CHAPTER FIVE

TIMBER

Damn. Shit. Fuck. I catch Lindy before she hits the ground.

"Oh my god! What's wrong with her?" The woman clinging to her girlfriend studies Lindy's lax body with morbid curiosity.

Hefting Lindy higher against my chest, I ignore the question and head outside as Ranger and Grim trail my steps. It's pure coincidence that we're at Rust tonight. Despite the crowd, the club isn't doing too well, and the owner is looking to sell. With the recent loss of Club Wolf, the Reaper's Wolves have been debating rebuilding from scratch, but remodeling a standing structure like Rust might be better for us.

We'd just wrapped up our meeting with the owner when I spotted Lindy's familiar red head staggering across the club floor. It was obvious something was wrong from the unsteady way she walked, but I never expected her to collapse into a dead faint.

"Is she drunk? That doesn't seem like her," Ranger says from my side.

"No, it doesn't," I grit through clenched teeth. I caught the tailend of a conversation between Caroline and Snow at the clubhouse, where she mentioned Lindy hanging out with an old coworker tonight. The news had filled my gut with pride.

Lindy's stretching her wings past the safety of the MC and her book club friends. She's collecting the pieces of her past, rebuilding relationships—something that gives me hope for the future.

But I hate that her night out is ending like this. Passed out after puking her guts out.

The Reaper's Revamp truck is a welcome sight a few minutes later, as is the soft breeze blowing away the stench of sweaty bodies. I delivered a completed paint job before the Rust meeting, necessitating the larger vehicle versus my Harley, and I send up a prayer of thanks.

No way Lindy would've been able to ride home on the back of my bike with the way she's feeling.

She fidgets in my arms, slowly returning to consciousness.

"Easy, baby. I'm going to get you home, okay?"

"Timber?" she mumbles, her nose burrowing into my neck.

"I'm here."

Ranger swings the truck door open, and I gently place her on the faded seat. She huddles against the console, shivers wracking her body, so I grab a heavy jacket from the back. It's dirty and smells like gasoline, but it'll do for now. "Here, put this on. It might help warm you up."

"T… thanks." The misery in her tone wrenches at my heart. Carefully closing the door, I turn toward Ranger and Grim who've been watching silently.

"I'll make sure she gets home safely. You guys can leave. Let Snow know what we learned tonight. Rust sounds like a good investment," I say, trying to rein in my need to run to the driver's side and take off rather than discussing MC business like my attention isn't entirely on the sick woman behind me.

Ranger nods. "Don't worry about it. Take care of your girl." He and Grim dip their heads in farewell before straddling their bikes, and I round the hood of the truck to climb into the driver's seat.

Tears flow down Lindy's face, but the body-shaking chills seem to have slowed.

Fuck the forty-five-minute drive to Suitor's Crossing. Lindy doesn't need to suffer that long when the MC has an apartment ten minutes away. It's sparse—meant as a quick place to crash between Everton and Suitor's Crossing—but it'll do in a pinch.

After we're parked in front of the quiet building, Lindy wastes no time fumbling with her seatbelt, tossing the door open, and practically falling out of the cab. Loud retching reaches my ears as I stand like an idiot, unsure of what to do, until she finishes, trying to right herself but swaying forward instead. Wrapping her in my arms again, it's a short trek to the one-bedroom apartment situated on the first floor.

"Is this a stomach bug, Lind?"

It has to be, right? Lindy is too self-contained to get publicly drunk with someone she's only recently reconnected with. Even at club parties, her drinking doesn't exceed a beer or two.

"I don't know."

The bright bathroom lights cause us both to wince. Lindy sinks onto the closed toilet lid with a groan, and I wet a rag to wipe away the streaks of tears down her cheeks. My touch is gentle, but a part of me expects her to flinch at the intimacy.

I'm a scary motherfucker with rough hands and a rougher past who doesn't deserve to touch her. Especially when she's dealt with an abusive bastard like her ex.

That's one of the reasons I've held back for so long.

Even though I crave Lindy, I'm not sure it's what's best for her.

When I'm finished cleaning her up, I offer a new toothbrush and a cupful of mouthwash to rid her of the vomit aftertaste.

Little moans of pain periodically escape her throat. Small sounds that tear at something inside that I'd thought had died long ago.

I need her to stop. I can't take her cries of distress.

"Shhh… Lindy Girl, I've got you. You'll feel better soon. You're being so brave." I softly speak whatever comes to mind to distract her as my palm rubs soothing circles on her back.

This gentleness has been hiding my whole life, only manifesting upon meeting Lindy.

Maybe that's part of the Suitor's Crossing heart sparks legend. When you meet your soulmate, you inherently change, become better for them.

And Lindy deserves the best.

Despite her experience with that asshole Dean, she's an innocent—not jaded or cynical. Probably grew up in a healthy, loving home where she was given whatever she wanted because no one wanted to deny such a sweet girl.

It's a life I can't imagine.

As far back as I can remember, it's always been just me. My junkie mom dumped me at her alcoholic brother's at a young age, and my life never improved. Until I was old enough to defend myself against beatings from my uncle. Until I gathered enough money to move out at sixteen. Then enough determination to join the army at eighteen.

I grab a change of clothes from the closet full of random items left behind by past guests.

"Do you want me to call Caroline or Faith?" Maybe she'll feel more comfortable with a female presence rather than mine, considering how vulnerable she is in her current state.

Lindy gives me a blank look—off in her own head—probably trying to wrap her mind around tonight's events.

"No, I just want to sleep. I'll take the futon," she says wearily.

"You're taking the bed," I correct, guiding her toward the simple bedspread after she's changed and placing an empty trash bin beside the mattress in case she gets sick during the night.

I wouldn't call myself a gentleman, but I won't let Lindy sleep on the cramped futon. The bed isn't much more comfortable, but at least it has a pillow and a blanket.

"Thanks." Lindy gingerly lowers herself onto the bed. The club didn't spring for a bedframe and headboard, so it sits on the floor, and for the first time, I'm embarrassed by the bachelor pad. I wish I had something better to offer.

Once she's settled, my weary body contorts into an awkward shape on the futon to get some sleep, but my mind keeps circling around the woman who has hijacked my every waking thought for months.

***

A piercing cry wakes me from my light rest. Lindy tosses and turns beneath the thin blanket, every now and then letting out a fearful wail. Rolling to my feet, I hurry to the bed.

"It's just a dream. Wake up." My hand gently shakes her shoulder, trying to bring her back to reality. Instead, she twists to fight me, one of her fists glancing off my shoulder. It hardly makes an impact on my broad frame, but I quickly cover Lindy's body with mine to prevent her from accidently hurting herself.

I read once how pressure on the body releases some relaxing hormone. I'm not sure if it's true, but it's worth a shot. So, though Lindy attempts to buck my weight, I don't let up.

This could be doing more harm than good.

If she's having a nightmare, it could be about Dean, and having a giant man like me bearing down on her in her sleep could scare the shit out of her.

But what else can I do when she's flailing around the mattress locked in fear? Her fists knock against the wall behind her head before I capture them and hold them to the mattress.

I'll wait for Lindy to calm down, realize no one is here to harm her, then I'll let go. That's my haphazard plan. So while she's stuck in the throes of a nightmare, I go back to reassuring her.

"You're safe. No one's going to hurt you. I'm with you."

The three sentences become a litany, a promise, as she eventually relaxes under my weight. I'm not sure if it's the words or sheer exhaustion on her part, but I'll take it.

Anything is better than hearing the little whimpers emanating from her throat or watching her fight an invisible attacker.

I slowly inch my way off her, but as soon as she's free, Lindy begins fighting the air and crying out again.

A heavy sigh blows past my lips.

This is going to be a long night.

Returning to my protective post covering Lindy's body, my head rests next to hers as I repeat the cycle of whispering that she's safe—praying she'll resume a peaceful sleep while visions of the hundred different ways I could end Dean flash in my mind.