Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
You wouldn’t deserve it if she did.
This is the kind of man you are, the kind of father you’ll always be.
“Stop!” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud or that I’ve brought my hands up to shove them over my ears until they’re hanging there. In mid-air.
Ayana’s brows pull together over the world’s most beautiful eyes. Eyes that shine with the sun. Eyes that are wholly good. She might have been raised by a biker, but she’s a good person. A person who immediately gave me the benefit of the doubt. A person who did what she thought was right without fear or hesitation.
“Confused. Messy. This will…the plan… I have to…tell you…this… I…” I stammer and choke out, trying to be noble. Trying, trying to do the right thing, trying to keep her safe, trying to reconcile this monumental shift in my universe with my life before. A life where I did bad things for the good of the world. A life she knows nothing about. A life that I was perfectly safe hiding in until she found me in those shadows. Always surrounded by my brothers and loved by Granny, but still somehow alone.
“You know what?” Ayana asks before she kisses me again. Hard. Possessively. As if she truly, truly wants me. The me that she doesn’t know. The guy who bartends at her dad’s club. Not the real me. “Fuck the plan. I have a new one.”
And that’s when I start to shake. The trembling comes from the soles of my feet, which are planted hard on the floor, and it doesn’t stop. The waves rock through me, paralyzing me and raising the hairs on the backs of my arms. I feel sick with it, my stomach churning and protesting the dinner we just ate.
“Smoke?”
My name again, but not my real name, said with the utmost gentleness. I’m shaking and trembling like a wilted leaf over here, yet she’s still not afraid.
“Smoke?” Her hands are on my shoulders, shaking me softly. Shaking me out of my stupor, out of myself. Except I’ll never be out of myself. Not until she knows the truth.
And my god, if I didn’t notice my loneliness before, my solitude even in the face of the love of my family, I know it now. Because when she learns the truth, she’ll leave, and she’ll take all the absurd hope that I had for the past day with her. It was stupid. Stupid. Stupid to hope and stupid to think that I could tell her who I am and she’d be okay with it.
Confess one part; confess it all. Every. Bit.
Growing up, she had received the love of a strong man. For all intents and purposes, he was a strong man when it came to her. He taught her right from wrong. However, he chose to live his life and whatever he chose with the club. He loved her, his daughter. She’s one of the best women I’ve ever met, and I can say that with confidence, even though I barely know her. She’ll be a great mom. But me? What would I be? The kid that no one wanted. How could I be a father when the only examples of a father I ever had were men who used me as a paycheck, who beat me, who didn’t bother to feed me, and who never once took care of me when I was sick? I was treated so much worse than an animal. Those are the kind of father figures I had. So what kind could I be?
We’re all doomed to repeat the past.
“You’re shaking.” Oh, Ayana’s sweet, sweet voice. It sounds a tad alarmed but a whole lot strong. Her honey-smooth tone breaks down the barriers of my mind and that voice in my head that’s as slippery as a snake, winding through my brain, implanting half-truths, leaving me gutted and trembling, sick at the past, sick with shame, and sick with fear for the future all at the same time. “Are you…are you cold?”
“N…no.”
“Are you sick?”
Sick with dread. Sick because of the memories. “No.”
I realize I’ve been looking through her, looking through a haze, so I slowly open my eyes, and her angelic face, wearing a very worried expression, swims into my line of vision. Her lips purse, and her hands never release my shoulders.
“Shower,” she commands.
“W…what?”
“Shower. Let’s go.”
She just said, “Let’s go.” As in, together. My dick turns to stone again, even though my head is a mess and my gut is still churning. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat bacon again or listen to my record player without thinking about this, and my god, if I ruined bacon for myself for life, I’m going to…to…I can’t even imagine it.
Ayana’s hands slide down my shoulders and travel down the front of my body, slowly raking over my pectoral muscles and down my chest. They dart away near my jeans and instead find my hand hanging limp at my side. She takes my tattooed fingers and lifts my hand, big palm and all, chaffing it between hers as if she needs to warm me from the cold.