I disconnect the call but decide against ignoring answers and slow down once I cross Canton’s city limit lines. I won’t admit this to Rip because I don’t want to hear an ‘I told you so’, but he made a good call on that because one of Maloney’s men is sitting there, hiding behind a bush. Unable to help myself, I toss him the bird as I continue on the path that’ll lead to my house. I recognize him as the man that was part of pulling Letti over and harassing her while throwing verbal slurs her way. One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is keep my bike upright and running instead of parking in front of his squad car and teachinghim a lesson he’ll never forget. It goes against every one of my protective instincts and I’m not used to ignoring that. I’m sure I’ll have a toothache later for the grinding and locking of my jaw because I had to clamp it like it’s wired shut to ground myself.
I wave over my shoulder as the SUVs and bikes carrying my family pass by and pick up the pace once I hit the dirt road. I know where every divot and pebble is like the back of my hand so I’m not scared of laying my bike down. I could drive down it while it’s pitch dark outside and have no fear about the speed I’m traveling.
When I pull up, I can tell that Slayer hasn’t dropped off Letti yet so I unpack my saddle bags and carry my gear up to the front porch. The crunching of gravel has me spinning around and my entire body ignites and begins to vibrate in anticipation as I see her beautiful face through the windshield.
My goddess is home.
Before Slayer has the truck in park, the passenger door swings open and she jumps out. My heart leaps in my chest until I see her feet plant on the ground as she sprints toward me. The tears streaking down her cheeks contradict the smile spread across her face. As I watch her come my way, I have an epiphany. My home isn’t the place I lay my head at night, or the place I stock my beer, it’s her. She’s my home. My heart. My future.
“Viking!” she shouts as she flies through the air. I drop my shit and reach out for her. Once I have her gathered in my arms, my nose settles between the nape of her neck. When she pulls back, her feelings for me shine in her eyes as she asks, “Did you have a good time catching up with your friends?”
“It was a time, I wouldn’t call it all good,” I tell her, steadily breathing in her fragrance. “Gage’s sendoff was decent, but I was with the kids most of the time so I wasn’t around for all of it.”
She giggles before saying, “That doesn’t surprise me. How’s Elodie?”
“Adjusting,” I say as I slowly drop her down to the ground. “She’s taken with little man.”
“I bet. He’s a life-size doll to her. Tell me about Van and what history you learned about her and Gage.” I notice Slayer backing out of my drive as we head indoors. I tell her everything I can remember—I give her the CliffsNotes version because I don’t want to spend our reunion discussing other people. What I want to do most is hop in the shower, wash the road grime off me, and snuggle with her on the couch after ordering dinner to be delivered.
I plop my bags on the guest bed and turn around to face her. “I’m gonna go wash the road off me. While I’m doing that, why don’t you get comfortable and order us some food. I’m starving,” I say, rubbing my growling belly.
“Movie and dinner night?” she asks, a smile plastered on her face. This is our go-to when we want to unwind but not be by ourselves.
“Yes. But somewhere in there, I want to talk to you,” I announce.
“Everything okay?” she asks, her smile dropping and concern replacing it.
“Everything’s good, Letti. I swear. I wanna talk to you… about us.”
“Oh,” she says, gulping. “Okay. But it’s not bad, right? Swear it, Viking.”
“I’m doing a lot of swearing here,” I mumble. “It’s not bad, Letti. Or at least, I hope it’s not.”
“Great. Now I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about it and analyzing everything,” she complains. “Why do men do that?”
“Do what?” I ask, hiding the grin that only she can pull free from me.
“Make women ponder every thought and decision they’ve ever made. I’ll be putting our entire relationship under a microscope and trying to find every splinter and crack in it while you’re relaxing under the shower’s rainfall and getting squeaky clean,” she groans.
“I can’t speak for every man, but I can tell you that it wasn’t my intention,” I maintain.
“Intention or not, that’s the way most women’s brains work, Viking,” she parries. “I know mine does.”
Not sure what to say, I go with something that seems simple and doable in my mind. “Just don’t think about it.”
“Easy as that, huh?” she asks with a snarky attitude.
“I thought it was,” I utter. But by the defiant look on her face, I’m questioning that. A feeling of doom washes over me so I tack on, “I’m gonna go take that shower. I’ll be quick.”
“If you’re in there longer than fifteen minutes I’ll help rush you along,” she informs me, a catty smirk sent my way.
I peer at her out of the side of my eye, asking, “Do I want to know how you’ll do that?”
“Three words for you, biker man. Bucket. Ice. Water.”
“Duly noted,” I supply, grabbing a pair of boxers and sweats before rushing past her and jogging down the hallway.
This is going to be the quickest shower in the history books because her form of torture doesn’t sound like a grand time. As a matter of fact, my balls draw up and my dick tries to climb its way inside of my scrotum to seek warmth at the mere thought.
