Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(40)

Hooking his arms around her waist, he said. “I’ll have you back by then. It’s important, Shannon. To me, it is.”

She was clearly confused, her smooth, pale brow wrinkling a little as her eyes searched his. She put her hand on his face, and he closed his eyes at the tender touch.

“Where are we going?”

He smiled. “Just come with me. I’ll explain when we’re there. You got that kind of trust for me?”

As an answer, she leaned her forehead to his chest. He bent down and kissed her head. “Get your coat, hon. It’s cold outside.”

oOo

By the time he pulled up in front of the house, the weather was beginning to decline, and it was clear that Shannon was thoroughly confused. But Show’s resolve was unshaken. He got out of the truck, into the driving sleet, and ran around to the other side, helping Shannon out and pulling her close, under his kutte, as they ran up onto the porch. Protected from the biting rain if not the brisk wind, Show let her step away, and he went to the front door. But she grabbed the back of his kutte and pulled him back.

“Show, wait! Where are we?”

“Come inside, hon, and I’ll tell you.” He opened the door and held it for her. After a moment spent considering him, she stepped through. He followed and closed the door behind him, switching on the light.

He was glad he kept the utilities up.

“Okay, Show. Enough mystery. What the hell? Whose house are we in?”

“Mine.”

She goggled at him. “What? I don’t—I thought you lived at the clubhouse.”

Her hair was wet and glistening with frozen raindrops. There was a drop dangling from her nose, too, and he reached out with a finger and brushed it away.

“I do. I haven’t lived here in over a year. Not since…well, that’s why I brought you here. What I want to tell you.” He took her hand. “Come sit.” If he could tell a goddamn writer, he could tell Shannon. He needed to tell her. She deserved to know. There was a compelling reason he had to bring her here to tell her. He had no idea what that reason was, but it was a compulsion.

She was still looking stunned, but she went willingly when he led her into the living room. The room was half empty now, but he still had his recliner and an old, red plaid loveseat. He led her there and sat next to her.

“I need you to hear me out. Let me get it out. If you have questions after, I’ll answer what you ask. But let me get it out.”

She nodded, and he took her hand in his, running his thumb over the smooth stone of her ring. He was disheartened to discover that he couldn’t get started while he met her eyes, but he looked at their linked hands and found strength and focus there.

He told her what he’d told Harrie Beck, but for Shannon, he added the details he’d left out in the clubhouse. What he’d been told had really happened to Daisy. What had happened to Holly. Why.

What had happened between him and Holly after. How he’d given up Rosie and Iris. He stared at his big paw clasping her slender, pale hand, with its perfectly polished nails—a pinkish kind of light brown now— and he told her what he knew. What he felt. What he’d done. What he’d failed to do.

She made a few slight noises, as if she wanted to interrupt, but she never did. She moved a few times, reacting, he supposed in shock, to what he described, but she did as he asked and waited for him to finish.

Then, when he’d told her all that, he said, “Holly and me, we always had a rough go. I loved her, and I think she loved me for some of it, but it wasn’t ever easy. The last part of it, since Iris, was barely a marriage at all. She gets mad fast, gets to yelling and throwing shit. She was always like that, even before we got married, but it was worse after Daisy came along. She got real rigid about what was right. She was never comfortable around the club, but after Daisy, she grew to hate it, and she started to hate me because of it.

“I’m not one to get angry right away. I’m more a slow burn guy. That’s maybe not as true as it used to be, but I don’t like all the yellin’ and drama. I like things quiet. I fight plenty in the rest of my life. I don’t want it at home. So I gave Holly most of what she wanted. Tried to keep her happy. After awhile, I got used to it, didn’t hardly think to fight her. She didn’t want my guns around, so I kept them locked up tight. She didn’t want to learn to shoot, so I didn’t make her. She didn’t want the club, either, but that I couldn’t give her. She hated me for that first.”

Show got quiet. He didn’t talk this much as a rule, especially not in the last year, and he was feeling drained. But he wanted it all out.

“I gave her what she wanted, because I didn’t want the fight. I knew it meant I’d lose my family if somebody came into my house. I knew it, but I guess I didn’t believe it. And then it happened. Because of who I am, and because I wasn’t enough of a man to stand up to a five-foot five-inch woman and make her see reason.”

“Show, no—”

He cut her off. There was still more to be said. “Yes. That’s the truth of it. No use trying to pretty it up. I got my girl hurt like that. I got her killed. That’s a heavy f*cking burden to carry. I was shutting down long before that, but I closed right up after it. Until you.” He met her eyes. “I know what I want. Fuck, I want anything for the first time in more years than I care to count. I want a whole life.”