If I Could Do It Again (15 page)

The better part of Friday is spent in bed with my laptop. I’m on a roll, well over my word count goal for the day. It’s a little after two o’clock in the afternoon when my phone starts ringing, a FaceTime request from Becca popping up on the screen. I swipe the screen, holding my phone up and centering my face for the camera. “Hey, Becca.”

“Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in three days.
Three days!
I can’t believe you left and you didn’t call. I mean—did you forget about me? Are you ever coming back? I bet you already found an apartment and—”

“Whoa! Slow down,” I interrupt her, closing my laptop and setting it aside. “It’s all good. I’m fine. I made it to Pennsylvania and I’m at a hotel. Everything’s good.”

Becca drops her head, her eyes focusing on the floor. She’s at home. I see she’s sitting on her bright red leather couch, and her hand’s trembling slightly, the camera jiggling on her face.

“Hey, Becca, are you okay?” I ask gently, wishing I was there right now and I could wrap my arms around her.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She lifts her head, flashing me a watery smile.

“Something’s wrong,” I say. “You’re scattered. What are you hiding from me?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she says, stretching her smile wider but it’s still nowhere near as bright as her normal smile. “I’m sorry I freaked out a little. Nothing for you to worry about.”

She looks tired, the dark circles under her eyes giving away how truly troubled she is.

“I’m sorry for not calling,” I tell her. “I’ve been writing again and visiting Joshua, and yesterday I spent the day checking out the area, looking to see what kind of apartments are available.”

She lifts a shoulder in a one-sided shrug. “No worries. I totally overreacted. It’s just that …” She hesitates, her eyes darting off to the side, before settling back on me, and then she lets out a sigh. “Look, I’m just worried about you. I’m sure Joshua is a good guy—” She laughs, shaking her head. “I mean aside from the whole being in prison thing, but I’m worried you’re just … rushing into something that might not be all that healthy.”

I can’t argue with that.

Guilty.

“I’m being careful,” I tell her vaguely, because I’m not sure she’d understand exactly how much I already love the man.

Becca eyes me skeptically for a moment, then lets out a deep sigh. She doesn’t argue my statement, but I know it doesn’t reassure her. Switching subjects, I ask her how everything’s going at work and how the weather’s been at home.

She rambles on and on about the latest office drama, and I try to pay attention to the gossip, but it’s lost on me. My mind’s too full, too scattered, to really focus.

“Anyway, I should probably get back at it,” Becca says. “Give me a call soon, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. “I love you, Becca.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

Hanging up, I toss my phone down onto the bed, before getting up and shuffling into the bathroom. I turn on the shower, grabbing a towel while the water warms, and then pull off my sleep shirt, dropping it to the floor.

By four o’clock, I’m dressed in a jersey knit blue and gray striped dress and black leggings, sitting in front of the makeup mirror trying my damnedest to create a cat-eye look with my eye-liner all because Joshua mentioned he liked the look.

It’s not working.

My lines are crooked, the angles way off.

Finally, giving up, I put on the usual basic eyeliner, grab my purse and keys, and head out of the room, making my way to my car.

It only takes me fifteen minutes to get to the prison, and another five to make it through security. The visitation area is simmering with energy tonight. Nearly all the tables are filled, inmates and their loved ones smiling and laughing. Most of them are playing games: cards, Scrabble, Sorry, Monopoly. The prison seems to have an unlimited number of board games for the inmates and visitors to use.

I get drinks and snacks, before sitting at the short knee-high table. The plastic chair is crazy uncomfortable. I start fidgeting, tugging on my dress, as I wait for Joshua to appear in the glassed in room.

It’s taking forever today.

I can feel my skin humming, my hands, every inch of me. I’ve never been this excited to see anyone in my life. Ever.

When he finally appears in the glassed in room, my heart stalls, and then thunders in my chest. He gives me a nod and a grin, watching me closely as he checks in at the guard’s desk and then swaggers toward me. I don’t wait for him to reach the table before I’m on my feet, and the moment he reaches me, his hands shoot out and grab me, pulling me into him.

He kisses me hard, his tongue invading my mouth urgently as his hands dig into my back, holding me as close as he can get me. My body heats instantly. I run my fingertips over his close cropped hair, as he practically inhales me, pressing my body closer until my hips are tight against his. My hand fists the back of his shirt, while my other hand grips his neck, nails digging into the skin. It’s a frantic kiss. Desperate. It’s …

“You’re fucking trouble, you know that?” he mumbles into my mouth as he digs into my hair, pulling me sharply away from his lips. He buries his face in my neck, nipping at my collarbone. “Every time I touch you I just want to bend you over and bury my dick in you.”

I whimper, pulling against his hand, wanting his lips back on mine. “I’d let you. Anytime you want, I’d let you.”

I don’t even know what I’m saying, just mumbling and rambling, as I try to capture his lips once more. My skin is on fire; I’m so turned on.

“Beautiful,” he says with a groan. “Got to let you go. They’ll kick you out and take away our visits.”

And then, he lets go.

I slump down in my seat, and pick up my drink, taking a long sip of the soda, trying to calm my overheated body. If someone had told me a year ago that I’d get this carried away with a kiss in such a public place, with so many people around, I would have laughed at them. But there’s just something about Joshua—something so addictive.

“You want to know what I was thinking about on my way over here?” he says as he tears into his candy.

I shake my head, smiling as I set my drink down. “What?”

He pops a candy into his mouth. “That I can’t wait until I have you on the back of my bike.”

“You want me on the back of your bike?” I ask, my voice hesitant. Judging by his expression, this is a big deal, but I honestly don’t understand why, and I was kind of thinking that maybe I’d get my own bike when he gets out.

“Yeah, baby,” he says. “We could cruise down to the beach, I’d do some boogie-boarding while you tan. Then take a nice long ride. Wouldn’t that be so much fun?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I eye him seriously. “But, um, I wanted to get my own bike.”

His brow furrows and he waves me off dismissively. “You’re my ol’ lady. You belong on the back of my bike.”

I hesitate. “Did you just call me an old lady?”

He rolls his eyes and laughs, his expression showing his amusement before it falls away, turning serious. “No, baby, I’m not calling you old. You’re my ol’ lady, you’re my girl.”

“Huh.” I don’t know what to make of that. “I’m moving up, I think.”

Joshua laughs, the amusement returning to his eyes. “Yeah, baby, you are. You’re my ride or die bitch, the one I’m going to be with for the rest of my life.”

“Really?” I ask. “Wait … What does that even mean?”

He lets out another light laugh as he leans back in his chair, stretching. “It means you’re going to be here for the good times and the bad times. You’ll be here forever, just like you are now, at the worst point in my life.”

I laugh. It’s a nervous laugh, a happy laugh, and a freakin’ terrified laugh. It’s a mess.

Shit.

I’m a mess.

Dammit, he’s adorable. His words make me feel all warm and fuzzy and …

I grab my soda and take a sip. “What if I don’t want to be your ol’ lady? Do I have any say in this?”

“No, baby, not really,” he says, reaching across the table and cupping my cheek, his voice playful as he adds, “Being my ol’ lady is basically being my wife.”

His wife? Really?

I blink a few times as his hand falls away. “Okay, but, if you ask me to marry you, I have the right to say no,” I point out.

His brow furrows at my statement. “You belong to me, you know that, right?”

I roll my eyes, unable to stop myself from blushing as I take another sip from my soda. “Yeah.”

“So you’re already my property, what’s wrong with being my ol’ lady?” He sounds genuinely perplexed.

“I’m just saying …” I sigh, dropping my eyes to the table. “What would happen if I said no? What if I don’t want that? I’m not even divorced yet. I’m barely separated.”

“Baby, look at me when you speak to me,” he says, and when I don’t raise my eyes, he reaches out a hand and cups my chin once again, this time forcing me to look back up at him. “Do you really believe you’d say no to me?”

“I didn’t say that.” I regard him curiously, wondering what exactly I was thinking when I let myself fall for a man like him.
I wasn’t thinking, just feeling.
“I just want to know how all of this works. I don’t know anything about bikers. I don’t know anything about their policies or whatever.”

Dropping my chin, he sticks another piece of candy in his mouth, chewing it slowly, before shrugging. “That’s just how bikers are. I don’t really know what to tell you, baby. You’re just my ol’ lady. I don’t really need to ask you.”

“Interesting.”

“Why’s that interesting, beautiful?”

“Is this really how it works?” I ask. “Some guy just says she’s my ol’ lady and that’s it? There’s no discussion? No one gives a shit whether she wants to be or not?”

Leaning back in his chair, he gets so quiet staring at me so hard that I get self-conscious, my face flushing under his scrutiny. Finally, he lets out a long sigh. “I can’t tell you what other people do, but I can tell you what I’m doing. You’re my ol’ lady, so …”

“So I’m supposed to just shut up and accept it.” I scoff. “I don’t think I’d actually make a very good ol’ lady. I don’t know how to shut up and I’m too nosey.”

“That you are. You’re nosey as hell, but I love that about you. It’s not a bad thing.” He laughs, amusement making his eyes shine. “But yeah, this is something you’re supposed to just accept and be happy about. It’s a pretty damn big compliment.”

I start laughing and bring both of my hands up to my forehead. I don’t know if it’s from his statement or my nerves. It could be both.

“Damn, I love your laugh. It’s so cute. It’s one of those nervous laughs. You do it all the time.”

“Um, thank you, I think.”

“Why’d you give me a nervous laugh?” he asks, arching a questioning brow.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t like this whole ol’ lady thing.”

Joshua closes his eyes and sighs heavily. When he opens them again, he leans forward and settles his elbows on his knees. “Would it make you feel better if I ask you?”

I don’t know what I expect him to say, but it’s not that. “Yes.”

“Will you be my ol’ lady, baby?”

My response comes immediately. “Yes.”

Joshua laughs, shaking his head. “You can be so difficult about some things, but I fucking love you. Can’t wait to see you in a ‘property of’ vest one day.”

That statement makes me pause. It’s one thing telling him I belong to him in private, but now I’m going to have to wear a vest advertising that I’m his property? Geez, what the hell have I signed up for here.

I shake my head. “I’m not sure I could wear a ‘property of’ vest.”

“Oh you most certainly will,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn’t you? Do you know how many women out there would suck and fuck anyone just to get a property vest? It’s an honor and trust me, it doesn’t have the meaning you think it does.”

I arch a brow. “Please, enlighten me.”

“Back in the days when all the clubs got together no one knew who the girls belonged to, which guys or club they were with. So they created the ‘property of’ vest so everyone knew who belonged where. It stopped other clubs from hitting on the girls that were taken, and stopped a lot of arguments and fights.”

I blink. Okay, that’s really not what I expected. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope,” he says. “I’m not shitting you.”

Silence falls.

Joshua finishes off his candy as I sip my soda, trying—and failing—to wrap my head around this whole conversation. I’m still sipping my soda when he leans forward, taking one of my hands, drawing my attention to him.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Does this new status mean you’re going to answer all my questions now?”

He barks out a laugh. “We both know that’s not going to happen. I’m sworn to secrecy on a lot of things, baby, but if it’s something that I can tell you, then I’d tell you.”

“I bet I could get your secrets out of you,” I murmur, squeezing his hand.

Joshua shakes his head. “I’m like a vault.”

“All vaults have keys.”

“Not the good ones,” he counters. “The good ones have eye recognition. Unless you cut out one of my eyes, you’re not getting in.”

“Your eyes recognize mine.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Your eyes recognize mine,” I repeat. “You’ve never been in love like this before. I’m your key.”

Joshua’s face splits into a grin and he laughs—hard. “Cute. I love it when you play around.”

The next few weeks pass by in a blur. I work. I exercise. I search for apartments. And every chance I get, I’m at the prison, visiting Joshua—four days per week, and three hours per visit—and when I’m not there, we’re on the phone.

It’s been nearly three weeks since I arrived in Pennsylvania and every single day of it has been … incredible.

I’m not sure what’s happening at home, but my lawyer has kept me as updated as she can. The last update, Richard is reviewing the agreement with his lawyers—yes, lawyers, plural. Why he needs more than one is beyond me. It’s not as though this is a complicated separation. Actually, it’s pretty simple. We have no children. I’m not asking for anything that isn’t rightly mine, but whatever.

Hopefully, his team will talk some sense into him.

There still hasn’t been any word on Joshua’s move, but he swears the wait is normal, reminding me nearly every day that until a bed opens up, which could take weeks, he’ll be stuck where he’s at. And even though he doesn’t know what part of the state he’ll end up in until he’s told to pack up, his insistence that I find a place and make the move right away has turned desperate. It’s almost as though he thinks that if I don’t have a place before I leave again that I’ll never come back.

I don’t know why he’s stressing.

I’m sure he can see that I’m crazy about him.

There’s nothing—absolutely nothing—that will keep me from coming back.

I’m thinking about all of these things, doing my makeup, and trying to decide how exactly I can reassure him when my phone rings.

Setting down my eyeliner, I pick up my phone and glance at the screen. Joshua. I answer it, bringing the phone to my ear, and I listen to the recording, waiting for my chance to accept the call.

“What’s good, beautiful?” he says, as soon as the call clicks through.

I smile. Hearing him call me beautiful never gets old. “Just getting ready to come see you.”

“Good,” he says. “Have you finished your makeup yet?”

“Not yet. I just started, actually.”

“You should do cat-eyes.”

I frown, recalling the last time I gave that a try. “Um, I don’t really know how to do cat-eyes. I can’t get my lines straight.”

“Could you try?” he asks softly. “I want to take pictures today and cat-eyes are sexy as fuck.”

I laugh nervously, glancing at the clock. An hour and ten minutes until I’m supposed to be sitting across from him again. Maybe I could Google …

Just then, my phone beeps, another call coming through. I pull the phone away from my ear, quickly glancing at the screen. It’s my lawyer.

“Hey, my lawyer’s calling,” I say as I bring the phone back to my ear. “I should really take it. Do you want to hold on or give me a call back?”

“I’ll wait.”

Pressing the hold and answer option on the screen, I answer the call tentatively. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Clarke, it’s Rachel Lane calling.”

“Hello,” I say again. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” she responds, her tone serious and all business. It should probably terrify me, but I only feel a slight chill. “I have some news for you. We’ve just received a response from your husband’s lawyers.”

“Okay?”

“The documents arrived this morning,” she says. “I’ve just completed my initial review, but it looks as though he’s agreeing to all of your terms.”

That surprises me, and I think she must be joking, but her tone is serious. I just can’t imagine Richard agreeing, even if it’s the smartest thing for him to do. “Really?”

“Yes,” she says, “although he’s added a nondisclosure agreement.”

My eyes narrow at those words, wondering what the hell he’s up to. “A nondisclosure agreement?”

“Yes. You’ll need to come in and sign some documents. We can review the agreement when you come in.”

“Of course,” I say. “I’m still out of the country. Can this wait a week or two?”

“I wouldn’t advise it. Until it’s signed, your husband is free to make changes.”

Her response makes me pause. “Okay, I guess I can leave tomorrow and drive straight through, but the soonest I can make it into the office would be Thursday morning. Will that work for you?”

“That’s perfect,” she says. “I’ll schedule you in for ten o’clock Thursday morning then.”

“Okay, see you then.”

She hangs up and I tap the swap button on the screen, taking Joshua off hold. “Hey, baby. Sorry about that.”

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Is there any news?”

“Um, yeah,” I say, and sigh. “Richard agreed to everything, but he wants me to sign a nondisclosure agreement.”

“That’s great, baby,” he says. “So why do you sound so upset?”

“Yeah, it is great,” I say. “But it means that I have to leave tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“My lawyer said that I need to come in and sign everything right away. The sooner the better, so he can’t make changes.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is oddly detached. “It has to be done. I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Love you.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before a recording advises me that the caller has hung up. I stare at my phone for a beat, not sure what to make of his sudden change in attitude, and then I shake it off, bringing up the browser and searching for cat-eye tutorials.

****

“What’s this for?” I ask, staring at the small yellow square of paper with the number forty-two scribbled on it.

“Hand it to the guard when you leave,” he says. “I’ve got something waiting for you to pick up.”

“Okay,” I mutter, glancing up at him. “I’ll do that.”

He looks stunned. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Yes, but I don’t want to ask.

We’re two hours into the last visit we’re going to have for who knows how long and things are … tense. We’ve barely talked, spending the whole time playing rummy, until moments ago, when he’d stood up and without saying a word, he’d walked away.

He wasn’t gone long though, only a few minutes talking to the guards and filling out some kind of form, before returning with the scrap of paper.

I think he’s stressed about me leaving.

Shit.
I’m
stressed about me leaving.

“Sure,” I say, after a moment. “If you feel like telling me.”

He nods, pulling the slip of paper from my hands and setting it on the table, and then takes both of my hands within his. “It’s one of my T-shirts.”

I let out a startled laugh. “You’re giving me one of your T-shirts?”

“I am,” he says, squeezing my hands. “You’re going to miss me. I thought this may help.”

I stare at him with shock. “I can’t believe you’re giving me one of your T-shirts.”

“Why is that so hard to believe, beautiful?” he asks, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

I don’t know what to say, don’t know what to make of his gift. It’s … kind of perfect.

My eyes meet his and I stare at him.

He stares right back at me.

The silence is deafening.

Eventually, he lets out a dry laugh. “Not sure this is the reaction I was expecting.”

“Sorry. I’m just … I guess I just wasn’t expecting it is all.”

“I was watching TV the other day and there’s this dating service where the men wear the T-shirt and it collects your pheromones,” he explains. “Then the next day the women get to smell a whole bunch of shirts and the one that attracts them is the one that they pick.” He stalls for a beat, a small grin appearing on his lips. “So I actually wore that T-shirt for you. You’re going to miss me, so when you do, I thought you could wear it or just smell it to bring us a little bit closer.”

My heart squeezes and my eyes prickle. Joshua watches me curiously, expectantly, waiting for my reaction. I gaze into his eyes, drinking in the emotion I see there.

Jesus, this man … he’s perfect.

“I don’t want to leave.” The words tumble from my lips in a whisper, a shuddering breath forced from my chest. “I’m not ready.”

His eyes slowly close, and then open, eyeing me so hard my chest constricts under the pressure. “Promise me you’re coming back,” he says quietly. “Fucking promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise.”

“Don’t say it unless you’re going to follow-through.”

“I promise,” I say again. “I prom—”

I’m cut off mid-word. An inmate walks up to our table, stopping beside Joshua. “Time for pictures,” he says.

Standing, Joshua reaches out a hand to me, pulling me from my chair, and twining his fingers with mine. “I love you, baby girl,” he says as he tows me up to the front of the visiting room. “Come back to me soon, okay?”

“I will,” I say, and I mean it. “I promise.”