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Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Vienna

I knew it would happen eventually.

He would have to leave.

I even knew that this was the longest time the twins had ever been stationed in Shady Valley since they became a biker club. Their life was on the road, even if it was painfully clear to me that Riff was ready for that to not be his reality anymore, and I couldn't quite figure out why his club brothers hadn't also seen what I did.

But, I guess, work was work. And a bunch of the other guys had left since I'd come to live with them. They didn't say, but I imagined it was to drop off the guns that Riff and Raff had brought back from the South. So it was, in a way, their turn to get back to the job.

I just didn't think it would be so soon.

Not that it was, technically, "soon" by any stretch of the imagination. I mean, we were closing in on February now.

I'd been there through a good chunk of winter, through Christmas, through New Year's.

I guess I had to be grateful that he got to be with me for this long. Because I couldn't have imagined Christmas without him there sitting beside me at the table, or in the living room next to the tree, handing me present after present.

I'd been working with the club members for weeks at that point, learning to make items that I could give the others for the holidays, since I didn't have any money of my own, and I felt weird spending Riff's money to buy everyone presents.

So with Morgaine, I learned to make some basic pottery and jewelry that I gave to the members of the club, as well as some neat personalized bath products like soaps or cologne.

With Murphy, I made a few fun little weapons, including one I gave to Riff as a present, liking the idea he had something from me to protect himself with since he'd been protecting me since we met.

I even took some lessons with Coach, who I'd grown close to thanks to the meditation and yoga sessions that had become like air to me, something I had to do to survive, not just as a practice, and he'd been teaching me to work with my hands, with tools, and to turn a plain piece of wood into little masterpieces.

I mean, first, we'd built a cool tree-like bookshelf for my/Riff's room for me to display all the books I'd already read. Then he'd let me take the reins and build a little tree stand for Vernon and Cat by myself. Eventually, we scaled up, making an amazing apothecary cabinet for Morgaine, a new desk for Rook, a set of matching—but not too matchy—nightstands for Colter, and a display cabinet for Nyx's gym.

He'd been the one to help me decide on, plan, and build a big wardrobe for Riff, since we were now struggling to find places to put both of our things. It was made out of scraps of all different kinds of wood, so it had these amazing contrasts of color that made it seem like some massively expensive piece you'd find in a design catalog, but in actuality, it had cost next to nothing, since we used a bunch of old wood Coach had lying around.

I think that finding all these little hobbies to work on, even if they might not be things that I took with me in any long-term way, had been a major part of the beginning of my healing journey.

Having things to do with my hands, but also things to think about that slowly crowded out a lot of the ugly memories and fears.

I was never going to be a carpenter or a potter or even someone who made soaps and candles. But they were important steps for me, safe ways for me to be with other people.

If anything, I was starting to wonder if maybe I could become a yoga instructor one day, since that was the activity that really just… struck a chord within me, became such an important part of my day.

I didn't know if there was such a thing, but I was curious if there might be a way to incorporate trauma-informed therapy into a yoga practice. Guided meditations to go along with the yoga that was meant to release shame, guilt, and fear.

When I'd brought the idea up to my therapist, she said she thought that was something that the world desperately needed if it didn't exist yet.

When I'd told Riff about it, kind of poo-pooing the idea because Shady Valley was such a small town, and what were the chances that enough women were around to require that kind of class, he'd been the first one to remind me that most women had stored trauma, even if it wasn't of the "Capital T" variety. Our lives are all full of smaller, lowercase traumas that we hold onto without even realizing it.

And, he'd reminded me, this wasn't the eighties. We had the internet. I could take my classes to an online video platform, reaching all the women who needed it, and also making an income from ad revenue.

With the new year, I had a lot of hopes and a lot of tentative plans for my future.

I guess I just naively believed that Riff would be right there at my side.

I understood that, logically, I had to stop relying on him to be my human comfort blanket. My therapist told me it was a fine line between having safe people around me that I could lean on, and becoming too dependent on someone else.

I guess this would be a test on which side of that line I was truly walking.

"Were you trying to leave without saying goodbye?" I asked as Riff tiptoed around the room the morning he was leaving, trying not to wake me up.

"It's early, darlin'," he said, head tipped to the side, something in his gaze that made my heart feel heavy, but I couldn't quite place what it was.

"Still," I said, swiping my hair out of my face as I moved to sit up, looking at him like I was trying to memorize him, like if I didn't, I might forget what he looked like when he was gone.

He was shirtless like he always was in the mornings, but this time it was jeans hanging low on his hips, and his hair was still damp from the shower, pushed back away from his face.

I learned from our time together that he kept himself fit thanks mostly to Detroit, who was a bit of a drill sergeant in the gym. He claimed when he was on the road, he was a lot less diligent, just going for short runs in the morning, and doing some body weight work in motel rooms.

When he told me, visions of him in said motel rooms, wearing just his sleep pants so his muscles were on display as he did push ups, sit ups, planks, and lunges popped into my mind.

And, again, I felt that little… twinge of… interest.

It felt wrong to have those thoughts and feelings, but my therapist was quick to tell me that everyone's healing journey was different, that some women felt ready for intimacy again after just a few weeks, while others took months, years, or never felt like it again.

She said some women felt like being with a caring partner again because it made them feel more ‘in control' of their bodies again, like they were reclaiming it. While others had feelings of being trapped or memories of the assault while they were trying to have sex.

It was different for everyone.

Whatever you decide for yourself, is right , she'd pressed.

I didn't know if I felt, you know, ready for that or anything, but I was trying not to make myself feel bad or guilty or ashamed about having the occasional feelings I had about Riff.

So I let my gaze slide over his chest and abs, committing them to memory. I even released any tension that built in me while the desire sparked a bit as I made my path back up to his face.

"It's only ten days," he insisted, which he'd been doing since he learned he had to go again. Like he was maybe not only trying to remind me, but himself.

Or was that wishful thinking?

Some part of me was worried that there was a part of him that was happy to be on the road again, so he wasn't responsible for being my comfort person anymore.

He'd been nothing but good to me. He never showed any signs of being sick of me being around, being in his space, or taking me places.

But I couldn't shake the concerns.

"I know," I agreed, moving to stand and moving toward him.

Then folded myself into his arms.

It wasn't the first time I'd been close to him, that I'd stolen strength and comfort from his sturdy, stalwart self. But this was the first time I'd hugged him… vertically.

And something about it felt a lot different as his arms folded around me, held onto me almost as tightly as I was clinging to him, breathing in his familiar woodsy scent.

I knew I was clinging as the moments ticked on, but I couldn't bring myself to let go yet.

Eventually, one of his arms moved, his fingers sifting through my bed-messy hair, making little shivers move through my insides.

I wanted to stay just like that forever.

It was a door slamming and a voice outside in the hall that had us breaking apart.

"Wheels in ten," Colter's voice called.

"Colter is going with you?" I asked, brows raising as Riff walked over to his wardrobe to grab a t-shirt, then layered a Henley over it.

I never thought to ask if someone else would be going with them, since it sounded like the two almost always went alone on these trips.

"Yeah. Slash wants him to experience it," Riff said, but something about his words were ringing just slightly false to me.

But that had to be paranoia on my part. Riff never lied to me. Even when he had to give me uncomfortable truths, he was always willing to do so.

"He won't be as good of a road trip buddy as you, but we're stuck with him," he said, giving me a smile.

While I inwardly, for reasons I didn't even begin to understand, bristled at the word ‘buddy.'

"You'll be safe, right?" I asked.

"Always," he assured me. "Haven't been in any serious trouble yet."

"I feel like I should be concerned that a shootout doesn't qualify as ‘serious trouble,'" I said, getting a little chuckle out of him.

"Don't worry about me, V. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone," he said, but my heart squeezed. Because I was already missing him. And he was right here still.

"Take pictures for me," I demanded.

"And grab postcards," he agreed, reaching for me one more time, this time gently grabbing the back of my neck, and pulling me into his chest, then leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head.

He let go before I could really sink into it.

Then I was watching his back as he walked away from me.

He didn't look back.

And some silly, romantic part of me wanted to believe it was because if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave.

But he did.

Leave.

And I did, immediately, miss him.

This was going to be the longest ten days of my life.

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