Bullet: Devil's Rose MC #5

Chapter 16: Piper Bardot

"I always felt the need to live up to the Bardot name. Every teacher judged me based on my brothers. It was just the way it was. I'm twenty-eight with two master's degrees, a Ph.D., and published research, and I'm still not good enough. Not for my standards."

Bullet hesitates for a brief moment.

"That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard you fucking say. You are so fucking good enough. You are beyond good enough, you are everything. Why the fuck would you compare yourself to them? Don't you fucking do that to yourself. You're fucking amazing."

I don't think I've ever seen him so livid. He's been mad before, but this is far beyond anything I've seen. His veins raise out of his arms, his jaw clenched, his eyes firm and fierce with fiery conviction. My heart pounds in my chest, and I pry my legs apart from their clenched position. 

As much as I enjoy him being pissed off - he looks good and I can't help myself - I decide he should calm down before the waiter comes back. I wouldn't want Noah to think that something happened. I reach up with my free hand and hold the side of his face. 

He leans into my touch, closes his eyes for a second, and then takes a deep breath as he gazes deeply into my eyes. The fury has declined but has been replaced with a mix of other emotions. Tears are even gathering in his eyes, his blue eyes darkening with sorrow.

"Bullet? What's wrong, baby?"

"You can't say that about yourself, okay? Don't even think it."

I think I'm going to melt into this seat. He's so sweet and adorable.

"Makes you sad, huh?"

He nods his head, tilting forward to brush his lips against my forehead.

"You're talented and enough and worthy. You don't need anyone to tell you that. But when you want someone to, I will, always. Don't treat your beautiful self like that. Promise?"

"I promise."

Tears drip down his cheek, and I calmly brush them away even though my heart aches for him. I wonder why this is such a big deal for him. I get that I shouldn't be saying those things about myself, but I don't understand why it hurts him so much to hear me say it. There's more to that story. I don't think he's ready for me to ask though. So I don't.

"I hope I didn't ruin this."

"Bullet, no, you haven't ruined anything. You are enough too. You are worthy of all the love the world will bring to you. I want you to know that."

He blinks up at me, running the tips of his fingers along the curve of my neck.

"You're so pretty, angel."

"Thank you. You're pretty too."

"I know."

I grin up at him before lifting my glass of red wine to my lips. His blue eyes lighten as he stares down at my movements, clearing his throat while I lick my lower lip to taste the lasting bitterness of the wine. He mumbles something under his breath and shuffles in his seat. 

I force myself to keep my eyes above his waistline no matter how much I want to explore below. This isn't the time nor the place to do anything remotely intimate besides just sharing dinner.

But I fricking want to, so bad.

"Can I tell you more about my family?"

"Of course, Piper. Whatever you want."

"My insecurities had nothing to do with how my brothers treated me. They constantly made me feel part of the family. They never pressured me to be more than I was and neither did my parents. I went to Rice University after high school. 

"I was an economics, political science, and mathematics major. I ended up getting a master's degree in each of those and a Ph.D. in economics. Anyway, I didn't know what to do with my life after that, and I just got in a car and drove. I ended up here, loved it after twenty minutes, and moved."

"Holy shit. That's fucking crazy. How the fuck did your brain handle that?"

"I enjoyed it. It wasn't something I hated to do, learn I mean. I love school. It's so ridiculous, but I love it, and I wanted to stay in school for as long as I possibly could. Then when I graduated, I didn't know what else to do."

"But then you left again. I just don't understand. You don't have to tell me, but I'm curious."

"Well, I found out that I had breast cancer. I caught it early at stage one, so I knew I had to do something before it got worse, but there were a lot of treatment choices. The doctor, however, decided that chemo would be best because it was sort of abnormal. So I had to do that for about four weeks after I had surgery to remove the tumor from my boob and had fat from my stomach replace the section of my boob that was taken out."

"That sucks. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I have so many questions."

"You can ask any of them."

"How long were you gone?"

"Three months."

I don't know why he asked that question.

"Is there a chance it might come back?"

"There always is but because they caught it and treated it so early, it's highly unlikely that it'll ever return."

"Are you done with any type of treatment?"

"Yes. I just have to keep an eye on my boobs."

"How are you feeling?"

"Right now? Good, good. I have no complaints."

"Why did you tell me earlier?"

"Because everyone in my life has been treating me like I'm going to fall apart any second now. And while I love and appreciate them for caring, I wanted to feel normal. And having you not know, and you treating me like you were treating everyone at that point, made me feel normal."

"Okay, I get that, but you shouldn't have put up with me to feel normal. It's not normal for me to be hurting others like that. I was just being a jerk."

"I know, but you were treating everyone like a jerk, so I was just another person."

"Oh, angel, no. No, no, no. No. No. That's not right."

I chuckle as he shakes his head down at me.

"But you aren't treating anyone like that anymore, so I don't have to worry."

"Right, and I'm going to therapy tomorrow."

"You aren't a bad guy, Bullet. You're hurting. There's a difference."

"Personal hurting doesn't mean you can hurt others."

"No, it doesn't."

We sit and stare at each other in silence, his warmth bringing me so much comfort. When Noah arrives at the table with a tray of food, I break away from Bullet's hold, eyeing the amazing French food with excitement. 

Oh my goodness, I'm so grateful for food. 

We are each handed a plate to serve ourselves, and we instantly dig in, passing different dishes to one another. My mouth lights up as I take a bite of the Ratatouille, a small moan involuntarily leaving my lips. I see Bullet stiffen out of the corner of my eye, shuffling in his seat once again.

I don't acknowledge it though.

We don't talk much while we eat, our stomachs overpowering any need for conversation. I do, however, make up fun stories about the people sitting around us in between bites. I tell him happier memories about my childhood, like my dog's Mustard and Ketchup. 

Yes, I did get to name them while I was eight years old; I wasn't concerned with my parent's embarrassment when they had to shout those names down the street at that point in my life. 

My brothers hated my choice of names too but they named my goldfish Toilet (because of where he would eventually end up), so I had to get back at them somehow.

I think that was Bullet's favorite story out of all of them.