Shy muttered.

He certainly did that.

“Peggy thought it was a hoot,” I shared. “I didn’t know she was so bloodthirsty. She told everyone about it. She’s dying to know what happened.”

Shy was speaking with humor now when he said, “Least somebody got off on it.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

Shy again went quiet and I did too, tipping my chin to stare at the TV.

My body was settling deeper into his, relaxing when Shy asked softly, “We good?”

I slid my arm around him, tucking it tight and I replied just as softly, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good,” he murmured.

Again, I sighed.

There it was. No going back. I just went through the unofficial ceremony.

I was an old lady.

Just like with anything in life, there was good and bad. To get the former, you put up with the latter. So I decided, bottom line, Dr. Dickhead was clearly not going to mess with me anymore, and although the path to that eventuality was not paved with stuff that made me want to do cartwheels, that journey, at least, was over.

Minutes slid by as this settled deep before Shy called, “Sugar?”

“Yeah,” I answered, now sounding drowsy, and this wasn’t a surprise. Two beers, Lincoln’s for dinner, Dad’s wisdom, and a life epiphany were a great recipe for a good night’s sleep.

“Got a lock on a house.”

I blinked, suddenly not even close to drowsy. I lifted my head and looked at him. “Pardon?”

His chin was dipped down so his eyes were on me. “Got a lock on a house. In Englewood. Little bungalow. Big yard. Three bedrooms. Great deck. Two-car garage, big enough to fit both our vehicles and my bike. I wanna take you to have a look at it.”

“Like… to buy?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Um… I don’t have—”

“I do.”