Page 45 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part 2

His sigh of disagreement is one of exasperation. He runs his free hand through his hair and down around his neck.

“Come with me and check it out. I’ll call a tow-truck to have it towed back to your place.” With one more swipe over his beautiful, striking cheekbone, I steer us toward the mangled mess of metal, my stomach in my throat. This is going to set him back. I can already sense him pulling away.

I won’t let it happen. Not again.

“Charley, I can’t afford a tow-truck.”

“I can. I want to do it for you. No one else needs to see your bike sitting here until you file an insurance claim for them to come pick it up. Let’s call the police.”

“The police won’t do anything,” he argues, and he’s right, they won’t, but we need to file a report.

“We won’t mention Jonas, just tell them we have no clue what happened.” He tries to drop my hand as he shoots a death glare at the gas tank where the words ‘she’s mine’ are carved into the paint. We were already aware this was Jonas and whoever else, but seeing that makes bile rise in the back of my throat and my heart pound in my chest. I squeeze the hand that I’m holding and Riggs flinches like I’ve just slapped him.

He’s shutting down. His skin has gone pale and sweat is dotting his forehead. Breath for him is coming in short, sharp gasps, and his right leg bounces anxiously. I push away whatever is on my mind to dissect later when he has settled down. Right now, his world is falling apart, as if it hasn’t been for months, but I believe this might be the last straw.

I’m not sure where he stands on the suicide watch list, but I won’t be leaving his side any time soon, that’s for sure. He lets out another groan, this one so much more tormented than before. I recognize what’s happening and I can’t blame him.

“Are you having a panic attack?” I ask. He stops, turns to me and scowls, looking ashamed, probably telling himself I think he’s weak. “Take a deep breath. You’ve got this. It’s hard to believe that right now, but it’s going to be okay. Are you alright if I call the police to get the ball rolling so we can get you out of here?”

He tilts his chin in the slightest acknowledgment, and instead of pulling away, he steps closer and wraps his arms around me. He is shaking and his breathing is shallow but other than just knowing him, I would have no clue something is wrong. My heart breaks for him.

When he drops his head to the crook of my neck, he inhales deeply, nice and slow. Pride and relief swell within me and I take solace knowing that he’s seeking me for his comfort.

I speak to the police then call a towing company, all while Riggs works to settle his nerves. He handles panic attacks much better than I do. I lose my mind in the panic before I get to settle myself. It’s rough. I wonder how often he experiences them to be so adept at handling them.

After a while, he separates from me, and I immediately miss his touch. He doesn’t know that he settled me at the same time. That I need him as much as I hope he needs me.

Riggs grips his hair in both hands when he says, “As if it’s not hard enough to be with you on my own, now I have outside forces threatening us?”

“No Riggs, do not do that. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what Jonas does.”

“Outlaw, it’s bad enough where I live. My shit is already trash, now my bike? I can’t afford to fix this right now. I’m not sure if I will ever be able to afford a new bike.” Well, at least he didn’t call me Charley. That’s a step in the right direction.

“Riggs. Do not go there. I don’t give a flying fuck where you live or what you drive. Get your head out of this space. I’m here with you. You are the one I want. The only one. Jonas is crazy. We will figure out how to fix your bike or get a new one and we have the Jeep. There is nothing to worry about, okay? Plus, you have your new job with J. He is going to pay you well because he’s J. So stop worrying.” I don’t want to be so harsh, but my heart is at stake as well, and I won’t let him walk away from me like he did last time. Nor will I allow him to wallow in self pity. The tough love approach worked with Jensen, so why not try it?

“We…that’s your car, not mine.” Riggs is allergic to help, I get that, but I refuse to let him flounder because he can’t get out of his own way. One day, he will see his worth.

“You’ve had no problem driving it before. Untilwecan get your bike fixed, you’ll drive the Jeep, get up early enough to get your ass to my place to pick me up.” I brace for his argument. But it doesn’t come. At least not one worth a damn. It might have something to do with the fact that he looks exhausted. A panic attack will do that to you.

“What about your parents?” he asks, which is a valid question that I will entertain.

“What about them? That’smyJeep. I bought it with my money. If I want to let my boyfriend borrow it, then I will.”

“What?”

“I have my own money, Riggs. From both my biological grandmother and my adopted one. My trust from my bio grandma isn’t accessible right now, but my adopted one has set both Kai and me up with our own money. Why, I don’t know, and I’ve never questioned it. I bought my Jeep. It’s mine. So I can use it how I see fit.” If Riggs is astonished, jealous, or angry, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans his forehead against mine.

“Okay.”

We spentwhat seemed like hours with the police, then waited for the towing company to show up and clean up the mess. They said it looked like Jonas, or the “assailant”, ran the bike over. His truck is big enough and I wouldn’t put it past him to do just that. They also insisted that we mention who it was because of the words carved into the tank.

We feigned stupid, refusing to give up his name. At least we had a report filed for insurance. Not long after the police left, the tow truck showed up, and we followed them back to Jensen’s house.

“Who is responsible for this?” Christian Tucker asks, his deep voice bellowing down the hallway and reaching us before he does. For whatever reason, nerves flutter in my stomach. I’ve known him my whole life, but he is an intimidating man—always has been. And he makes my parents’ money look like fucking small potatoes.

I swallow tightly, looking up to meet his deep green eyes, the gray patch in his left one shining brightly. He’s a handsome man, six foot what-the-fuck-ever. I’m not sure how tall he is, but Jensen’s gigantic ass makes sense every time I see him. He’s massive. His hair used to be a lighter shade of blonde than his son’s but has since started graying. He wears it swept to the side on the top. Not in the creepy, greasy business guy way but more of the casual, I-woke-up-like-this way. He has on a skintight black sweater and dark gray slacks. When he steps, the bottoms of his pants rise just enough to expose green and purple socks sticking out of his black dress shoes.

The idea that he wears funky socks softens my image of him, which has hardened over the things Jensen has told me about him.

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