Page 203 of Chasing Ruin
The club is hosting a patch party. It’s the first time we’re doing something that’s even remotely similar to fun. And I can clearly see many of the brothers being reluctant.
Lana, Hound’s Ol’ Lady, and I were adamant about getting the party going. Spike deserves it.
It’s also my last week before the semester break ends. I’ve been working with my Undergraduate Director for weeks now. Getting the ball rolling to convert my accelerated BSW to an online format.
When I asked Theo about potentially tying up the loose ends in Craven Ridge, he couldn’t speak for a good five minutes. I think it was because I was telling him that I’m staying—in a way that registered aspermanentfor him. And he had lost his damn mind.
Best fuck session of my life, that night.
My freeze response has faded somewhat. After resuming my therapy sessions, Theo and I had a few more conversations about it. Most of them—he initiated, wanting to understand me more.
‘I want to learn how to best support you, Charlotte.’
God. I couldn’t keep watching him blaming himself. Or have myself drown in self-loathing because I had lost my virginity tohimof all people.
My therapist and I talked about it to death. How I needed to separate my virginity from the completely unrelated matter of my trauma. We went back and forth, dissecting my time away from the club. How I’d tried for two whole years to get intimate with someone. But I just couldn’t trust anyone long enough to go there, no matter how desperately I wanted to move past that fear—thattrauma-induced celibacy, as she said.
Then there was the problem of men not understanding my freeze response. How it was made into an argument by my dates, who couldn’t be patient enough. How I couldn’t reach that level of safety in their arms to go beyond just kissing.
But then—I did. Because, despite everything, I started to trust Theo. And it didn’t happen overnight. It took me weeks—if notmonths—to see past the Theo I used to know, past my own confusion. And calibrate my lens to finally notice the man he had become.
Wolf was right. None of us were the same people from before. And Theo wasn’t immune to that change either.
When I told him about the conversation with my therapist, the man had gotten teary-eyed. Again.
“How come I never knew you were this sensitive?” I’d said, huffing out a laugh. Then I’d sobered quickly, staring into his glistening eyes. “I do trust you now, Theo—the current you. My watering pot.”
He let out a wet chuckle.
“No? How about my tear-jerk…tard?”
I was in his arms the next second, his stubble tickling my neck.
“You just…” he’d mumbled against my skin, squeezing me until I squealed. “You humble me, my love.”
My love.
He hasn’t said those three words since we had sex that first time. But I’m consistently reminded of how I’mhis love.Every single day—without fail. So much so that I don’t think I don’tnotlove him anymore. I simply do.
I remember when the realization dawned on me—clear as day.
He’d just returned from a club run. Taking his gear off, half distracted by my semester schedule open on my laptop. Then he was beaming at me. “You chose Mental Health and Medical for Minors as your elective,” he’d said, grinning. “It’s more niche than the Child and Family one, but it’s perfect. God, baby. You can work with Healer at his clinic as your fieldwork, if you want.”
And that was it.
The simple fact that he cared enough about what I wanted to do, and had gone through my coursework to understand it better. Even willing to clear a path for me to achieve it. That’swhen I knew I was no longer descending, but had already reached the point of no return.
I wanted to tell him then. God, I’ve wanted to tell him for days now.
I’ve gone over it a hundred different ways in my head—how to dress up those three words, how to make them sound worthy of what I feel. Something he’d remember. But the more I planned, the more it all started to feel inadequate. So I kept putting it off. Waiting for the right moment.
Now I’m starting to realize I might have overthought it to the point where I have no idea when to say it—or worse, how.
I’m still admiring the work I’ve done on Theo’s cut, fingers tracing over the stitching for what has to be the hundredth time today, when the sound of my door unlocking makes me jump.
I look at the time. It’s almost seven in the evening. He must be here to get his cut before the party starts.
Shit.
