“Yeah, it was.” Jenny smiled out at the road. She looked tired and content and hungry too. “Things are better, I take it?”
“Yeah.” Michelle didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t want to. She just wanted to soak in the delight of it for a little while without burdening it with words.
When they got back to the clubhouse, Michelle noticed three strange bikes parked out front. “Visitors?” she asked Jenny.
“I guess so.”
Not an uncommon occurrence in this life.
But she ground to a halt when she got inside. Blocking her path was a giant of a man with long black hair. “Mercy Lécuyer?” she asked, shocked.
He sent her one of his frightening, sharp grins. “That’s me, babe. How you been?”
“Uh…good…”
Still grinning, he said, “I didn’t come by myself, either. Look who I brought.” And he stepped aside, revealing…
“Tommy!”
Twenty-Eight
Candy
“Hey, man.” He slapped palms with Mercy and pulled the guy in for a quick bro-hug (bro-hugs were totally macho and acceptable, a long-standing belief in the MC world). When he pulled back, he said, “Uh, not that I’m not always glad to see you, brother…”
Mercy grinned and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I get it.” He tilted his head toward the British reunion taking place across the room. “The kids showed up at Walsh’s place, and were dead set on riding out here. Things are quiet back home, and I offered to ride out with ‘em. Figured you could use an extra set of hands when the cartel shit goes down.”
“I’ll never say no to extra hands.” His eyes went to Michelle, again. She’d already leapt onto Tommy and squeezed the life out of him, was finally hugging the other one now, Miles. Since they were her uncles, her blood relatives, her family, for Christ’s sakes, the sight did not stir any jealousy inside him. Nope. Not at all. Not even a tiny, tiny bit that left him frowning.
He turned back to Mercy. “You coulda called ahead, though.”
Mercy grinned. “But that defeats the purpose of a surprise.”
Candy sighed. “They really came all the way here, huh?” And his traitorous eyes returned to the three reunited relatives again.
All of Devin Green’s bastard brood had a certain similarity about their eyes, that direct way they could look right through a person. Michelle had inherited it, too. But they were their own men and women, as well, each with some of their mother’s facial quirks. Tommy, in tight jeans and battered leather jacket beneath his cut, looked like a modernized fifties greaser. Miles, thin and pretty, with his neck tattoo and flannel shirt, could have been a hipster in another life.
“Tommy said he was on the phone with her a few nights ago,” Mercy said, “and it sounded like she got scared.” He sent Candy a look that was questioning, but not accusatory. Just curious. “Said he was tired of secondhand information and wanted to check on her for himself.”
“Hmm.”
Michelle had her demanding face on. Tommy hiked up his shirt to show her a healing white scar along his ribs, and she ghosted her fingers across it, brows knitting together. He swatted her away and lowered his shirt, said something that made her laugh.
“I’ve never seen her smile like that,” Candy said, mostly to himself.
“She hasn’t had a chance to miss you yet,” Mercy said, and it sounded like a consolation.
“Yeah.”
It was time to introduce himself. He put a little extra swagger into his stride for effect, and joined his girl.
Tommy and Miles lifted their heads to look up at him. Up – that was nice. And the smiles slipped. A glance proved that Miles was just the tagalong here, without personal opinions cluttering his mind. Tommy was the real sticking point.
The guy’s face – Candy saw Albie in him, in that moment – went carefully blank. But his eyes sparked, that eerie blue they all shared, boiling with challenge. He was caught between a superior – a patch-holding VP and an acting-president – and his emotional reaction. Candy was curious to see which would win out: respect, or anger.
“You boys came a long way,” Candy said, shaking their hands.
Tommy squeezed a little harder than was polite, and Candy wanted to grin, for some reason.
“Yeah,” he said. “We did.”
“Does Phil know you’re here?”
Tommy’s eyes widened, his nostrils flared. Oh, you’re going there? he seemed to ask.
Yeah, you bet your ass, kiddo.
Tommy said, “I was tired of taking Chelle’s word for it that she was okay. Nobody relocates like she did and is just fine with it.”
Michelle slid neatly between them, facing Tommy. “Except, I am okay.”
Tommy glanced down at her, mouth set at a grim angle. “But you want to come home.”
“I miss home,” she said. “There’s a difference.”
Which…huh. Yeah. There was. One Candy hadn’t thought much about before.
Tommy’s gaze flicked back up to Candy, dark now with hostility. “Yeah, especially when someone’s trying to keep you here.”
Candy opened his mouth, but Michelle beat him to it. “Nobody’s keeping me anywhere,” she said, tone careful, soothing.
A muscle ticked in Tommy’s jaw as he ground his teeth. “Yeah,” he breathed on a fake laugh. “Sure.” Another bristling glare at Candy.
“If you’ve got something to say, maybe you oughtta just say it,” Candy suggested.
“No!” Michelle said. She put her hands on Tommy’s chest. “No. Look, everything is fine here, and–”
“You’re old enough to be her father,” Tommy said, cheeks flushing red. “Are you fucking serious? Putting your hands on her? What the fucking hell’s wrong with you? Bloody pervert.”
“Hey!” Michelle shoved him. Tried to. “That’s enough.”
But Tommy wasn’t deterred. “If your dad isn’t here to say anything, and Fox won’t say anything–”
“Don’t drag me into this,” Fox said from across the room.
“-I’m damn well going to say something.”
“Tom,” Michelle hissed. “Stop it.”
Candy said, “I already talked to her old man. And funny enough, he didn’t want to rip my throat out.”
“You…” Tommy exhaled and his shoulder sagged, the fight arresting in his eyes, clouding over with doubt. “You talked to Phil?”
“Scout’s honor.”
Someone behind him snickered.
“You…” Tommy took a deep breath, and glared at him. “You want to talk about honor?”
“No. I want to talk about how long you plan to stay, so I know if you’re just here to check on Chelle, or if you’re gonna help with our cartel shit.”
Silence. Candy could feel everyone in the room watching them. Could also feel the little stress vibrations coming off Michelle.
“I’d tell you to take a swing at me if it’ll make you feel better,” Candy said, “but you know I’d swing back. And I’ve heard you’ve seen me fight.”
“Yeah.” Tommy let out a harsh breath through his nostrils. “A long time ago. When we were, like, eight.”
“I get it. I’m old. I’m too old for her.” He put a hand on Michelle’s shoulder and she jumped a little. “But I ain’t a creep, and it ain’t like you’re thinking. So. You can trust her judgement, and come have a drink with me. Or you can sulk. Your choice.”
“Don’t sulk,” Fox suggested.
Finally, Tommy glanced down at his shoes, and nodded.
“Good man,” Candy said. “Whiskey or beer?”
~*~
Michelle
The brain had safety measures in place when it came to missing someone. She’d missed Tommy the whole flight to Tennessee. Had missed him while she slept in Walsh and Emmie’s guest room, and on the drive to Texas. She’s missed him every day that they were apart, in a dull, aching, distanced way.
But sitting across from him, an arm’s length separating them, the s
ting of missing him became sharp, needling at her. Her brain and her body had tamped down the worst of it, for her own self-preservation. But now it was back, bitter as lemon juice in the back of her throat, counterbalanced by the joy of reunion.
“I just…” He shook his head and rumpled his hair with his hand, staring down into his third drink of the evening. His eyes lifted, meeting hers through the half-screen of his lashes. “Him? Really, Chelle? How did that even…”
She gave him a dry look and sipped her own Scotch. “I’m assuming you don’t want all the dirty details.”
“No.”
“So what are you asking, uncle?”
He sneered; he hated when she called him “uncle.” “I’m saying I never took you for the type to fall for all that.” He gestured, his expression turning into more of a scowl.
“All that?”
“That whole muscles and machismo thing. He looks like a fucking cologne add come to life.”
“Tom.” She bit back a smile. “Do you think my boyfriend is handsome?”
He gave her a serious look. “I think he looks like someone who burns through pussy like cigarettes. Like he’ll cheat on you, and hurt you, and leave you worse off than when he found you.”
“Give me a little more credit than that.”
“You’ve never even looked at a man before.”
Anger balled up tight in her gut, but the good kind, that sibling kind of anger that fueled heated, loving arguments. They’d never had a fight they couldn’t move past; it was a comforting sort of violence, knowing you could say anything, everything, wound one another, and still be best friends at the end of the day.
“I’ve looked at men,” she said. “You just never noticed.”
“Well that’s disturbing.”
“I’m not twelve, you know,” she said with a little laugh. “Stop acting like this is so alarming.”
“It is alarming.”
She sighed. There would be no convincing him. He’d either have to see for himself, or learn to shoulder his discomfort with things. “Why don’t you come to work with me tomorrow?”
“Work?”
“We’re getting ready to open a pub. A bar,” she amended. “A bar, night club sort of place.”
“We?”
“Will you stop repeating me?” She reached to flick him in the arm. “Yes, we. Jenny and I are co-managers.”
He stared at her.
“You can’t be that drunk yet.”
He frowned, yet again.
“You’ve become a scowling old man since I saw you last. It’s unbecoming, Thomas,” she said, primly.
He snorted. “I’m not the old man in your life, trust me.”
She loved him, and she loved seeing him again, and had missed him terribly, but he was testing her patience. “He’s a good man,” she corrected. “And you don’t have to like that I’m with him, but I expect you to respect that I am.”
He downed the rest of his drink and twitched his brows. “Well. Alright then.”
~*~
Candy
“His faith in me is real uplifting,” Candy said with a smirk. He poured himself another two fingers of Macallan and waved the bottle in offering to the rest of the table.
Mercy shook his head – he had his Johnnie Walker swill.
Miles tilted his glass over and Candy filled it. “He’s not the trusting sort, my brother,” he explained, rolling his eyes. So far, Miles was the most open in the face; he exuded a certain patience, sweetness, even. It was so unexpected it had caught Candy off guard. “Might be the orphan thing. Might be a Tommy thing. Might be those lovely Devin Green genetics.” He grinned and pressed the rim of his glass to his lips. “Might be a combination.”
He took a sip and set the tumbler down, growing serious. “It’s not so much that he’s angry. Or that he doesn’t trust you. He just worries is all. Wants to make sure she’s alright with his own eyes.”
“I knew they were close,” Candy said, needlessly. “But…I dunno.” He shrugged.
“Thought she was being too dramatic because of homesickness?” Miles suggested.
“Something like that.”
Mercy studied him across the table, clearly amused, dark eyes bright with laughter. “I never thought I’d see you like this, man.”
“Like what? Bad as you?” Candy shot back.
Mercy laughed. “Maybe worse?”
“No one is worse than you.”
“I don’t even know you,” Miles added, “and that shit came across the pond. It’s like a Lean Dogs fairytale: Beauty and the Cajun Beast.”
“Careful, Junior,” Mercy said, but kept smiling. He turned back to Candy. “But seriously. I’m happy for you.”
“Stop being a chick,” Candy shot back, but grinned.
Mercy’s grin turned evil. “Ava wants to know where you’re going to register.”
“Bite my ass,” Candy retorted. “Okay. Did you two come here to help? Or to shoot the shit?”
“Both, of course,” Mercy said.
Miles shrugged. “I got nothing to do while they make daisy chains.” He tilted his head toward Tommy and Michelle’s table. “Might as well help you out.”
Candy nodded. “Church first thing in the morning, then.”
~*~
Colin
Things were better. Much better, even. Mercy didn’t feel like a brother to him, but he felt…well, like a friend. Like a friend who sometimes made him twitchy, and who he trusted with his life, but perhaps not with his deeper thoughts.
Huh. Maybe that was how a brother felt. That strange blend of love, hate, shared memories, and nerves.
When Mercy went to the bar for a refill, Colin decided he would do the honorable thing – despite his earliest thoughts on the subject, honor did exist within the club, and was taken seriously – and make the first approach.
He drew up beside his half-brother and set his elbows on the bar. “Hey,” he said, and felt awkward as shit.
Mercy plunked his glass down and leaned over the bar to get to the Johnnie Walker Red. They’d just been kids when they used to see each other almost daily, and they hadn’t developed drink preferences back then. He remembered, faintly, mostly in the feel of sun on his back and the hoppy taste of stolen warm Coors Light in his mouth, an afternoon when he’d snitched beer from his old man and egged Felix into drinking one. He’d suggested he would be a total pussy if he didn’t. Felix had hated the taste, and tried to gulp it, and ended up choking and puking warm beer all over his shoes. Colin had laughed until his stomach hurt and beer started to burn his sinuses.
“Hey,” Mercy said, pouring a stiff Scotch, eyes flicking over to Colin with the sort of poise and spookiness he hadn’t possessed as a nerdy child. “How’s Jack?”
“He’s good. Doesn’t sleep great, but growing like crazy.”
“Hmm. They do that.” Mercy looked wistful as he put the bottle back.
“Heard Ava’s got another one in the oven.”
He nodded, a smile touching his mouth. “Yeah. All her idea.”
Awkwardness lingering, Colin said, “That’s great.”
“Yeah.” Mercy turned and put his back to the bar, glass in hand, finally giving Colin his full attention. “Jen?”
“She won’t marry me,” Colin blurted before he could catch himself. Where the hell had that come from? Why in the world would he tell such a thing to Mercy of all people?
Huh again. Must be more of that brother thing.
Real interest touched Mercy’s face. “She won’t?” He sipped his drink and leaned back on his elbows, good and settled for a story.
Shit.
Colin took a deep breath. Here went nothing. “I bought her a ring a couple months back. Got down on one knee and everything.” He glanced at his boots and felt the intense urge to rub the back of his neck. The evening of the proposal rushed back to him, heating his face, shaming him. They’d been in their bedroom, cramped with their things and the baby crib. They hadn’t
had a good and proper fuck since Jack’s birth, just quickies and stolen hand-jobs and kisses they’d wanted to go further. Colin had been sweating like he’d run miles, that awful fear sweat he could smell on himself.
His knees had protested, popping, as he lowered down to the rug. His hands had shaken when he lifted the ring box, and the modest diamond offering within.
Jenny had clapped a hand over her mouth, gone stock still, and stopped breathing for what felt like minutes. Then her eyes had filled with tears and she’d said, “No. I love you, but I won’t marry you.”
His cheeks felt aflame now, as he recounted the tale. When he could say no more, he lifted his head, expecting a mocking grin.
Instead, Mercy looked thoughtful. “It’s not about you,” he said, right away. “It’s in her head, whatever the sticking point is. Have you talked to her about it?”
“She won’t talk. She always ducks out of the room and says she doesn’t want to ‘go there.’”
Mercy sipped his Scotch. “Well, you can’t live in limbo. If she won’t go there, then take her there. It won’t be fun, but it needs to happen.”
Colin snorted. “You a shrink now?”
“No,” he mused, staring into the middle distance. “Just channeling one, I think.”
Whatever the hell that meant.
~*~
Michelle
There was a new lightness in her chest as she combed out her hair in front of the mirror that night. It was late – wee hours late – and she was a little buzzed on Scotch, and she felt this great welling bubble of gladness press against her sternum from the inside. Tommy was here, and whole, and he was coming to Odell’s with her tomorrow, and they’d avoided any sort of fisticuffs in the common room. She smiled at herself in the dressing table mirror.
“You’re happy,” Candy said from his place propped up in the doorway.
She set the brush down and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “I am.” She considered his face, the lines pressed around his mouth. His posture, the way he had his arms folded so his hands were tucked up under his biceps, making them bulge. Did men do that on purpose? Some did. But did Candy? How could he possibly feel the need to make himself look larger?
Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) Page 28
