Under Locke (58 page)

Holy shit. Holy friggin' shit.

"Say it," he murmured into my neck.

“Say what?”

“Say you get it.”

I said it. Without a second thought even though a huge part of me was terrified. I said the
three
words because nothing
and
no one in the world had ever made me fee
l
so grounded, so assured
that I wouldn’t be forgotten or left behind
. I mean, I know mos
t things were out of a person’s control, but Dex happened to be the most controlling and overbearing man I’d ever met.

And a part of me recognized that I should run. That if I gave this man an inch, he’d take a mile. That if I agreed to this, it’d be the beginning of the end.

In his words, I didn’t give a single shit. I said them anyway.

"I
get it
."

He looked at me with those dark blue eyes as if he was waiting for me to admit something more. Something incriminating, vulnerable and maybe even painful, but I couldn't come up with anything
that could be more of any of those things
. It wasn't until later, after he promised that he really wouldn't do anything if I slept next to him, that I thought more about it.

I didn't really let anyone in. Ever. After my dad left, and I got sick, and my mom got sick, and... there was always something, something bigger that snowballed from the size of a raindrop into the size of a softball that made me more and more reserved around others. Even with Lanie, I still didn't fully embrace our friendship. How long had it been since I'd spoken to her? Months? If we were best friends, that shouldn't have happened, right?

Yet the idea of not talking to Sonny on a regular basis, or laughing at Slim and Blake's antics, or just anything relating to Dex made me sad. It made me yearn for that easy familiarity. I finally had people that I trusted. So couldn't that be the same thing with the man that shared so many of the same hang-ups I did?

I rolled onto my back in bed next to Dex and looked at him.

He was face-up, one hand tucked under his head and the other was on his bare chest, just to the side of one of the loops that pierced his nipple. He was so damn good looking with all that ink that darkened those sinewy muscles and skin, it was unreal. If I
’d
seen him on the street back in Florida, I probably would
ha
ve kept to the edge of the sidewalk. Well, I woul
d have done that while eye-screwing the crap out of him.

I'd never been a big fan of that saying, "Everything happens for a reason," but maybe, sometimes, every once in a while, things coalesced into a complex, intangible reason. With tattoos and piercings and bad words and unfailing loyalty topped with a temper.

And in its own imperfect way, it couldn't have been any better.

Chapter Thirty-One

"I think one of us needs to stage an intervention."

I looked over at Slim as I wiped off the frames by the reception desk and tipped my chin up. "For who?"

The
soulless ginger—Blake’s words, not mine—
widened his eyes like I was dumb not to know. "Blake, Ris."

"Oh." I went up on my tip-toes and looked around the shop.

The bald man wasn't in the main room, luckily. He had been acting weird. Extremely weird. The day before, he'd spoken maybe five words to all of us, which was completely unlike him. Today had been even worse. He was remote and even someone who didn't know him could sense the desperation pouring out from him.

We'd all tried to give him his space but earlier in the evening, Slim had walked over to me and said he was pretty positive he'd heard Blake crying in the restroom. "I think something's going on with his son," he claimed. "There's nothing else that would make him sour up so much."

His son. The same son that had been in and out of the hospital since before Houston. I had a terrible feeling that it was Seth, also known as Blake Junior, giving his dad so much anxiety. The poor kid was too young to get into real trouble. There was only one thing that would make a grown adult—a parent, a loved one—cry.

Illness.

Shit.

I hoped more than anything that it wasn't the case but it'd be naive to think otherwise. Or maybe I was just that pessimistic.

I blew out a breath. "What do you think we should do?"

He looked pensive for a moment before scrunching up his nose in a way that made his lightning bolt tattoo move. "Let's take him out. You think Dex will be up for it?"

"Maybe." How the heck should I know for sure?

It turned out that Dex was up for it. Right before setting the alarm to the shop, I heard him invite Blake out to Mayhem.

"Not tonight, man. I'm not up for it," was Dumbo's creaky, hoarse answer.

Blake saying no to a drink? Unheard of.

"C'mon," Dex argued back. "My treat."

It took a little more coaxing but eventually, like the freeloader he was, Blake finally agreed. We met up at Mayhem a few minutes later, piling into the same booth we'd used on our last trip to the bar what seemed like forever ago. This time, there were more people—Widows, men who weren't members of the MC, and other random clients. I waved at the handful I recognized and slid into the booth beside Slim, with Dex following after, slinging an arm over the back of the seat.

The guys and Blue blasted through two beers each, with Slim and I carrying the majority of the conversation as he tried to convince me—again—to get a tattoo.

"Just a little thing," he insisted.

I lifted a shoulder. "I don't know."

"Tiny." He pinched his fingers together so that there was only about an inch between them. "Smaller than that heart you did for me."

I grimaced. "I don't know about a heart though."

A huge grin swept his face. "I can make you a mini dragon."

He was talking about the electric blue dragon with rainbow fire. "Where?"

"Anywhere but your lower stomach," he said confidently. "If you have kids that thing'll end up looking like a
life
sized one."

I burst out laughing, watching as a small smile crossed Blake's features. "With my luck, it'll
look like it’s trying to eat my baby
."

Dex nudged me with his shoulder. His facial expression careful. Did he look jealous? Jealous that I hadn't told him I'd started considering it? Jesus. There was enough I needed to tell him, but I'd been too much of a coward to. "You wanna get some work done, babe?"

"I think so, but Gingervitis over here wants it more than me." That earned me an elbow from Slim that I returned with a laugh. "Maybe though. Just maybe."

"Don't know where?" Dex asked.

I glanced over at my favorite redhead and smirked. "I know where I don't want it."

Slim elbowed me again. "
Sucks we can’t do it by your scar.
"

My stomach felt the equivalent of a plate shattering on concrete. The blood drained from my face and I lost my breath. The urge to squeak was right there, slithering its way up my vocal chords.

The arm over my shoulders tightened a fraction. "What scar?"

Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap!

I forced a smile onto my face, and there was no doubt in my mind it was shaky and weak.

I could lie. It would be easy enough to change the conversation. The only problem was, the instant I thought about
lying again and
having to divert the topic to something else, guilt p
i
nched me right in the
kidneys
. Maybe it was because I knew Sonny was still mad at me, but maybe it was because these were people that I cared for more than I had others in a long, long time.

But the answer, the realization, was right there.

I didn't want to. I shouldn't have to keep hiding something that was as essential a part of me as my name.

It was bound to happen, I knew that. Otherwise, it'd only be a matter of time before they found out. Keeping my cancer a secret hadn't been a permanent plan.

When I looked over at Blake, sensing the deep sadness and wariness in his features, it reinforced my vertebrae and reminded me that I had guts. That I'd used my guts throughout my life. And if Blake really was suffering because of something going on with his little boy, I could do this. It wasn't that big of a deal.

There were worse things in life than having people I cared about babying me. Feeling sorry for me. And I needed to quit being a sneaky jackass that kept things to herself. Would I have ever kept things from
yia-yia
? No way.

I looked over at Dex and pointed at my arm, my fingers shaking as I did it.
There was nothing to be nervous about. Nothing to be scared of.
"I have this gnarly scar on my arm." Easy, right?

His eyes hooded over as a frown crossed his features. "From what?" he asked carefully.

You can do this, Ris.

It wasn't a big deal. It really wasn't.

I reached for the hem of my sweater and started pulling it up and over my head, careful to keep my arms perpendicular to my body so that I wouldn't give an impromptu arm-flash. I heard Slim chuckle, "Strip show? I need change for a ten
.
"

A snicker escaped me as I peeled it off my arms before balling the material on my lap. I took a deep breath and planted another shaky smile on my lips as I raised my bad arm in a way that made it look like I was going to flex my muscles. Not that there was much left there anymore
, more than half of my bicep had been removed.

I watched Dex as I did it. Watched him as he shifted in
place
, dropping his arm from around the back of the seat and settled his gaze on the silvery white twisted tissue that laced the inside of my bicep. That familiar nerve under his eye started popping instantly.

"I had cancer when I was little," I told them, looking at Blake as I said it. Maybe my story wasn't the best one to try and relate to hi
m
. If Junior was sick, hearing that I'd gone through four different surgeries wasn't a fairy tale. But I was alive and I was here. Alive and here were much better words than the simple word—not. Not here. Inexistent.

Back when I’d been sick, I’d always dreaded hearing other words. Spread. Lymph nodes. Amputation. Those words, those possibilities, make you grow up quick. They made me remember to prioritize correctly, to value and appreciate. But mainly the branches of those words scared me so much, I wanted to
live
even if it wasn’t always going to be fun and games.

I’d forgotten that along the way somewhere. There was a difference between living and surviving. And this place, these people, reminded me of that.

After a second I dropped my thinner limb, and let out a breath. Dex watched me with a blank expression while Slim's eyes went wide.

"No shit?" he asked, reaching out to grab me. He lifted my arm up and touched the desensitized skin there with gentle fingertips. "What kind?"

"A form of
s
oft tissue sarcoma," I explained.
“Cancer in my muscle, pretty much.”

Slim's wide expression
drooped
before a frown crossed his lips. "Why didn't you
say
something
?"