Page 12 of Bound by Wreckage
“Thank you so much.”
“No problem. Glad to help.”
The woman goes to the dryers, and the sound of motorcycle pipes comes in loud and clear. Nox rides up, dark hair blowing in the wind and eyes covered with mirrored shades. I feel it the second his eyes connect with mine, even with the glasses on, and my body heats and hands start to sweat. Butterflies swarm inmy stomach, and a giddy feeling comes over me. A small smirk plays on his lips as he shuts the bike down and pulls his leg over.
My insides are twisted and nerves race through my body. Brushing my hands on my shorts, I try to remove some of the wetness. This is so far out of my comfort zone, but damn he looks so good.
He wastes no time coming into the building. The way he does it,though, is what makes my heart thump. Each step is confident and sure. Not in a fearful and controlling way Buck does. Nox is completely different. His is so natural and each step is just him. So much different from the young him, yet the same as well.
He tears off his glasses, and I have to tell myself to breathe. He’s even more gorgeous than the other day at the store when he caught meoff guard. The lines of his face are perfect, accentuating everything. His beard is beautiful and clean shaven. Each thing adding with the other, completing the package that is Lennox Cruz.
“Hey, beautiful.” He sits down next to me, my hands fidgeting. This is so far out of my comfort zone. Add in Buck and it’s wrapped in fear as well. I’ve never really sat and talked to a man before, andI feel a little embarrassed with my lack of experience in that area. It’s as if I’m that teenaged girl who had the crush of a lifetime, not knowing what to do or say.
“You came.” It comes out a quiet whisper showing surprise yet relief.
He lifts his leg onto the bench seat turning his body to me. I steal a few glances from under my lashes, seeing his plump lips tip at the sides.His beard is cut very short to the skin, all dark and mysterious.
“Told ya I would.”
“Yeah.”
A sudden unease hits, and I look around the place and outside feeling something, but not knowing what.
“What’s wrong? You got all panicked.”
He’s not here. The guys aren’t here.
Regulating my breathing, I calm myself, something I learned years ago. I looked itup on the Internet when I had trouble breathing during certain situations and found out they are panic attacks. Controlling them by breathing in and out steadily has helped tremendously. Another thing that helps is connecting my ring finger with my thumb and rubbing them together. It’s strange and most people don’t see it, but to me it’s something tangible to touch and feel. These attacks will notcontrol me. So much of my control has been stripped—except for this.
“Just making sure no one followed you.” This is taking everything inside of me not to flee. Escape. Run. Avoid—knowing what will happen if Buck catches me.
The other two people are sitting on the other side of the laundromat, so they won’t hear us. We’re good. This is good. Damn, I’m twenty-four-years-years-oldand can’t even sit and talk to a man without freaking out. This is pathetic. When did I become this woman?
At age fifteen when my life was destroyed. The answer screams at me inside my head.
I try to push back the sadness because that gets you nowhere. Buck likes it when I cry. In turn, I learned to school myself when the sadness becomes too much, at least in his presence. It’s sohard being two separate people, at least that’s what I feel like most of the time. In the end, for me, this is the only way I survive my existence. And that’s what it is, an existence. This isn’t a life.
“Nope. We’re good."
My hands fidget, and there’s a small bit of silence before he asks, “Tell me what you’ve been up to since school. I know you left sophomore year,” completelycatching me off guard.
A small hiccup comes out in the form of a laugh. He’s funny. There hasn’t been a me since I lost my mom at fifteen. On top of that, my life isn’t anything like that kid he knew back then.
“Okay…” he drags out the word, obviously knowing I don’t want to talk about that time one bit. “How about tell me your favorite color?”
“Green,” I respond.
“That was easy enough. What do you like to do?”
This question puzzles me, and the only thing I can think of is, “Laundry.”
He chuckles. “Laundry isn’t something youliketo do. It’s a chore, a job.”
“It’s something I like doing. Look around you.” He does a quick sweep. “It’s quiet. There’s no one here. There’s no one giving orders. This is heaven.”
He studies me intentlyand I look away, not wanting him to see inside of me. It is not a place he needs to be. I’ve already got Buck in there, and I sure as hell don’t need Nox too.
Nox reaches over and pulls a small strand of my hair, and I flinch so used to being hit. Breathing through it, I move back and he touches the same part of my hair again. This time I’m steady.
