Page 39 of Cruz

She turns back to the stove, and I study the table so that Raiden can’t read anything that might be on my face. He’s a great guy. Younger than me by five or six years, and born and raised in Hart, same as Tyrant. They’re living proof that wisdom doesn’t necessarily have to come with being old. I think Tyrant was born with one of the oldest souls there ever was. Mostly, I’m afraid that Raiden will see the unrestrained longing in my own expression. This isn’t about wanting. Not for me and not for Sloane. That might be a small fraction of it, but it’s so much more. Sloane has to let herself want. She holds her control tightly around herself, but not because she’s afraid to let it go. She just doesn’t want to drop it and have the fallout affect the people she loves.

When does putting others first become a detriment to yourself?

I don’t have an easy answer for that, or any of this.

I might not be able to tell Sloane what’s in my heart and mind tonight, but when the time is right, I’ll find the words. I hope.

Chapter 15

Cruz

“Is that a cactus?”

Annoyingly enough, Liam snatches my phone right out of my hand, and I’m unguarded enough to let him. We’re both standing in the kitchen, drinking the disgusting swill that passes for coffee at the clubhouse. Odin dumps half the can into the maker and lets it buck, calling the tar that dribbles out real coffee. It might be thick and dark, but on a scale of disgusting to disgusting it’s always going to be… disgusting.

Sloane could come over here and give the men in this place a few lessons on how to make a proper coffee.

Every time I think about her, it’s a knife between my ribs, a punch to the gut, and a kick straight to the nuts. It hurts. Far more than it should. Maybe hurt isn’t exactly the right word. It doesn’t hurt like I was betrayed, or like we missed our chance, or like I shot the shot of all shots and got turned down. It’s a deeper burn. An ache that I don’t know how to fix. A wound that’s not going to knit itself back together. I feel like everything is just a little more forced than it used to be and has a little less joy. I’m not much for moping. I just… miss Sloane. It reminds me of how unsettled I felt after leaving the military.

I need to find my words, that’s what I need to do. Not just any words, but those proper words that I’ve been working so hard on for the past nine days.

“Holy fuck, five hundred dollars?” Liam shoves my phone back into my hand, shaking his head in mystified disgust. “What if you killed that thing? Half a grand blown on a stupid plant? Who charges that much?”

I shrug and take my mug for a refill. I add cream from the fridge, but all it does is transform the murky black sludge into a dark brown with a greasy looking sheen on the top.

“Why are you thinking about getting a plant? Where would you even put that? Your room doesn’t have enough light for it. Probably. Doesn’t a cactus need tons of light?” Liam keeps on about how crazy the five-hundred-dollar charge is. “My mom would for sure kill that thing.”

He has my full attention now. I know Sloane was joking when she gave me the laundry list of what she wanted. But I can’t help but wonder what she would do if I really came to her with a cactus, a damn crochet blanket, and a poem.

He continues, “She’s killed all our plants since I was a kid. We had a few in the café, but they all died. She’d do a number on that big beast. It would probably get knocked over and break in half and that would be that.”

I down my coffee, pulling in long chugs that have Liam gaping at me. He quickly finishes his too and we head to the gym. Training won’t start for half an hour yet, but I want to be set up.

I try very hard not to favor my knee, but Liam is as observant as Sloane is when he wants to be. “Is that still bothering you?” He grabs the usual stack of mats and starts to lay them out, but points at my leg. “You should coach today. Let me do the demonstrating and let the guys spar with each other. You don’t have to wreck yourself.”

I’m irritated and restless, but I have only myself to blame for that. It has nothing to do with my knee, though the lingering pain is frustrating. I shouldn’t chafe at going back to my normal life after being away from it for just a few weeks, but it doesn’t feel right. When I eventually fall asleep, my dreams are filled with bodies intertwined together. I find myself reaching out, searching the empty spot on the bed like I expect to find Sloane there. It’s not all hot sex. I dream about the soft things too. Coming up behind Sloane and pulling her into my arms. Brushing her hair aside so I can nuzzle her neck. Licking her earlobe. I dream that we do regular things, date, hang out, and the world feels right.

I wake up exhausted and… sad.

“Mom’s been talking about getting a cat.”

I don’t have to force myself to focus on Liam. My attention rips back to him the way it did in the kitchen earlier. I want to ask him if Sloane’s said anything about the link I sent her. I hadn’t forgotten what she’d said about maybe wanting one. I was browsing through a few of the rescue sites here and came across a fifteen-year-old cat who came into care when her owner passed. It’s a sad story. She needs a home. I thought of Sloane right away.

“Really?” I figure that’s the best answer I can give, while appearing a little surprised and mostly disinterested.

Liam’s not searching my face. He’s spreading more mats out.

“Mom’s been acting weird.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. The expression on his face concerns me. He looks helpless and lost, more so than I’ve seen it in almost all the months that I’ve known him.

“How so? Is she okay?” It’s hard to keep my voice level. Liam hears the emotion behind it, but his expression softens. He likes that I care about his mom, in that professional, protective way.

If he knew about the dreams that I can’t stop and the thoughts that come to me completely unbidden, would he try to tackle me here and now? Feeling those blows couldn’t hurt more than whatever is wrong with my body. I’d prefer physical pain to the pain that constantly clenches in my chest.

“She’s fine. That’s the thing.” When I fail to see what he’s talking about, he continues. “She’s weirdly fine with the club stuff. Maybe she made her peace with it. She seems… I don’t know. Just off. Different. Like this whole thing changed her and she doesn’t quite know how to change it back. She’s never seemed like the café and her life were unsatisfactory and she’s always had her own hobbies. Maybe it’s me, but she didn’t seem like that when I got back from Seattle. She wasn’t trying to fill the gaps of time I left behind, and she wasn’t having trouble with that. I know she missed me, but… is this making any sense?”

It’s making too much sense.