Target 84 (27 page)

“The very essence of romance is uncertainty.
”―
Oscar Wilde
I’ve been sitting in my car outside of Pepper’s house for thirty minutes now.

I want to go in. I do. Yet, for the first time ever, I’m actually embarrassed about people knowing my past. What I do, or rather what I’ve done. Add to that the fact that I’ve cut them all out of my life for the last three months without so much as a proper goodbye and I’m feeling anxious and pathetic about showing up to this baby shower.

Everyone’s cars are here, Clara and Dom, Hoot, and a few others I recognize from the motorcycle club. Through the large picture window I can see streamers, smiling faces, and presents stacked high in the living room. Staring at the steering wheel, I mentally chastise myself for being so sensitive. Steeling myself, I pull the visor down to check my makeup. Although they’re healing nicely, two black eyes never looked good on anyone and I’m no exception.

As I touch up my foundation under and around my eyes, the passenger door swings open and a very pregnant-looking Pepper huffs as she plops into the seat before slamming the door closed.

I flip the visor up and stare at her. She’s glowing, even through the irritated expression she’s giving me. Irritation fades into curiosity and finally without a word exchanged she leans in and I know what comes next. I wrap my arms around her tightly and squeeze while she reciprocates. A weight lifts from my shoulders.

“God, I never thought I’d admit this but I missed you,” I blurt.
So unlike me.

“Where is Bentley?” she asks, pulling away, smiling.

“He’s...injured. Resting comfortably until I can get back to him.”

“You’re both okay, right?” she asks, concerned.

“Yes.”

“Well come on then. It’s freezing out here and there is warmth, people, and lots of food in there.” She points to the house. A heavy sigh leaves my lips.

“I can’t go in there. They all know,” I whisper. Anxious, I rub my damp palms on my pants.

“You cannot sit here in a car all alone. You'll be picked up for mopery,” Pepper states, wearing an indignant look.

“Mopery?” I comment, trying to keep a smirk at bay.

“Yes. With intent to creep. Trust me, you don't want that. It'll put a big hole in your future,” she answers, trying to contain a laugh. I laugh loudly and deeply.
Only Pepper
.

“Pepper...” I groan.

“So we all know you were a killer. Who cares? Clara was on the run from some big wig senator for years, I thought I killed my first love, we’re all cracked, Greta. We’re all bent. It’s okay. You weren’t a psychopath. You weren’t deranged, just killing for the thrill of it. You were doing your
job
. Is it messed up? Hell yes! It’s whacked. Like, seriously...whacked,” she says and narrows her eyes at me to prove her point, “but we’re all a little whacked. That’s life. You don’t think my time at the counseling retreat was a devastating blow, more brutal because of the ruthless clarity it brought me? We all have to step up and face our pasts. There isn’t any other way to let go and step forward.” Pepper’s words invoke such strange feelings inside me as she rambles on.
We’re all whacked.

Yes. It seems we all are. Just a little. But my “whacked” seems far outside the norm of their whacked. “Life is beautiful and chaotic. The ability for people to change is astounding. You have the opportunity to do whatever you want going forward, to
be
whoever you want. That’s beautiful, Greta. We’re all friends. Friends are supposed to witness your strengths, flaws, good habits and bad. Just...just get out of the fucking car, Greta,” she finishes on a sigh. I stare at her a few beats before resting my hand on the door handle.

“Sometimes, you’re really irritating,” I grumble. Pepper’s eyes bug out before she bursts out laughing and exits the car, waddling her pregnant self-up the drive. Smiling inwardly, I follow her lead.

I will deal with whatever awaits me on the other side of Pepper’s front door but I know that I will be okay. I know the people waiting inside may judge me initially or have questions, but at the end of the day their curiosity will be satisfied and I will be
just
Greta, friend, acquaintance, and surrogate aunt. They will embrace me the only way they know how: with love. Something that--because of Bentley’s persistence--I now know I can not only handle but can and
will
reciprocate.

Greta

For a long time I found I knew what I was doing at work, but at home with Bentley I didn't have a fucking clue. I knew I loved him. I knew I needed him but having a relationship robust with communication and trust didn’t happen for me overnight. It was a struggle. I’d bored Pepper and Clara with my neurotic ramblings. I’d yelled at Bentley for no reason at all at times. I’d hated myself for being weak. It all worked out of course. Bentley yelled back, loved me anyways, and stuck by my side. Pepper and Clara put me in my place when I needed it. I’m positive without the support of the people in my life I would absolutely not be a well-adjusted human being right now.

Three months after Pepper’s baby shower, I had to have my IUD removed due to some internal bleeding caused from my sparring class. Two months after that I’d found out I was pregnant. I was equal parts horrified and overjoyed. Bentley proposed. I said no. I don’t think I want marriage and the obligations it carries with it, not yet, anyhow. I think I like what we have, how we have it. He asks once a month. Continually dropping to one knee and holding out a real stunner of a ring. I haven't said yes yet.

When I’d finally held my daughter, some part of me I had thought never existed flared to life inside my chest. That tiny little girl was pure. She was good. She felt like a second chance to be normal. She represented everything I was
before
Ravenbrook, everything that was stolen from me. Everything that was stolen from Bentley. She was untainted by the horrors of the world.

That first month was torture. I would place her softly into her bassinet after getting her to fall asleep, but the slightest jostle and screaming ensued. My heart would rapidly beat in my chest. I felt helpless, like I was trying to put a pin back into a live grenade. I flew into multi-faceted panics. I would hysterically look for a way to disarm her. Did I hurt her? Did she need milk? Had she pooped, peed? Was she too hot, cold? Did she have gas? I couldn't deal. But by the time she fell back to sleep, little lips puffing with small breaths, peacefulness would engulf me.

Watching her, I started to wonder. Would I be a good mom? A good partner to Bentley? Would that satisfy me? Endless thoughts plagued me for what felt like hours those days. People say love is its own force, that it has a pull, it seems inevitable that I would submit to it at some point. Could I be ruthless and tender? A baby is a weakness.
My
weakness. It took me awhile to accept that.

Bentley was instrumental in allowing me time and space to explore my crazed emotions. He was persistent, tenacious, and resolute in his handling of me. Doting, proud father seems like a harsh understatement to explain his unwavering love of our daughter, Ember. Like our love, an eternal flame that burns us with passion and devotion for each other, we’d chosen a fire-themed name for her.

At Pepper’s encouragement, three years ago, I’d purchased the gym we worked out at. Two years ago I converted it into a center for women’s self-defense classes. Allie, now almost eighteen, has been teaching classes to young ladies after school for the last six months. She loves it and I love having her around. Pepper teaches three adult sparring classes a week and I teach the rest of the classes we offer.

It’s a booming business that keeps us busy and allows Ember and Pepper’s daughter Aster to come work with us. I take comfort knowing Ember is surrounded by strong women all day.

Bentley took a desk job within the local ATF office after we’d returned from the cabin. After Pepper’s baby shower we’d stayed through Christmas at the cabin. It was the most challenging and romantic time of my life.

Clint had come to visit us when we returned, cocked his head to the side and said, “So are you fit to return to duty?” To which Bentley replied, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

I’d been introduced as his girlfriend then and on the fly filled Clint in on our
hiking
“getaway” that resulted in Bentley’s shattered arm and leg. Clint had shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, “Didn’t know he hiked,” while jabbing a thumb in Bentley’s direction. We’d all laughed when I responded, “He doesn’t anymore.”

It took him four years to finally quit the ATF. He’s not the sit-at-a-desk-all-day kinda guy and he was miserable but also didn’t know what he would do instead. Luckily, we have plenty of money to support us. The women’s gym keeps me busy but it’s not something I do because it pays the bills. I do it because I actually feel good about it the work. I enjoy it. It keeps me fit and active. It gives me purpose.

A note dated four years ago flutters to the floor as I tug a file out from my desk drawer. In faded ink it reads, “You are my fire.” I smile an immensely goofy smile.

Even now, a mere ten feet away, I can feel the impact of Bentley’s presence. The broad shoulders, muscular arms, bulging chest, and
dusting of stubble across his chin add to his rough appeal
. It sets my body on fire. I still burn up in his presence and walk willingly into the fingers of his inferno.

Bentley

When Pepper and Sawyer welcomed their daughter Aster into the world, Greta had cried. She never would admit that now but I’d heard her in the bathroom at the hospital after we’d visited. She hadn’t held the baby, which prompted Pepper to yell at her for being the worst aunt ever, but I’d seen fear, not disinterest, behind Greta’s expression. She didn’t know how to hold a baby. She didn't know what to do with one period.

She never admitted any of this until she bound through the door while I was on the toilet, screaming at me for impregnating
a killer.
It wasn’t the most romantic scene in the history of families being created, but it was ours and it was perfect.

Ember sealed the deal, however. Greta fell in love with her upon first sight. She struggled in the beginning, more so than me. That little girl twisted me around her finger the moment I heard her first cry. There isn’t a damn thing in the universe I wouldn’t do for her.

With time and calculated space, Greta became the mom I knew she would and the mom that I know she wants to be. No one can resist the golden-skinned child with clear blue eyes the size of silver dollars whose expressions can tear you apart or set your soul soaring.

Greta might not marry me today or tomorrow but because of our daughter Greta will always choose to stick around and fight for our family. We’re an unbreakable unit. But, one of these days, she will to yield to me when I ask for her hand. More than anything I think she’s just toying with me now. Waiting for me to break down and grovel at her feet. That woman loves her control.

Given the ages of our daughters, Sawyer and I have become as close as Pepper and Greta. It’s the first time, maybe ever, that I’ve had a friend that I actually give a crap about. We leave the girls to their gossip, desserts, and nagging while we do extremely manly things like pushing our girls on swings at the park or helping them ride their bikes.

Six months ago I quit my job. Sitting at a desk all day blew. I hated it. I’m not sure where I will end up but I’m toying with the idea of private security for Dominic Napoli’s empire. We’ve developed a close relationship with the Napolis since Pepper spilled the beans one night about Greta killing Senator Hollingsworth, the man who raped Clara. I swear Clara would have made out with Greta in thanks if Sawyer hadn’t thrown a palm to Clara’s chest to stop her momentum. As it was, she’d squealed and screamed with so much delight that Greta almost had a stroke. I’d never seen anyone so
elated
over someone being murdered before that evening.

Walking into Greta’s gym office, I watch the note I wrote years ago as it flutters to the floor at Greta’s feet. I know what it reads because I wrote it for her. The smile on Greta’s face makes my chest swell.

Even now, just a few feet away, I can feel the impact of her smile. It will always bring to my knees. It sets my body ablaze. Always the temptress, even after a long, sweaty day of work. Her blue eyes sparkle as we hold each other’s gazes. We don’t often do romantic things for each other, but when we do, they actually mean something to us and last long after they’ve been done.

“Ember all set with Pepper and Sawyer?” she asks. It’s our weekly date night and I’m looking forward to our alone time together.

“Dropped her off ten minutes ago. We’re good to go, bird.”

“Let me grab my bag then.” She leaves the file on the desk and stands. Her arm brushes mine when she walks by. I catch her by the wrist and twirl her around into my chest. The mischievous glint in her eyes sets me on fire.

“Marry me, bird.”

Before she can answer, I set my lips to hers, letting the fever created by our connection consume us. Always fire. Always a carnal desire so deep it feels more primal in nature. Instinctive, never forced. She bites my bottom lip, drawing it out before releasing it. Tangled in each other’s arms, she says, “Maybe.” I sweep her from her feet into my arms exuberantly, making her laugh.

It’s not no. It’s the best answer she’s given me yet, therefore date night is cancelled so I can give her the best night
she’s
had yet in our bed, so I can remind her through worshipping her body just how much I need, crave, and want her. Because next time could be the time she’ll say yes.

The End

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