The Biker and the Loner (Oil and Water #3)- S. Ann Cole Page 0,37
through and survived, but I’m not going to run because of it. I want to be here for you. Let me be here for you.”
His eyes are pained when he opens them. “Ley, no. I can’t risk—”
“Let me be here for you, Scratch.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, his defeated, mine determined. Then, with a noisy, reluctant sigh, he replies, “Okay.”
I’m aware he’s still doing rehab and therapy, and I understand that he’s probably going to be dealing with PTSD for a while, and I’m fully prepared to stand with him, not abandoned him—even at the risk of my own life. Papà was never in the army, but he was a cop, and I grew up witnessing some wild sleep-walking episodes from him. I never feared him because I knew he would never intentionally hurt me. Likewise, while I fear Scratch with my heart, I don’t fear him with my life.
I squeeze his fingers. “Let’s go back to bed.”
We walk back to the bed, but I stop him before he gets in, telling him, “Take your shirt off first. That’s what got me into trouble in the first place. I was trying to get a peek at your abs.”
Though his eyes are still somber, one corner of his lip tugs up into a tiny smile as he obliges and pulls his shirt over his head.
Dramatically, I fall backward onto the bed and exhale a dreamy sigh. “Very.”
Chuckling, he crawls in next to me, then reaches down and fingers the little bow on the front of my lace underwear. “Looks like someone was having a private show without me…”
I roll my eyes. “I had a bad dream and woke up hot and sweaty, so I took off my jeans and top, that’s all.”
He sobers. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I wave him off. “I don’t even remember what it was about.”
“I’m so sorry you had to wake up from one nightmare and jump right into another.”
“It’s fine, Scratch, I promise.”
He sighs and shifts down to rest his head on my stomach, trailing his finger along the edge of my underwear. “You’re so damn hot and I’m hard as a rock right now, but…”
But the moment is too tense for romance. He knows it and I do, too. The only thing we can do right now is breathe and be.
So that’s what we do. We just be with each other. Until sleep overtakes us once again.
~
I’m an early riser and a passionate breakfast lover, so I’m up before the sun and in the kitchen preparing breakfast with my earphones in, listening to a thriller audiobook.
This is my thing. What calms me and brings me inner peace. There’s something about getting up while it’s still dark and cooking up a storm. The funny thing is, I don’t enjoy cooking on a whole. Only breakfast. It doesn’t make sense, I know, but I don’t bother trying to make sense of it, I just do it because it makes me happy.
While the quiches are in the oven, I wander out to the patio with a cup of chai spice tea and watch as the sky slowly lightens from the glow of the rising sun. The view here is obscured and limited, blocked by the roofs of neighboring houses, a far cry from the vast and glorious morning view of the rising sun from my bedroom balcony.
Not that I’m complaining, considering that beautiful view also comes with defeating unhappiness. There, I would curse the sun for ascending too quickly, dreading her inevitable rise. Here, with my limited, obstructed view, I’m mentally begging the sun to hasten its ascent and burst through the windows, so he would rise and kiss me again, touch me again, telling me in no uncertain terms that I’m his woman…
Nope, I’m not complaining at all.
I’m hoping.
The sun has been up and shining in the sky for roughly two hours before I hear Scratch’s footfalls on the stairs. So far, I’ve already showered, washed my hair, dressed in a casual butterfly dress, prepared a big breakfast, watched the sunrise, drank two cups of tea, took a walk around the neighborhood, penned a list of minor essentials still needed for the house, watched an episode of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt while I snacked on a bowl of strawberries, and am now on my third cup of tea while reading The Denver Post.
He shuffles into the kitchen, scratching his chest and sniffing the air. “Why does the entire