Page 22 of Clear Your Mind

When I reach for my clothes, Buddy grasps my wrist gently. His face is still a mask of anger, but it doesn’t feel the same. Doesn’t feel directed at me. I relax a degree or two.

“Wait. Please?” he pleads.

“I don’t know if I can,” I whisper without turning around. I owe him an explanation; I know I do. “Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it’s wrong to judge you and your friends because of the things he did, but it’s hard, you know?” I take a deep breath and drop my jeans.

“I pretended everything was fine for a while until he let his guard down, and then I ran.” I shudder, remembering that month of my life. Having sex with him every day when my stomach and mind rebelled. Praying like hell every minute of every single day that I didn’t actually get pregnant. “I filed TROs, but every time I did, he was able to find me through the courts.”

Buddy’s touch on my wrist loosens but somehow feels more comforting.

“When I’d had enough of living in a constant state of hypervigilance, I changed my name, left Enid, Oklahoma, and got lost in a world where he’d never look for me. Writing MC romance.”

A small tingle of satisfaction zinged through my chest as it always did when I thought of the irony.

Reaching for the crystals hanging from my neck, I squeeze them tight.

“That’s my girl.” He breathes with a combination of sympathy and pride.

“Believe it or not, I’ve dealt with what he did, what I had to do, and I’ve accepted it and moved on in a manner of speaking. But the guilt over that girl, that will never leave me.”

“What was your name?”

“Laura Maddox.” I’m shocked when the name I don’t dare speak, not since becoming Krystal, leaves my mouth.

Buddy releases my wrist, stands, and wraps me in his arms from behind. I keep a death grip on my crystals but connect to his forearms with the hand he just freed.

A static-like connection arcs between us. One that didn’t manifest in my mind before now.

Maybe it’s because I’m holding my crystals, and his forehead is leaned into the crook of my neck where they’re tied. Maybe it’s shared trauma. Buddy didn’t say so, but I feel it in my soul. Or maybe it’s none of that and I’m simply falling for a blond biker who listens to GWAR and is supposed to be a pump-and-dump.

“I know you probably won’t believe me, but what happened to her isn’t your fault. You’re not responsible for other people’s actions.”

As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, he gasps and lets me go. I spin around, watching him run his hand through his hair. His blue eyes flash with something I can’t name, but it’s pulsing his aura like a disco tech.

Guilt.

It’s guilt.

Buddy paces back and forth. Only taking a few steps before turning and doing it again.

Sitting on the bed, I wait and try to get a read on what he’s dealing with. I finger the small apatite stone on my bracelet.

Guilt.

My guilt is triggering him. Or maybe it’s his words about my guilt not jiving with his feelings about his.

“Buddy?”

He stops dead in his tracks at the sound of his name. The torment written on his face is gut wrenching.

“Tell me…please?”

Silently minutes pass. In my mind, I hear each second ticking by.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

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