Chapter 18

18

Piston

I gently squeeze Natalie’s calf as her grip around my waist tightens as I pick up speed down the freeway.

There’s a boat leaving the harbor in twenty minutes, and I think this discussion would be best somewhere we can’t run.

So much has happened, yet not happened, over the last six years, and we need to get this shit off our chests.

Her giving me back my cut, fuck, it hurt, it fucking hurt deep.

I’m not sure I’m capable of loving her the way she deserves, or if I can even give her a solid relationship; I mean, fuck, I have my father's blood running through my veins. I have anger that sometimes swallows me whole, but I know I need to give her this, to understand why I have issues.

Natalie grips my cut as I quickly exit the freeway, following the signs for the docks, and I will my cock to go down.

I’ve been hard since the moment I put that leather on her back, which I am fully aware is the first time she’s ever worn it, and don’t get me started on having her behind me like this.

Brothers don’t ride with passengers unless it’s someone they see as their forever, and I deprived myself of this, knowing she was my one but not willing to take our relationship further.

My thinking she was trapping me, the lie about the baby, the miscarriage, my past, her past, my father attacking her, the orgasm thing, the clubwhores—everything needs to be put on the table.

I need her in my life—that’s a given—but I don’t know if it’ll be with us as one, but I also know I can’t watch her with someone else.

I pull up in front of the ferry, sighing in relief to see it still in the dock, and hold my hand out for my girl, and she takes it, climbing off my bike as I take her in. Hair up in a messy ponytail, my tee, jeans, and boots. She looks fucking beautiful and doesn’t even need to try, but adding the cut to her outfit…. Fuck, I want to bend her over my bike.

Clearing my throat to control the urge to grab her and ride somewhere so I can take advantage of her, I climb off my bike and hold my hand out to her again.

She takes it and allows me to guide her to the boat. I pay for us both, and then guide her up the ramp, but don’t stop until we’re at the top near the front of the boat. I place her in front of me so her back is to me and cage her in, my hands gripping the rails on either side of her body, and she melts into me, making me smile as I place my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling. The hint of vanilla and honey takes over my senses, and I kiss her neck and enjoy the moment.

We don’t say anything, even as the horn sounds and the boat starts moving toward Lady Liberty. We keep quiet, just enjoying the moment between us.

It’s never awkward, always comfortable; she makes me comfortable.

“I love you, Elijah,” she whispers in the gentle breeze. I don’t say anything, allowing her to speak. “When I had found out I was pregnant, I wanted it to be wrong, I prayed for it to be wrong, and a small part of me feels guilty, and some days like today, it consumes me. I blame myself as I wished for the baby not to exist that it caused me to lose it.” I bite my bottom lip, wanting to deny her claims, that it’s not true. Still, she beats me to it, “I mean, logically, it wasn’t my fault, I know this, it was his , but after the way I was brought up—unwanted, a burden—my mind plays with my emotions a lot.” I nod so she knows I’m listening. She sighs. “I loved you so much, I was willing to let you go, knowing we would most likely be toxic with each other, my past ensuring it, my way of thinking, but when I lost our baby, I knew I couldn’t drag you down with me, it’s why I never fought for you, why I encouraged you to get Steal to agree to a divorce. I guess he didn’t agree….”

I smile a little and admit, “I only asked him once, Diamond. Like I said, I used a lot of excuses so I could keep you.”

She snorts. “Shocker.”

I grin and wrap my arms around her, holding her tight, my heart pounding, knowing I need to get this out. I admit, “I accused you of trapping me because I was hoping you’d leave me.” She turns in my hold, leaning against the railing, giving me her full attention, wisps of her hair fall out of her ponytail and fly over her face. I smile and gently move it behind her ear. “I didn’t want a wife or an old lady, Natalie, because I have my father’s blood running through my veins. It’s why Acid won’t commit with Perrie, friend-zoning her.” She furrows her brows, and I finally let her in, “When I was a kid, my father put me in the hospital five times.” Her eyes widen. “He was a mean drunk who hit my mom. He turned her into a druggie; he got her hooked, then abused her, and sometimes would try and make Acid and me smack her, and when we refused, he’d hit us—but never together, not wanting to chance we’d turn on him.”

“Oh God,” she chokes with pain, her tears falling for me.

I gently wide them away. “One day, I was seven or eight, I think, Mom was passed out and hadn’t made dinner for him, she told me to hit her, and I refused. I woke up in the hospital with the doctors saying we were robbed and attacked; Mom was in the room next to mine. She overdosed not long after. I found her body….”

She shakes her head, gripping my shirt. “Elijah….”

Fuck, I never want her to call me Piston again.

I lick my bottom lip, gently rubbing my thumb over hers. “I never wanted an old lady or a wife because I was and still am terrified my anger will get the better of me, and I’ll turn out like him. I have it set in my head that I’m not worthy, that I’ll put someone in the hospital. Fuck, after Acid went into his prospecting phase at the club, I was my father’s punching bag every day. He’d try and force me to steal for him, and if I failed, he hurt me.”

Natalie sobs, and I lay my forehead against hers, needing her close. “When you said you were pregnant, my fear took over because I thought, ‘fuck, I’m going to screw this kid up and ruin its life,’ just like my father did to me, Acid, and our mom. Nat, we didn’t even know we had a blood uncle or a grandmother on our mother’s side because he refused to let her tell us.”

She sniffles. “When I told you the test was a mistake, you automatically went into that dark place?”

I nod. “I did, baby. I thought you tried trapping me, and it scared me because, not only did I want that, want you, but I thought you had just put yourself in danger. Nat, before I learned of your attack, I spent nearly three hours a day in the boxing ring, beating the shit out of the brothers or a bag because I’m angry all the fucking time, and because I resent my brother for getting out, for leaving me to deal with him alone for a whole fucking year.”

I close my eyes for a moment, wishing we could freeze time right now. “I love you, Natalie Mathews; I love you so fucking much that it scares me. Even back in college, I knew I couldn’t live without you. Still, I’m so fucking scared I’m going to turn into my father.” I open my eyes, connecting with hers. “I kept my distance for three years; I kept our intimacy shitty because I was trying to keep from hurting you. I spent three years in college falling for you hard, and I needed something to make you the bad guy after you told me you were pregnant. I needed to believe you trapped me and that fate wasn’t ensuring we were going to be tied together, even though I was trying to figure out a way to keep you in my life…. I know it doesn’t make sense, I just?—”

She cuts me off, “It does make sense. You want me but don’t want to want me because of your childhood.”

I nod, then gently peck her lips.

She understands; it's how she felt all this time as well.

“I’ve been trying to protect you from my fucked-up world all while you’ve been trying to protect me back,” I state, and she nods.

“I knew you finding out we lost the baby because of your father would destroy you, and seeing you hurting, it kills me,” she admits.

I sigh, holding her close as murmurs echo around us, people taking photos of the Statue of Liberty. I ignore them, and croak, “I should have been there for you, and when I find out who answered my phone the day you miscarried, I’m going to kill them.”

She winces, and I raise a brow before she confirms my suspicions, “It sounded like Katie….”

I groan. “Of course, the crazy stalker ex-employee who keeps propositioning me is the reason why I didn’t know….” She raises a brow back at me, and I sigh. “Before you came along, she wanted me to fuck her, and I declined, not remotely interested, and then she saw me with you, and she got jealous, upping her actions. Trying to touch me, purposely bumping into me, and shit like that. She finally quit the bar, opened her own interior design business, and I allowed her the opportunity to decorate my house.” Natalie scowls, jealousy pulsing off her. I smile and continue, “She took it the wrong way, clearly, because she tried coming onto me again, and I told her where to go, and a few hours ago, I dragged her out of my room after she barged in wearing nothing but a fucking trench coat.”

Natalie’s face goes red, and I quickly peck her lips, hoping she doesn’t throw a fit. Just like I thought, she melts into me, making me smile.

This is my problem; she fucking consumes me, but my fears keep overriding any potential for happiness, making me not wanting to try….

“I’m sorry, Diamond,” I whisper, and more tears fall from her beautiful, captivating, midnight-blue eyes.

“So much hurt and pain between us, Elijah. We didn’t talk, and our childhoods consumed us. How can we get passed that?” she whispers back, and I huff, placing my forehead against hers again.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I love you, Natalie, don’t think otherwise, because I do, but I’m just so fucked up in the head. That day you lost our baby, I wasn’t watching the whores; that didn’t start until after I thought you lied about the pregnancy as a punishment at you for you doing this to us, which is just fucked up in itself. I love you, Natalie, but the thought of committing to you, moving you onto club grounds, and giving you the good and the bad when I’d only ever shown you the fun side before I distanced myself scares me, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She nods. “I get it, I do. I’ve seen what marriages are like firsthand, how a father can put his child in a box just to keep his wife happy. I don’t know how to be a good wife when my own stepmother abused me.” She sniffles, gripping my tee, and asks, “So what do we do, Elijah, because every time I try and distance myself from you, you pull me back in, refusing to let me go. I gave back your cut, and you did one better and got me to wear it, and put me on the back of your bike. So, what do we do?”

I peer down at her, and I answer honestly, “I don’t know, Nat, I really don’t know. I’m not sure I’m capable of being what you need and deserve, but I also know that the thought of you not being near me makes it hard to breathe. So, I don’t know….”

She nods, understanding, before going to her tiptoes and pressing her lips against mine. I kiss her back with longing, love, and hopelessness, tangling my tongue with hers.

I do love her, the fact I haven’t fought for a divorce is proof of that, but my actions haven’t proven it. Watching clubwhores getting off, believing she could trap me to keep me, forcing me to make decisions I never wanted to make…. It seems like I don’t love her, but I do, I just don’t know I can be the man she deserves, the man to fight for her, to make her see she’s worth loving.