Usually I’d bitch and moan about being relegated to the backseat of Tex’s bike. But tonight, I was grateful to climb up behind him and wrap my arms around Tex’s slim, muscled middle, lean my forehead against the soft leather of his jacket as he guided his bike home.
The ride passed in a blur, the cold air cutting me to the bone even as I pressed my chest flush to Tex’s warm back. By the time he parked outside the clubhouse, I was exhausted, and cold, and just wanted to pass out. But I knew sleep would be a long time coming. My mind was already swirling with memories. Not just of San Quentin, but of the night that led me there. Another night when I thought I’d been doing the right thing.
“Come on, Jazzy,” Tex muttered as he climbed off his bike and maneuvered me off, as well. He pulled my arm around his shoulder. I wanted to protest the use of the old nickname—hadn’t heard that one in nearly a decade—but it was comforting. No one ever called me that but him.
I cleared my throat. “I can walk.”
“I know you can.” Tex didn’t make any move to let me walk on my own. Instead he walked us into the clubhouse and up the stairs to my room.
Tex closed and locked the door behind him, then gripped me by my shoulders and searched my face. “You’re shaking.”
“It’s fine.” I was just cold. Cold from the cell, cold from the ride, cold now that Tex had put some space between us.
“Get in the shower.” His voice was firm, but low with concern. “You’ll feel better once you’ve washed that place off you.”
I was too tired to argue with him, so I just nodded and padded into the bathroom. I turned the shower up as hot as it could go, and as soon as I was under the spray, I couldn’t deny that Tex was right. The heat felt good, pummeling my tense muscles, finally dispelling some of that bone-deep freeze. I tipped my head forward and let the water thunder on the back of my neck and skull, like the noise and sensation could drive out the memory.
Usually, I did pretty well with keeping that night out of my mind. Now, it was like being back in a cell had rattled it loose from where I’d packed it away.
I stood under the spray until the water went lukewarm. I climbed out a little reluctantly, towel on my waist, expecting the room to be empty. But it wasn’t. Tex was still there, changed into a pair of my sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, his hat on my dresser. He was sitting on the edge of my bed like he was waiting for me.
My heart jumped into my throat.
His gaze flickered over my face, and then down to my bare chest. He could’ve been checking me for injuries, but—it didn’t feel that way. It felt… heated. Like he’d never seen me shirtless before.
A slight flush rose high in his cheeks when he caught me noticing. His pale skin always betrayed his emotions. I kept my hand on the towel at my waist, but let it fall a little lower. Tex’s gaze immediately landed on the newly revealed skin of my hip.
I’d spent so many years, so much energy getting a grip on my feelings for Tex. But when he looked at me like that, something dangerous flared in my chest. Something that made me wonder—what if?
What if I wasn’t the only one who’d changed in these three years apart? What if we both wanted something a little different from each other now that we were together again?
Then he threw a pair of sweatpants at my head.
The normalcy of it made me smile, just a little, with a familiar soft disappointment lingering underneath. I tugged the pants on under my towel, and then sat on the bed next to Tex, tipping backward so I was flat on my back with my feet on the floor. I felt a little better after the shower, a little more like myself, but I was exhausted and wired at the same time.
Tex leaned back a little, too, propping himself up on his forearms. “You all right?”
“Better,” I said.
“Come on,” Tex said. “How are you really? What happened?”
I chewed on my lower lip.
“You can talk to me, you know.” Tex’s voice was quiet. “Like we used to. I’m not going to—judge you, or anything. It’s just you and