Page 30 of Feel Me

I decide to investigate the house. She’s probably given the child his or her own room by now. The thought that I will finally see the child we conceived together fills me with anticipation. Yet, it slowly dies when I look around the living area and see no sign of a child. The same can be said with the dining room and kitchen. I find another bath and a bedroom across from it. It looks like a rarely used guest room. I find the utility room and a small pantry adjacent to the kitchen area of the home. There’s only one room I haven’t looked in and surely that has to be the other bedroom. I take a deep breath, knowing that as soon as I open the door, I’ll be able to see my child for the first time. Anticipation fills me. I’m so nervous, my hand shakes as I grasp the doorknob. The room is completely dark. I take a chance and turn the light on and frown. The room is full of boxes. There’s no furniture at all. This room is being used purely for storage.

I go back to Olivia’s room. I want to wake her and ask where our child is. I’m afraid of the answer. If our child was alive, he or she would be here with Olivia. Pain and guilt nearly take me out on the spot. Did she lose our child? I knew she was being beaten daily. I also knew about that bastard Lucky raping her. Olivia often talked in her sleep. Because we were being held in a cage and I was only being kept alive for more torture and Olivia was the way to hurt me the worst, none of her dreams were good. One particular night, the world tilted on its axis for me. I can still remember the exact words she said that night, after being thrown back in the cage, her face swollen beyond recognition. The words broke me.

“If I fight, he’ll hurt me worse. I can’t let Bear know. It will kill him. Please let the condom work. Please God, please …”

I let her keep her secrets. In a situation like we were in, there wasn’t much I could do. I’d come so close to dying—more than once—I was horribly weak. It was pure need to be with Olivia that kept me going. I knew my days were coming to an end. Eyeball was getting bored with his daily torture sessions. I had to do whatever I could for her now. So, I let her have her silence. Then, one night, she confessed she hadn’t had a period in two months. We’d managed to have sex one night. It wasn’t great. I couldn’t love her like I wanted and because of the stitches and infection my body was carrying, it’s a wonder I could have sex at all. I chalked it up to how much I truly loved Olivia. Even though my role was sadly lacking, making love with Olivia was the single, most beautiful thing I had ever shared with another person. We decided that the baby was ours. Chances weren’t on our side, but it was possible. Despite enduring rape, those assholes used condoms when fucking. Apparently, a few STDs had gotten so bad that Lucky made wearing them mandatory. Olivia referred to the child as ours, and as far as I was concerned, that was the truth. I liked the idea of her having a child to love after I was gone. We’d talk about the life we would build for our child. We made plans that neither of us truly believed we’d live out. It kept us going.

Now, not seeing a child, I’m automatically thinking the worst. Tears are sliding down my face and disappearing into my beard. I don’t bother wiping them away. My heart is too busy trying to beat while it’s ripped open. Olivia would have never given up our child. Never. That only leaves one alternative. I let the truth push into me with the ferocity of a branding iron sizzling against fresh, unblemished skin. In its wake is a wound that I know will never heal.

I make a last-minute decision I know I shouldn’t indulge in. I climb on the bed behind Olivia, breathing her in. Instantly, the scent of a Piña Colada surrounds me. Coconut and vanilla are so lush it’s addicting. It’s not a drink I’ve enjoyed. Hell, if I ordered one, my men would’ve laughed me out of the clubhouse. Still, the scent is intoxicating. The emptiness I’ve carried since I was forced to leave her immediately disappears. Even with my heart hurting, and tears of loss running down my face, I finally feel hope. After all this time, I’m next to the woman I love.

The nightstand on this side of the bed has two photos on it. The first makes me smile. It’s of a younger Olivia and her father. The second is the one that completely unmans me, though. It’s a picture of me and Olivia at a county fundraising fair. God, I wish I could go back in time and fix the misunderstandings of our past. If that happened, I would have never picked that lying viper, Ayita. Fuck that. If I could go back, I would have killed Olivia’s brother and his club before he could have hurt my woman.

I push those thoughts away. I can’t stay. I’ll need to leave soon. I’m being reckless, but there’s a huge part of me that wants Olivia to wake up and see me lying here. I want her to finally know that I’m alive and I’m going to reclaim our lives together. It’s not good to do that now. I need to make sure her brother is no longer a threat first. Still, need and want are overriding common sense.

I look down at my beautiful woman and smile. The cover has fallen to her waist, revealing the curve of her breasts. She’s beautiful, but that’s not what catches my eye the most. No—not at all. What makes me instantly go rock hard and pay attention is the fact she’s wearing an old T-shirt that I used to wear.

She’s sleeping in my clothes. Mine.

Pride fills me. This is my woman. The one I would choose no matter which lifetime, or how many times we encounter one another. I would love her and none other. Olivia is the air I breathe and the beat of my heart.

“I love you, Livy,” I whisper, reaching out and curling a tendril of her chestnut hair. I hold my breath and pray she doesn’t hear me while that traitorous voice in my head prays that she does. It’s total disappointment I feel when she doesn’t. Still, I allow my head to lie against the pillow, and even though I’m pushing my luck, I let my arm rest on her waist. Olivia, proving she’s still the sexy nymph who is clueless to what she does to a man, snuggles into me, her curvy ass pushing against my cock. I groan as quietly as I can and close my eyes. “I love you,” I breathe out once more.

“Bear,” she replies, and every muscle I have stiffens.

She said my name.

Pain pierces me once more. I can’t hide any longer. It’s time for me to come back. I can’t wait any longer. Watching and waiting is done. Now, I attack and reclaim the life that I was always meant to have.

21

MEMORIES OF HIM

OLIVIA

I wake slowly, my body feeling weight down. I can’t remember sleeping this heavily in forever. For once, my dreams at night were good. I was surrounded in Bear’s arms, his sweet whispers in my ears, his scent and love surrounding me completely. As I open my eyes, despair fills me. There’s no one beside me, no arms wrapped tight, just an empty place on the bed that was meant for Bear but will never hold him. Tears run unchecked down my face. Sobs rack my body. I can’t stop them. I don’t even try. I grab the pillow beside me and clutch it tightly to my chest. Some stupid part of me breathes in and I can smell a masculine scent that reminds me so much of Bear and the tears flow even harder.

I’m not sure how long I cry. The intensity lessens, but I can’t stop them. I hear my cell ringing, but I just remain curled in the fetal position on my bed, completely ignoring it. There’s no stopping this breakdown. The dream was too sweet and waking up alone is crushing. The tears slow even more. My body is sore from the sobs, my throat scratchy. My eyes are squeezed tight as I do everything I can to see Bear’s face in my memories. Yet, even those begin to escape me. Slowly, the picture of him smiling down at me morphs into his eyes closing, face swollen, blood running out of his mouth, his face scary white.

“No!” I scream out. The vision won’t leave. My voice cracks, but I scream it out again and again. I can hear someone knocking, but I couldn’t care less. I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest again, just like it did that day I lost Bear forever. I bring my knees against my chest, curled in a ball.

The pounding on my door gets louder. I’m too lost in my misery to care. “Why did you leave me?” I whine pitifully, not recognizing my own voice any longer. Next, I hear the front door slam open. Then, the sound of someone running. My bedroom door slams against the wall, and I look up. I’m not sure who I expected. Maybe Carson, possibly Cross. The last person I would have guessed was Lake. He stares down at me. I glance at him, his face distorted by the tears still falling from my eyes. I turn away—just wanting to be alone in my misery.

Lake doesn’t let me. I feel the bed dip as he does the unthinkable. He lies down beside me and takes me in his arms. I should make him leave, scream until he does. I could call Cross or Carson, anyone. I don’t. I go limp in his arms as the tears continue to fall. I don’t know how I’m even crying. It should be impossible. I’ve already cried enough to fill a river, and yet, they still keep coming. I’m not sobbing now. The tears are slower, my breathing rough and jerky.

Lake presses my head against his chest, letting the heat of his body soak into mine. I can hear his heart beating against my ear. My fingers grasp his shirt and concentrate on that sound. His rough fingers massage against my scalp, then his fingers carefully comb through my hair.

“It’s okay, Livy. You’re okay,” he says, then after a few more minutes he says it again. Lake does this over and over until, eventually, my body calms. Miraculously, my tears stop too. “Are you okay?” Lake eventually asks.

“I miss him,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says simply. If I wasn’t so miserable, I’d smile. I like that he acknowledges my pain has no easy fix. He doesn’t hold me and say it will get better. No fake platitudes about knowing how I feel, just the simple truth. I know.

People don’t usually do that. Normally, they say they know how you feel, but they can’t, not truly. Even if they had been through the same thing as you, how could they know what you feel? Everyone loves differently. Every relationship is different. You can love another person completely, but the experiences you had together, the way you accept one another, the time you spent bonding, the things you bonded over—it’s all unique. Each relationship is unique. No one can understand. I like that Lake seems to understand that.

“My throat hurts,” I confess, feeling awkward.

“I’ll get you something to drink. Have you eaten?”