Page 64 of Crow

I slide my right hand to his knee, capturing his hand. Instead of lacing our fingers together, he holds my palm to his. It leaves me index finger free to trace his pulse. I press down against the beat, keeping time in my head to the strong pulse. I feel the tremor go through him. At the moment, it’s not restraint.

“I’m terrified,” I admit. “Our bubble is about to burst. I feel like we’re living one of those fantasies I mentioned, where none of this should be possible.”

“Doesn’t everyone feel like that, when they first start? Like everything is real and surreal all at once?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either.”

His low, rumbly laugh is a pleasant surprise. “My parents taught me what dating should look like.”

“What did your parents say it should be? Attending church together, pounding the Bible daily instead of each other, waiting until marriage, rushing into things because you’re horny and repressed as fuck, finding out you’re not compatible in the least and because you probably can’t get a divorce, spending the rest of your life together making each other miserable while presenting a good face to the rest of the world?”

It feels wrong to laugh, so I bite it back. “That’s pretty much the gist of it, only they made their version sound perfect. My mom would say marriage is about love. Loving your husband and loving god. Living a biblical life, which means respecting your husband as the head of the household and being a helpmate to him to ensure that he lives a godly life. It means keeping each other accountable so you don’t stray off the right path. Learning how to be a good support to him and your children.”

“That sounds fucking hokey.”

This time, I burst into a fit of giggles.

“I agree with the respect part and maybe the building each other up part, but that’s about it.” Crow has to talk over my laughter. “The head of a household? No one has authority over you but you, Tarynn. You have every right to make your own choices. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t care about others, but you can’t live your life bending and bowing to their whims.”

That sobers me up fast. “I know. I’ve seen the way my mom’s whole life revolves around my dad. His wants, his needs, his schedules, his enjoyment. She’s made him a god, in a way.”

“That sounds more like blind servitude than faith.”

“I think that’s some people’s very definition of faith.”

I squeeze his hand. What I’m going to say now is important. I’ve been too scared that by putting it out there, I’d ruin the beautiful thing that we’ve found together, whether it’s real or just an illusion, but I need to say it. I can’t wait, or it’s going to weigh on me for the rest of the drive.

“I need you to promise me something. It’s not going to be easy. Not just you, but Raven as well.”

Crow studies me hard, and then his hand pulls away, shifting around so he can press his fingers to my madly thrashing pulse like I was just doing to him. It feels like truest form of silent support.

“I figured out that it was Raven who broke the window and let you into my parents’ house to rescue me. He was the one threatening my dad. It’s why you were so sick after, when you pushed your way back in. What I need you both to promise is that you won’t hurt my dad or anyone else for me. I couldn’t live with that. I have you to thank for my rescue and my freedom, but please don’t manhandle him again. He could cause trouble for you, he has influence, he could turn the community against your club. He could call the cops and charge you with bodily injury. In his way of thinking, persecuting you would only be right because you’re a godless heathen who has lost his path, along with the rest of the club.”

I’m practically strangling the shit out of the steering wheel one handed. I ease up, clutching Crow’s hand harder instead.

“He’s going to make you a target and the main villain in an argument where I was corrupted and stolen from him.” I shiver, acid climbing up my throat at this man, who has been nothing but good to me to the point of what most people would call irrational, coming to harm because of me. “You can’t listen to him, you can’t rise to it, and you can’t believe any of it. I don’t want you to engage with him at all.”

Crow goes stone still. Even his hand in mine feels wooden and cold. The dark is like a tunnel that I’m splitting with my lights. Grainy. Closing in. My throat gets even tighter, but I have to keep going, even though I know how little Crow wants to hear this.

“I want you both to avoid him. I need to fight this battle myself, and I can’t have you get hurt. Physically, mentally, or emotionally.” I implore him pleadingly before I have to turn my face back to the road. “Crow. Raven. I need your word.”

It doesn’t come.

The silence in the car is absolute. Nothing but the hum of tires on pavement. Either it was well built, or it’s not windy outside. I don’t hear the rush of it screaming at the doors or pulling at the windows, roaring over the cab.

“Pull over.”

Crow’s leaden voice pierces the silence, increasing the tension that’s now as thick as soupy fog in here.

A few minutes ago, I thought it was too dangerous just to yank the car over to the shoulder, but I do it now. I ease off the gas, signal, and edge over, slowing down hard when I reach the shoulder. At least it’s wide and flat, without a sharp drop off into the ditch. I pull over as far as I can and hit the hazard lights. They flash like flickering flames around us, lighting up the night for so far that anyone coming will certainly see them and veer to the other lane.

Crow ejects himself out of the car so fast that by the time I get my seatbelt off and my door open, he’s already pacing the grass.

The dry, blanketing heat of the desert is gone. The peaceful summer night is broken only by the whirr and whine of insects near us and in the distance. They dance in front of the car’s lights, fluttering and careening madly.

I want to go to this man and wrap my arms around him, but how can I? He’s agitated, a rapid madness to his pacing, his long, muscular limbs jerky with anger.

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