Visions (Cainsville #2)(50)

Because I’d invited him.

Shit. I’d totally forgotten. Normally we texted a few times a day, but he’d had a full schedule. Susie was still talking, and I didn’t want to interrupt. The elders would make him feel welcome.

“How do you know Olivia?” It was Walter . . . and his tone was not welcoming.

“Don’t you read the papers?” Patrick cut in. “There was a nice photo of them in the Post yesterday. Rick Gallagher, isn’t it?”

“Yes . . .” Ricky said warily as I mentally willed Susie to hurry up with her story.

“He’s one of Gabriel’s clients,” Patrick said. “A Satan’s Saints biker. See the patch on his jacket? That says he’s a certified motorcycle gang member. Excuse the old folks, Rick. We don’t get many bikers in Cainsville.”

Patrick’s tone was breezy, but he had to know he was being offensive.

“Is Olivia here?” Ricky asked again.

“In the back,” Patrick said. “Have a seat. So where’d you park your bike?”

Susie was close enough to being done that I was able to blurt a quick “That’s so great. Tell her I said congrats,” before racing out.

Ricky stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, responding to Patrick’s needling with clipped answers. If he was nicer, he’d look like a fool. If he got pissy, he’d seem to be overreacting. So he stayed neutral, but I could tell by the set of his jaw it was a struggle.

“Hey,” I called as I walked in. “When did you get here?”

Ricky relaxed. “Just arrived,” he said as he strolled over. “Ready to go?”

“I am.”

As I turned toward the door, I caught Ida’s disapproving frown. I stifled the urge to stiffen. Really? This was where they passed judgment?

I ignored her and the looks from the others, and let Ricky hold the door for me as we left.

“Not having coffee there, I take it?” he said.

“I am so sorry,” I said. “If I had any idea they’d do that—”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. They aren’t as much concerned about me as they’re concerned for you, and I can’t argue with that. Good to live in a place where people give a shit. I just hope I didn’t cause you any trouble.”

“Never,” I said emphatically.

He smiled. “Good. So where to?”

—

We walked and talked. I showed him the park and the gargoyles, because he seemed genuinely interested. Then I told him what had happened to me last night, because it was going to be in the papers. I skipped the part about the triskelion and the vision, of course. And the part about finding Ciara’s head in my bed earlier.

One thing we didn’t talk about? My breakup. What if I said, “I ended it with James,” and he said, “That’s nice,” and we continued on as we were?

When he suggested we grab dinner, I said I had to get home—work to do for Gabriel. He escorted me to my apartment. Grace was on the front stoop. She did a double take when I walked up with Ricky. Really, it wasn’t as if he looked like a biker. Sure, the leather-jacket-in-June could be a giveaway, but he’d slung it over his arm as soon as we’d set out.

Ricky said goodbye at the sidewalk. As I climbed the steps, Grace said, “Who’s that?”

“A friend,” I said, and walked inside.

As the door closed behind me, I stopped.

A friend . . . Did I want more than that? Hell, yes. Was I really questioning whether Ricky wanted more? No. He’d been clear about that from the start.

The truth, God help me, was that Rose was right. To a point, that is. She’d said my Ricky-versus-James conflict was lust versus duty. That oversimplified it, but there was an element of truth there. I felt a duty to James. Incredible guilt, too. More than that, I felt shame. I had loved him. I had wanted to spend my life with him. How does that evaporate in a month? What does that say about me? Nothing I want to say, that’s for sure. So I’d kept trying to find that spark again, certain it was there.

I used to say—though never aloud—that I’d started dating James when I discovered he wasn’t nearly as boring as I’d expected. But given where I came from, that bar was set pretty low. Society guys weren’t to my taste. Even the rebels were boringly predictable in their rebellion. I don’t think I really understood how constrained my world was until I left it. I met Rose and Patrick and Grace, and others who intrigued me because they were so far from my norm. And then there was Gabriel and, yes, Ricky, and compared with them—God, how I hate to say this—the light that had drawn me to James had faded into a barely noticeable glow. They were complex and fascinating and original and real. So vibrantly real. And there was the guilt, because James was a good man. A good, solid man I’d loved. Who now bored me to tears.

Then there was Ricky. Lust? My dreams called me a liar if I denied that. I wanted him. Wanted him bad. But not just as a lover. I wanted to be with him. To get to know him. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made me feel the way Ricky did. Like I was just as fascinating and complex and real as he was.

So why had I said no to dinner? Because I was an idiot. I was feeling skittish and unsettled and spooked by everything that was happening in my life. There was only one person who made me feel like my feet were firmly on the ground. And I’d let him walk away.