Four months had passed since that night, and you’d kept yourself busy, drowning yourself in your work at the pet rescue centre. Today you were working and were in the office when the front door opened. You heard Maria welcome the customer and you carried on with your paperwork. “I’m here to see a bitch.” The females voice sent shivers up your spine, making you freeze in place.
“Im sorry,i don’t understand.” You heard Maria say.
“Oh she’s here, sweetheart. You know her, mouthy bitch, real chatty. Goes by (y/n).”
Your head shot up and you looked into the entrance to see none other than Gemma Teller, hands on her hips, sunglasses on her head, pouting her lips. Your hands trembled as you stepped out of the office, her eyes turning to you and a smirk spreading across her face.
“What are you doing here Gem?” You asked flatly, crossing your arms over your chest protectively.
She raised an eyebrow at you and stared you down, reading your expression.
“We need to talk sweetheart.” Was all she said as she turned and walked out the door.
Maria looked at you with a confused look on your face and you rolled your eyes, brushing her off and sighed as you walked out the door. Gemma stood leant against the wall, smoke in her mouth as she looked out into the street, watching the cars drive past. You went and stood next to her, grabbing your own cigarettes out of your pocket and lighting one up.
“I thought you quit.” Gemma said, her head still facing into the street.
“Yeah well,” you said as you blew out a cloud. “Things change.”
Gemma sniggered bitterly next to you and you looked at her. Her face had changed since you’d last seen her. She looked tired, stressed. She caught you looking and raised her glasses, her eyes pinning you down. “What are you doing here Gem?” You asked again, leaning against the wall and enjoying the feel of the cool bricks on your back. “You need to come home.” Gemma said, watching your face. You rolled your eyes and lifted the cigarette to your lips, taking a long drag.
“I have a home, Gemma.” Your voice was tired and you silently cursed yourself for how weak you sounded.
“Look baby, shit with the club is bad. He needs you. Your his old lady.”
“No, Gemma. I was his old lady. He made that choice.” You told her,‘staring back at her now.
She paused and looked at you, her cold eyes pierced through you and you felt a chill run over you. “If I had a dollar for every time Clay fucked some other pussy I’d be a rich woman, sweetheart.” She told you, her voice low.
You were used to the deep talks from Gemma. You applauded her, she definitely had a way of getting into people’s heads, twisting their thoughts and controlling their actions.
But you were sick of being a puppet. “Well I guess that’s the difference between you and me, Gem. I’m not a doormat, and I sure as hell ain’t gotta live my life like some side bitch."
You words surprised both of you and Gemma shifted, her body straightening as she moved infront of you. She placed her hand on the wall next to your head, her gaze burning through you.
"Go and see him. I ain’t asking, sweetheart.” She snarled, moving a hand to her hip. You snickered and pushed away from her, refusing to look back at her as you entered the rescue centre.
That night you sat in your bath tub, soaking your skin with a glass of whisky in your hand. Gemma’s words replayed through your head. You missed Tig. God, you missed him. But he had hurt you, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him, or if you ever could. Nights were the hardest. You’d always been independent and you never used to mind sleeping alone. But lately you felt empty at night, the cold space in the bed next to you making its existence known. You missed his arms wrapped around you, his moustache tickling at your neck. You would lay awake every night, dreaming of him, and you’d only sleep when you fell drowning into the memory of his blue eyes sparkling. You sighed and stood, the bath water dripping off you. Grabbing a towel and draping it loosely around you, you walked out of the bathroom and headed for bed.
Gemma leant against the door of the TM office, hands on her hips as she watched your car pull in to your old spot. You killed the engine and stepped out into the bright sun, the familiar scent hitting you instantly. You saw Gemma watching you from the office and raised your middle finger to her, making both of you smirk. You walked towards the clubhouse and saw Chibs sitting outside, his back towards you. He turned as he heard your footsteps and his jaw dropped slightly. “(Y/n)! It is bloody good to see you, lass!” A genuine smile spread on your face as Chibs embraces you. “Hey Chibby!” He pulled back and looked at you, studying your face as his own turned serious. “He needs you, lass.” His tone was serious and you sighed, breaking his gaze and looking at down at your shoes. “He’s in his dorm.” Chibs squeezed your shoulder gently and you nodded.
Emotions flowed through you as you walked down the hallway. Your hands shook and you breathed heavily. You stopped before his door, havin flashbacks to the last time you were here. Your trembling hand reached for the door and you hesitated before opening it. The image of Tig lying naked on the bed with a croweater on top of him flashed through your mind and you dropped your hand, turning around. You walked back down the hallway and had almost reached the end when you heard the a door open. “(Y/n)?” His voice was soft, and quiet, uncertain. You froze in step, unable to look at him. “(Y/n).” He spoke again softly, his voice sounded broken and you felt your heart ripping into pieces. You turned slowly, still not allowing yourself to look him in the eye. “Baby.” His voice burnt through you, quiet and broken. You lifted your head and finally met his eyes. He looked tired and his eyes were dull, and filled with pain. “Hey Tiggy.” Your voice came out shaky and you breathed deeply, trying to calm the emotions flowing through your body. His eyes filled with tears and he stepped towards you, arms open. You fell into them, drowning yourself in the scent you thought you’d lost forever. His arms wrapped around you tightly and you felt tears roll down your cheeks. You clung to him desperately, only now realising entirely how much you’d missed him. You pulled your head back and looked up into his glassy blue eyes. He smiled at you sadly, uncertainty on his face. “I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered. “I’m so sorry, (y/n). I’m so, so-” You pressed your finger to his lips, hushing him. “It’s okay, Tig. I love you. I forgive you.” You whispered, leaning your head closer. The moment your lips touched fire ran through your body, igniting every flame you thought had burned out months ago. You’d forgotten how it felt to be happy, how it felt to be loved, to be home. But now you remembered. And you would never let yourself forget again.
That is how long it’s been since the night you kissed Klaus under the mistletoe. Four long, frustrating months of replaying the kiss in your mind over and over, holding on to the memory of how velvety soft his lips were, the way it felt to be in his arms, all while he has one night stand after one night stand. You’ve never been more grateful to have a room at the compound on the opposite side of the property from his, so you don’t have to listen to the noises coming from inside that make you want to gouge your ears out while secretly desiring to be the source of them.
But now, four months later, you have had enough. You are tired of feeling the jealousy coursing through you every time you see him with a woman on his arm, which is why you are currently sitting at the bar in Rousseau’s, sipping a strong cocktail created by your good friend Camille O'Connell who happens to be the bartender, blowing off steam. You absentmindedly move the ice in your drink around with the skinny red stir straw that it came with it, paying no attention to what’s going on around you. Suddenly, a warm, masculine voice grabs your attention.
“Is this seat taken?” The voice asks.
You look up to see an insanely attractive man with raven black hair and dazzling blue eyes standing next to the empty bar stool beside you. You blink, taken aback by both his handsome looks and unexpected request, but quickly find your voice and recover.
“Not at all,” you tell him with a warm smile. He sits down and orders a scotch on the rocks, then turns to face you.
“I’m Jake,” he holds his hand out to you.
“Y/N,” you shake his hand.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he replies as he picks up his drink to take a sip.
“Which I’m sure you say to all the ladies,” you shake your head with a soft laugh as you bring your glass up to your lips.