Page 45 of Falling for Her

He shakes his head and states, “You are family, and now so is she. I made a mistake, Damian, your father, and I both, and I deeply regret putting that pressure on your shoulders, taking away your teenage years when really I should have just sent Bethany away, but I won’t let you leave this club.”

I shrug and admit, “I’ve received a job offer,” and Hammer growls, but I ignore him and say, “I left this club in my heart the moment you forced me to date your daughter.”

I turn and lock eyes with Acid and state, “If you want to keep your arm intact and even have a chance at meeting my girl, I suggest you move.”

His green eyes race between mine before his throat bobs, and he nods and steps aside.

I nod and walk out to my mother's shouts and Bethany’s screams. I know she’s just hit her but I don’t give a shit. I have a girl to confront.

I lick my bottom lip and eye the white building, the double doors finally opening. I’ve been sitting on my bike for about two hours; my ass is numb, and my legs ache, but not as much as my heart being this far away from my girl.

Two weeks without her in my bed just isn’t good for me. I need her back in my arms where she belongs.

I move my left leg around, lean against my bike, and eye the door as students walk out, all looking my way. I ignore them, only wanting to see one certain girl until, finally, the one I have been dying to get my eyes on walks out.

Adam told me two weeks ago to give her space when he called me, and I’ve done that, but her time for space is up. After today, I just want to hold her, feel her body leaning against mine, and preferably have her wrapped around me tonight in bed.

Essy descends the stairs, looking down, her mousy brown hair curled around her face as girls behind her say something to her that she ignores, and I tilt my head.

She’s in the jeans that hug her amazing ass, but it’s her black t-shirt that gets my attention – it’s mine…

She misses me.

I smile as she finally looks up and our eyes lock, and everything in me settles as I see her body relax and without a second thought, she makes her way towards me before stopping a few feet away, her bag hanging on her shoulder.

“Angel,” I rasp trying not to move a muscle. I feel the need to pull her to me hard, but I refrain, letting her set the pace.

I called her a patch chaser unintentionally and out of anger, which is just an insult because she is the hardest-working girl I’ve ever met outside of Scar.

“Stranger,” she chokes back, and I stand up straight, furrowing my brows as tears shine in her eyes and concern hits me.

What the fuck?

Knowing what she needs right now, I hold my arms open, and without missing a beat, Essy drops her bag and walks into me before her body begins to shake with silent sobs.

I hold her tight as my concern kicks up a notch and I press my face into her hair.

I swear if someone has hurt her, heads will fucking roll.

Chapter 18

Esmerelda

“Welldone,Ess.Youknocked it out of the park as usual,” Mr. Star says as he puts his fork down after he demolishes my cornflake tart. Despite the praise, I give him a tight smile, trying my hardest not to cry.

I’m emotional, I know this, and the longer I ice out Damian just so I don’t snap at him and scare him away, the more emotional I become.

Over the last few months, he’s become my person, and now I’m lost and beginning to think I took things too far by not speaking to him for two weeks.

Okay, so he didn’t tell me about his past. He’s shown me what I mean to him every day by how he treats me and how he welcomes my little brother with open arms, knowing I need that time with him.

Stupid damn hormones.

“Okay, class, that is it for today,” Mr. Star says, “You can go as soon as you’ve cleaned up your stations, but please remember your final grade bake will be next Friday, so practice. I don’t want to have to fail you and see you retake the course.”

Groans echo around me, but I just swallow and say, “Mr. Star.” The teacher looks my way, his dark brown eyes looking at me with concern, and I get it, I haven’t been my bubbly self and haven’t danced or sung or, more importantly, pissed off others while I baked. Giving him a slight smile, I ask, “Do you want to take the rest of these home for your kids?”

The man in his forties practically runs over before any of my peers can grab the cornflake tarts and cookies, making some curse because, yeah, they tried to grab them. He takes the whole tub and says, “Thanks, Ess,” and I grin. This time, it reaches my eyes as he practically skips away.

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