She was a heavy-set woman with black hair that had been tugged back into a ponytail. Her eyes were wide, oval shaped and were the same color as mine. That I did remember. A mixture of shock and surprise crossed her face.
“You recognize me, but can’t figure out from where? I’m Maverick.”
“Maverick,” she said a little breathlessly. “I didn't think I would ever see you again.”
“No shit. What’d you think happened when you left your family?”
Grace nudged my side a little and I said, “What? It's true?”
“Who are you, dear?”
“I’m Grace Patterson, ma’am. I’m Maverick’s…friend.”
Lori and I stood staring at one another, taking each other all in. Her dirty pants and boots. My dirty pants and boots. Her flannel shirt, my black one.
She didn't look like an addict. Not even a recovering one. I wasn't technically sure what they were supposed to look like, but she looked healthy. Strong. Put together. Like she had her brains about her.
“Let's go inside. I reckon we can't have this conversation out here.” She put aside her shovel and walked out of the stall leaving the two of us there staring at one another. “Y’all coming?”
We took off after her as she led the way back into the main house where I was completely surprised when she led us up a flight of stairs and into an office. Her office, the door indicated. I was becoming more furious by the second. She wasn't at all what I’d been picturing in my mind these past twenty fucking years. Her eyes were the only thing I could remember about her. Otherwise she looked nothing like the memory of that fucked up mother getting screwed for another hit. She didn’t look like the mother I remembered who was always smiling, flirting and promising she’d be home later and it wouldn't be until the next evening that we saw her again.
No.
She looked normal. Like Thatcher and Grace normal.
“You work here? I thought you were a patient.”
“I was one. A long time ago. At a different place. That was a whole other life. I barely remember it.”
“I can imagine. You were drugged up half the time.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grace’s hand fly to her mouth and honestly, I didn't care. I wasn't nice. Not to this lady. Not today. Probably never the more I thought about how kept-up she looked.
“I deserved that. How did you find me?”
“My uncle Hoop. My dad wants to see you. You do remember him, right?”
“I do. That part of my life is over. I'm not going to see your father. Nothing could get me to see him.”
“Okay, great.” I stood, startling Grace. “Let's get the fuck out of here. I did what he asked.”
“Maverick-” Both women said simultaneously.
“What, Grace? Don't do this to me. Don't side with her.”
“I wouldn't do that. We came all this way. Is there anything you want to say or ask her before we go?”
I looked around her office. Taking in all the pictures and plaques on the wall. Photos of her with her arms around people – recovered addicts, maybe – photos of her cutting ribbons at places. Addict to ribbon cutter? I put two and two together when my eyes darted over a photo of her and the man that had greeted us downstairs. A family portrait – the two of them and a young boy and girl that looked to be around ten. The photo was old, Lori not as heavy, her face much more clear of wrinkles.
I swallowed. Hurt and anger making me see stars. What. The. Fuck.
“You own this place,” I said. “I liked my life a lot better when I thought of you as some drug-laced whore. Are those kids yours?”
She nodded slightly and I had to give the woman credit, she was standing her ground. I was happy that she didn’t say any more, as I couldn't take any sympathy or explanations.
“What did I ever do to you?” I whispered, hatred filled my chest. I clinched my hands into fists at my sides, ready to turn on my heel at any given moment.
“Why don't you sit down and we can talk? You certainly have a lot of questions. I hope I can answer some for you. Please, sit.” She moved around her desk and sat in her chair.
My eyes locked onto Grace’s and neither one of us said anything to each other. But there was something in her eyes, not pity, not regret. It was…support. Conveying to me that I owned this situation and she would do whatever I wanted. She’d support me.
“Why don't we start at the beginning? Grace, I’m warning you now, that it's not sunshine, baby.”
I pulled a chair out for Grace and plopped into the one next to hers.
“I’ll try to keep to the highlights if you don't mind. After I left your father, I didn’t change. Not for a while. I was still the same woman, just a different circle of people. Still looking for the next high. I overdosed on heroin one night and found myself in jail. Part of my plea deal was that I had to seek treatment for drug addiction. I went through that twice before it finally stuck. I met Peter and he changed my life. Made me realize my own sense of self-worth. Taught me about self-esteem and what it meant to have someone care about you.”
“I cared about you.”
“Maverick, I hope you’ll understand someday that I had to get away from that life to save myself and you. I was afraid I wouldn't be strong enough if I ever found you again. That I would get pulled back into that place where I would commit illegal acts for drugs. I didn't know if you were a part of their…operations. I didn't know any of that and I live in fear every day that I will go back to becoming that woman who stuck needles in her arms in front of her son. That woman who didn't care about using her body to get the next fix. Eventually I changed my name, married Peter and he and I opened this safe-haven. This world of paradise for people that need help. Living here reminds me every day of the woman I want to be and the woman I left behind.”
She wiped a stray tear from her face then folded her hands into her lap. I studied the crack in the wall above her head, where it aligned with the ceiling. The adult part of me understood this to some degree. The child in me, the young teenage boy who wanted and needed a real mother, didn't understand any of it.
“There is no forgiveness for neglecting you and letting you go. It's a price that I endure every day of my life, Maverick. Not a day goes by that I don't question my choices. My therapist says maternal instincts never go away no matter how much time has gone by. And now, so much time has gone by, that I knew even if I ever reached out to you, you would hate me. I knew there would never be a chance of forgiveness.”
“You had other kids.”
“I moved on, Maverick! I can't feel guilty about my family. My twins. I won’t. Don't you understand? It all leads back to my days when I used. The very essence of me has been built on my past drug use. I'm an addict! I can't put myself into fragile situations where I could lapse. Where I would spiral out of control. That’s my own weakness talking. Other recovered addicts aren’t as weak as I believe I could be.”
“Hey, there,” I turned toward the door and there stood the same man who had greeted us. Peter.
“Peter, this is Maverick and his girlfriend, Grace.”
“I suspected that the second I saw your face. You look a lot like your mother. It's nice to meet you both. Lori, if you need anything, I think I will wait in the study. Just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
“Thanks, Peter,” she smiled at him. He, in turn, smiled at Grace.
“It's nice to meet you too, sir.” God, Grace couldn't help herself. Always so full of manners.
“I know you’ll never believe this, but I have always loved you. I have always held on to the belief that you got away from your father’s antics and made a life for yourself. That you grew up to be a strong, kind, handsome man and I have to say that it appears that I have been holding on to the correct reality of you.”
I stood up from my chair. I was at a loss for words. The drug addicted whore who was in my mind for the past twenty years, was anything but. She was older, wiser and had a gift for s
erving feelings right into my gut. How could I treat this fifty-eight-year-old woman badly? Regret and honesty poured out of her in waves. How could I continue to judge her? Did I hate that I hadn’t been important enough to her? Yeah. Though I could see where she was coming from. My dad’s life wasn't a game—it wasn't some movie that portrayed motorcycle clubs as a fantasy world where the woman fell madly in love with the biker with minimal consequences.
No, my dad’s shit was real. People had been hurt by him and his brothers. Killed, I imagined. He lived a ruthless life that knew no bounds. A life that was cemented in crime and a place where no one’s feelings mattered but his own.
“I don't know what to say. Let’s go.”
“Wait! Maverick! Please tell me about you. Something that I can hold on to. Anything,” Lori came around her desk and grabbed my wrist.
“I…I’m a welder. You need to fix your railing,” I said pathetically, looking at her hand on my wrist. A hand that used to take care of me, fed me grilled cheese sandwiches. A hand that had once pulled plastic hospital gloves tight along her arm and flicked the vein where her arm folded. A hand that was now aged and dry, dark from the sun.
“He also owns a bar. He loves to work on motorcycles, that’s his passion. And he’s good at it. He has a good friend, my brother actually, who owns a feed store and he goes in the mornings sometimes and eats peanuts. Which I think is odd. Who eats peanuts that early? He also likes to fish-”
“That's enough, Grace. Please,” I added. Because it was enough. The choices she made led her to where she was at today and that included not knowing everything about me for fuck’s sake.
“Those are all great things to know about you. Really.” She squeezed my wrist and let it go, “Will I see you again?”
I looked into those brown eyes of hers, searching, questioning and it was like the full gush of flame when I lit my welding torch. Her eyes were like mine. In color, but more than that. Soul-searching. A glimmer of hope that maybe there was more to life than the mundane. A look that wanted love and yet didn't feel worthy of it.
A familiar look.
“I don't know,” I answered honestly.
As I began to turn, Grace was already standing near the door, Lori hugged me. Her hefty body secured me into a firm grasp, she smelled like horses and I was struck in surprise, unable to move. Until I saw Grace over her shoulder using hand gestures indicating that I should hug her back. My arms went around her full body and patted her lightly on the back.
It was an awkward hug. I let my hands drop down and she let go of me, tears in her eyes again.
“It was nice to see you, Maverick. Please let your father know that I will not go visit him. Whatever he needs, he’ll have to find it elsewhere.”
“I don't speak with him often, but I’ll be sure he gets the message.”
“Bye, Lori,” Grace put her hand out and instead of a handshake, Lori grasped it with both hands.
“Very nice to meet someone who is so close to Maverick. I can see the two of you have a good relationship.”
Grace and I walked out of her office and down the stairs alone. Peter was in the same hallway where we had originally walked in, waiting expectantly for us.
“I'm so glad to have met you,” he said to me.
“Thanks. Same here. She said you changed her life.”
“She always says that but the truth is, she’s much stronger than she thinks.”
“Let’s hit the road, Grace.”
She said her goodbyes to Peter and grabbed a few brochures off the side table and shoved them into her purse before we headed back outside onto the bike.
“What did you think?”
“I don't know,” I answered honestly. “I really don't know.”
I got on the bike and helped Grace get on behind me and together, with her arms a nice comfort against all the fucked-up feelings swirling through my mind, I drove us back to Lone Star.
It wasn’t quite dark by the time we made it home and she immediately went outside to retrieve Echo from the backyard. I grabbed a beer from the fridge.
All I could think about was Lori.
How my memory of her was so different than what she was. Talk about dropping a bomb. It hurt to know she’s been in her right mind for so long and never tried to reach out to me. That hurt more than knowing I had a half-brother and half-sister. Twins. What were they like? How old were they? Did they have kids? Was I an…uncle? Did they know I existed and if so, did they care?
Question after question weaved through my mind as I watched Grace come back inside.
“Anything you want to talk about?” She asked in that proper tone of hers.
“She’s lived four hours away from me for the past, what, twenty years? Fifteen? And never wanted to see me. You know what that makes a person feel like?”
“Scum?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Yes, Gracie, like scum.”
“Thanks for inviting me today. I know we left them with the wrong impression about our relationship, but it felt good to be there for you.”
I watched as Echo turned in circles and settled on to the rug near Grace’s feet.
“Wrong impression about our relationship? That you’re my girlfriend?” I chuckled again, “Sounds like high school hearing myself say that. No, you’re not my girlfriend.”
She looked down to the dog sleeping at her feet and I immediately regretted saying that. After all, it wasn't her who I was angry with. I stood and cupped her chin, “Look at me.”
Her eyes searched mine and I saw everything. How far we’d come. How far I’d come along since that last night I fucked Tiffany Dee. How she managed to weave herself into the layers of my life. Layers I’ve tried to ignore since Candi passed away. Somehow I would have to get Thatcher to be on board with the idea of me being with his little sister. I needed to come clean with him. I wasn’t sure if Thatcher really would be against the idea about her and I not being able to work as a couple or if I was dreaming up excuses because I believed her to be too good for someone like me.
And she was.
All of her was sunshine and I was greedily soaking up her rays.
Unlike anyone else in my life, she’s been a constant these past few weeks that I’ve come to count on. One I’d come to look forward to. She’s changed me by making me believe that I was worthy of things I didn't think I was capable of having. Friendship.
Although, as my gaze wandered over her face, that pert little mouth, her delicate neck, what we had was far from friendship. I watched her throat bob up and down.
“I guess I’ll go then,” she said in a barely audible whisper.
“I don't think so, Grace. You’re not fucking going anywhere unless it's to my bedroom. I’m mentally exhausted from carrying around blue balls for the past month.”
I reached out and grazed the flutter in her neck and trailed my fingers down to the buttons on her shirt, popping them off with one hand. My dick was hard from the fact that I was finally breaking into Fort Knox and she wasn't acting shy.
“I thought you changed your mind about our agreement.”
“There's nothing more important right now than giving you those hickies we talked about.”
When her mouth opened on a sigh, I dove in and kissed her. She tasted like sugar and sunshine and I knew by the way her nails dug into my chest that it was going to be a long night.
About damn time.
“Are you ready for this, Gracie?” I asked between kisses.
“Don't call me, Gracie. And yeah, I thought you were going to wimp out,” she chided.
“Never doubt me, baby.”
My hands went around her ass and I scooped her up so her long legs were wrapped around my waist and I carried her to my bedroom. I deposited her on my bed and went to tear my shirt off but she stopped me.
“I want to do that,” she said.
Then her hands were on me. All over my chest and my arms. She pulled my shirt off my head and began touching me all
over again. Her painted fingernails pressing against my skin felt like a different kind of heaven. She unbuttoned my jeans and I pushed off her top from her shoulders and off her arms.
She wore a tank top that exposed her skin all along her chest and arms, the deep valley between her tits. She was perfect. Her hands kept flitting over my dick as she touched and teased me like she was trying to get to know all the outlines of my body and it took plenty of strength not to fuck her the way I’ve been doing with every woman I’ve been with lately.
Every ounce of strength. I refused to do it because she was different. She was a sassy, innocent creature who was willing to stay by my side despite what her brother wanted. Tarnishing the mighty Patterson’s of Lone Star, no doubt.
I peeled off her top and unhooked her sparkly white bra, exposing her tits. I moved over her, pushing her hands up over head as I bent down to kiss her. Her mouth, her neck and on to her chest.
I took her nipples into my mouth like I had before, loving the way she squirmed beneath me as I pleasured her. I pulled her boots off, one by one and then undid her jeans, pulling them down and off. I reared back, looking at this masterpiece.
Her wild blonde hair was starting to get curly and it lay fanned out across my pillows. Her mouth was swollen red from my touch. Her breasts marked with my kisses. Her bright blue panties that were interlaced with white sparkly stuff that managed to match her bra making her stand out against my dark comforter. Her long legs were starting to get tanned from the summer sun and my mouth watered at the thought of kissing them, tasting them.
I gripped the sides of her panties and pulled them down ever so slowly exposing what I’ve been fantasizing about since day one. She was bare and pink, wet, and I was surprised at the small red heart just below her panty line.
“I hate tattoos,” I grumbled. “But I’m going to be seeing this a lot so I better get used to it, hadn't I?”
I placed a kiss over the heart, her soft skin teasing me senseless.
“That's the bad girl in me,” she said as she bucked her bottom off the bed and toward me like an offering.
Wicked: A Small Town Romance (Love in Lone Star Book 3) Page 15
