Fire Inside: A Chaos Novel (17 page)

No, I had enough head space taken up by judging myself and my decisions. I didn’t need to give more over to what anyone else thought of me.

So I didn’t.

Wednesday rolled around and the pitch was in disarray. I knew I was facing another ten o’clock night but when I felt the vibe of the office change—this wafting through my wall of windows—my eyes went there.

I saw Hop striding toward me, smiling, carrying a white paper bag held in the crook of one arm, bags of chips visible out of the top and a six-pack of diet cherry 7Up in his other hand.

At the sight, the pitch, the client, my staff, and everything else flew from my mind.

I had lost myself in work for two and a half days so it was easy (sort of) not to think of Hop except when I was in bed, trying to fall asleep and missing doing it with him and waking up in his arms.

Him there in my office—walking toward me, bringing me lunch, being hot, smiling a smile that was sexy and all for me—he was the only thing on my mind.

He was the only thing in the universe.

He hit my open door and, eyes never leaving me, greeted, “Hey, babe.”

He kicked the glass door with his boot. As it swung closed I replied unconsciously, “Hey, honey.”

His eyes and smile got warmer. He walked through the office and dumped the stuff on my desk.

“I have a stash of 7Up,” I informed him.

“Now you have a bigger stash,” he informed me.

Okay, damn.

I had to admit it.

He was getting to me.

Hop unpacked the sandwiches, handing me mine and a bag of plain Ruffles, yanking a cold 7Up off the plastic and setting it on my black desk blotter. Then he sat with his food as he had with his Chinese, feet up on the desk, open bag of Doritos in his lap, sandwich held close to his face, a 7Up at the edge of my desk.

“Pastrami,” he muttered. “Provolone. Had them grill it and hold the mustard. Nothin’ should mar that blouse, lady.” He dipped his head to my blouse, his lips curved up with appreciation. “There’s packets in the bag if you wanna go wild.”

I reached for the bag thinking, yes, he was getting to me.

I mean, everyone knew you had mustard on pastrami but very few would think to hold it in case you were willing to make the sacrifice because you were wearing a nice blouse.

Thoughtful.

Sweet.

I also was thinking we never had this, sitting, eating, everything normal, no fighting, Hop not saving me from the unwanted advances of a monster truck owner, us not having sex or about to have sex or in the aftermath of sex.

I claimed some mustard packets, opened up my sandwich and was squirting mustard on, looking for topics of conversation.

Eventually, I found one.

“How are the kids?”

“Good,” he said through a mouth full of sandwich. He chewed, swallowed, and smiled at me. “Lookin’ forward to Vail this weekend. Found a rental. They’re psyched.”

“Right,” I muttered, closing my sandwich, picking it up, and taking a bite.

Delicious. I didn’t know where he got it but I was going to find out.

“You prepared?” he asked and his tone of voice made me look to him.

I chewed, swallowed, and asked, “Prepared for what?”

“The weekend,” he answered.

“I’m never prepared, Hop,” I told him honestly and took another bite.

“Got two days, Lanie,” he said softly. “Train your mind to think you’re gonna be in God’s country, at the foot of mountains in a spot that’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. Away from this.” He threw out a hand to indicate the office. “What you’re facing sucks. Where you’re gonna face it doesn’t. Try to think of that.”

This was actually a good strategy and I couldn’t stop myself from giving him a small smile.

“I’ll train my mind, Hopper.”

“Good, baby,” he muttered, his face soft and God,
God.

He was definitely getting to me.

I looked back to my sandwich, took a bite and chewed while I put it down and reached for my chips.

I swallowed my bite.

“So, what’s the deal with their mom?”

Yes, this came out of my mouth.

“Say again?”

That came out of Hop’s.

My eyes went to him and my mouth backtracked. “Sorry, not my business.”

“I asked,” Hop stated slowly. “Say again?”

“I really—”

“Babe, if you mean Mitzi, it is your business. You mean Mitzi?”

I stared at him.

Was he seriously, openly, without hesitation, going to talk about his ex?

“Well, yeah. I meant Mitzi, but I shouldn’t have asked. It
isn’t
my business.”

“Fuckin’ you, intend to keep fuckin’ you, want to know more about you, pleased as fuck you asked about me, so it
is
your business. To answer your question, the deal with Mitzi is, she’s a fuckin’ bitch.”

I blinked.

“No, a cunt,” he amended casually and my chest depressed.

“That isn’t very nice,” I told him.

“Nope. But it’s true,” he told me.

“Women don’t like that word, Hop,” I educated.

“Then women shouldn’t act like cunts,” he returned.

I didn’t like that.

Maybe he wasn’t getting to me.

“That’s unbelievably harsh,” I said softly.

He took his boots off my desk, dumped his bag of chips and sandwich on the desk, and leaned toward me, wrists to the desk, giving me all his attention.

“She is not a good woman, Lanie. Always on my ass when we were together, tough as hide, hard as nails. Don’t speak to her and, if I can help it, don’t look at her. I hate her.”

“That’s harsh…” I hesitated than finished with emphasis, “
er.
”

“Yep, but it’s also true.”

“Wow, Hop. I don’t know what to say,” I replied.

“Nothin’ to say. I do not
not
like her. I hate her. Can’t stand the sight of her.”

This was not good.

“How does that, um… affect your kids?” I asked cautiously.

“They feel it, I know it, and it sucks. Kids feel everything. Even if you’re careful, you can’t hide shit from kids. They suck stuff up like a sponge. Struggled with that, did what I could, burned in my gut every time I had to pretend to be nice to her, realized I wasn’t teachin’ them a good lesson by not bein’ true to me. I’m not a dick to her. I don’t get up in her face. I just avoid her. This has the added bonus of not givin’ her the opportunity to get up in mine.”

I had a feeling I knew what that meant.

“So she’s not a big fan of yours either?”

“She wasn’t. She’s learned. Took a while but she figured out what she had and lost. Tried to be friends. ’Way she fucked me, I wasn’t down with that. She wasn’t stupid enough to try to get back together. She knew that was a no fuckin’ go in a big fuckin’ way. Now, she just avoids me like I do her ’cause she doesn’t like to be faced with what she created.”

“What did she have and, erm… lose?”

His head cocked to the side. “Babe.
Me.
”

I studied him, thinking I knew what that meant too.

“So, you loved her?” I asked.

“Made a family with her,” was his answer, which I thought was an answer but it also was not.

I let that go.

“How did it go wrong?” I asked, and he leaned further toward me.

“You don’t have enough time for me to explain all the ways it went wrong, that’s how wrong it went. Honest to God, spent a lot of time thinkin’ about it and I do not have any fuckin’ clue what I was thinkin’ about, starting shit up with her. She was never sweet. She looked good. She was great in bed. She doesn’t hold a candle to you but, until you, she was the best I had. But told you, I like a challenge and that was Mitzi. Her parents were assholes, both of them, hated their daughter, hated the life I led, made sure we both knew it. Freaked me out because it was like Mitzi fed on that, got off on it. Figured it out too late that one of the reasons she was with me was because she hated them right back, maybe more, and she got a kick out of shoving me right up their asses.”

That was not good, either, and it did make Mitzi sound like a bitch in a way that leaned toward the c-word.

I felt my brows rise on my query of, “Seriously?”

“Serious as shit. She was a rebel in her fuckin’ thirties. Hadn’t found her way. Hadn’t found herself. Still stickin’ it to her parents like she was a teenager throwin’ a shit fit because they didn’t like the posters of the bands she had on her walls and, I’ll repeat, doin’ this in her fuckin’ thirties. Bitches that hang around bikers, babe, you gotta be careful. I wasn’t.”

“What does that mean?” I asked carefully, seeing as I was sort of a “bitch” who hung around bikers.

“You got to have sat with Brick after he was fucked over enough times to know,” he answered.

I had, indeed, sat sipping a beer while Brick did shots after a woman broke his heart, and I did it more than enough times.

“Well, yes,” I admitted.

“They take advantage of a tough guy with a soft heart. That’s what he picks. Strung out, needing to be fixed, unfixable; he gets fucked in the end. Then there are the ones who have an idea about bikers and they got problems. They think they’re gonna get worked over, torn down, dominated. They want that shit and I know you’re gonna think that’s all kinds of whacked but it’s also the goddamned truth. Had a woman in my bed, honest to Christ, babe, she asked me to punch her.
Punch
her. Not spank her, not even smack her, which I wouldn’t do, but fuckin’ hit her. Begged me for it. That shit got her ass kicked out of my bed.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed, staring at him, unable to take this information in.

“Not fuckin’ with you,” he told me, going back to his sandwich.

“I… that’s… that’s crazy,” I told him.

He took a bite and his eyes came to me as he muttered, “Yep.”

He finished chewing, swallowed and continued his tales of lunacy.

“That stuff you said the other night about where old ladies fit in the life of a biker, club then bike and all that shit, women are drawn to that. They don’t think enough of themselves to find a man who thinks the world of them so they look for a man who’ll fit them in kinda close to the top and they’re down with that. They think that’s makin’ out good. Others are so weak all they wanna do is party, get high, get laid, and lay everything on their old man’s shoulders, so they can keep partying, getting high and getting laid. Shit’s whacked. They’re all over. Next hog roast, honey, I’ll point them out. They come back again and again hopin’ one of the brothers is not gonna read them and know what they’re buyin’ if they go there. Fuckin’ crazy.”

“Was Mitzi like that?” I asked, digging into my chips.

“No, Mitzi was just a bitch on a mission ’cause her head was messed up and I didn’t spot that either. Didn’t like her folks because they didn’t like me but, outside of being judgmental pains in the ass who hated a daughter who hated them back, they’re decent enough folk who I think genuinely wondered where they went wrong with their girl. And not sayin’ Mitzi pulled the wool over my eyes bein’ sugar sweet. Just didn’t know what was under all that hard but I did know I wanted to find out. What I found was, I’d hit spots of soft that felt good, warm, lasted awhile, and I thought I’d struck true. Then the hard would close around again and I couldn’t breathe. In the end, there weren’t any soft spots left to find.”

“That sounds awful, Hop,” I whispered.

“It wasn’t a fuckuva lot of fun, Lanie.” He did not whisper.

I licked my lower lip and gave it time before I told him honestly and quietly, “You know, people talk.”

He held my eyes. “I know.”

“They don’t talk much,” I shared.

“I know that, too.”

“But they said it was ugly.”

He drew in breath then stated, “Yeah, it was and what this is, over sandwiches in your office, is not even half of it. I’ll tell you because you’re with me, you gotta know. But I’ll say, lady, I’ll tell you when the time is right for you and this is not it. I’m not keepin’ shit from you. But things you gotta know for the now, my kids are good. I’d rather their lives be steadier but I went back to her more than once to give them that and got nothin’ but a rough ride when I did. They didn’t need to see their dad go through that. But in the end, she fucked me, babe. It was not pretty and you do not fuck me. You can be a bitch. You can bust my balls. I’m not gonna lie down for it, but there’s a lot a man will do for his children. But never, ever fuck me. She fucked me. We cope by limiting our time in each other’s space to near to nothing. It works. For you, that’s the end for now.”

When he stopped speaking, I held his eyes.

Then, hesitantly, I asked, “Are you… looking for soft spots with me?”

It was then he held my eyes for one beat… two… three.

Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

I felt my eyes narrow.

“Hop,” I called.

He kept laughing, his head now bowed, hand up, waving at me to give him a moment.

Yes. Apparently what I’d asked was that funny.

“Hop!” I snapped. His head came up and his eyes caught mine. “I was actually being serious,” I informed him.

“I know,” he choked out.

“Stop laughing!” I clipped, short and angry, and he abruptly stopped.

Just as abruptly, he pushed out of his chair and rounded my desk, and before I knew what he was doing he was bent into me, hands on either side of my head, his face all I could see.

“You put yourself in front of bullets for your fiancé,” he whispered and my breath stopped. “Baby, you don’t have any hard spots.”

“I—”

His hands on my head pressed in gently just as his forehead came to rest on mine.

“You don’t, and just so you know, that is not why I’m with you or why I want you, the fact that you’re the kind of woman who did that for him. What you did was beautiful, the ultimate, but it’s
who you are
that interests me.”

He had to stop.

“Hop, you need to take your hands off me and step back.”

“Worried what your staff will think?”

“I don’t care what they think,” I retorted. “But you’re being sweet again, saying nice things
again
and getting to me, and I need a break and I want to finish my sandwich.”