Borden 2
Page 14“Holy fuck,” he groaned. “It feels too good with you. I don’t want to stop.”
I wrapped my arms around him and stroked the damp strands of his hair. His beard tickled my neck as he laid there, completely spent. He hummed in delight at my fingers now digging into his scalp in circular motions, massaging him roughly, offering him that pain but also pleasure in a different way this time.
I never asked about his masochistic behaviour. A part of me thought it had something to do with his upbringing. I wasn’t a psychologist or anything, but a lot of people carried certain behaviours they learned from childhood. Still, I was extremely intrigued.
When he finally moved off me, we both turned on our sides and faced each other. He stared into my eyes, a content smile on his face. “You’ve got your curious eyes on,” he remarked quietly, his voice returning to normal. “What’s getting at you now?”
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask me anything you like.”
“Do you still talk to your family?”
He paused. “No.”
“No communication at all.”
“No,” his voice was quieter as he repeated himself.
“My father did about a year after I returned. After Kate had long passed and the city was still shaking in the aftermath. He came into my club and he didn’t ask me where I’d been when I let him into the office. He didn’t care to know about anything. He just wanted money from me. He said my mother was sick and I needed to help them out now that I was better off. It was the first time I’d seen him. I was shocked at first, and part of me felt this residual feeling in the pit of my chest, this feeling of…want. I wanted family, I wanted my mom back despite neglecting me, I wanted a relationship with a man that was supposed to be my adult figure in life, and I almost crumbled. Almost.”
He paused, and I waited patiently for more. I was hardly breathing the entire time he spoke, mostly because I couldn’t believe he was letting me in.
Borden exhaled, his face conflicted and bitter. “But then I remembered what that sick fuck did to me. Throwing me out like I was a piece of trash, telling me I was a loser, and that I would never become anything. That he hoped I’d wind up dead because it was better than supporting some fucked up kid who couldn’t accomplish jack shit in life. He’d painted my face good with bruises the last time I saw him. Remembering it all, I felt the rage surface, and I looked him in the eye and told him to get the fuck out. I told him I hoped he rotted and that my mother rotted in the ground long before he did so he had nobody but himself to beat up. That was the end of that. I never saw him again. He’s either alive right now drinking himself to death, or he’s in the earth already. Either way, I don’t care.”
I didn’t respond for some time. I had nothing positive to say. He’d done the right thing shunning them. Sometimes I wondered what I would have done if my mother hadn’t taken her life away, if she’d walked out of prison when her sentence was done and sought me out. Would I have taken her back in?
Some days I remembered those few human moments she had been kind to me when she wasn’t under the haze of alcohol, and I would have said yes. Other days I remembered that feeling of abandonment, how it hurt that she put a man before her own kid, and I would say no. When it came down to it, there was no definitive answer. It depended on the mood I was in.
“I’m glad,” I whispered to him just then, moving in for a small kiss. I laid one on his lips and then snuggled back into him. He welcomed me in, caging me with those strong arms. We breathed in and out, our hearts beating against each other.
This was where I belonged. In the arms of a man I still had so much to learn about.
What happened to you? Who were you before you returned? I wanted to ask, and in my drowsy state, I wasn’t even sure I actually thought it or said it out loud. At his silence, I figured I’d said nothing. Thank God.
His hand was running through my hair when I finally fell asleep. And before I’d fallen into a content dream, I heard him whisper in my ear, “I was a smuggler.”
Emma
Almost a month passed with no sign of any threat, therefore no sign of the bikers. Things felt normal for the most part. Borden was a lot more relaxed, though he still had Graeme and a couple of his men looking out for me when I went off to do something on my own.
It was morning and I was sitting in the office with Borden. He was taking a phone call next to me when I received a text. I grabbed my phone and looked at my messages.
Blythe: Hey, you want to grab lunch or something?
I frowned. This was unusual. Blythe hadn’t been staying in touch with me lately. I’d tried calling and had sent about a dozen texts asking how she was doing. She’d never gotten back to me. I had to call Tessa at one point to see what she was up to. Tessa didn’t offer an explanation, simply telling me that Blythe was acting unusual and I had to see it for myself.
I stared at the text, running the line through my head over and over again. You don’t just ignore a friend for weeks and then out of nowhere shoot them a text to meet up. At least, that had never happened to me before. Regardless, I wouldn’t leave her hanging. I typed back. Hey, sure. Where do you want to go?
She responded back with the name of a café we used to eat at.
I’ll be there.
Within seconds, my phone pinged again. Great! I look forward to a catch up =)
“What is it, doll?” Borden asked me after he got off the phone. “You’ve got your weird frown on.”
“Blythe wants to have lunch with me,” I answered thoughtfully.
“Hallelujah to the non-existent friend suddenly acting like she hasn’t ignored you for weeks.”
I shrugged half-heartedly. “I can’t just tell her no. Maybe something’s wrong with her.”
“Yeah, maybe she’s just a crap friend.”
“She’s not. Have the benefit of the doubt.”
His lips shot up. “You’re too fucking nice sometimes, Emma.”
I looked back at him. “Then we balance each other out well because you’re a dick sometimes.”