Page 41 of Ridin' Free
‘Where do you think you’re goin’?’
I lifted my coffee to my lips, needing something—anything—to bring me back to the here and now. I didn’t want to think about how sexy his voice sounded upon waking. I didn’t want to think about how cozy I’d been pressed up against his solid, warm chest. I certainly didn’t want to analyze what it meant that I slept soundly and all night beside a man for the first time in longer than a decade.
And if I was honest with myself—maybe the first time ever.
‘I got you, sparky. You’re safe.’
I barely knew him. I knewofhim. I understood his reputation as much as I understood the reputation the Stallions had as a collective. I’d seen it time and time again the way they stood up for the weak and the innocent. I’d seen the way they protected the ones they loved. But a part of me knew, in spite of what I could assume, there was more to Twister than what met the eye.
I didn’t know him nearly enough to believe so unquestionably I was safe with him. Experience had taught me, there was a monster in all of us. I didn’t know what could wake his, which meant I shouldn’t have felt so safe lying next to him—but there was a part of me that couldn’t help it.
Or maybe I didn’t want to.
At first, I thought I was able to fall asleep with Twister because we were on a couch rather than a bed, but I knew it didn’t matter. On a couch, in a bed, on the floor, in a fucking cell with Sean chained to the wall, it made no difference. Once he showed me who he really was, I knew I wasn’t safe. He could turn on the charm, he could shower me with gifts, he could tell me how much he loved me, but it was all a lie.
I knew nothing of romance.
I knew nothing of love—except that it was for people far different than me.
What Twister and I were doing, it wasn’t love. I couldn’t say whether or not it was romance, either, but I knew I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
And it would have been pure and utter bullshit to say I didn’t like it.
For once, I feltnormal.
We exchanged numbers before I left. The goodbye kiss which followed wasn’t one I’d soon forget. I could still feel the embers of it flickering pathetically in my belly.
It was strange, how foreign all these sensations were to me. As a woman who had once been married, it was overwhelming to understand how much I’d settled by choosing my husband and the monster he was. I was smart enough to have run; smart enough to accept the mistakes I made; smart enough to learn to live with the consequences and to not let history repeat itself. But in some ways, I felt like I didn’t know anything—like I was a novice when it came to navigating anything that even so much as masqueraded as romance.
My phone began to vibrate from within the side pocket of my leggings. I cut off the hose, set it at my feet, and fished out the ringing device.
It was Georgia.
I stared at the screen, going back and forth as to whether or not I wanted to hear what she had to say. Her name hadn’t graced the screen of my phone since Saturday night. I knew she and Tommy were gone, but I didn’t knowhow. After a few seconds, my curiosity got the better of me.
“Hello?” I answered.
“I thought maybe you’d call, but clearly you couldn’t givetwo fucks!” she screeched in greeting.
I immediately regretted answering.
She was right.
I didn’t give two fucks.
“Why would I call?”
“What, they didn’t tell you? Those bastards beat theliving hellout of Tommy. He needed a doctor after they were through with him. But they chased us out of town—told us if I was going to take him to a hospital, it wasn’t going to be in Gillette. They followed us for nearly an hour, Ali-Mae! I had to drive Tommy all the way to Caspar. We’re just now leaving the hospital with a bill you know good and damn well we can’t afford.
“This is your fault! I can’t believe you’d send them after us. What the hell did we ever do to you? Huh? All I ever did was provide for you. And this is the thanks I get? You ungrateful, little?—”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and disconnected the call. When my phone started vibrating again, the thought occurred to me that I could tell her. I could answer and tell her exactly what Tommy had done to me. I could tell her exactly why I hated him—why I hated themboth.
Except, even in my anger, I could feel myself as I began to tremble; and the trembles weren’t a result of my hatred, but a reminder of the pain. The shame. The resentment. The fear.
When my eyes grew blurry with tears, I rejected her call and instinctively went to my contacts and blocked her number. I then lowered myself onto the ground, held my coffee mug with both hands, stared at the flowers in front of me, and drew in a deep breath.
I wasn’t a girl anymore.
