Chapter 17

17

Natalie

I stand helplessly as Piston slowly slides down the wall, and croaks, “Fuck,” gripping his hair.

Sobs wrack my body, and I cry, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over.

This is why I didn’t want to tell him. He was already skeptical about the baby, believing I could trap him; telling him I miscarried would have made the situation so much worse.

And I was right, because watching him fall apart is the most heartbreaking thing.

“Fuck,” he croaks again, and slowly, I walk over to him. This situation is just proving we’re too toxic to be together, that my past won’t let me handle this kind of heartbreak, I just can’t.

I reach over and grab the cut he reluctantly gave me nearly three years ago, and kneel before him, placing it over my arm as I grip his knees.

His head shoots up, his eyes teary, and more tears fall down my cheeks.

Today is hard as it is. This time, three years ago, I took the pregnancy test and wished for it to be negative, I wished I wasn’t pregnant because I knew I didn’t know how to be a mom. I prayed the test was wrong, and then I was forced into a marriage with a man who hated commitment more than I did.

He shakes his head and demands, “Why did you lie to me about this? Why in the fuck did you not call me?”

More tears fall, and I wipe them away before admitting, “I did call you,” making his eyes widen, his mouth part a little with shock, and I can see the denial on his tongue. I squeeze his knees and whisper, “As soon as I ran to my apartment, making sure he hadn’t followed me, I doubled over in pain. It was like a period cramp but ten times worse.” I swallow hard. “I felt wetness on my jeans, and when I pressed my hand against them, blood smeared over my palm.” He shakes his head, but I don’t stop. “You were the first person I thought of when I picked up my phone, but it wasn’t your voice on the other end when I called.”

“Nat…” he tries, and I give him a small, sad smile.

“Some woman said you were too busy to come to the phone, that you were with your usuals, and she hung up, laughing.” He flinches. “So I called Honey. She was already on her way over, she had just found out she was pregnant with twins.” I sniffle. “She took me to the ER, where the doctor confirmed I’d lost the baby….”

His jaw ticks, and he drops his head again, rasping, “You should have told me the truth.”

I sniffle. “And what good would that have done, Piston? You never wanted me, an old, lady or a wife. I-I thought I was protecting you. I thought Steal would allow us to divorce, and then time went on. I never saw the man again, I thought I was safe because you barely ever came around, but then he cornered me again the other week. I knew I had to say something, especially with Cooper’s safety on the line, but you were busy. I spoke to Steal and I-I just, I couldn’t tell him who attacked me, I couldn’t put that guilt on you.”

He looks at me with such heartbreak I feel like I’m dying. Swallowing hard, I lay the cut on his knees, a cut I haven’t worn before, and his eyes harden when I state, “It’s time we convince Steal to allow us to go our separate ways. This marriage is too much for both of us. In college, you made it perfectly clear that a relationship wasn’t in the cards for us, and we wouldn’t even be together now if I hadn’t told you I was pregnant.”

He scoffs, “So you’re what, rectifying things?”

I flinch at his coldness, and admit, “I am, not just for me, but for you as well. I’m breaking us out of the deception, the pain, the distance. I’m setting you free, Piston.”

Just not me , I whisper to myself.

I take in his features, wishing we could have been capable of trying to fix things, of trying to make things work, but so much has happened, and then I add in my fears…. It won’t work.

Slowly, I stand and turn my back to him, walk upstairs, knowing he’ll leave in a few minutes, and head to my room to wait it out. I want to hear his bike roar off for the last time so I can fall apart, and work to harden my heart again.

I always knew I wasn’t worthy of someone’s love. I’m unwanted, a burden, and I won’t be his anymore.

Just as I go to sit on my bed, my door flies open, banging off the wall, and I jump. I twist around to see a very angry Piston glaring at me, the cut fisted in his hands.

I swallow hard, trying not to let my lust take over because, well, the man is hot when he’s pissed, and I mean really hot.

“So that’s it, huh, six years, and you’re walking away?” he growls, and my eyes widen as he throws the cut onto my bed.

I blink, my eyes watching it land on his side of the bed.

Clearing my throat, I look at Piston and remind him, “We were never meant to go past college, Piston.”

He nods. “Yeah, that’s what we agreed on, but don’t stand there and act stupid when we both know, without a doubt, I wouldn’t have let you go. Fuck, Natalie, I made our one-night stand into a fucking three-year fling.” He chuckles, putting his hands on his hips. “You know as well as I, we still would have been together after I graduated, that we would still be together now, just without all the pain between us. Fuck, I was already trying to think of a way to get us to carry on what we were doing after not seeing you for three fucking weeks, and I knew why you messaged me that day—I fucking knew it . And despite the terror I fucking felt, a small part of me was hoping you were going to tell me you were pregnant, because then that would mean I got to keep you without my mind running me in circles.”

Piston takes a step toward me, his eyes unwavering as tears flood my cheeks. He cups them, gently rubbing them, and whispers, “The moment I saved you from that jackass at the Huntsmen, I knew I had to have you. The moment I kissed you, I knew that I’d never get enough of you, and I made up every fucking excuse in the book to convince myself that it was just a fling.” He shrugs. “I didn’t like the thought of someone else touching you, so I convinced myself and you to become exclusive without the title, calling it a three-year fling. I wanted to hear your voice, so I’d make up excuses to call you, all while you were keeping to our rules, and I was breaking them one by one….”

I shake my head and move out of his hold, but he grabs hold of my hips. I snap, “Why now, huh? We’ve been married for nearly three years. You fucked me once a month and didn’t care if I got off.” He winces. “You accused me of trapping you, for Christ’s sake, when I gave you no reason to distrust me—I kept to our rules, I was willing to walk away, even if I felt like I was missing a part of my soul.” I shove him. Still, he doesn’t move, only gripping me tighter, and years of anger boils over. I shout in his face, “Why now, Piston? I never wanted this; I never wanted a commitment when I’m so goddamn broken!” I sob and shake my head, and croak, “Why do you suddenly want me now, when I’ve spent years hardening my heart toward you, knowing I’m unlovable….”

“Fuck, Diamond,” he chokes, pulling me tight to him. “You’re not unlovable, baby, because you made me fall for you, you made me open my heart to you. I didn’t want to, and I made excuse after excuse, but I fell hard, Nat, I fell in love with you.”

I sob, gripping his top, hearing the words I’ve longed yet dreaded to hear. I cry, “You love me so much that you sat back and watched two clubwhores get off while rubbing yourself?”

He groans, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close, pressing his cheek against the top of my head as I lay my ear over his heart.

He admits, “I was trying to punish you for trapping me in this situation, to punish myself for falling for you. Fuck, I accused you of trapping me, and for years, a part of me believed it, believed you were too good to be true, and I made shit up in my head—and it wasn’t even miscommunication between us. We just decided to keep our pasts to ourselves because we were a no-strings-attached fling. But Diamond, I think, if you knew my past, my childhood, you’d understand why I freaked when you told me the test was wrong, why I used the club as an excuse for us not to divorce. We’re so much alike, baby.”

He pulls back and cups my cheek, tilting my head, his eyes peering into mine. “I used the club, Nat, so I could keep you while trying to unscramble my thoughts of you trying to trap me to keep me, when that’s exactly what I did to you…because I didn’t want to lose you.” He bite’s his bottom lip, looking unsure, then asks, "Come for a ride with me?”

“I thought you hated driving my car?” I ask, knowing he’s on his bike because he’s still wearing his cut. Normally, he’ll carry it inside and hang the leather up if he drives.

He grins. “I don’t mean a ride in your shit box.” I narrow my eyes at him, and he chuckles, gently moving my hair out of my face, and whispers, “I mean you holding onto me on the back of my bike, where you belong.”

My eyes widen. “I-I, I’ve never been on the back of your bike before.”

He hums and says, “I know, but I think it’s time we rectify that. Come for a ride with me, Nat, and let’s get everything off our chest, and I mean everything . My past, you lying, the clubwhores, the trapping, the pregnancy—everything, baby, because I can’t lose you, but I also can’t flip a switch and say everything is going to be okay, that I can do this whole relationship thing. We need to talk .”

He looks at me expectantly, and I don’t know what to say.

I love him, I know I do, and I know he loves me.

God, he has my name tattooed on his chest, and it’s not even new. The writing has faded from black to gray.

This talk is something we should have done when I said the word pregnant , but we didn’t. Instead, he told me we had to get married, and that I was his old lady; he didn’t give me a choice, just like the club didn’t give him a choice in keeping me after I lied and said the results were false.

And honestly, he gave me what, maybe four orgasms in three years before the other night? The dude is lucky to have his balls at this rate.

I swallow hard as he tilts his head, his eyes pleading.

He is right, though. We do need to talk, and whether it ends with us divorcing or not, I know I need him in my life.

He’s my family, my home.

I give him a small nod, and his body visibly relaxes as he leans over and grabs my cut, then pulls me with him as he walks backward, stating, "When we’re on the bike, make sure your body is pressed against mine, and hold me tight, alright?” I nod, nervous, and he grins. “You’ll love it, Diamond, I promise.”

That said, he turns, his hand grabbing mine as he guides me down the stairs. When we get near the door, he lets go of my hand, places my cut on the back of the couch, and then opens the small cupboard near the door, grabbing my boots, and placing them near my feet.

Kneeling, he lifts my left leg, and I grab his shoulders for balance as he guides my foot into my black lace-up walking boot. He states, “You need to always keep your feet on the pegs, and keep your legs away from the pipes. I really don’t want to break my bike if it hurts you, Diamond.”

I snort and admit, “I’ve already done that.”

He looks up and smirks before helping me with my right foot, before standing.

His throat bobs as he grabs my cut, and then holds it open. I tense but turn, allowing him to put the leather on me as he wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my neck, whispering, “Fucking perfect.”

My eyes tear up, but I will them away as he turns me and guides me out of my home toward his black Harley, all while my heart is in my throat, my thoughts running wild.

A relationship can’t be in the cards for us. My childhood and our past are too much to overcome.

Right?