My voice is tight.The one that freezes grown men.
Kelly’s eyes widen as I drop onto the couch beside her, my knee brushing hers, my presence a wall between her and everyone else.
“You okay?”I whisper as I lean into her my lips to her temple.
She nods, but her hands shake.“He didn’t say anything,” she whispers.“Just stared like a weirdo.”
“You’re not to be stared at,” I explain, far too sharply.
Her brows lift in surprise.
“Sorry,” I mutter.“Didn’t mean to.”
“No,” she interrupts with a soft smile leaning into me.“I don’t mind you being protective.”She looks down at her hands, cheeks warming.It all feels right, natural.“It actually helps.”
I swallow hard.
“Then you’ll get a lot of it,” I assure her quietly.
Her eyes meet mine.They are warm, confused, and yet still wanting.She shifts closer.Just an inch.But I feel it like a brand against my skin.I look away before I do something stupid.Like pull her into my lap in front of the entire club.
“Ledger.”Her voice pulls me back.Soft.Shaky.“Can we talk somewhere that is um, not here?”
My pulse jumps.
“Yeah,” I say.“Come on.”
Shaft watches us go with a knowing smirk.I flip him off.Kelly doesn’t see it.
I take her to the back hall, near the storage room a quiet corner where only patched members walk through.
She leans against the wall, breathing a little harder than normal.I’m about to ask if she’s dizzy when she asks, “Why do you always put yourself between me and everything else?”
I blink.
She gestures weakly.“At the cabin.At the bakery.In the truck.Here.You always step in front.”Her voice trembles.“It’s like you know what scares me before I know it.”
I stare at her.At the soft flush in her cheeks.The way her hands rest against the wall.Her curls falling over her shoulder.
Her ribs visible under her shirt because she’s still losing weight from the accident.Her bruises half-faded but still there.Her eyes too bright, yet still lost.
I breathe in slowly.“Because I’ve always known,” I give her the truth.
Her breath stutters.“Known what?”
“How to read you.”
She swallows.Hard.I step closer, just half a step, giving her room to stop me if she wants to.
She doesn’t.Exactly as I expect.
“You used to get anxious in crowds,” I whisper leaning down letting my breath fall hot on her neck.“You’d twist your fingers in your apron.You’d stare at the floor.You’d press your tongue to the back of your teeth when you were overwhelmed.”
Her hand lifts instinctively toward her mouth.I gently catch her wrist like I always do, not tight, just enough to steady her.
“You’re doing it now,” I say.
Her cheeks flush deeper.
