Page 75 of When It Reins
That was strike two, I know for sure.
But what is strike three? Or were the first two enough to set her off? She was probably pissed to learn that I was sent to babysit her, but she has to know by now that while that may have started my urge to be around her more often, it isn’t about that anymore.
We shared our hearts and our homes with each other. I told her I loved her, and sometimes, I don’t even think saying those three simple words scratches the surface of the way that I feel for her.
I take a deep breath just thinking about that love and how much it affects me every single day. I love her more than anything on the planet.
I never thought I would love someone outside of my blood family so much, but Juniper proved me wrong again and again.
When she asked me the night before I left on this run if I would consider coming with her on the tour that her new label asked her to go on as the guitarist in her band, I didn’t even hesitate to say yes. Being away from her while she was touring parts of the country is not an option, and if she hadn’t invited me, I would have packed up my bike and followed her, anyway.
So what is she upset about?
I know if I think back on when we first met, on when she was open and honest about her attraction to me, I wasn’t open to that at all. At no fault of hers. Wounds and trauma from my past made it so I wasn’t ready to be with someone yet.
Now that we’ve been together, I can’t imagine not being with her. I can’t imagine not holding her every night and waking to her every day. I can’t imagine not kissing her before my shift starts at the bar or walking her out, our hands held tightly to one another.
I can’t imagine her not sitting on my lap at Sunday lunch on the ranch, or her singing while I play guitar and stare at her in amazement.
Anxiety clenches my chest and worry seeps in. Fuck. I don’t know what’s going on, but I need to get home.
After Loki called, I sent her a text, not admitting that someone told me something was wrong but just checking in, and she never answered me. That’s not like her either. She is pretty prompt at answering me when I message her, something I love and need to be better at reciprocating.
I am just a shit texter and hate doing it. But when I can’t hang on the phone with her for hours, I send her messages to make sure she knows I am thinking of her.
Hell, when am I not thinking of her? It is rare that it ever happens.
Everything in my life, even the choices I make where my family is concerned, revolves around her.
I just have to get home and convince her it’s true.
34
juniper
Hours pass,and I don’t move from my spot on my couch. A blanket covers me, and my head tilts against the back of the couch. I came home and switched into sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, one of Mitch’s, threw my hair in a bun, and plopped on the couch when my emotions came on too strong to keep going.
I wish I had a dog, or a cat, or anything to support me right now. My tears start and stop at any sudden movement, and the once clean sweatshirt I’m wearing now has streaks of mascara all over the shoulder of it.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to believe.
Everything we’ve been through these last few months circulates through my brain, and I have to filter through every interaction to see where I could have gotten lost.
He slept with me. That wasn’t fake. It couldn’t have been.
If it is, the boy deserves an Oscar for his performance.
I let loose the sob in my chest and shake my head.
It can’t be fake.
If it is, I’m the biggest idiot in the world, and I can’t be trusted to do anything else ever without someone’s written permission and consent.
I startle when a pounding on the door starts, and my eyes jerk open. The sun outside of my window is long gone, meaning I’ve been sitting here for a good few hours, and I know, without checking, exactly who’s outside my door.
Standing, I stretch a little as more knocking ensues, and I shuffle over to the door, peeking through the hole and seeing the man I don’t want to face.
