“Mine?” His voice shakes, and when I don’t answer him straight away, the way he looks at me with those beautiful blue eyes of his full of tears, it feels like I have a chain around me, pulling tighter. I nod slightly. He turns his body away from me and rubs the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry, Striker. I may not be able to ever have more kids, and if I do, it may take longer than usual to conceive. I couldn't bring myself to tell you any of this because I knew you would tell me you need a real woman, someone who can bear your children and quickly.”
“You wanted a baby with Jake?”
He completely ignored what I just told him about losing our baby a few months ago, and my deepest, darkest secret that only Grandpa, Jess and her mom know about. Is he shitting me?
“Are you kidding?” I look him dead in the eye. I wipe away the tears, standing up and looking down at him. Judging by his face, he knows he's fucked up. He stands in front of me and attempts to take my hands in his, but I snatch them away. “No.” My voice is low. “No, you don't get to ask me that after I just told you I lost a baby and probably my chances of ever having a child again, and all you can say is ‘You wanted a baby with Jake?’ Then you try to comfort me when you realize what a fucked up thing that was to say!”
I turn to walk away.
“Daria, I'm sorry.”
“Leave me the hell alone!”
***
I stare into the open fire with a glass of wine. Jess wanted to come by to see how I was, but I told her I wanted to be alone. I’m not ready to speak yet. I don't think I will ever be able to. Dad came by. I had forgotten he was coming over to chat some more. We’ve met up a couple of times since Grandpa passed, but every time we get closer, my mind keeps telling me that he chose Denise over me and my unborn child and kicked me out. The anger seeps back in and I have to walk away.
“Dad, I’m not feeling too great. Can we do this tomorrow?”
“Are you okay?” A pained expression crosses his eyes. He reaches across to put his hand on my forehead. I jerk my head back as flashbacks of the night of his birthday come to mind. His hand falls to his side. “Okay, come over to my place in the afternoon. I’ll prepare your favorite.”
“Okay, I’ll come by around twelve-thirty.”
“Pumpkin, I know I'm not your favorite person right now, but…” He takes my hands in his, looking me in the eye with glossy blues. “Just know, I'm here for you when you need me.”
I say nothing. I can’t get the words out. I needed you back then, Dad.
“Give me a call tomorrow. Okay?” I know by the way he's looking at me he wants to hug me. To be honest, I want nothing more than a fatherly hug right now. But I'm just not there yet.
Once Dad has gone, I take a shower. I need to wash the whole day off.
The water hits my skin, and it feels like a thousand bolts hitting me. The memories of all the things I had tried to put away into this little box in my head opens up like Pandora’s Box. They flood my mind and I can't get them back in. I need them to go back in. I can't take it. Sliding down the tiled wall, I hold my knees and cry like I've never cried before in my entire life. Grieving for my Grandpa, grieving for my two babies. I grieve for the lost years I never got with my real mom. I grieve for Striker and Emily's lost years.
“Dee?” a man's voice calls from outside the door. “Dee? What the hell happened?”
Looking up, I see the one person I need right now. My best friend who I have missed so much.
“J? I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” I cry as he pulls me out of the shower cubicle.
“You're freezing. We need to get you warm.” Reaching behind him, he pulls the towel from the heater and wraps it around me. “Come on. I'll dry your hair then we can talk.” I nod my head meekly. I want to save all my energy, what's left of it, for the talk we're about to have.
“How did you get in here?” My voice is low and emotionless.
“I still have my key.” He brushes my hair. “So, want to tell me what the tears are all about?”
No beating around the bush, he goes straight for the kill.
Draining my glass of wine, I take a deep breath and begin telling him everything I kept from him all these years.
The minute I finish my last sentence, Jake stands up and walks away, and I don't blame him. I would too. I stay put because I know he's angry. I want him to be angry with me. I want him to scream and shout at me. Anything. I did keep my being pregnant with his child a secret from him. He comes back through holding a bottle of Fireball and two shot glasses. Silently, he pours the fiery whiskey liquid to the rim and hands one to me. Staring at him, I throw the liquid down my throat. I welcome the burning down to my stomach. He pours another, and again, we down it.
“Please, Jake. Say something.” I place my hand on top of his. His eyes squeeze closed, and for the first time since Emily was born, I see a tear fall from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, J. I just didn’t know how to tell you. You were so excited for us to have a baby together. I couldn’t find the words to say that we lost our baby and that I probably wouldn’t be able to have any more children.” The tears begin to flow again from my eyes.
He turns to me and pulls me into his embrace, and I take in a lungful of his manly scent. It’s not the leather and motorcycle oil that I have come to know and love, but it’s Jake. It’s calming and reminds me of happier times.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see that you were hurting. I knew something had happened, I just thought you were thinking about your dad and that had upset you. I was too wrapped up in my work to see that.”
“Don’t.” I take his face in my hands, and he looks down. “Look at me, Jake. This is not your fault. I’m the one in the wrong. I should have told you from the moment it happened.”
“Listen, we can go around in circles saying we both feel it was our fault or that we should have seen something was wrong or whatever. Truth is, we both lost a baby.” Hearing him say that out loud makes it real and my heart breaks all over again. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.” My head falls onto his chest. He kisses the crown of my head and lets me cry on him for probably the thousandth time in our life together.
Jake suggested we watch one of our favorite movies, the one movie he always put on when he knew I was sad over my dad, or under the weather; Liar, Liar. By the time the movie ends, we have nearly finished the bottle of Fireball.
“Did Jess call you to check up on me?”
“No. Striker called me and told me to come over and make sure you were okay.” He shakes his head. “That man of yours is quite demanding.”
“One of the many things I loved about him.” My mood dips again thinking about Striker. I stare into my glass of water.
“Loved?” Jake’s head snaps to look at me. “Loved? As in past tense?”
“Too much shit has happened since he came back into our lives, Jake. I’m scared to go anywhere on my own, constantly looking over my shoulder wondering if today’s the day I die because of what he’s done or what the club has done.” Shaking my head, I drink my water. “I can’t do it anymore, J. I have to think about Emily and I have to think about myself.”
“Daria. You still love him. I could see it in your eyes when you said those words. You don’t believe them.” His cell starts ringing and he mouths sorry when he answers it. I start clearing the plates and glasses away, thinking about what Jake has just said. I love Striker, I really do, with every fiber of my being. But I can’t cope with all the shit that has gone down the past year. So much bloodshed, and most of it my blood. I need to find myself again. If that means I have to leave then that’s what I’ll do.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile at my best friend. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Jamie okay?” I press. Something is off. “J? Is she okay?” His shoulders slump as he huffs out a breath. “J, you can tell me anything.” I repeat his words back to him.
Looking into
his eyes, I know there’s something he’s keeping from me and he desperately wants to tell me.
“Do you have more wine? Or something stronger?” Nodding, I look to see what we have in the pantry. Finding a bottle of champagne from our wedding, I come out smiling and hold it up.
“Fancy some eleven-year-old champagne?”
He looks at me and the bottle skeptically. “Sure, why the hell not?” He shrugs. After pouring two large glasses, we go back to the living area.
“So, you want to tell me what’s going on in your head?”
“I’ve been lying to you the past few months.” My eyebrows rise to my hairline when he says this. Lying? “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“What? I saw you last week, we had lunch. You introduced me to her.”
“She was a colleague. I asked her to pretend.”
“Why?” I place my glass on the table, completely confused by his confession. “Why would you have to lie to me about having a girlfriend? Were you trying to make me jealous?” I know it’s big-headed of me to say that, but I can’t think of any other reason why he would lie to me about this.
“No. I know that ship sailed a long time ago.” He stands and scrubs his face with his hands, reaching down to drain his glass. I wait what feels like a million years before he speaks again. “I’m gay. Jamie is a guy.”
I can’t help my reaction; a bubble of laughter escapes my mouth. “I’m sorry.” I compose myself. “Why couldn’t you have just told me?”
“It’s not that simple, Dee.” Flopping back on the sofa, he looks up to the ceiling. “I tried. Every time I did, something stopped me.”
“Jake, how long have we known each other? Since we were barely able to talk.”
“I know, Daria. It’s just I thought if you found out and then Striker found out you would stop me seeing Emily.”
“Has Striker said something to you about this? Did he know?”
“No, he hasn’t and he didn’t know. It’s just the way they are, right? Fags shouldn’t exist.”
“Jake, they may be outlaws and take pride in killing people that have done wrong, but they would never judge by who you love. Love is love, Jake. You can’t help who you fall in love with, besides, I would never stop you seeing Emily because you’re gay and I wouldn’t let Striker dictate who Emily sees either. He tried once, but it didn’t happen.”
“I feel so much better having this out in the open.”
“Don’t bottle things like that up again, okay? You can tell me this sort of thing.” I lean up to kiss his cheek and lay my head on his shoulder. “Is Emily behaving?”
He snorts out a laugh, “She has Dad doing some sort of dance app with her. I’ve honestly never seen him move so much in my life.”
“I’m glad we can still be friends. I love you, Jake.”
“Me too. I love you too, Dee.” I must have fallen asleep. I feel like my whole body is floating. Strong hands move under my legs and around my back. My head is against a big chest. Taking a deep breath, I smell leather and bike oil. My heart begins to race.
Striker.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Daria
Waking up, the sunlight hits my face, and my head throbs. Looking at my alarm clock, I groan when I see it’s gone eleven a.m. Yesterday’s events cause my head to spin when I make my way down to get some much needed coffee.
“Morning,” a deep baritone speaks. Looking up, I see Striker flipping pancakes.
“Why are you here?” I am less than pleased that he’s here after what he said to me at the graveyard. Flopping on to one of the dining chairs, I watch his back muscles contract through his tight t-shirt. My stomach muscle clench. No, not happening.
“I came to apologize.” He sighs, placing a plate of pancakes, syrup, and crispy bacon in front of me, and a large mug of coffee. Taking a sip, I groan as the hot, silky liquid glides down my throat. Sitting beside me with his own cup of coffee, he looks at me with a hooded gaze. Again, no. “Look, Daria. I’m sorry for what I said. It was a fucked up thing to say, especially since you just told me that you not only lost a baby with Jake, but one with me too.” He takes my hand in his, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles.
“Yeah, it was. Striker, you have to get over the fact that I have been with more people than just you. Jake and I were married for ten years. Of course we had sex and we wanted to maybe try for a baby.” He growls, and I roll my eyes at him. “Look, the fact of the matter is, I’m with you now and I only want you. Besides, Jake told me something last night, so there’s no reason for you to be jealous.” I take a bite of my pancakes and my eyes roll back.
“You like?”
“It’s like an orgasm in my mouth.” He spits out his coffee all over the table. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting that to come out of your mouth.”
“Didn’t your dad tell you to look out for the innocent ones? They are the freakiest in bed.” I wink at him, picking up my plate and mug to put in the sink. He comes up behind me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders.
“I had the honor of finding that out myself.” He nuzzles my neck, kissing my shoulder.
“I’m still mad at you.” I ignore the pool of pleasure between my legs.
“Let me make it up to you.”
“I have to get changed. I’m meeting my dad in an hour.”
“Plenty of time.” He rolls his hips against my ass, his hardening cock teasing me.
“Not happening.” I giggle, unraveling myself from him. “I’ll see you later.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
***
“If you want to make it up to me, tell me my real mom's name.”
“No. No, I'm not telling you that. I'll do anything, but I'm not telling you that.” He shakes his head.
Tears cascade down my cheeks. “Please, Dad.” Grabbing his hand, I beg him. “I deserve to know who my real mom is.”
“Your real mom is Denise. She brought you up. You of all people should know that it doesn't take DNA to make a good parent.”
“How dare you?” I gasp. “How fucking dare you compare her to Jake? Jake has been there and would never treat Emily the way she treated me!” I watch as Dad slumps back in his chair. He knows I'm right. Kneeling in front of him, I look up at him. He stares ahead, bouncing his knee up and down. “Please, Daddy.” I sniff. “I deserve to know where I come from. Who my real parents are.” I sigh, looking down, and try a different approach. “Emily deserves to know where she comes from. Please. What if what happened to me after I had Emily is hereditary? What if Emily has it too? We need to know these things.” Still, he stays silent, staring ahead. “Dad, I need to know her name. I’ll find out whether it’s from you, Jake Snr. or even if I have to go to Denise.” Standing, I begin walking out, clearly not getting anywhere.
“No,” he shouts after me. “Two days. Give me two days. I just need a minute with my little girl to try and repair the relationship we had before. Before you start hating me again.” He takes my hand in his. “Please, pumpkin? Two days. That’s all I’m asking.” Dad looks petrified about what he seems to be hiding.
“Fine. Two days and you tell me everything. Including her name.” He nods, agreeing to my terms. “I’ll see you at Jess and Nico’s engagement barbecue.”
“You sure you want your old man there?”
“Emily wants her grandpa there.” Sighing, his smile falls. We may be talking again, but it will take a hell of lot of time to rebuild and repair our relationship to where it was before. He nods.
“I love you, pumpkin,” he shouts as I close the door.
“Love you too, Dad,” I whisper to myself.
After an emotionally draining afternoon with Dad, I walk to the clubhouse to wait on Striker finishing what he has to do so we can set up the yard for Jess and Nico’s party.
“Vodka and diet Coke, please,” I ask Blair. “And a tequila.”
“Hard day?” Blaze asks me. Ever since Striker gave him that scar, and Barron has threatened to move him to another charter, he’s been trying to get on my good side, but it will never happen after all the shit he’s pulled. He’s lucky to still be alive.
“None of your damn business.” I snap, slamming the shot glass down and downing my other drink in one go. “Another and an aftershock,” I order. He looks hesitant to pour me the drinks. “If I don’t get it here, I’ll get it somewhere else.” He still doesn’t give me it so I stand to leave.
“Give her the drinks, man,” Blaze says, taking a pull of his beer.
“I don’t need you sticking your nose in.”
He laughs, shaking his head, continuing to drink his beer while looking at his phone. “Whatever.”
Blair finally gives me my drinks that I down, but they don’t touch the sides. I nod, telling him to keep filling them up. I need to forget today. Forget my dad shooting me down for asking about my real mom. It pisses me off. He kicked me out at seventeen, pregnant with his grandchild, took Denise’s side about all the shit she put me through, and now he’s refusing to tell me about my real mom? He’s doing what Denise did all those years ago, trying to control my life.
That’s not true, Daria. You know he loves you and would tell you everything. He’s scared. Shut up. Let me have this moment!
“Dee?” I look towards the voice then back to Blair for another drink. “You doing okay?”
I start laughing hard. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” I drain my drink, feeling the effects of the alcohol, my vision becoming hazy.
“Whatever it is, drinking yourself into oblivion isn’t the answer.”
“Fuck off, Nico. Mind your own business,” I snap, throwing two more drinks back.
Def Leppard starts playing. I jump up on to the pool table, interrupting Blaze and Louis’ game, and start dancing, unbuttoning my shirt. I pull Louis’ head towards my breast and grind on him. That’s until I feel myself being lifted off the table.
“What the fuck was that shit?” Striker roars, placing me on the bed. “Fucking stripping? Drinking in the middle of the day again?” He paces in front of me, running his hand through his hair in frustration. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. My mind throws me back to the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. Grinding on my daughter’s grandfather is something I will never ever forget.
Three Strikes (Demons Disciples MC Book 1) Page 23
