But he was so self-contained.So self-aware.Soself-assured.I knew deep into my soul that he could be delivered direct to thegates of Hell, and with head high and shoulders straight, he’d walk rightthrough without a blink of his eyes or even a moment’s hesitation.
It was just the man he was.
That wasn’t right.
It was just the man thatmy manwas.
When he’d told me what that poem was, not wanting me toworry, he also told me it meant nothing in regards to his history.It was justthe series of words that was the favorite he’d ever read.It spoke to him andhe wanted it on him to remind him of the power of those words, and if the timeshould come for him, it would serve to remind him to be that man.
I did not tell him he already was that man.I hoped he’dnever have to find out.
But if he came to a time where he’d be tested, I knew hewould then know the man he was, the man he was to me.
In a miracle of goodness, as miracles tend to be, with allof Snapper’s autonomy, I did not feel left out.
In the weeks since we’d officially begun, it was not unusualI came home from a shift to find Snap stretched out on my couch reading.Hewasn’t about meeting me at the door and dragging me up the stairs to have sexwith me.
He was about me settling in with a beer or a cup of herbaltea, tucked into him in front of the fire, me quiet and unwinding, Snap intohis book but still right there with me.And then when it was time, we’d shutdown the house, together, and move up the stairs, together, and find our way tothe bed…
Together.
He hadn’t lied.I was his world.
It was just a quiet, unhurried world where a roof over ourheads and closeness (and a cozy fire) were all that was needed.
I was quiet too.I always had been.I wasn’t attracted tobikers because they were (stereotypically) tough and wild and partying, allabout loud music, loud pipes, good times, and loose women.I also wasn’tattracted to bikers (just) because of my dad.
It was the family of a club.The closeness of the brothers.But also, if you found the right one, and in the end, I had, it was aboutstrength and protection and loyalty.The fiercest, truest loyalty I’d seen inmy life had always been demonstrated by bikers.
I’d just found the exact right fit for me.
I snoozed while Snap showered but he woke me before he went,moving my hair off my neck and kissing me there.
I slid my eyes up to him.
“Have a great day, Rosie,” he bid softly.
“You too, honey,” I replied.
He touched his mouth to mine and moved away.
I rolled to my other side so I could watch him spiral downthe stairs.
I had not been to wherever he lived (because he always cameto me).We had not gone on an official date, but we’d spent every nighttogether.We’d gone out to no dinners, but had shared all we could when Iwasn’t working.We’d gone to see no movies, but had watched several.
Snapper Kavanaugh and Rosalie Holloway were about a littlecarriage house tucked far back from a city street, in our little Eden,insulated and isolated from the outside.
Perfect for Snap.
And as with everything I had with Snap, perfect for me.
I was getting ready for my shift, still bartending,but I’d be on the floor starting the next week.
I was looking forward to hitting the floor because I gotpaid more for bartending in the paycheck department, but I could earn a meantip, and if I was ever going to give Snapper his reading nook and myself somegarden furniture, I had to be making a lot more than I was right then making.
So I was stroking on mascara, oblivious to the fact all thediscoloration and bruising was long gone.My nose was back to normal.There wasa split in my eyebrow, that break and the line that created it was stillpinkish, but it was lessening.
None of this factored for me.
