“Are you so certain of that, Myron?” Bones opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles, removed the caps and set one in front of Myron. “Or did you do like you sometimes do, as you did today for example, and retreat before understanding what was asked?”
“No, he was done. The conversation was all about ‘can you assure me Talya and I are safe?’ All of which meant he didn’t trust me. Without trust, there can’t be…he was just done, Bones. Believe me, I know.”
Bones stared down at him, lifted his beer and drank deep, pulling at the bottle for several long swallows. In the shadows, it was hard to know for sure, but it looked like he was scowling. His next words told Myron he’d been right in that assumption. “Allow me a moment to get this straight, if I may. A man you were seeing, who is a single parent to a daughter, and who has already lost one partner in an unexpected event, asked you if his daughter was safe. Myron.” Bones shook his head. “He was within his rights to ask that question. The life is not kind to all, and citizens cannot easily understand why we thrive on living outside of the law, yet within the rules binding us together. Especially not if you do not explain what we are.” He shifted and leaned a hip against the counter. “What is one of the most important things to the Rebels? I know it, and you do too. So tell me, what comes first after the brotherhood?”
“Family.” Myron didn’t even have to think.
“So why is this man asking you to assure him you would keep his family safe out of line? Why would you consider it an insult, and from the look on your face, it was a grave affront, but why would you not consider the depth of love and trust it took for him to voice the question?” Bones lifted his bottle and drained it, placing it in the bin near the garbage. He turned to pluck the other empties from the table, and took the still full bottle from Myron’s hand, upending it over the sink, the amber liquid pouring out in a rush. “You need to ask yourself why you do not trust him.”
***
Andy
“Hey, Bex.” Andy smiled as Bexley walked towards where he stood at the end of the bar. No, scratch that. She wasn’t walking, she was stalking. “What are you drinking tonight?”
“In here? Where my kind aren’t welcome? Nothing.” Head high, she delivered the blow and watched him with intensity.
“What? What do you mean?” He knew. Myron had talked about their argument, and now Bexley knew. That meant Brute probably knew, too. Other than Myron, Brute was the member he’d bonded with best. They weren’t the same, their situations too different to be similar, but he still understood a lot of what drove Brute. Being an oddity, like a scarred combat veteran—or a gay man in a mostly straight town, it was exhausting to be on display all the time.
“You know, the dangerous biker kind? Those bikers who saved me? The ones who make sure hundreds of kids get toys at Christmas, and who paid for the funeral for that homeless veteran last month? The same ones who ride to raise money to combat suicide, and bullying, and cancer? Yeah, those kind. That’s what I meant.” She flipped her hair, drawing to her full height, her expression furious. “I’m going to take what you said as notice that you don’t want us in this bar anymore. I just wanted to come and tell you that you’re wrong, and to point out that in my opinion, you’ve just passed on the chance at probably the best man you could ever have.”
She wasn’t wrong. He’d known a half a second after opening his mouth that he’d gone about it all the wrong way. “I miss him.” Bexley blinked, and Andy realized he’d said that aloud. In for a penny, he thought. “Tell me how to make it right.”
She stared at him as if daring him to retreat, and Andy stood his ground. Please, Bex. Help me fix this.
Slowly, a smile spread across her face, lips curling at the corners as she muttered, “That’s more like it.”
Give me a tour
Andy
“Who do you think we’ll see at the lightning ceremony?”
“Lighting, honey. No lightning tonight.” Andy snugged Talya’s hat down over her hair and leaned in to kiss her cheek before closing the car door. Once in the driver seat, he settled the radio on a station playing kid versions of Christmas carols, and he and Talya sang along on their way downtown. Tonight was the unveiling of the city’s light display, and he had promised her they’d go watch as the giant Santa was illuminated. “I don’t know who will be there. Probably some kids from school.”
“Will we see Unka Myron?”
Andy’s chest compressed as with a blow. Damn, she can pack a punch. Mentally he tried to revert to humor as he’d been doing, just getting by. In the weeks since Myron had walked out, Andy had run the gamut from disbelief to anger, feeling hurt down to his soul, and finally understanding. It killed him, but thanks to Bexley, he thought he finally got it.
What Andy had done was an insult not just to Myron, something his boyfriend would likely have overlooked, but it had been a challenge to Myron’s entire way of life. Andy and Bexley had talked far into the night, and with her explanations, he thought he understood. The Rebels weren’t a gang, and weren’t even the club the newspaper article had been about. Andy had ignorantly lumped them all into the same bucket, kind of like how people did with gay men, when in fact there were as many different varieties in the LGBTQ community as jelly bean flavors. The same was true with motorcycle clubs. Now, he just needed to find a way to get Myron to talk to him again. He’d texted a dozen times, hoping to goad Myron into a response of any kind, only to be met with radio silence that made a profound statement.
“I doubt it, sweetie.”
“I miss Unka Myron, Papa.”
Me too, honey. He sighed again. Me, too. “How many lights do you think they used on Santa?” Diversion tactic number one, because since Myron’s explanation of math and statistics—in a six-year-old version, of course—Talya had been enamored of not just counting, that would be a terrible way to generalize her interests, but in projecting answers. Andy had always known she was smart, but her ability to predict some of the things lately was astounding.
“About a hundred million.” Her voice was excited, and he laughed. Astounding, and then she becomes a six-year-old again.
“I agree.” He turned on his blinker, turning into the parking garage. On the second level, he passed a large grouping of motorcycles, lifting a hand when he saw a face he recognized. Brute. Heart pounding in his throat, he quickly searched the rest of the group, saddened when Myron wasn’t among them. Andy knew Fort Wayne wasn’t Myron’s home, and thanks to Bexley, he’d found out Myron had been in Chicago for days. He didn’t know why he was so disappointed. Don’t be a fool, he told himself. You know exactly why.
They had joined the crowd waiting in the plaza for the countdown to begin when he heard the laugh. He would have known it anywhere, recognized it regardless of the time between the last time he’d heard it and now. Talya heard it, too, and her face turned up to his, joy writ large on her features.
“Unka Myron.” Arms lifted, she demanded, “Pick me up, Papa.” He did, settling her on his shoulders and within a few seconds knew she’d spotted Myron by the signal of fists beating against the top of his head. “He’s here! He’s here, Papa.”
Andy turned his head at her ungentle directions, the tugging at his hair no match for the terror that had his stomach flipping over in his belly. Would Myron want to see them? See me? Across the crowd, he spotted the group of bikers, black leather broken by bright scarves and toboggans, children in poses matching Talya’s, riding on broad shoulders. Myron stood to the side, staring up at the unlit display, a smile on his face.
“I wanna see Unka Myron,” Talya’s cry was imperious, and Andy laughed as her flailing legs escaped his grip, a shoe nearly catching him in the face. “I wanna.”
“Okay.” He loves Talya. Myron would want to see her, even if he didn’t give a shit about Andy anymore.
They were about halfway across the plaza when the lights went on. Talya twisted on his shoulders and thumped his head again. “Oh, Papa. It’s so beaut
iful.” Myron’s head was tipped back, his eyes on the same display, a child’s pleasure on his face mirroring the expression Andy knew had to be on Talya’s.
“Yeah, it is.”
They were within a few yards when one of the bikers caught sight of Andy and called out, “Mouse.” That had Myron’s head swinging madly from side to side until his gaze latched onto Andy and Talya. Andy froze for a moment, the sudden cessation of movement causing Talya to rock on his shoulders. Then a smile bloomed on Myron’s face, starting as a small parting of his lips and building to a beam of joy aimed Andy’s way.
“Mouse.” Brute stepped in front of him, and the broadness of his shoulders cut off any view of Myron. “Glad to see your little girl’s okay.”
Andy nodded and stepped to the side as he mouthed his thanks, surprised when Brute moved with him, blocking his path. “Remember what I said when I talked to you at the bar?” Andy’s chin jerked back, and he gripped Talya’s ankles firmly as he nodded. He did remember, the conversation etched in his head. “People don’t fuck with my friends, or I fuck them back. You hurt mine, I hurt you. Simple as that.” He knew Brute hadn’t been exaggerating then, and knew what the man was saying now. “That covers all my friends.”
“I get it.” He held Brute’s gaze. “I totally get it.”
“Unka Myron, did you see? Papa’s here.” Talya’s flailing had her slipping sideways, and Andy shrugged, trying to straighten her, but Myron pushed around Brute, shoving him to the side with a glare as he reached up, hands catching Talya under her arms. Brute moved away, giving Andy a final scowl over his shoulder.
“Hey, sweetness.” Myron pulled her close, and Talya’s arms closed around his neck, holding tight. Myron’s eyes closed as he kissed the side of her head, and Andy’s throat closed at the sight.
“The lights are pretty.” She leaned back and twisted again, lifting one hand to point, her finger trembling. “See?”
“Not as pretty as you are, honey.” Myron shifted her so she rode one hip, her legs wrapping around his waist. “Are you cold?”
Andy stared, then asked, “Where are your mittens?” Well, crap. Her hat was gone, too; lost in the rush to cross the plaza, no doubt.
“I’m cold, Papa.” She shivered, not exaggerating the chill, but just cold.
Myron handed her back to Andy, the transfer happening as naturally as if it were something they’d done a thousand times. He gripped Andy’s hand for a moment, the strong hold steadying as much as it was thrilling. “Hang on, I got you, honey.” He shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders, tucking the excess around her sides. The Rebel’s symbol was sewn to the back of the jacket, and from Andy’s perspective, looked as if it were an emblazoned warning, like the club itself would protect her, even if it were only from the cold. That backed up exactly what Bexley had told him. Why didn’t I see it before? Myron murmured to Talya, “Better?” She nodded, the top of her head knocking against Andy’s chin. “How’s she doing?” Myron’s gaze trailed down then back up, and Andy felt the path of that look like a touch. Then Myron leaned close to kiss Talya’s head again, and the scent of him hit Andy’s nose, sensory overload pushing him back in time to the last night they’d spent in bed together. Myron’s head lifted, and his gaze locked to Andy’s, heat filling his eyes. “How are you?”
I’m terrible. Falling apart without you. I want you back, want us back.
He shrugged and swallowed. “Gettin’ by.” He glanced down to see Talya had one of Myron’s hands trapped in hers, holding him close. “She’s okay. Wanted to see the lights.”
“I missed you.” For a long moment, he wasn’t certain who had spoken until he saw the light dying in Myron’s eyes and realized he was waiting on an answer that Andy hadn’t given.
God. “I miss you so much.” Hope swirled inside him.
“Talya.”
A little girl’s cry had his daughter’s head lifting. Then she was shouting and wriggling to get down, Myron’s coat hanging lopsided from one shoulder. “Gilda!” Myron rescued his jacket as Talya’s feet hit the pavement and she darted through the adults, meeting another little girl with an enthusiastic hug. “Papa, look it’s Gilda.”
Another biker stooped next to the two girls, grinning broadly. “You must be the Talya Gilda keeps wanting to adopt. She said you’re the best imaginer in class. Jumped ahead a grade, right?” Talya nodded, still swinging her friend back and forth. The biker stood and looked at Andy, then did a doubletake. “Mouse, how are ya, man?” It was Captain, one of the bikers who had stood sentry for Bexley. They’d had dozens of interesting conversations. The man was a retired professional athlete, and had turned that passion for his sport into a way to give back to the community, running a program for underprivileged youth. Andy had looked it up, and convinced the bar owners to donate to it this Christmas. It’s been in front of me all along.
“I’m fine. Hey, it’s good to see you.” Captain’s vigorous handshake pushed him to the side, and Andy bumped into Myron. Five circles of heat hit his back, and he realized Myron had steadied him. Every atom of his being wanted to lean into that pressure, but he held himself upright. “Gilda’s your daughter?” Continued pressure on his spine told him Myron hadn’t moved away, hadn’t dropped his hand, and while Andy knew what he wanted to make of that fact, he still wasn’t certain what it meant.
“Yeah, one of ‘em. I have—” Captain’s mouth quirked. “—a few.” He looked at Myron. “How’re your decorations coming, brother? That new house is too big for one guy. I think,” he winked at Andy, “you need a little girl or two to fill that space.” Captain rocked back on his heels following that startling pronouncement and shook his head. “But, just not tonight.” Gilda and Talya were dancing in circles between the men, chins tipped up as they sang a Christmas song Talya had learned in the car tonight. “I think tonight Talya needs to come watch a movie with my girls.”
“Papa, may I?”
Ignoring Talya’s pleading eyes, Andy turned to Myron. “You bought a house?” Myron nodded, his expression cautious. “In Fort Wayne?” Another nod. “Where? Why?”
Myron took a breath, then murmured softly, “Up off Bethel.”
Andy gawked. “That’s near Talya’s school. Near me.” He licked his lips, and Myron’s gaze fell to his mouth, staying there as he nodded a third time. “Why?”
“I wanted—”
“Papa, I want to go to Gilda’s. Her momma says it’s okay. Can I?” Talya pushed between them, staring up. “Please? Papa? Unka Myron? Can I?”
Andy looked up from Talya’s face when he felt Myron’s fingers spasm at his waist. He was still staring down at Talya, his mouth soft, a look of surprise on his features. Probably didn’t expect her to enlist him in her pleas. Andy knew what he had to do, knew he had to be the one to move them back to where they needed to be. “Hey.” He kept his voice soft, waiting for Myron to look up. “I wanna see that house. If she goes for a movie, you can take me there.” He grinned, and Myron looked at his mouth again. “You know, give me a tour. Show me around. I think I’d like that.”
“I’d like that, too.”
Falling for you
Myron
Myron straddled the seat of his bike, watching as the car crept towards him, Andy waving from the front seat. He pulled out of the parking spot, the vehicle following closely as they made their way to the street and then aimed west and north. Nearly the route Andy would take to go home, but a world away from where they’d been before.
This was it, what he’d been hoping for when he had the first conversation with the real estate agent weeks ago. If he had his wish, Andy would be riding behind him, because hadn’t that night been a revelation. Having Andy on the seat behind him had made him feel ten feet tall, and it hadn’t taken but a moment before he’d understood the draw for his fellow bikers. Having someone you were interested in wrapped around you, that was just impossibly arousing. Myron grinned as he leaned the bike through a corner, eyes flickin
g to the car behind him. Should have been a foreshadowing of how they’d sleep together, because it didn’t matter how they’d fallen asleep, Andy had wound himself around Myron.
Probably why my sleep’s been shit. Since he’d walked away—he knew there would be groveling in his future, but right now he wasn’t giving a fuck about that—he’d been lucky to piece together four or five hours sleep a night, troubled rest only coming in fits and starts.
He didn’t expect to see Andy tonight, or Talya. In fact, he hadn’t known where they were headed, just pulled up at the clubhouse as the big group was readying to leave, cars full of kids following. Talya knowing Jase’s littlest was pure luck, too.
He rounded the final turn and glided up the driveway to the house, slowing so the garage door could open completely. Myron had scarcely gotten parked and dismounted before Andy was right there, hand on his arm, eyes wide in his face.
“Oh my God, it’s gorgeous. This is yours?” Myron nodded. “Show me.”
“Not just yet.” Andy frowned, and then when Myron leaned in, a look of comprehension dawned on his features, eyes becoming heavy-lidded as Myron kissed him like he’d wanted to at the plaza. With his friends around, in the middle of a crowd, uncaring of who saw or might give a shit. The only reason he hadn’t was fear. Not of what people might say, since between the responses of Mason, Bones, and Slate, he’d been relieved from that fear. No, he was terrified Andy wouldn’t want it, wouldn’t want him. Wouldn’t give him this chance to make everything right. I want to explain everything.
Myron tried to tell him all that and more through the play of lips and tongue, going from gentle caresses to a deeper, more thorough exploration of Andy’s mouth. Tongues touching tentatively, then rubbing together like velvet, Myron played with his mouth, trying to force every emotion he’d suppressed over these past days. Telling Andy only that he’d missed him felt as if it’d minimized the depth of longing he’d felt every breath, and he tried to press the truth into the kiss. Longing and desire, fear, the feeling of coming home that was Andy’s hands at his neck. Myron gave everything to Andy, and he realized in the middle of it all, that Andy was giving it right back to him.
Not Even A Mouse Page 10
