Walk Through Fire (Page 87)

I took in another deep breath.

Logan kept going.

“I know you weren’t hibernatin’ and I woke you up. I know what I gotta do is like breathin’ life back into you. And I hope it’s sinkin’ in that I’m all in with that. So I’ll say careful-like that my girls are my girls. They might not have been raised in a home where their mom and dad loved each other, but they were raised in a home where there was a lotta love. They’ll want you for me.”

“Okay, Low,” I replied shakily, hoping that was true.

“Cleo, she always had her head screwed on straight,” he told me. “She’s a lot like her old man. Sees the world as it is and takes it as it is. Zadie…” He paused and held my gaze. “My Zadie’s a dreamer. It never touched her, the void of what her parents should have had. She made up what she wanted to be there and lived in that place.”

Oh man.

Logan continued. “So what I’m sayin’, gentle-like, is that I know I got my work cut out for me with you. But you gotta go in to this knowin’ we both got our work cut out with Zadie. You with me?”

Wonderful.

“Have you… I mean, you’ve been here awhile. Have you spoken to them?” I asked.

“About you?” he asked back, but answered before I could even nod. “No. But while you been asleep, I talked with their mom and I talked with them.” His voice dropped. “Talk with them as often as I can so I’ll be phonin’ them today while I’m with you.”

He sounded like that would bother me, but of course he would phone them.

So I just nodded.

“I’m going to do my bit,” I told him, likely with more bravado than bravery. “I mean, with you. With us. I won’t fall apart on you again.”

Something changed in his expression right before he changed our positions, rolling into me so I was on my back and he was pressed into my side, his face close, his hands moving so he had one arm wrapped around me, his other hand still at my neck, thumb stroking my throat.

“Never,” he whispered, and my hands resting at his sides curled in to his flesh at his tone. “Never, Millie, don’t you ever hide or feel ashamed of the emotion you have for me, for us, for what we lost, for all we got back. Don’t ever do that. All a’ this is gonna be pain right along with pleasure. That is, until we work through the pain and got nothin’ but the good left over. And I swear to you, fuckin’ swear, I’ll get us there.”

“I’ve changed,” I admitted, a tremor of fear lacing those two words.

“That isn’t lost on me,” he returned instantly. “There’s shit you gotta know about me too. But we didn’t walk through fire only to get to the end of that and not get our reward. If we can walk through fire, baby, we can do anything.”

I wanted that to sink in.

But there was still fear in my voice when I said, “I’m worried it’s too late. I’m worried too much time has passed. We’ve both changed. Probably a lot. I’m worried—”

He cut me off to ask, “Does this feel like it’s too late?”

I took him in, lying on me, touching me, holding me—he was my whole world in a variety of ways and had been since we met. But right then, that feeling was literal.

So it totally didn’t feel too late.

Not at all.

“You make it sound so easy,” I whispered.

“Doin’ anything at your side, no matter how hard it gets, it’s still gonna be a fuckuva lot easier than tryin’ to do anything without you. So, you’re right. It might not be easy. Life is what it is and we’re gonna face shit along the way. But I know what it was like, doin’ that not havin’ you. And I know what it was like doin’ that havin’ you. And I know which way I like better.”

See?

He was so good at the flowery, biker goodness.

Too good.

So good I was close to crying again.

And in order not to do that, I got bitchy.

“You’re gonna have to stop being so awesome or I’ll be bawling like a lunatic all the time,” I snapped.

He gave me more of his weight as he dipped his face closer.

“Not sure I can stop bein’ awesome, beautiful. It’s just me.”

I rolled my eyes.

When I rolled them back, I saw his were dancing.

God, I loved that.

I melted and lost the bitchy.

Then I realized I’d melted and lost the bitchy so I regained the bitchy and declared sharply, “You’re being awesome again.”

He started chuckling.

In order not to let how good that felt, and better, how good that felt having it back reduce me to a blubbering mess, I glared.

While glaring, I announced, “Right, so, this being at each other’s sides business, you should know the obstacles you face include, but are not limited to, me being scared absolutely shitless about meeting your girls and them not liking me. Me not having a good idea about the other tat that’s new that’s inked into your ribs. And last but not least, me warning you I’m no longer anywhere near an old lady. I’m boring. I watch TV, wear designer duds, and work most of the time. And don’t get any ideas because my halter top, cutoff shorts days are way behind me. And, although I hold no judgment against pot smokers, you still do that shit, you do it outside. I don’t want the smell in my furniture.”

He’d stopped chuckling but was still smiling when he returned, “Got kids, babe, don’t smoke pot except on occasion, only when they’re not with me and I’m at the Compound so I can commune with the brothers, then crash.”