Chapter Eighteen

SHAY

I blinked hard, the sunlight peeking through the curtains, hitting me right in the eyes and erasing the remnants of a peaceful dream. I let out a heavy sigh, rolling onto my back and sinking into the soft, feathery pillows, wondering when I would finally get a full night's sleep and not just nap through the daylight.

"You okay?" Bishop's low tone filled the room, and I quickly sat up and turned toward the door.

He was right where I'd left him.

His gun was still resting casually on his knee, his phone in his other hand.

I wet my dry lips and cleared my throat. "Did I get a few hours at least?"

His entire face screwed up, and he looked at me like I wasn't speaking English. "A few hours?"

I scrubbed at my face, trying to scoop those annoying bits from the corners of my eyes. "Yeah. Did I get a few hours sleep? The sun still hasn't gone down yet." While I was still a little groggy, I actually felt a lot better than I usually did when I woke from a power nap, the grogginess clearing much faster.

"The sun went down twelve hours ago," Bishop answered, nodding to the window and putting his hand to his mouth when a yawn overcame him. "That's the sunrise, not the sunset."

It was morning.

If the sun was just coming up, probably around six o'clock, if I had to guess.

There were no shadows.

No darkness.

I'd slept through them. At least twelve hours, and by the way my body and neck ached, I'd slept almost all of it without moving an inch.

Holy crap.

I pulled the sheets in around me. They were black as well as the comforter and pillows. Not surprising. Bishop rode motorcycles, worked on engines at the clubhouse, and liked getting his hands dirty, so why wouldn't he have black sheets? It was surprisingly practical.

"You're still here." I couldn't disguise the astonishment in my voice or the vulnerable tremor, both acting in complete betrayal to how I'd wished those words sounded.

"I told you I would be," he answered, his head falling to the side a little as he watched me. "We've had this discussion twice now about—"

"How you never say or do anything you don't want to," I finished with an airy laugh. "I know. I'm sorry you had to see—"

"I'm not." He got to his feet, my heart rate escalating as he walked around the bed and sat next to me. "I keep telling you to trust me, and I know you get a laugh out of it, but it's not something I say just to get you to do what I tell you to like I know fucking best. I tell you that shit because I want you to know that you can come to me with anything, and you can trust me to help with it, fix it, or fucking burn it down."

I leaned in, my fingers twisting in the comforter as I desperately wanted to reach out to him.

Bishop didn't often share this side. The side where you could see pain in his eyes and heard it in his voice.

It was like he's had to put up this heavy, impenetrable steel wall for so long.

He's had to protect everyone, taking the blows for them. Hit after hit while they pulled themselves back together.

But what was left when his walls crumbled?

Who would be the steel wall who stood in front of him while he built them back up?

Like he'd done for everyone else.

His head dropped, and I reached out, grabbing his hand, pulling it to my face, and pressing my lips to his palm. It brought him back to me. He raised his eyes, and his hand curled around my jaw, cradling my face.

"Tell me," I whispered.

His jaw clenched, and he sucked in a deep breath. "Calli's mom, Lucy, had a heart arrhythmia. She just dropped dead one day, and that was it. She was gone." I leaned into his hand, offering him that small encouragement to continue. "For years after, I thought it was undiagnosed, that she just had no idea. Found out from Lucy's sister that it was actually genetic, and she'd known about it since she was a baby. If she'd just told me, trusted me with the truth, I could have had more time with her. I couldn't have stopped it from happening, but I would have come home earlier from the clubhouse at night. I would have told her not to work so she could spend more time with Calli."

The air was heavy with the weight of his confession.

"Does Calli know?"

His already deep frown buried itself even further into his brow. "No. I didn't want her to know. Maybe that's cruel."

"It's not," I told him seriously. "Calli always talked about her mom's death as some freak accident that no one ever saw coming. In a way, I think that gives her peace, knowing there was nothing anyone could have done. I don't think telling her the truth would do anything but hurt her."

He nodded.

It was just another burden he had to carry to protect someone he loved.

Everyone had skeletons in their past that hurt them. No one moved through life without a little pain.

Bishop's pain lurked beneath the surface of a stoic fa?ade.

He hid it well. Much better than I did.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, reaching for his club cut and holding it tightly in my fist. "I'm sorry you didn't get more time with her, and I'm really sorry I've been laughing at your ‘trust me' mantra."

We both smiled—an unspoken understanding—and the air lifted enough for us to breathe again.

Still, his hand cradled my cheek, and he used it to draw my face forward, pressing his forehead to mine. "Before we move on from this, I do need the answer to another question," he murmured, and I knew what it was before the words even vacated his mouth.

"My brother never moved on from that life like I did," I explained with a heavy sigh. "When he saw how tired I was, he tried to give them to me."

"You took them to make him happy?"

"No. No, I threw them onto the table, but then Jason came downstairs."

Bishop pulled back, his eyes darkening. "And Jason is?"

With him disconnecting now and moving into protective mode, I laughed and fell back on the bed. "Jason is the bane of my existence. He hung out with us back when we were in foster care. He had rich parents but loved ripping people off. When I told him yesterday in not so many words that I hated him, he must have slipped the pills into my bag before he handed it to me from the table. He knows the pain Ali and I both went through because of those pills. He knew it would get to me, and I let it!"

I was frustrated with myself that I'd let it get so bad that I almost considered putting one of those pills in my damn mouth.

"Come on," Bishop insisted, suddenly throwing the blankets back and grabbing my hand, yanking me up onto my feet.

I had to grab hold of him to keep my legs from giving out under me. My body was still tired despite having over twelve hours of rest.

My mind, though, was better, clearer.

Like I wasn't walking around in a world of thick fog. And I needed to make sure it stayed that way.

Only, it wasn't going to if I kept ending up in situations like this—my hands clutching Bishop's leather while his arms circled my waist.

My very naked waist.

The both of us seemed to have forgotten that I'd stripped down to my underwear the previous night. His cut was cool against my skin, and as I pressed against him, his mouth seemed to fall naturally toward mine.

"Practicing for tomorrow night?" I teased with a grin, trying not to climb the damn man in front of me like a tree. "It said on the invite something about dancing."

He barely moved. "Dancing. Right. Amusing," he murmured, his nose brushing over my cheek as he seemed to trace the contours of my face, making my entire body shudder.

My heart skipped, enjoying the torturous way his lips seemed to find mine, though barely grazing them.

"You know, if we're going to fake this, you're going to have to kiss me," I whispered, trying to entice him.

"I'm aware of this."

He held himself perfectly still, not giving anything, which only turned me on even more.

"So, shouldn't we practice?" I tempted as I clung to his cut, my knees turning to Jell-O and threatening to give way at any moment.

The growl that rumbled from the back of his throat almost had me crossing the line.

I wanted this. I wanted him. And I knew it was mutual.

I just didn't know why the hell we were still pretending.

I licked my lips, trying to entice him further. "Why not just get it over with?"

"Because, fake or not, kisses should never be planned," he rasped, his mouth escaping mine as his lips tickled down my jaw to my ear. At the same time, his hands moved upward, following the curve of my waist until they reached my breasts, and his thumbs gently caressed the underside of my bra. "They should be felt."

Then he was gone, and I stumbled back, sitting at the edge of the bed and fighting for breath.

He moved back to his post at the door and shoved the chair out of the way before pulling open the door and holding it wide. "Come on. We've got a busy day."

I squeezed my eyes closed for just a second and shook my head.

Moments ago, he'd been so close.

Now, once again, we were playing this game.

I was sure he had his reasons, but honestly, I was starting to get tired. It wouldn't be long before I didn't want to play anymore.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I opened my eyes and got to my feet. "Okay. What are we doing?"

He smirked, and honestly, there was no helping me.

I was instantly right back in it, ready to swing for the fence.

"We're going dress shopping."