with Joker, deeper than he’d probably ever gotten with someone before, and I should’ve known there was going to be a point where he was going to start pushing me away. The worst part was I understood the compulsion. Vulnerability was fucking scary, and hard, and maybe he’d reached his limit.
Well, I wasn’t going to beg him to lean on me now. I’d learned that the hard way in relationships past. All I could hope was that this was a fluke, and he’d talk to me later. So I took another risk—I skated my fingers down his arm to his hand, and gently gripped his palm. I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles gently, and was rewarded with a small, still slightly nervous smile from Joker.
“Okay,” I said. “No problem. Can I see you tomorrow?”
A flush spread across Joker’s cheeks. “A date?”
“Yeah,” I said. “A date. Maybe the lake, then dinner?”
Joker ducked his chin. Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders, and he looked a little more at ease. Maybe even relieved. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Cool,” I said. I was glad to see him lighten a little, even if there was still an air of sadness around him that I didn’t quite understand. “It’s Friday tomorrow, so I don’t have any client meetings. I’ll come get you in the afternoon?”
“Wait,” Joker said, stiffening again. “Friday? The sixteenth?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Why? Got plans?”
“I can’t go out tomorrow, actually,” Joker said, suddenly cold. He shrugged off my touch. “Sorry.”
It hardly sounded like him—his voice was so flat, toneless, where I was used to either a little shyness or that brash abrasive teasing.
“What’s going on?” I asked carefully. “Can I help?”
“No,” Joker said. He stepped away. “No, I just—just leave me alone, okay?”
He didn’t say it cruelly, but still, it hurt being shoved aside like that. And if he wanted to be alone, I wasn’t going to beg. I’d made it clear I wanted to help him. He’d made it clear he didn’t want that help.
I wanted to push. I wanted to pry. I wanted to understand what it was that made him so suddenly cold. Because there was someone behind those defenses, someone I wanted to know better—someone I was, I realized like a gut punch, starting to love.
I swallowed hard.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. Fine.”
Joker winced and pressed his lips together. He looked briefly like he wanted to say something, but then just nodded sharply and walked upstairs without looking back.
I sighed deeply and carded both hands through my hair. If I stood in here alone much longer, I’d be stomping up the stairs and following him. So instead I grabbed a beer from the fridge and stepped back out onto the back porch.
The conversation immediately stopped as I closed the door behind me.
“Where’s Joker?” Coop asked.
I shrugged. “He went upstairs. Said he needed a minute.”
“That tracks,” Tru said with an eyeroll. “Bailing with no explanation?”
Jazz sighed. “Yeah, I mean—at least he didn’t make any digs.” He glanced at me. “Did he?”
Gunnar sucked his teeth. “And we were trying to compliment him. Jeez.”
“Yeah, what’s his deal?” Dante asked. Heath cocked his head curiously as well.
Jonah pressed his lips together. “Come on, guys. Something’s clearly going on with him. Give him some space.”
“Well, it’s been going on for way too fuckin’ long,” Gunnar grumbled.
What did that mean? Protectiveness flared in me. I fought down the urge to chase after Joker, or defend him, and instead took a long drag of my beer and leaned heavily against the brick wall of the clubhouse. The conversation moved on a little awkwardly, as people checked out the sign a little closer, or split off into smaller groups to chat. Jonah leaned next to me, watching as Maverick guided Grace into the backyard to play with Gretel.
“You okay?” Jonah asked.
I shrugged. “Fine. It’s all right.”
It wasn’t all right at all, but I didn’t know how to explain that. Especially not to a club member. Despite what was going on between Joker and me, these guys were still technically my clients, and despite how they talked about him sometimes, Joker was still one of theirs. Besides, even if I could spill to Jonah, I didn’t even know how to explain it myself.
If Dawson was here, he’d be irritated, but he’d be proud of me. Proud that I didn’t chase after Joker and start banging down his door, demanding, begging to be let in, to help, to be kept close.