Page 34 of Knife Volume 2

“I want to apologize,” Willow started, “for not spending time with you at the party, but Kenny was…” She sighed. “He’s beating himself up. He blames himself for not knowing you wanted to leave, and he feels as if he failed as your alpha because you didn’t feel like you could come to him.”

“That isn’t it, exactly,” Tuesday told her. “I knew he’d refuse, so there was no need in going to him.”

“I know that, and he probably does deep down, but he’s too busy beating himself up for me to even try to talk to him logically. I can just be there as a support system, for now. Anyway, I want you to know he doesn’t hate you, he’s just hurt. When Boone pointed out you looked really happy, Kenny said that was good, so you should know he’s happy for you, he’s just…”

When she trailed off, Tuesday asked, “Should I call him? Explain it was just something I had to do, and wasn’t a reflection of his leadership?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Willow said. “If you need to come back, and as much as I miss you, I hope you don’t need to because that will mean bad shit happened, but if you do, then we’ll figure out how you approach him. Silas and Boone will help, too.”

“Thanks for the phone call. I hope we can still be friends.”

“I’d like that. Maybe we can have lunch one day? The first time, it’ll be better if we meet at Silas’s place, but after that, we can go other places.”

“Yes, that sounds perfect. I’m free most Thursdays and Fridays.”

Tuesday knew Knife heard the conversation, which was fine, except she worried it would make him feel bad.

Sure enough, he stepped around the wall to give her a hug after she hung up.

“I’d give anything if you’d have let me leave the club, instead of you leaving the pack.”

She let him hold her, but told him, “No. We’re exactly as we’re supposed to be.” It was on the tip of her tongue to add, or we would be if you’d let me fucking orgasm, but the truth was, him not allowing it kind of defined them. She might want to bitch about it, but this was Knife defining their relationship. Underlining the power exchange with a bright red marker.

But later that evening, he used her mouth again without giving her an opportunity to get off — and then crammed a large vibrating butt plug up her ass, turned it on low, and ordered her to go to sleep. She dreamed of denial all fucking night, and woke with her hips slowly pumping.

She found herself alone in bed, because he was already downstairs getting breakfast started. She tried to figure out what’d wakened her and quickly realized it’d been the smell of cooking bacon.

After they ate, they drove his truck and her SUV to her apartment to move her clothes and toiletries. He helped her box things up, and when her closet and bathroom were empty, he walked her apartment, looking at everything.

“What furniture do you want to bring?” he asked. “We can give some of my furniture away. Replace it with yours. I’m not terribly attached to my sofas and shit.”

She stared at her bed. She loved it, and had paid entirely too much for it.

“I can move my bed out,” he said from the doorway. “Put yours in.”

She looked at him in surprise. He’d made his bed with his own two hands, had special-ordered the handlebars, had inset the hinges on the pillory into the wood like a professional craftsman. She knew he was attached to his bed, and yet, he was willing to replace it with hers.

And that meant arguing they should stick with his simply because he’d made it wasn’t going to fly, so she told him, “And give up the pillory? Not a chance.”

He grinned, and she realized his kitchen table fit his kitchen while hers would not, which only left the living room furniture.

“I like your sofa. Maybe we just take my reading chair? My big floor lamp can go in your living room, and you don’t have much on your walls, and if you like my artwork, we can take some of it.”

He nodded. “I love the waterfall painting in your living room, and the dark forest one in here.”

“Okay then. Not really sure what to do with the rest of my things, though.”

“The MC runs a women’s and children’s shelter, and we’re always looking for clothing and furniture, so we can help the moms get a new place set up for them and their kids once it’s safe for them to move out. We’ll take everything you want to our place, and the MC will come get what’s left, write you a receipt so you can use it on your taxes.”

He walked into her kitchen and told her, “I’m thinking I can knock out a wall in the kitchen. Not the whole wall, just everything to the right of the door leading into the living room. Make it more of an open floor plan, and it’ll let me build a storage unit. I can move the things I don’t often use there, and you can put your less-often-used stuff there as well. That’ll free up storage around the actual cooking and prep surfaces for your things.”

Once again, she was touched.

“You’re rearranging everything to make room for me,” she noted.

“I’ll build another house if you want me to. It was there when I bought the land, but I made some substantial changes, figuring I could add a closet if I ever found someone I wanted to live with, which seemed unlikely.” He shrugged. “Never thought she might be a foodie with every known size of pot and pan, and ingredients most people have never heard of, but it needs to be your kitchen, too, so we’ll figure out how to make that happen. I’m attached to my knives, my grills, my main frying pan, my Dutch oven, and the three cast-iron pieces I own. Everything else can go, if necessary, to make room for your things. We can send my dishes to charity and use yours, the same with my silverware, whatever.”

She nodded. “Yeah, okay. I am actually attached to my pots and pans, but let’s decide that another day. I’d like to get my clothes into my new closet today. Little goals.”