Page 93 of Catcher

A shaky breath leaves her when my mouth covers her clit, taking my damn time with her because I want to feel every reaction she gives me.

Ruby curses softly under her breath, head tipping back against the tile while hot water pours over us. Her thighs tense, and the sound she makes when I work her harder punches straight through my chest. A dangerous possessiveness crawls through me while I hold her steady through every trembling breath, every broken little gasp.

“Catcher.”

My name sounds shaky coming out of her mouth now. She’s close to unraveling. Her hips buck, and I hold her pussy possessively against my mouth as the orgasm rips through her body.

And somewhere between her whispering my name like it means something sacred and coming undone beneath my touch, I realize I’m already too far gone for there to be any coming back from her now.

Later, we end up tangled together beneath my blankets with the storm rolling heavier outside the clubhouse windows.

Rain taps steadily against the glass overlooking the Mississippi while distant thunder rumbles low enough to vibrate faintly through the old clubhouse walls. The bedside lamp throws a soft amber glow across the room, catching the mess of damp curls spread over my chest and the bruises still shadowing Ruby’s skin.

One of my arms automatically stays locked around her while she lies curled against my side, wearing one of my old T-shirts, the material swallowing her whole. Occasionally, her fingertips drift absentmindedly across the tattoos on my ribs, and every soft little touch feels like mercy I didn’t earn.

Downstairs, the clubhouse continues with muted voices and boots crossing concrete, but up here, it feels separated from everything else.

Ruby shifts slightly against me and tips her chin enough to look up at me. “You’re quiet.”

My thumb drags slowly along the curve of her back beneath the shirt. “Thinkin’.”

“It feels heavy, whatever it is.”

A rough breath almost passes for a laugh in my chest. “Yeah.”

She studies me for another second before her fingers drift lower, stopping near one of the older scars along my side. She touches me there as if she already knows some wounds never close, only quiet down enough to live beside.

I stare toward the ceiling for a long moment while rainwater trails down the windows, needing to tell her the rest of my story. I swallow once before speaking, “The night Hannah died…”

My jaw tightens automatically. Even now, saying it out loud a familiar ache spreads through me. Ruby’s fingers curl lightly against my stomach. That somehow makes it easier to keep going. “The second intruder in the house that night…” The memory comes back sharp as a blade. “I barely looked at him,” I admit quietly. “Didn’t care about anythin’ except Hannah.”

My throat tightens hard enough that I pause, and when Ruby shifts higher against my chest, cheek resting near my heartbeat, I force myself to keep going, “He bolted.” I close my eyes briefly. “Coward disappeared for months after.”

The lamp beside the bed hums softly in the quiet while thunder rattles the windowpane. “When they finally caught him…” I continue, “… he was breakin’ into another house outside Tulsa.” My fingers flex harder against the blanket. “He was lookin’ at serious charges for burglary, weapons possession, and assault. Enough years, he’d never see daylight again. The DA offered him a deal.” My mouth twists bitterly. “A reduced sentence in exchange for testimony against me.”

“What?” she exhales, shock cracking through the word.

“He painted me like some rage-crazed animal.” My stare fixes on nothing. Truth is, in that moment, I was. “Claimed Hannah surprised them during the robbery. Said the guy I shot, panicked. That it was an accident, he killed her.” My jaw tightens harder. “Then he told the jury that when I walked through the door, the other bastard had his back turned. Said I executed him. Claimed he wasn’t a threat anymore when I pulled the trigger.” My voice roughens. “And because I admitted I immediately shot him…” I shrug slightly beneath the blankets, “… the DA ran with it.”

The old fury still lives there, buried deep but alive, not because of prison, not even because of the conviction, but because they turned Hannah’s murder into a courtroom strategy. It turned the worst night of my life into legal bullshit, politics, and headlines.

Ruby watches me carefully. “Why didn’t you fight harder?” she asks, gentle enough that it feels worse than if she’d accused me.

“Because she was dead,” I say, staring at the rain. “And our daughter was dead. Everythin’ after that felt like paperwork. I didn’t care what happened to me after that,” I tell her. “Part of me thought if the world wanted to bury me with them, fine.” There it is—the ugly truth underneath everything, the thing nobody fully understood back then. I wasn’t defending myself because some part of me didn’t believe I deserved defending anymore.

“I was tired,” I admit quietly. “Tired enough prison didn’t scare me. My lawyer kept telling me to fight,” I murmur. “My parents begged me to.” I swallow hard. “But I walked into that courtroom every day already dead inside.”

Ruby’s palm slides slowly along my jaw. “You survived it anyway,” she whispers, like survival is something tender instead of bloody.

I don’t tell her how I barely did. Because lying here with her wrapped around me, carrying my child while the clubhouse stands guard downstairs, survival finally feels different now, less empty.

My hand drifts unconsciously lower against her stomach beneath the oversized shirt, and the second I feel the warmth of her there, something deep in my chest goes tight and tender all at once. Ruby notices immediately. I glance down at where my hand rests protectively over our baby, and her expression softens. I lower my forehead against hers slowly, and for one suspended second, it feels as if the whole damn world narrows to her breath touching mine.

Then my phone suddenly vibrates loudly against the nightstand beside the bed.

Mom.

I stare at the screen for half a second while Ruby shifts slightly beside me. “Your mom?” she murmurs against my chest, and I can hear the smile in it.