Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3

by MariaLisa deMora

  I need to let her in, he thought, and found the place in their joined past where, for him, everything began. “I ever tell you what I thought about the first time I saw you with Sammy?” Tilting his head, he grinned at the puzzled look on her face.

  “I don’t think so. Do you mean that first night when I came to Slinky’s? When I was looking for Mercy?”

  He was glad to hear her voice was low but steady. “Yeah. Mercy had to run back inside, and you squatted down to talk to Sammy about what was happening next.” He gave her hand a squeeze and then jackknifed to a sitting position, pulling a pillow from behind his back to push under her head. Laughing at the confused look on her face, now beyond puzzled, he kissed her cheek and said, “Back in a sec, baby.”

  A few minutes later, he walked into the room to find she had rolled to her back and was staring up at the ceiling. Lifting her arm, she pointed to a section of ceiling over the window. “Every few seconds there’s a rainbow reflected up there. How is that possible at night? I can’t figure out where it comes from.”

  He carefully set the canvas he was carrying by the wall and lay down next to her, reaching into the space between them to capture her hand in his. “Crystals,” he said softly.

  “I thought those needed sunlight to cast a rainbow.”

  “I have several hanging from the rafter ends outside. Some are positioned for sunshine, so when there aren’t any clouds, the room fairly lights up with the reflections.” The rainbow flashed again and he grinned. “Some are set-up for the security lights, so I can have the rainbows even at night. When the wind blows, even at night sometimes you can catch a dozen or more flashing across the room.”

  “Why would you do that? You said you didn’t bring women back to your house.”

  Twisting his neck, he looked at her. Now he was the one puzzled, because visitors and beauty didn’t line up in his book. “I don’t. So?”

  “Who did you do this for then?”

  Turning to look back up at the ceiling, he waited for another flash before softly telling her, “Me. I need beauty in my life, need enough of it to balance out all the darkness and pain I see. This is a small thing, but it pleases me to see it before I go to sleep.”

  Twisting to lay on his side facing her, he reached out his hand and swept the hair back from her face. “Like it pleases me to see you, baby.” Tracing the bridge of her nose with his fingertip, he said, “The first time I ever saw you, my initial impression was of beauty and light…endless golden beauty and brilliant light. Then you squatted down next to Sammy and pulled him into your arms, holding him so tightly, engulfing him with your love. I thought you looked like a momma chickadee on a branch, her wings out to cover her chicks and keep them from harm.”

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached out to the nightstand and picked up the framed picture of Hope between Mercy and Sammy from that first night. Lying back down, he held it up so they both could see it. “Then Mercy sent me this, and it reinforced those feelings. Seeing you sandwiched between them, covering both of them with your love. Momma chickadee.”

  He handed her the frame and levered himself off the bed. “It took me a month, but I finally captured that essence. I called it Mama. Just Mama, because the caring and sweetness shone through, as it does with you.” Picking up the canvas from where it leaned against the wall, he turned it around and looked at the painting again, feeling a strong satisfaction in his chest from the goodness and light the work brought into the world.

  Turning the picture, he wasn’t prepared for her reaction. Instead of commenting on his use of light or shading, or even the composition of the piece, after looking at the painting for several quiet moments, she burst into tears. Carelessly, he dropped the stretched canvas on the floor and lowered himself to the bed, pulling her into his arms. “Baby,” he crooned. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  “Is that how you see me?” Her question was muffled, her face pressed deeply into the crook of his neck.

  “Strong and beautiful, protective? Yes, baby. I see you exactly like that. Momma chickadee on a branch, daring the world to come and threaten her chick.” He stroked her hair then, twining his fingers at the back of her head, he used his hold to tilt her face up, kissing her lips softly. “Yes, baby.”

  “It’s so beautiful.” She sighed, moving to bury her face in his neck. “How can you see me like that, when all I do is let people down?”

  “You see the face of that boy you tucked into bed an hour ago? Did he look like you’ve let him down, ever?” He started to move, and she made a complaining noise, shoving her face deeper into the crook of his neck so he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tighter. “You didn’t. You haven’t, baby. You’ve done the best you know how, every step along the way. Putting him first, like a good momma would, even when it meant you and I were miserable.” When she gave a hitching sob at his words, he stroked her back, whispering, “Hush, Hope. We’re going to figure this out. Me and you, baby.”

  He continued to run his hands up and down her back, soothing her with touch and words, repeating his confidence in her, faith in her love, trust in the truth of their relationship. As he fell asleep, hours after she did, the last coherent thought he had was a soft pleasure his family was home in time for Christmas.

  Responsibilities weigh heavy

  “But school’s on a two-week break,” Sam spoke into the phone, his tone aggravated. “Why can’t you come over to play?”

  “DeeDee said there’s a party at the clubhouse this weekend and we all have to go, so I’ll see you then.” Jonny’s tone was no less aggravated and Sam grinned. Going to the same school had cemented their fast friendship, and having parents and caregivers who were friends meant they normally spent part of nearly every day in the other’s company. “Bingo’s going back to the hospital, so they have a bunch of stuff to take care of, and Kane don’t want to leave him right now.”

  Oh crap, he thought, remembering how sick Uncle Bingo looked the last time he saw him. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

  Jonny took in a heavy breath, blowing it back out before responding in a soft voice, “I don’t think so, Sam. Jase talked to me and Tyler and Megan yesterday about helping the kids. It sounds bad.” He took another breath before saying seriously, “I saw Mason today, too.”

  Sam sucked in a breath. They were convinced that when Mason came to town for days and days things were fine, but if he only came back to town to stay for a day, that’s when things were going wrong. Something he and Jonny had noticed months ago, so they had started using the man’s presence as a barometer of sorts for trouble. It made the first day of Mason’s visit nerve-racking every time as they waited to see if he would stay or go. “Don’t mean anything. Maybe he’s staying. Don’t gotta be a fast trip.”

  “I hope so. I hope he’s stayin’. DeeDee said he and Miss Willa made a baby. He’s going to want to be the dad, you know it.” Jonny sounded hopeful.

  Sammy cleared his throat from the sudden thick feeling that settled there and said, “It’s holidays. He could be here to see Miss Willa ‘cause it’s holidays and ‘cause they made a baby. That would mean he’d stay a long time. The longest.”

  “True, but Bingo looks bad.”

  They sat in silence for a minute and Sam could hear the background noise on the other end of the phone. Jonny’s house never seemed quiet, not like it was here at Hoss’ home. “Let me talk to Mom, see if she can call Aunt DeeDee. Maybe you can come over, and we can have a sleepover after the party.” He tilted his head, looking down at his toes scrunching in the carpet. “You and Tyler both. He’s going to have a harder time than even Kane if something’s wrong with Uncle Bingo. It wasn’t long ago he was talkin’ and rememberin’ about being sick himself.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Jonny made a noise and Sam laughed. Jonny asked, “What?”

  “Sounded like you were trying to fart and whistle. A fartistle.” Both boys laughed hard for a minute, the sounds of their humor slowly trailing off unt
il Sam said, “Best fartistle I ever heard,” driving them both into additional peals of laughter.

  “Sam,” he heard Mom calling him from the kitchen, so he told his bestest best friend, “I gotta go, Jon boy. Mom’s callin’ me.”

  “All right.” He heard the goodbye in the tone, so his finger was already moving towards the disconnect button when he heard Jonny say, voice tinny through the speaker now that it wasn’t against his ear, “Sam?”

  Knowing Jonny wouldn’t be extending the call for grins, he put the phone back to his head and said, “Yeah?”

  “I wish we was brothers.”

  “Me, too, Jonny,” he said softly, and then grinned. “If you want, I can loan you my mom anytime. She’s awesome.”

  He shrieked as he was lifted into the air, an arm around his middle holding him then turning him upside down. Scrambling to hold onto the phone, he giggled hard as he heard his mom ask, laughter light in her voice, “Who are you renting me out to this time, boychild?”

  “I gotta go, Jonny,” he called, finger tapping all around the red button as he wiggled to get out of her grip, hearing the laughter on the other end of the phone even over his own.

  ***

  “Go get in the car, Sam.” Oh, poop, he knew that tone. It was the ‘holy crap I can’t believe you just did that’ tone, but this time it wasn’t directed at him, but at Aunt DeeDee. Aunt DeeDee.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly then paused. “Can Jonny and Tyler still—”

  “I said to go ahead and get in the car, Samuel. I’ll be there in a minute.” Her tone hadn’t changed. If anything, it sounded more like that skim of ice frozen on top of puddles in early winter up here, crackling noisily underfoot as it broke into brittle, ruined splinters. Poop, poop, poop.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he repeated, cutting his gaze up at Aunt DeeDee, seeing how white her face had gone. She knew Mom was mad, too, but didn’t seem to know what to say. Poop. As he walked out of the room, he saw Mom’s hand was on Aunt Mercy’s wrist, fingers clamped tightly, holding her in place behind Mom’s body, saw the tears in Aunt Mercy’s eyes.

  Poop. He had to do something. Walking up the hallway, he muttered to himself, “I am going to the car, just not straight.” Unsuccessfully trying to convince himself this wasn’t disobeying, he turned and zigged quickly into the kitchen, zagging out the backdoor to where the men were gathered around a big bonfire, hats tugged low against the cold. Poop.

  Scanning the area, he saw Hoss standing, beer in hand, talking to Mason—Bringer of Trouble—and Uncle Deke. Hearing the voices now raised in the building behind him, he sprang into a full run, calling loudly, “Hoss. Hossman!”

  Strong arms gripped his waist and swung him up, letting him rest his legs on either side of Hoss’ hip. “Hey there, Sammy. What’s up, little man?” Hoss asked, and without thinking twice, Sam reached out and cupped his palm over Hoss’ cheek.

  “No lies,” he whispered, and his gut lurched when Hoss suddenly stilled and focused entirely on him. “Mommy’s doing something bad.”

  “What do you mean, Sam. What’s Mama doin’?” Hoss’ voice rumbled in his chest, and the tone was still soft, but he sensed a tension that hadn’t been present before.

  “She’s mad at Aunt DeeDee, and Aunt Mercy is cryin’,” he whispered. “Mommy told me to go to the car.”

  “Fuck,” he heard Uncle Deke say, and then Hoss was setting him back on his feet, telling him, “Go do what Mama said. Go on to the car, son. We’ll be there in a bit.”

  ***

  Hoss walked into the clubhouse, not knowing exactly what he would find, but given Sam’s warning, not entirely surprised Hope was on her feet, facing down nearly every old lady in the room. He had come in quickly and so caught the tail of what she was saying. “—and if you think you can sit there and talk to my sister like she’s trash, then you have another think coming, because I won’t stand for it.

  “If any of you has never made mistakes, have never looked back on any past actions with dismay or even disgust, then fine; you can throw stones. But you need to have a care where you toss them, because it could be your own glass house destroyed.” She sucked in a breath, paused when she saw him, and then shook her head and continued as Deke pushed past, pulling a sobbing Mercy into his arms.

  “Has Mercy done things she’s sorry for? Yes.” She nodded, swinging her head to look around the room. “Has she paid for her behavior, has she changed things, made restitution where she could? Also, yes. Are there things she did for which there is no excuse? Sadly, yes. But, she does not deserve to have it all thrown in her face again and again.” She pointed at Ruby then at DeeDee. “I might expect this kind of condemnation from women who’ve had charmed lives, but not one of us in this room has come through life unscathed. Some of us,” she gestured at herself, “more damaged than others.

  “I would never look down on you for decisions you make, not when I don’t have any kind of window into your heads. When I have no way of assessing the pieces and parts that went into the choices with which you’ve been presented. When I don’t know your families, or any past shame anchoring you on paths that, a year or two down the road, you will soundly regret. I. Would. Never. But, yet, you do, and you are. Shame on you.”

  She swung to look at DeeDee again. “You asked me once why she didn’t come to your house? This”—she flung a hand out at the hen’s party along the wall—“is why. This kind of painful and raw raking over the coals, again, and again, and again.”

  She looked at Eddie. “You made me feel safe enough to tell you the things I did to ensure Sammy and I stayed together. Was I wrong?” Hoss took the last step to place himself behind her, telling everyone in the room—her, the women, and the men piling in the door—that he had her back. Putting his hand on her hip, he pulled her back into his chest, securing her there with an arm around her waist.

  Without turning, she said, “Hoss, can you take me home? I think I’ve outstayed my welcome.”

  Before he could move a muscle, he heard Mason say, humor threaded through his voice, “Fuck no. You ain’t going anywhere, woman.”

  Fuck.

  Hope tensed in his arms and, voice pitched low, Hoss carefully said, “Prez, now might not be—”

  “Hope Annabelle Collins.” Humor gone, Mason called loudly, ignoring him, and Hope jolted at his use of her full name. “You know what being on the back of Hoss’ bike means? Do you understand the full ramifications of that act? He’s my veep here in the Fort. You get what it means to be his woman?”

  “I…I…” she stuttered self-consciously, and he saw Mason shake his head.

  “Didn’t think so,” Hoss heard, and immediately expected to be verbally blasted. Because her behavior reflected on him, his failure to make sure she understood the place granted to her in the club based on their relationship could be huge.

  Mason shocked him by saying gently, “Not surprised, hon. Things have been so unsettled since before you even got into town I’m surprised Hoss has had time to talk you into stayin’ with his rank ass, instead of haulin’ it back south as fast as you can to escape. That’s my fault, more than anything, because I depend on this man. More than he knows, I depend on him.

  “Let me explain a bit. You with me? You listenin’ to me, Hope?” Mason was staring at her, and he waited patiently until she gave a quick nod. “You bein’ with Hoss means you have a right to have your voice heard. Veep’s old lady’s voice carries weight, and that weight means responsibility. Means you have an obligation to protect everyone owned by the club. Like my old lady”—he reached out a hand to the side, but didn’t pause his words—“or your sister, or any woman who cleans the bar or strip joint.

  “No matter from what, or who, whether it’s internal or external pressures or danger. This is your burden, woman. Your charge. Means you have the back of every woman in this room, including if having her back means pitching that weight against other old ladies to get shit sorted out. To keep families strong, making it so brothe
rs don’t have to square off against brothers.”

  Willa’s hand met Mason’s, and he pulled her into him. “Looks to me like you’re doing fine, Hope. You’ll find your place, and I expect no less of an effort than I saw tonight, you hear?”

  He watched as Mason’s gaze raked the group, settling on someone behind where Hoss stood, near the outer door. “Come here, Sam.”

  Letting go of Hope’s hip, Hoss reached out his hand, not surprised at all when a small, warm one grabbed hold. Tilting to look down, he saw Sam’s attention was firmly on Mason. With a squeeze, he let Sam know he had him, no matter what, pleased when he got a glance upwards and a small smile. Then Sam’s attention was back on Mason, even as he gave Hoss a return squeeze.

  “Good enough,” Mason said, laughter once again evident in his tone. Hoss looked back up to see Willa tight against Mason’s side, her arm around his waist. Lights glinted off the rings on her finger, her other hand moved to protectively cover the rounded belly protruding from below her breasts.

  A quick vision of Hope’s naked finger flashed, and then he focused on his president, who had started speaking again. “I’m not going to tolerate any kind of shit towards any old lady, or anyone owned by this club. Not a whit of it’s allowed. Everyone under this roof, and under my patch, is under my protection.”

  Winking at Sam, he said, “Ain’t that so, Sam?”

  Hoss looked down to find Sam nodding slowly then was surprised when the boy spoke up, agreeing with Mason. “It’s the right thing to do, protecting the ones we love.”

  “That’s right,” Mason agreed readily, turning to look at every member and their families gathered in the main room. “We protect the ones we love. Our old ladies”—He gave Willa a squeeze and she grinned up at him until he swooped down to kiss her hard. Lifting his head, he continued—“Our club, our families, and our brothers. Rebels forever—”