Walk Through Fire

  Pain.

  A sound filled with pain.

  A sound made releasing pain.

  Then his face was in my neck, we were on our sides, and his arms were locked around me.

  I slid my hands up his back and fisted them again in the material there, latching on like I should have twenty years ago.

  Like I’d never let go.

  I turned my head, my lips seeking his ear.

  “Please kiss me.”

  No hesitation, Logan obliged. His hand sliding up to curve around the base of my head where it met my neck, he held tight, took my mouth, and kissed me, deep and hard and wet.

  It hurt, God, it hurt. The pain was unbearable.

  And it felt utterly, impossibly, magnificently beautiful.

  He ended it, shifting his head so his temple was pressed tight to mine.

  “Missed you, too, beautiful.”

  I closed my eyes and clutched harder at him, pushing into his body, holding him to me and attempting to meld myself to him.

  The hiccup I involuntary gave to hold back the tears was an unpleasant one.

  “Oh shit,” I whispered, and his head came up.

  “You gonna get sick?” he asked.

  “I…” I swallowed, the wave passing so I went on, “Don’t think so.”

  “Fuck, Millie,” he clipped.

  I slid a hand to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I… this… it’s…” I shook my head. No words had been created to communicate it, how significant this was, how happy it made me. So I finished, “I’m ruining our reunion.”

  “Don’t give a shit about that. You’re not feelin’ you, whatever. You’ll get past it and I’ll give you a reunion you won’t forget. But you not feelin’ you reminds me I’m pissed at you.”

  My chin jerked back and my body locked.

  “I thought—” I began.

  “You went to Paris without me.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “That shit ain’t right,” he growled.

  I stared into his annoyed eyes, thinking about all that had transpired, twenty years of it, the intensity of the last weeks, the conversation we just had (well, mostly he had because he did all the talking but I was there), and I could just not believe in all that he was pissed about Paris.

  “It’s still there, Logan,” I pointed out.

  “I know that, Millie, doesn’t make it any better.”

  “It’s been there hundreds of years, Logan,” I kept going.

  “I know that, too, Millie,” he bit out. “Doesn’t make it any better.”

  “What I’m saying is we can still go.”

  “You seen the Eiffel Tower all lit up at night?”

  I shifted my eyeballs to the ceiling.

  “Right,” he stated irritably. “First time you got that it was without me and it was supposed to be with me.”

  I had to admit, seeing the Eiffel Tower blinking into the night was absolutely magnificent but would have been much better shared with Logan.

  And I had to admit that he was right. It was totally supposed to be with him.

  Although I had to admit both those things, I didn’t do it out loud.

  I looked back to him and requested, “Can we not fight when I’m jet-lagged and we’ve just reunited?”

  “Yeah, we can not fight now. We’ll discuss that shit when you’re feelin’ better and after I instigate the official reunion.”

  My thighs started tingling.

  “The official reunion?” I asked.

  “Like you don’t know I’m gonna fuck you breathless in a way you’re gonna remember every second of it for the rest of your life.”

  I got breathless at that.

  “But now, since you hauled your ass to Paris without me,” he went on, “and you’re fucked up because of it, I’m haulin’ your TV in here and we’re gonna hang and watch it. You’re gonna stay up the best you can so you can get over that shit. Then I’m gonna give you that reunion and after, we’re gonna sort the rest.”

  Oh man.

  “The rest?” I prompted.

  “Babe, got kids. Kids who’re gonna be in your life. Got shit happening we need to make decisions on. And you’re gonna undo whatever you did to make plans to get outta Denver.”

  Luckily, none of that last was set in stone.

  Logan, however, wasn’t finished.

  “And apparently, we got some cats to pick up.”

  Tentatively, I grinned at him, ignoring the onset of anxiety at his kids who’re gonna be in your life comment.

  “I saw pictures of the kitties on the Internet,” I told him. “A boy and a girl. They’re very cute.”

  “Whatever,” he muttered, his eyes to my mouth. “The girls’ll love ’em.”

  At that, it was harder to ignore the onset of anxiety since it was growing swiftly, even though I was pleased to learn his daughters liked animals.

  “Now, I got dishes to get in the sink and a TV to haul,” he muttered, and when he did, something stole over me.

  It was heavy, warm, frightening, comforting, so much of all that my hands clutched at his shirt again and he stilled.

  “Babe.”

  I stared at his chin. The whiskers there were long and I could feel just how long as the skin on my face felt the ghost of them from his kiss.

  “Millie,” he called sharply.

  I lifted my eyes to his.

  “Are you really here?” I whispered.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, moved in, and kissed me again. And again it was wet, it was deep.

  But it was not hard.

  He pulled away but not too far.

  “You gotta put a damper on the cute and sweet, baby,” he said quietly. “I’m a big fan of your mouth, big fan of havin’ it back, big fan of finally havin’ it available to me again. Not a big fan of court-in’ you needin’ to puke durin’ a kiss. So help a man out. Hear?”

  Hear?

  I didn’t believe it.

  Not until then.

  Not until that.

  Something that was so Logan. He was the only person I knew who said that like he said it.

  Hear?

  He’d said that the first time I met him. He’d said it a million times after.

  And he’d just given it to me again.

  Not like he did when we were playing our crazy game.

  Like he used to give it to me.

  Wars were fought for things that had no meaning. Hearts were broken. Betrayals were committed. Fortunes were paid. Sacrifices were made.

  All for nothing. All for shit.

  But I’d give anything, battle to the death, break hearts, tell lies, pay every penny I owned, sell my soul to have back Logan’s hear? just like that. Something that meant the world because it meant I had him.

  And I had it back.

  Him back.

  I drew in breath through my nose as my sinuses started tingling at the same time I nodded.

  Then I said, “I hear, Logan.”

  “This is the last you’re gonna get, Millie, before we settle in so you can get sorted,” he said unceremoniously, like he was just carrying on our conversation.

  Not like he was about to change my whole world.

  Then he changed my whole world.

  No, he didn’t change it.

  He gave it back to me.

  “I love you,” he declared. “Loved you then. Love you now. Never quit lovin’ you in a way I know I never will. You were it for me, the only one, the only woman I ever loved, and you never quit bein’ it. So I think you can get how I cannot find words to explain how fuckin’ pleased I am that you’re back.”

  “I…” I hiccupped, deep breathed, clutched his shirt, and he waited through all that. “Ditto,” I pushed out.

  Totally lame.

  But it bought me his eyes smiling and a brush of his lips.

  His lips stayed where they were, his eyes looking into mine, when he whispered, “You always sucked at that shit.”

  I did.

>   I could tell him I loved him and I did. I could show it and I did.

  But I didn’t do flowery.

  Logan did biker, badass flowery and he did it really good.

  And I had that back too.

  I started deep breathing again.

  “Baby, eggs are gonna dry on those plates you don’t let me go,” he told me.

  I hiccupped, nodded, and slowly, very, very slowly, I let him go.

  He slid away but I felt his hair wisp across my face, his lips along my jaw while he did it.

  When he was gone, I curled up, pulling up the covers, and watched as he moved around the bed, collecting all our stuff.

  I heard from far away the sink going as he set the dishes to soak.

  And I watched him haul the TV in, setting it up on a nightstand he brought in from the guest bedroom, watching him plug it into the cable jack I’d had installed but never used.

  Then I felt him gather me up after he got into bed with me.

  I also heard him order, “Don’t fuckin’ fall asleep. You gotta make it until eight o’clock, then you can crash.”

  I had not forgotten how bossy he was.

  It was just that I never minded it.

  It was him.

  And I never minded anything about Logan.

  Though, now it was kind of annoying. But it was mature, badass biker—my mature, badass biker who was back annoying. So even if it was annoying, it wasn’t that annoying.

  I didn’t share that.

  Instead, I watched a movie and a half with Logan.

  Then I did whatever the hell I wanted, which was what I’d always done when he was bossy.

  Or, I should say, I did what my body wanted.

  I crashed.

  In my bed.

  Tangled up with my man.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We’re Found

  Millie

  I WOKE UP and it was dark.

  But I woke up and I was awake.

  I also woke up in the middle of my bed, tangled up in Logan.

  I lay there. I did it a long time. I did it happy to do it forever.

  Then I couldn’t do it anymore because I had to go to the bathroom.

  So the last thing I wanted to do, I did. Sliding out of his arms, unwinding my limbs from his, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom, closing the door, not turning on the light until it was shut so it wouldn’t disturb him and going about my business.

  I turned off the light before I left the bathroom but I only took one step into the room.

  The curtains were opened, so the room was very lit even if it was still night.

  And I could see Logan, sheets to his lat, body curved on the bed, one arm under my pillow, the other arm thrown out to where I lay minutes before, the dark of him against the light of my sheets more beautiful than the Eiffel Tower at night.

  And the Eiffel Tower at night was spectacular.

  Weirdly, even with Logan in my bed, the light beckoned me and I moved to the front of the room right to the window.

  Logan should have closed the curtains. Anyone could see in.

  And someone could be looking.

  I didn’t care when I made it there and looked out.

  The snow had stopped. The sky was clear. The moon was shining bright on gazillions of tiny crystals, the streetlights casting an unnecessary glow.

  The snow had been heavy and long. It coated everything and there was a lot of it. Cars parked on the street, the snow was up to the middle of the doors.

  The street had not been cleared. That much snow, they’d concentrate on the heavily trafficked areas. If we were lucky, they’d get to my street sometime that day.

  But cars had tried to navigate it, the snow not dirty and brown, it just had tire tracks cut through.

  Not many.

  Too much snow to take that risk.

  People would stay home. Warm. Safe. With their loved ones around them.

  I looked back at the bed where Logan was, and clearheaded, it all came to me.

  So I looked back to the peace of the snow and filtered through all of it.

  It had occurred to me frequently through the years that there was a good possibility I’d made a mistake. That I should have told Logan, once he’d given me the go-ahead to get pregnant whenever, that I’d pushed my birth control pills into the toilet and flushed them away. I should have told him that I’d been trying for the surprise of a baby for months. And when that didn’t happen, I should have told him I’d gone to the doctor and sustained the crushing blow, alone, that with one simple test I found out it wasn’t going to happen.

  There was nothing we could do. No hoops to jump through. No surgeries to be had. No treatments to try.

  It just wasn’t going to happen.

  But when these thoughts occurred to me, I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t even consider I’d made such a massive mistake. And even if my brain pushed through that idea, I couldn’t think about finding him, telling him, and courting the possibility he’d be even angrier at me and wouldn’t take me back.

  But I’d found him.

  I’d told him.

  And it didn’t even take twenty-four hours before he told me he got it and took me back.

  But now…

  What?

  He said we should put twenty years of being apart behind us and keep on going.

  He clearly thought it was that easy.

  He loved me like I loved him and that had never died, for either of us.

  But it wasn’t going to be that easy. Twenty years had passed. We weren’t the same people.

  Sure, he was still Chaos, but he had daughters, an ex, and Chaos had changed with Tack being at the helm and I’d noted not only the new recruits but brothers were gone. I hadn’t seen Chew, Crank, Arlo, Dog, Black, men who’d be around. Men who would go watch Hop play. Men who’d be at Wild Bill’s field. Men who’d be at the Compound.

  And I had changed. I was nothing like the Millie he knew and wasn’t sure I could make my way back. No way in hell I was ever putting on another pair of cutoffs and a halter top. And if Logan tried to light up a joint in my house, I’d lose my mind.

  You didn’t chase after bikers telling them to crush out their marijuana cigarettes and forcing them to put their beer bottles on coasters.

  Coasters do not factor.

  Oh man.

  What if we made it to this point only to find out we could go no further?

  What if I got him back only for him to get to know me again and not like what he gets to know?

  I mean, I was totally boring!

  And his girls. He had girls. They had a mom as well as a dad. What if they didn’t like a new woman in their dad’s life? What if they wanted their mom and dad back together? What if they plain just didn’t like me?

  I was, as noted, boring.

  No one liked boring.

  Not even little girls.

  I jumped when two arms closed around me and I felt a face in my neck.

  I lifted my hands and curled them around Logan’s forearm at my chest.

  “Logan.”

  “Know you’d be up in Paris,” he said to my neck. “But you’re gonna be down in Denver.”

  He then started shuffling me back.

  That day, I’d done okay. I’d crashed but not for long.

  When I woke, Logan fed me again. He moved us out to the living room (hauling the TV back) because he didn’t think it was good I was in bed, too easy to slip away. We chatted about nothing, him resolutely keeping things light. Likely because things had been so heavy, we both needed it. I continued to have the mild but nagging nausea, though after my nap, I was more clearheaded. We’d watched more TV. We’d snuggled, which felt oh so good to have back. Logan had turned on the fire.

  I lost it again around nine thirty, totally unable to keep my eyes open. When that happened, Logan helped me stumble to my room and went to bed with me.

  I thought I’d done okay.

  But right then, my body clea
rly thought I was in France because I was wide awake.

  He turned us, keeping his arms around me, shuffling me toward the bed.

  “I’ll come back to bed with you, Logan, but I’m wide awake,” I told him. “You sleep. I’ll see if I can drift.”

  “Who said shit about sleepin’?”

  My inner thighs quivered, my breasts swelled, and Logan got me to my side of the bed, where he took us both down on our sides, then immediately moved back so he could shift me around and up, head to the pillows, and he followed me.

  Then he dipped close and I stared up into his shadowed face.

  “Reunion time, Millie,” he murmured.

  Oh man.

  He tilted his head and kissed me.

  I didn’t fight it. There was no reason to fight it.

  Words needed to be spoken. A conversation needed to be had. Several of them.

  But I was taking this.

  I’d earned it.

  I’d forced him to earn it.

  So I was taking it and I was giving it.

  With no anger, no game playing, it was different. The kissing. The touching. It was hungry but it wasn’t desperate. It also wasn’t tentative but it was slow, exploratory, like we were getting to know each other. Like we’d never done this before.

  Then when we found the years hadn’t changed this—my sensitive spots, the things I liked, the things I loved, his sensitive spots, the things he liked, the things that made him start to lose control—we slid into it.

  I found myself wishing I could turn on the light, see him, all of him, discover with my eyes any ways he’d changed that I hadn’t had it in me to discover the times before.

  But once we were into it, it wasn’t about light. It wasn’t about anything but each other’s bodies. Him going for the moan. Me going for the groan. Him pulling off my pajamas. Me yanking down his briefs. Taking in the familiar taste of him that had smoothed out and mellowed in a way I loved. Giving him tastes of me and glorying in the noises he made that told me he liked it, the urgency he built because he liked it a lot.

  We stroked and we petted and licked, sucked, dragged, nipped, until the urgency he built took over because Logan took over and all I could take in was his scent, all I could do was clutch him to me, my face in his neck, my hips riding his fingers thrusting into me, rolling against the thumb he was using to work my clit.

  “Baby,” I panted.

  “You breathless?” he asked.