Page 15 of Chef
“They’re so nice. Jason and his daughter Izzy, and Nell, River and Greer all came to sit for a bit.”
“They’re good people. I’m not sure when we’ll get any more guests.”
“Probably after we have Nathaniel out of the way.” Sage shrugs. “I’d hate to have to put more people in danger.”
I turn to look at her profile in the low light. “Do you think he’s really that dangerous?”
She looks at me like I’m simple. “Chef, he was groomed to take over from Royal. He runs a black market business with his ex military partner. He’s dangerous.”
“And you want to take him on?” I try to hide the bitterness from my voice.
“Yes,” she says simply, as if she’s telling me the sky is blue and fish live in the ocean.
“Why don't you just let the MC deal with it?”
“Because it’s my cross to bear. He’s afterme, Chef. Even if I don’t pull the trigger myself, I’m still the one who has to bring him here.”
I don’t argue. What can I say to that? She’s right, I know she is, and yet the heart that is beating out of my fucking chest isn’t on board. So, I don’t say anything more, the silence between us growing more comfortable the further we walk.
“I know what you did, by the way,” Sage says quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“When we,” she swallows, “did it, that time. You’d been holding off for so long, not wanting to be with me like that, and then that last night, you finally gave in and it started so hot, so loving, everything I always pictured. And then, you, you changed.” Her voice is almost a whisper and I feel fucking sick to my stomach. “It turned from beautiful to confusing and for a long time I wondered if it was me, my fault.”
“Oh, babe, no, nothing was your fault -” The words rush out of me and I feel like I’m going to barf all over the nice path.
“What we had was beautiful in parts, but it wasn't what sex is meant to be like. I know that now.”
The way she says that last part has my breath coming fast, “Know what now?”
“What it’s like to be with someone who really wants to be with you.” She looks over her shoulder at me with a slightly sad expression as she opens the door to the cabin we are meant to live in as husband and wife. “Good night, Chef.”
On that bombshell she leaves me frozen, watching her curvy body walk away from me, telling me gently, in her own way, that somebody else made love to her the way she deserved. I fucked up more than just pushing her into the arms of someone who deserved her love. I made her doubt herself in the same way I doubt myself and my worth every fucking day.
I don’t deserve another chance with Sage. I know that, I’ve always known that. Bile rises up at the thought of me not getting my shit together and having to see her happy with another man. That doesn't sit right with me. We’re both DRMC. It doesn't matter that I’m with the Keep, I’ll still see her at get-togethers. I’ll still hear about her from our friends and family. To know that one day I’ll have to sit there and watch some other man’s kids running around with her eyes? No. Fuck that. I’m going to fix this even if I have to watch 300 hours of Pops’ Love Pres videos.
Making my way inside I ignore the soft sound of water running in the bathroom, instead heading to the tiny back room that is designated as my room. Kicking off my boots I place them tidily in the corner before peeling off my cut and hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. I flop down on my bed, phone in hand, Pops’ next video ready to start.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself, ab crunching up into a sitting position on the bed. Pulling my t-shirt away from my back it sticks slightly, cold and clammy. “Why the fuck is the bed wet?”
Sage
Rolling over in bed I marvel at how quiet everything is here. At home there would be yelling, noisy footsteps around our cabin, motorcycle pipes, pretty much anything and everything that could make noise, would. Here though, I can hear my thoughts bouncing around my head. Why the hell I thought to say all that stuff to Chef, I don’t know. Well, no, that’s not quite true. I wanted him to know that I know he sabotaged us. I wanted him to know that for a long time, up until I met Liam, I blamed myself. Liam showed me what it was really like to be fully invested in a person, physically.
Gah, why am I even thinking about this? I have stuff to do, like get dressed and find a part-time job. I had to put my clinicals on hold until this stuff is sorted. I’ve asked for a month to be safe, but I’m pretty sure once we get the ball rolling things will happen fast. Hopefully. If they take longer then I’ll have to reassess, but in the meantime, I need money as I’m not going to mooch off Dex and my uncles.
I rifle through my bags that I never unpacked last night, throwing on a pair of cycle shorts and an oversized DRMC t-shirt. I pull my hair into a messy bun and forgo makeup. I highly doubt anyone here would notice if I was wearing any. I shove my feet into my Birkenstocks and head out, passing through the living room on my way out the door.
“Mornin’.” Chef’s low, raspy morning voice makes me jump and I spin to find him on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, a blanket scrunched up behind him.
My brows pull in as I take in his scruff and crumpled t-shirt. “Did you sleep out here last night?”
He scrubs a hand down his face, “My bed was wet. And smelled like piss.”
My brain freezes for a moment before a wheeze escapes my body followed by a bark of laughter. The look on Chef’s face makes it worse and hysterical laughter bubbles out of me, so much so that my legs give out and I slowly, like cold spaghetti, collapse onto the floor, thighs pressed together so I don't wee myself. Or let out a fart.
“I just can't figure out how the fuck it got there,” Chef mutters to himself but I can barely hear him over my own laughter. “I’m glad you find this shit funny,” he grumbles.
