He grunts. “No.”
I lace my fingers together and look down at my hands. “I don’t know how to thank you, Shadow. You took me in when I was terrified. When I had no place to go. Then you made me feel not just safe, but welcome. And Clive…”
I meet his eyes helplessly. “How can I thank you enough? I can’t ever repay all this.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me. My heart plummets even further, probably lower than the bottom of my feet now.
I just wish he’d tell me how he feels. What he wants. Does he want me to stay? Does he want more?
“You have my number in your phone, right?” I ask weakly.
He nods. “And you have mine. Anytime you need an orgasm, a drink, anything, you know how to reach me.”
I don’t need orgasms and drinks. What I think I need is him. I don’t say that, though. I’m an unemployed librarian, and he’s a biker. A badass. An ex-con. He’s a lot of things. But what he’s not is mine. No matter how I wish he were.
“Will you walk me out?” I ask.
He looks at me as if he’s fighting back words. I wish he’d say them. I want to know how he feels, what he needs. But he just gets up and slips on a pair of sweats. He slides his feet into motorcycle boots and doesn’t bother putting on a shirt.
“Now?” he asks. “You’re going now?”
I consider his question. If I don’t leave soon, I’m going to lose it. I won’t be able to hold myself together, and I do not need him seeing the tears. I’m more than just a damsel in distress, but that’s all he’s ever seen of me.
I’ve gotta hold my head high, say my goodbye, and do this thing.
Keep it casual.
I can fall apart later.
He yanks open the bedroom door and storms through the compound. He ignores the looks we’re getting from the few people awake. Jackie opens one eye from where she’s passed out on the couch and gives me a weak wave before going back to sleep. I scan the room for Stella or Cammy, but I don’t see them. I wonder if they are asleep with any of the bikers. I wish I could be here later to ask.
But I grip my bag tighter until I feel Shadow’s hand take the larger bag from me. I let him, appreciating that, as weak and tired as I am, he’s carrying some of the weight.
“You want coffee?” he asks, as if the idea just occurred to him.
I consider it, but then my stomach roils at the thought of it. I just want to go. Need to make this goodbye short and as sweet as it can be. It’s going to hurt. And even contemplating bombing my stomach with acid makes me feel vaguely nauseous.
“No, thanks,” I say.
We leave the compound through the side door and head back to the lot where my car has been completely put back together. It looks like they may have even cleaned it after searching it for the tracker. I don’t bother thanking Shadow again. I’m starting to sound like a broken record. And maybe I’ll text him later. Something light, after I’ve shed my tears and filed this experience away in the memories category.
I pop the trunk, and he tosses my big bag inside. I set my overnight bag in the footwell of the front passenger side and then close the doors. I keep my keys in my hands so I don’t accidentally lock myself out of my car. While I have a suspicion that someone in the compound could break in to my car, I’ve relied on their charity long enough.
It’s time to step out and stand on my own two feet. If Clive is in jail with no hope of getting out, he won’t be calling. He won’t find me. He can’t get to me. So, I am, for the first time in a long, long time, truly free.
It’s time to find a new path. The road is wide open ahead of me. And all I need to do is get behind the wheel and drive.
I look down at my hands again, then pull the driver’s side door open. I move to climb in, but Shadow catches me with one hand and pulls me to him.
I rest my head against his chest and wrap my arms around his waist. He lifts my chin and leans down to kiss me. “Violet James,” he whispers.
“Johnny Butcher,” I say back. “My Shadow.”
I pull away as the tears burn the corners of my eyes. Before any of them falls, I climb behind the wheel, turn the key in the ignition, and put the car into drive. I pull slowly through the lot, past the now-clean aisles.
The prospects must have been busy while Shadow and I were…uh, also busy. Stacks of yard debris and trash are in the corners of the lot, but the path out is perfectly clear.
Shadow doesn’t move, standing in place where I left him like a statue. Like a shadow—unmoving unless his person moves. Maybe that’s a sign from the universe too. I’m not his person.
