Mazella closed the squeaky gate and sighed heavily. It had been days since she told Thomas to fuck off and leave her alone if he couldn't be civil to her. The pain she felt in her heart tore at her daily from the words she spoke to him. Maze hadn't seen Thomas since and wouldn't want to after the way he spoke to her. Rubbing her chest with her gloved hand, she pressed herself to walk toward the hospital where her shift awaited.
As she began the long journey to City Hospital, Maze noticed a black Model T flatbed truck parked down the road from her house. She eyed it with interest, seeing a man sitting in the driver's seat watching her. It unnerved her, but she pressed on. Absently, she scratched her arm for the umpteenth time this morning, wondering why she kept itching when she didn't have a bug bite.
Giving a nod to a group of small children playing tag, she wished for the days when she was a child herself. Maze hummed a quiet tune as she walked toward the center of the city. Maze walked quietly, keeping an eye out for lurking eyes. Since Inspector Campbell's arrival and their encounter at the church, Maze did her best to keep out of his eye, but she knew he had eyes and coppers around the city.
Entering the Bullring, she saw the towering spire of St. Martin's church and made a mental note to visit the church on Sunday. Maze heard a honk from behind her and twisted her body around to see what happened when she spotted the same black Model T from the street she lived on. It couldn't be a coincidence. The vehicles of this time period were all black, but the man in the driver's seat was the same person from earlier.
Her heart thudded in her chest as a wave of panic rushed over viciously. Someone was following her! She had almost an hour before she arrived at the hospital and now wished she drove Jameson's car. Maze paused her step and thought of who and why she was being followed. The only person she knew that would be high handed enough to have someone follow her was Thomas.
She hadn't stepped out of line since the Inspector showed his ugly face to her at the church weeks ago. Maze was well aware she wasn't in any trouble. Scratching out other forms of eye watching her, it left her with one glaringly obvious result.
Thomas had someone following her.
Rage quickly replaced her near panic attack, and she spun on her heel, determined to walk back to the Shelby house and yell at him. It was high handed for him to assume she needed protection.
He needed to be yelled at for being presumptuous. The man in the Model T must have noticed something because she saw the look of panic cross his face. Maze smirked inwardly, knowing that whoever Thomas sent to follow her would be yelled at for being caught.
Discretion was always Thomas's choice of approach. Unless he needed to be flashy.
She wasn't sure how to confront the man in the Model T. Should she storm over there angry and shouting and demand for him to take her to Thomas or be calm, yet steaming angry, and ask him why he was following her? Both ideas had appeal, but she needn't embarrass herself in public. Far too many people knew who she was and who she associated herself with.
Straightening her back, she maneuvered through the throng of people, hoping the man in the Model T wouldn't panic and leave before she could interrogate him. As she ventured closer, the man in the driver's seat tried to look inconspicuous, but failed miserably. Maze could feel anger rolling through her veins at Thomas's assumption as she crossed in front of the Model T to stop in front of the man.
"Who are you?" she demanded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Why are you following me?"
"I—Miss, I'm not supposed to talk to you…" he stammered, removing his hat from his head, twisting the fabric.
"Well, too late," Maze snapped, eyeing him angrily. "Take me to him."
"Take you to who, Miss. I dunno who yer talkin' 'bout."
Maze scowled. "Don't play coy with me. I know who sent you to follow me. Now take me to him." She reiterated.
Before the man could stumble out another excuse, Maze sighed and stormed around the vehicle and climbed inside the Model T. Giving the man a heated glare, he fumbled before climbing out to crank the vehicle before climbing back inside and turning the ignition.
Maze sat stewing over the fact of this. It deeply angered her he would send her a bodyguard without consulting her about it first. She agreed to stay in Birmingham and not run away to London to hide from the Inspector's beady eyes, but didn't expect this! The drive stayed silent as the man drove Maze to the Shelby house. Maze refused to look at him or listen to his stumbling excuses.
The car slowed as they approached the Shelby house. When it finally stopped, Maze twisted the handle roughly and pushed the door open before slamming it unladylike. Behind her, she could hear the man scrambling out of the car and running around to intercept her before she stormed into the house, looking for Thomas.
"Miss…" he began, placing both hands in front of her as if to stop her.
"Get out of me way," she demanded, and pushed past him to wrench the door open.
"THOMAS!" she yelled angrily, closing the door loudly behind her and catching the attention of the couple of men standing in the parlor. She winced at her lack of decorum, but her anger overrode her sense of propriety.
"Thomas!" she growled, pushing past the couple of men to come face to face with Polly.
"Out of my way, Polly," she seethed.
"What's got you in a strop?" Polly asked, placing herself between the Betting house and the angry young woman in front of her.
Maze eyed the woman angrily and stepped toward the betting house to confront Thomas. She felt a hand grab her by the elbow, stopping her from proceeding. Maze turned her head slowly and glared down at the feminine hand on her elbow before glaring at Polly.
"Let me go."
"I will not let you go until you tell me what's wrong."
Maze jerked her arm roughly from Polly's firm grip and shifted her shoulder a little. "I need to talk to Thomas."
"Not like that you're not," Polly snapped, crossing her arms in front of her. "Talk. Now."
Maze glared at the woman again, but Polly stared back unflinchingly. The woman before her faced down far more vicious anger episodes from the boys. Maze's temper tantrum was nothing.
The younger woman pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "D'you know he sent someone to follow me?"
Polly arched an eyebrow at the younger woman but said nothing. She knew quite that Thomas wanted to have someone follow Maze for her protection, but seeing the woman in question angry meant that Thomas didn't tell Mazella.
Realization dawned on Maze as she watched Polly's normally unreadable face. The answer was clear as day on her face. "You knew, and you didn't tell me?" she seethed, accusing the older woman.
"I believed he might do something like that, but I assumed he would have spoken to you about it."
Maze scoffed, shaking her head angrily. "Yea, right. Thomas speak to me about anything, especially something I need to know about."
"He's only doing what he thinks is best…."
"That sentence right there…. what he thinks. Polly…" Maze fumed, shifting from one foot to the next. She wanted to push the fucking doors open and find him and yell at him. It took all her willpower to not act out even further.
"It's my fucking life, Polly. I can make my own damn decisions!" Maze wanted to stomp her foot like a small child, but stopped before she could embarrass herself.
"Decisions about your safety go out the door if someone has bad intentions towards you," Polly replied evenly.
Maze's head snapped up at Polly's statement. "I know how to use a gun, Pol, remember? Thomas taught me how to use one!"
"And what are you going to do, hmm? Shoot the first man that you think is following you?"
Maze scowled at Polly's accusation.
"What's going on out here?" a cool voice said to her right.
Maze's heart stopped for a brief second before the ire she had with Thomas reared its ugly head back. She whipped her head to glare at his unaffected facial features. Just seeing him calm angered her further. He shouldn't be calm when she was the angry one!
"Why do you have someone following me?" she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. He would talk or by God she would make him.
He pursed his lips, as if shrugging his shoulders lightly. "It took you long enough to realize."
Her mouth dropped open. She huffed, snapping it closed before glaring at him again. "How long have you had someone following me?"
"Why should I tell you?" he remarked.
"Because it's my life, Thomas!" she spat, her dark eyes never leaving his blue ones.
"Is this another attempt of you telling me you can make your own decisions?"
"You're fucking impossible, you know that?"
Thomas glanced at her, hoping that she would come to see his decision was the best in the situation. He knew if he attempted to tell her that someone was going to be following her until the Inspector left, she would have fought him tooth and nail over it. They would have argued, much like they were doing now. Her modern sensibilities grated on his nerves when he made a decision concerning her.
Like right now. He didn't need her anger. "You're not a ray of sunshine either," he remarked heatedly.
Maze snorted. "You could have told me."
"Why should I have?" Thomas demanded, pushing himself away from the wall he commendered. He stepped close to her, his taller stature overshadowing her. His eyes flashed amber before settling back to blue. "You would have fought me over it." She opened her mouth to protest when he stopped her. "You know you would have, so don't deny it, Maze."
"I don't need a fucking babysitter." She argued, crossing her arms across her chest and ignoring how close he was to her. She could almost feel his warmth radiating from his body. It sent goosebumps along her arms.
"No," he paused, his eyes roaming over her face before settling back to her eyes, "you need someone to keep you out of trouble."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"Enough, Maze," he snapped lowly, his amber eyes flickering briefly to her lips. "He's going to keep following you. So you best get over it now."
Maze opened her mouth to continue arguing, but she knew it would be futile. Once Thomas set his mind to something, he didn't back down. Opting for scowling at him, she looked at Polly, who stood watching; fuming at his decision.
Thomas watched her for a few minutes until he felt she understood his decision. He didn't give a fuck if she didn't like his decision. She would respect it. He leaned back as she turned her head away from him. Thomas knew this was the only way to keep her safe.
He wouldn't stand for her leaving his side.
Thomas Shelby sat up abruptly in his bed a few mornings later and ran a shaky hand over his face. The nightmares were back, keeping him awake at night instead of letting him sleep. His eyes darted to the opium pipe on his night table, cursing that it allowed him a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before the nightmares began. He wished he didn't need the opiate to function.
The past several days saw a man killed, people hurt, his businesses ransacked, and Maze... he sighed, thinking of her name. Campbell injured her one day and the next she told him to fuck off. When she discovered his duplicity, the way he snuck behind her back and gave her a guard, he was afraid she would tell him to leave her alone permanently. In the end, she allowed the bodyguard on the basis that he leave her be unless she needed him. He supposed since returning home; she had enough of his antagonizing ways toward her. He couldn't explain to her why he was angry with her all the time.
His thoughts drifted from her to Campbell. The copper made his move by destroying his businesses and threatening the people of Small Heath. Thomas didn't like the fear he saw when he crossed paths with a person. He could see the blame in their eyes. Asking why the Peaky Blinders let this happen. The longer the copper was in his city, the more he grew to hate the man. Whether or not the copper knew it, he would die by a Shelby hand.
Thomas decided he would spend several hours checking over the horse he got from the Lees before wandering around Small Heath. Today he would start by repairing the rift between the Peaky Blinders and the people of Small Heath by stepping into pubs and talking to people, reassuring them, and fixing the story about the coppers invading their homes. Once he accomplished his mission, he could concentrate on more important things.
Thomas placed the opium pipe in its box, hiding it under his bed. He rose to his feet to search for his clothes for the day before finding something to eat. Once dressed, he left his small flat. The sky was overcast, setting his mood bleak, but determined. As he walked, he thought about what to do with Campbell.
He told Polly there would be retribution, but he needed something to gain the attention of Winston Churchill too. Something that would agitate Winston Churchill enough that Campbell's arse would be on the line. He needed to hit the man where it hurt. Thomas entered a small shop to sit down to eat a quick breakfast. Satisfied, he tossed a few bills on the table, despite being told it was 'on the house.'
A portrait hung on the opposite wall from the door, catching his attention. What better way to catch Winston Churchill's ire than to burn the likeness of the King? Once the information went to London, Churchill would summon Campbell, inquiring about the incident. It would leave Campbell fumbling for an explanation.
A tiny smile graced his face as he exited the shop. It would work, he was sure of it.
Now he needed a reporter to tell the story.
Thomas fished his pocket watch from his waistcoat to check the time. The Betting House would be open for business in a few quick minutes. He wanted to talk to Arthur about his idea to strike back at Campbell. His family thought him mad for playing this game with the Inspector, but the Inspector showed his hand by injuring Arthur and Maze. No one was going to hurt his family, if he could help it.
The line was long as he reached Polly's house on Watery Lane. Stepping past gambling men who used their winnings to help fuel their families, he entered the house, hoping to find Arthur.
Inside, the Betting House was in commotion. He stood there momentarily, taking it all in before searching out Arthur. John was standing in front of the blackboard, his eyes doing their work as his brain did the calculations. When his brother wasn't drunk, he was a true asset to their bookmaking.
"You busy?" Thomas asked, pushing the glass door open to Arthur's office.
"Why?" Arthur muttered, looking up at his brother.
"I've got a plan and I need your help," Thomas replied, stepping into the room. He placed his hands on Arthur's desk, leaning close to him.
The door opened a second later, letting John inside. Thomas waited for John to get settled before he leaned back up and fished out a cigarette.
"What's the plan, Tommy?" Arthur asked.
"I wanted the both of you and Finn to go around, pay people money for their portrait of the King."
"Yea, what are you going to do with those?" John asked interestedly.
Thomas looked at John, then at Arthur. "I'm going to burn them."
The street was dark, the road still wet from the rain earlier that afternoon. A sizeable crowd gathered in the middle of Watery Lane, a bonfire burning brightly in the center of the road. The fire's warmth licked those close enough to step toward it. It hadn't taken long for the Shelby's gathering up coin to pass around to people in their neighborhood for their portrait of the King. Many tried asking why Thomas Shelby wanted their portraits, but none refused the offered coin.
After smoothing out the details with his brothers, Thomas sent one of his men to the local paper to send a reporter to the bonfire later that night. He wanted to make a statement, hoping this would get back to Campbell and Churchill. By tomorrow morning, Campbell would read Thomas's statement. It wasn't illegal to have a bonfire in the middle of the street, just unusual. He'd sent his younger brother, Finn, to nab the portrait of the King from the Garrison, hoping his brother could get away with it.
He stood there, leaning against a car and watching as people poured into Watery Lane with their portraits of the King. The Peaky Blinders handed a lot of coin out to people for their offerings. The townspeople filled the crowded street with lots of talking and the unanswered question of why Thomas Shelby wanted their portraits. It was becoming a party as many cheered, seeing the portrait burn in the enormous bonfire that had been erected earlier that day.
Someone handed him a mug of beer, the glass slipping easily between his fingers. Thomas moved quietly and stood in front of the fire to get warm. He understood the backlash that would come from this and expected it. His body thrummed with anticipation. Campbell couldn't stand the embarrassment of a superior giving him a tongue lashing, and he knew it. It would embarrass him and the embarrassment would turn to anger and then, only then, Campbell would lash out.
Thomas couldn't wait.
"Come on, boys, toss them in!" Thomas called out over the roar of the crowd. Arthur came up to him, a bottle in his mouth as he twisted the top off.
"I bloody hope you know what you're doing," Arthur mumbled, taking a swing from his bottle as John tossed another portrait in, hearing the cheers of children behind him.
Thomas took a sip of the warm beer and hoped he was right in this endeavor.
A truck and car blocked the street off at each end, keeping the coppers and unwanted guests from entering. A beeping of a horn from a car trying to get in set a few Blinders to inspect whoever it was. No coppers would be allowed to get in and corral the situation until Thomas said so. A tall, aged man with round glasses stepped out of his car and walked to the two bodyguards, holding up a small card.
"I'm from the Birmingham Evening Dispatch," the man fumbled, slightly terrified that they chose him to do this job. "I had a phone call requesting an audience with Thomas Shelby?"
"Come with me," the man said, leading the reporter to Thomas.
Thomas waited patiently, watching the flames climb higher. The blazing warmth should have kept him warm, but he felt an icy chill creep around him like a blanket. From the corner of his blue eyes, he caught Maze on the other side of the fire with a portrait in her hands. Thomas lifted his foot to begin his walk to her, but paused and frowned. He had instructed no one to speak to her. Thomas didn't want her involved in his war with the Inspector. She glanced at him, blue and brown eyes staring at each other until John told the crowd to part ways. He blinked and watched her toss the portrait in and walk off. She might be furious with him, but she understood he what he was doing.
An elbow nudged him as he brought his cigarette to his lips, inhaling the smoke before blowing it out. Beside him, the reporter stopped to look at him.
"Are you Thomas Shelby?" the reporter asked, having never met the man.
Thomas casually glanced at the gentlemen. "I am," he said, turning away to look at the flames again.
The reporter looked around nervously, never having stepped foot onto Watery Lane. His parents were proper folks, unlike these hooligans. The reporter looked at Thomas, hoping his assurance of protection was valid. "What is going on?" he asked, looking around, seeing the bonfire and the people milling around.
"There are some things I want you to write," Thomas said, his gaze never leaving the fire. The reporter reached into his pockets of his overcoat and produced a small notepad and writing utensil. He waited for a second for Thomas to begin. Whatever Thomas Shelby wanted to say, the reporter was going to write.
"First thing I want you to write is this. The people around here aren't disloyal to the King, it's the opposite," Thomas began. "We don't want our King to look down and see what they have done to us. So to protect him from all the ugliness, we're burning his portrait. We all fought and died for the King and now we're being attacked in our homes."
The reporter scribbled furiously, trying to catch every word that fell from Thomas' lips.
"This copper from Belfast," Thomas continued, "is breaking into our homes, disrupting our lives and our women."
"Might I ask, in what capacity do you speak?" the reporter asked, befuddled still by this interview.
Thomas shook his head, his eyes flickering over the fire in front if him, "No capacity. I'm an ordinary man. I won gallantry medals at the Somme." he paused, looking at the man again before placing his cigarette between his lips. "Make sure you write about what's going on. Let everyone know."
Later that night, a telephone rang in an almost empty police station. The poor, unfortunate officer rushed to Campbell's office to let him know there was a phone call for him.
"It's nearly midnight!" Campbell exclaimed, shocked.
"It's from Winston Churchill," the officer explained, before rushing out of the office to let Campbell deal with the fallout.
Campbell finished his drink and picked up the phone.
It wasn't a pleasant call.
Polly Shelby sat at her kitchen table, reading the newspaper and Thomas's article, when Ada bustled into the room. Her cooling tea sat beside her as she read over Thomas' statement to the press. She remembered his words from earlier, how he needed to strike back against the Inspector. She wholeheartedly approved of the way he handled it. Apparently, the whole town showed up for the event.
"Where have you been?" Polly asked, lifting her eyes from the paper momentarily before looking back down.
"In bed all day. I had a hard time sleeping. Couldn't sleep, kept tossing and turning," Ada complained, slicing off a bit of bread from the baker's. "What's in the paper?" she asked, sitting down with her bread and jam.
"BSA and miners are on strike," Polly said, lowering the paper and reaching for her cup of tea. Polly turned her head and eyed Ada with interest. She knew something was off about the younger woman. Call it women's intuition, but Polly knew something was off about her niece. Polly knew Ada well and knew the younger woman would refuse to tell her anything unless they forced her to speak.
"Stand up," Polly instructed sharply. The suspense was killing her.
Ada stood up, huffing as she did, and stood with her hands to her side, looking at her aunt expectantly. "What?"
Polly rose from her chair quickly and walked over to her niece. She turned Ada to stand to the side, her older eyes wandering over the girl's body. Quick as lightning, she grabbed Ada's breast, forcing Ada to step back and shriek.
"What are you doing?!" Ada shouted, fixing her nightgown and robe.
"Ada, tell me the truth. How late are you?"
"One week," Ada sighed, knowing Polly caught her. "Okay, fine, five weeks."
Polly sighed heavily as she retook her seat. The fallout from this new discovery would be catastrophic if Polly didn't fix it immediately. She ignored her niece's complaints as her mind raced around to fix the problem before Thomas learned of it. Discreetly, Polly made an appointment to see a midwife that evening. She hated sneaking around town for answers but was thankful Thomas hadn't set a bodyguard for her or Ada, just Maze.
That evening, Polly's suspicions were confirmed after forcing Ada to see a midwife. Ada was pregnant.
"Who's the father?" Polly hissed as they stepped out into the street.
"If I tell you, you'll tell them and they'll cut him to pieces," Ada complained, her voice shaky.
"Not if he marries you, they won't," Polly reassured her niece, dragging her away from the slummier parts of Small Heath. If someone recognized them, word would get back to Thomas before dawn and then Polly wouldn't be able to protect Ada from Thomas' fury.
Thomas' day started off with him at Charlie's yard to check on the new horse he gained from the Lees. The animal was beautiful, but Thomas needed to try it out before he let it into the racecourse. Instructing Curly to grab the Spanish saddle, he took the beautiful animal for a walk. He hoped this horse would win and win big.
"Nice horse you have there Thomas, but is it worth getting into a war with the Lees?" Charlie asked bitterly, sitting at a table with a bottle of alcohol and a tin cup sitting in front of him.
Thomas slowed his movements to tie off the horse so it couldn't escape and walked over to his uncle. Whatever Charlie was about to say was going to end his good morning. He was coming to realize that he wouldn't have a pleasant day until died.
He heard the small clank of something being set down on the table. From his vantage, he could see it was a bullet when his uncle moved his hand away. Crossing the few steps, he picked it up, already knowing exactly what it would say.
The Lees carved Thomas' name into the bullet.
He rolled the bullet into his palm, knowing his plan was coming to fruition. Now he had a way in with Billy Kimber. It wouldn't be too long before the man knocked on his door, demanding answers. He spun the bullet between his fingers, listening to Charlie complain. Thomas respected and even loved his uncle, but the old man's constant bitching grated his nerves. Thomas knew what he'd done wasn't smart, but it was the only way.
"We do not speak of the guns," Thomas instructed heatedly after hearing Charlie bitch about them.
Not caring to listen to his uncle anymore, Thomas mounted the horse and rode off. He thought better when he rode. His mind was clearer about planning his next moves. The ride was as quiet as it could be with the loud city around them. A sudden blast of fire close to the Garrison startled the horse, almost knocking Thomas off his back.
He slid off the horse and stepped close to rub his hand over the horse's face, shushing and murmuring to the animal, helping it calm down. Best to get used to the noises now before the animal encounters a gunshot to start the race.
Within a few minutes, the horse calmed enough that Thomas could walk it around the other side of the Garrison and back toward the docks. He hoped Charlie wouldn't be there, but with his luck today, the old man would be. He was so concentrated on the horse that he didn't feel eyes watching him.
Grace watched from the front door of the Garrison as Thomas Shelby calmed a white horse. Its coat shone brightly around the dark and dank street, catching the eye of everyone. Once it was confirmed that Thomas was the leader of the Peaky Blinders, she reported to Campbell, who silently gave her instruction to keep a firm eye on Thomas Shelby. She wasn't sure of her superior's vendetta against the man, but she would do as instructed.
Getting close to him was becoming a challenge. According to Harry, Thomas Shelby stayed close to family and dealt with everyone when he had to. She knew the woman he argued with a week ago or so was important to him. It was the way Harry avoided her question when she asked. It made her extremely suspicious. She would have to do some asking around, discreetly, of course. She didn't want her questioning to get back to Thomas.
But today, her patience would pay off.
She spun around and walked back into the Garrison and grabbed the bucket used as a spit bucket. Rushing as fast as her heels could carry her, she pushed the side door opened just as Thomas came to it.
Grace chucked it out of the door, the nasty spit of tobacco splashing on the wet black rocks. Thomas stopped quickly and looked down before looking up to see who he needed to yell at. She knew she was treading dangerous waters and Harry's words kept coming back to haunt her mind.
She had a job to do.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Shelby," she said, pushing sincerity in her voice.
"I'm Grace Bur-" she began, clasping to the disgusting bucket close to her body. She tried keeping her face neutral as the smell of old tobacco spit wafted in her nostrils.
"I know who you are," Thomas interrupted. Of course, he knew who she was. The better question was, what did she want with him? The horse moved restlessly by his side. Silence descended upon them, and Grace knew she had to hasten before Thomas lost interest in the conversation and ended it.
"What's his name?" she asked, motioning to the horse.
"He doesn't have a name," Thomas said, glancing quickly at the horse before going back to Grace. "Is there something you want from me?"
She could tell he was already tired of the conversation.
"You said singing wasn't allowed in the pub," she began, eyeing him. "I would like to ask for one day a week to sing. Saturdays. The men enjoy it."
Grace could tell he wanted to tell her no. It seemed that nothing happened unless Thomas Shelby said so. Regardless, if he liked it or not, she was going to get her way.
He wasn't budging with his decree that singing wasn't allowed, so she threw Harry under the bus. "Harry was too afraid to ask you."
Thomas pursed his lips at her, contemplating her words and actions. "But you're not afraid to ask me, are you?"
Grace schooled her face, hoping he would believe her. "I am," she said with a tiny nod of her head. She wasn't afraid of him, fascinated, yes, but not afraid. He was a man and a bullet would end his life quickly if need be.
Thomas sighed at her. He, apparently, didn't want to talk to her. The only woman he wanted to speak to wasn't talking to him. His chest ached thinking about his last encounter with Maze. "You sound like one of those rich girls that come down to watch the races. All proper-like. Do you like horses?"
The question threw her. Most people liked horses, many more enjoyed watching horse racing. She watched as he walked around the horse, mounting it quickly. "Would you like to make extra money?" he asked. Now she knew he was up to something.
"If you have a nice dress, I'll take you to the races," he said, nudging the horse forward, leaving Grace standing with her spit bucket as she did a mental victory dance. As he gently tapped the horse with the heel of his boots, the wolf and his heart felt disturbed by asking another woman on a date.
Thomas left Grace standing by the side door of the Garrison as he rode off quickly. He didn't have time to worry about women and their business. He wasn't sold on the singing at the pub once a week, but he figured it wouldn't hurt. Maze would insist he bring back a happiness and entertainment for the patrons.
He wasn't sure about Grace's motives for asking to sing in the pub, but as she talked, he realized he could use her. He would take her to Kimber's racetrack but couldn't go alone. Maze would….. he paused his line of thinking. He needed to shake her out of his mind. She haunted his thoughts when he allowed himself to think about her. The longer he wasn't around her, the more he wanted to see her, but he wasn't sure if he could handle talking to her without getting angry. As he rode, he felt the telltale itching began on the back of his hands.
Maybe Polly was right.
He needed to let it go. They both survived the war. Neither of them were dead. He'd been angry with her since he found her last year before the war ended. He wasn't sure, but he figured she tried to hide herself until they came back home. It didn't work, and he spent the next several months angry with her. It was fortunate that they transferred him out and sent somewhere else.
On the surface, his anger was just. A few levels lower, it became something else. It wasn't the first time he'd been angry with her, but that was before he shifted at twenty-one, sealing his fate as an Alpha werewolf. His attitude toward her changed the second he shifted.
Thomas shook his head vigorously. He needed a run. He needed to be free of his everyday burdens and run into the woods for a few hours. When he returned to his office, he would find out when the next full moon was.
