Page 26 of Chelsea’s Knight

Looking up, I quietly state, “Really, God? Haven’t I been tested enough in life or is this just the latest one?”

Since I don’t get an actual response, I decide to unpack my bag of things so I can grab my own shower once she’s done, then head into the kitchen to get our nightly drinks and snacks. We’ve fallen into the habit of talking while binge watching various shows, which has been a great way to get to know each other on a more nuclear level better.

Tonight, though, I’ll be talking more about my past and I suspect that won’t lend itself to burning up the sheets.

But that’s okay; it’s going to happen when it happens, and it’ll be that much sweeter for the wait as far as I’m concerned.

I hear the water shut off as I’m checking the cabin’s doors and windows, ensuring everything is locked up nice and tight. Her training starts early in the morning again, so I know we won’t be up ridiculously long tonight. It’s odd to be settling in before seven at night, but after she was done today, we went to the Black Tuxedo’s clubhouse and ate dinner with all of the members and their old ladies as a kind of ‘welcome’ party.

Like us, they use any excuse to have a get-together and since our clubs are like-minded in many ways, it’s not a hardship to throw back a few beers and bullshit about bikes and our military experiences.

She’s sitting up on the bed putting lotion on her legs when I return with our drinks. “Thank you,” she says, taking hers and setting it on the nightstand. “I left you plenty of hot water,” she teases. “I mean, my hair’s finally growing back, thankfully, but my showers are still short.”

“Babe, whether you’re bald or have hair halfway down your back, you’re beautiful. Always will be to me,” I tell her with utmost honesty. “I have some new bandanas for you to check out, too.”

“Really?” Her smile blossoms as she slightly bounces in excitement. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to act like a dork, it’s been a long time since anyone outside of my grandparents got me something just because is all.”

“I’ll gladly spoil you with whatever you want as long as I have breath in my body,” I reply. “Go ahead and find our show, sweetness. I’ll be out in a few.”

* * *

“It was really nice what you did for that kid, Canyon,” she softly says as we wait for the next show we’ve been streaming to come on.

We’ve been steadily going through each season of a first responder show and are up to last season, finally. Instead of allowing it to play through, I hit pause and realize tonight may be cathartic but it’s going to be hard to reopen up old wounds I haven’t looked at for many years.

But she deserves to know where I come from, even though the man I am was shaped by the Marines as well as my brothers in the club.

“He was me a long time ago, Chels,” I carefully respond, talking about one of the lead characters. “I recognized the hopeful desperation in his eyes, as well as the hunger and fear.”

CHAPTEREIGHT

Chelsea

“What do you mean?” I cautiously ask, not wanting to push him too far past what he’s ready and comfortable sharing at this time. He’s coiled tight with tension radiating from him that has me concerned that maybe I have stepped over that line into something he wasn’t ready to discuss.

He doesn’t answer immediately; instead, he laces our fingers together while tugging me into him so we’re touching from shoulder to hip. It’s as if he needs me to physically ground him before he responds to me.

I shiver as a feeling of foreboding courses through me; not because I fear for our budding relationship, but because I suspect this isn’t a door he willingly opens or looks at anymore.

Yet, for me, he’s going to peel back a layer or two that’s painful and potentially combustive.

“Canyon? It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything or talk about it if it’s too unpleasant.”

“No, sweetness, you need to know more about where I came from because I think a lot of how I am where you’re concerned stems from before, if that makes sense.”

“I guess it does. I mean, you’ve never really talked much about your past from before you went into the military, so I presumed you didn’t have a good childhood. But I wasn’t going to push you or pry for you to share because just like me, I figured you’d share when you were ready. So, I’ll repeat, if you’re not ready tonight, that’s perfectly fine. It doesn’t change how I feel about you or anything.”

As a matter of fact, I’m starting to think that nothing could cause me to leave this man’s side.

He’ll forever have me as long as he wants me.

He changes our position, scooting himself backward and sitting up with his back plastered against the headboard then he pulls me upright, so I’m cocooned between his legs with his arms wrapped securely around my waist. I lean back into his embrace, my hands settled over his with my fingers curled around his in an effort to give him as much of my comfort and send him as much of my love as is humanly possible.

“It’s not a pretty, storybook fairytale, sweetness. Yours wasn’t either, at least until your grandparents gained custody of you and proved that they loved you, and in truth, there’s no actual comparison. Shitty upbringings, neglect, or abuse caused both of us to be injured in ways that should never have happened to either one of us. My earliest memories that come to mind were of a mother who treated us like burdens, and she’d deliberately start stuff with my old man and nag him until he’d lash out.”

“Us? You have siblings?” I quietly ask. The need to know more about him and his family becomes all-consuming.

“I had two younger sisters, Calliope and Cariah.” His voice hitches slightly and I feel tears well in my eyes because hearing him say‘had’tells me there’s no happily ever after for the two of them. “Before I graduated, and left the house and headed off for basic training, it was the three of us pitted against the world. While my mother sat there day in and day out, lamenting the loss of her life because she had children, we did the cooking, cleaning, and laundry, while also going to school. My dad worked at the sawmill and drank his evenings away. But it wasn’t a peaceful environment. They fought all the time, she was usually pissed at something either he or I did, and she had no problems meting out the punishment, at least onto me. Many of my tattoos, which you’ll eventually find out for yourself, cover up scars she gave me because she threw whatever she had that was handy at the time in her hand and threw it in my direction. Especially, when she was angry at him and he wasn’t home to take her anger out on, because apparently, I was the spitting image of him.”

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