Beast: Learning to Breathe (Devil's Blaze MC #5)

“Hey, Hayden, I didn’t know you worked today,” Liese calls out. I don’t see Charlie anywhere, which is unusual. I smile at Liese, who next to Charlie is probably the only one in town that really cares about me. She might even miss me if something happened to me. I haven’t talked to her a lot, but she’s been good to me and helped me before when I was in a jam. I’ve watched her little boy a few times, and I’ve given her some baked goods from time to time. Until Michael, that’s the only friendship I’ve ever truly worked at keeping. Liese is good people and though she doesn’t know my full past, I realize she knows some of it. She knows it, and she doesn’t judge me. She doesn’t shy away from letting others know that she likes me. That means a lot to me.

“I’m not. Michael brought me into town for my doctor’s appointment, and we decided to grab some lunch,” I tell her with a smile. I’d stop at the front bar and sit down so I could talk to her, but Michael keeps his pressure on my back. I go with him to the main back table. I usually like to hide against the wall on the few occasions I have ventured out. Michael doesn’t give me that option. Instead, he puts me in the chair facing the wall, while he takes the one against the wall across from me.

“What can I get you guys?” Liese asks, almost immediately. Michael looks at me pointedly—with another grunt. I swear I’d almost believe this guy was a caveman that was only recently unthawed from the ice. There was a movie about that. I think I’ll make it my mission to make Michael watch that someday...if I get the chance.

“I’ll have a chocolate milk, peanut butter and banana sandwich with melted cheese, and French fries,” I tell her.

“I’ll have the cheeseburger box,” his dark voice rumbles. “Lemonade for the drink,” he adds, and I can’t stop the gasp that comes out of my mouth.

Liese grins at me and goes back toward the kitchen.

“What?” he asks, when I don’t seem to form words soon enough to suit him.

“I just...it’s just that...”

“For a girl that talks so much, you have trouble forming sentences that make sense,” he grumbles, his voice cracking as he finishes, causing him to frown.

“It’s just you don’t look like much of a lemonade drinker, Michael.”

“They don’t sell whiskey here,” he answers, watching me closely.

“Well, no. But I figured you for soda or a beer man maybe.”

“What’s wrong with lemonade?” He eyes me, confused.

I shrug. “It seems so...cheerful,” I tell him, honestly, and for a second, I think he’s smiling. The muscles along his jawline moves and it could be entirely possible. It’s also impossible to know since he’s covered with so much hair.

“What the hell is a peanut butter and banana sandwich?” he asks, turning my question back on me.

“Elvis loved them,” I tell him, defensively.

“With cheese?” he asks doubtfully.

“I’m pregnant and apparently, Maggie demands them.” I shrug and there it is again. I’m pretty sure he’s smiling. I wish I could know for sure. “Can I ask you a question?” I propose, tilting my head a little, wishing I could see his lips. There’s a glimpse of them through the dark hair but that’s it. He gives me a heavy sigh, but he doesn’t say no. I’m going to count that as permission. “Does it hurt you to talk?” Shock comes over his face at my question. He wasn’t expecting it and it was probably a very rude question to ask, I couldn’t stop myself, however.

Liese brings over our drinks, and he stares down at his lemonade, completely ignoring me. I figure that means he’s not going to answer. I’m kind of ashamed that I just asked him that question so bluntly. I shouldn’t have pried. I hate it when people do that to me. I don’t know what possessed me to be that way with Michael. I, of all people, should understand there are just some things that you don’t want to talk about. While the question seemed perfectly innocent to me, I know he’s covered in burns, and I can tell it had to be horrific just from the scarring. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk about it. I’m an idiot.

“It doesn’t hurt, it’s just tight, and I hate hearing...I hate hearing the change in my voice,” he tells me, and I know he’s giving me absolute honesty. I cherish it, because I’m pretty sure Michael hasn’t spoken to people about this before. I don’t know why I think that, but I know enough to know he’s a solitary person, so I’d lay money on the fact that I’m right.

I decide to change the subject to something safer. “The hospital gave me your name when they were going through my papers. Connor Michael Jameson. It’s a beautiful name. Is there a reason you go by Michael rather than Connor?”

He grunts. Hmm...I have no idea what that means. I thought talking about his name would be safer than his scars or voice. My new friend is going to be difficult to get to know if this is any indication. I decide to give up and just stare out the window. He wants silence. I can appreciate that. Sometimes holding a conversation takes too much effort.





29





Beast





“I don’t go by either name. Michael is what my bitch of a mother called me,” I tell her finally, if for no other reason than to stop her from staring out the window and ignoring me. This might have been a mistake. I should have dropped her off at home, made sure she had food and left. I was just thinking that the child needed food and set about making sure she got it. Protecting this child might come with quite a few complications. Most notably, her mother.

The waitress brings our food and for a few minutes Hayden is preoccupied with arranging her plate, drink, and then making sure the cheese is melted correctly on her sandwich. It’s very strange watching her. When she reaches for the salt shaker, I take it from her.

“What?” she asks, confused.

“Salt’s bad for the baby,” I explain, proceeding to use it myself. I practically pour it in my ketchup. I’m not ashamed to admit that if it was possible, I would totally be addicted to salt. That said, I’m adding more than usual, because each second that ticks by Hayden’s mouth opens a little more, and her eyes widen with shock.

“I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think that much salt is good for anyone,” she finally answers. Her voice is a mixture of sarcasm and exasperation. It could almost make me smile...yet again. Hayden is a very strange creature.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not carrying Maggie,” I tell her, and fuck if I don’t let loose a chuckle, when this time she grunts at me.

“If you don’t go by Michael or Connor what do people call you?” she asks, taking a bite of her sandwich when she finishes her question.

I think about not answering her, but then she’d probably take to ignoring me again and looking out the window. “My club gave me a road name,” I tell her, reluctant to share with her what it is. She looks up at me and a look comes over her face that I don’t like. I’m not sure how to describe it, but I know that mixed in with it is fear.

“You...you are in a club? Like...A biker gang?” she says, her face going noticeably pale. She’s even pushing her chair back as if she’s getting ready to run.

“It’s a club—not a gang. And I used to be. I’m not anymore,” I growl. I never thought she would be so judgmental. She doesn’t have a right to judge. Has she looked in the fucking mirror.