by Carolina Mac
BAD BEAT
Regulator Series: Book 1
Carolina Mac
Copyright © 2017 by Carolina Mac
BAD BEAT- 1st ed.
ISBN 978-0-9919838-1-0
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To Fast Eddie Ross, who bought me my first Harley shirt.
When a man hits a target, they call him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did like that much.
―Annie Oakley
CHAPTER ONE
MY MOST FERVENT prayer was to die in my sleep after the loss of my soul mate, George Ross. But no matter how many hours I prayed and wished and dug myself deeper into the depths of denial, those tactics did not alleviate my suffering in any way. The sheer weight of my grief had immobilized me… or I had let it. The unalterable fact of the matter was, he was dead and I was alive. Not what you would call living by any stretch—just breathing in and breathing out.
Two months of my life had evaporated since Jackson brought me home to the city after George drowned at the cabin, and mercifully, I couldn’t recall with any clarity, one single day of that period.
Today, I woke with a slightly clearer head and knew the time had come for me to suck it up and get out of bed. I inhaled a deep breath, mustered the first semblance of courage I’d had in many weeks and sat up. A shaft of sunlight peeked through the drawn curtains and foisted a hint of the existence of an outside world into my darkened sanctuary. An enticing coffee aroma wafted up the stairwell and mingled, not in a good way, with the reek emanating from my person.
What a mess I had become—the antithesis of personal hygiene—cover girl for ‘Back Alley Ho’ magazine. My robe lay crumpled on the foot of the bed and as I reached for it and my bare feet touched the cold hardwood floor, I realized how wobbly my legs were. I counted off the steps to the ensuite as I had done every morning for the past two months. Sixteen steps to the bathroom door. Sixteen steps back to the bed. I shrugged into the robe not bothering to fasten it, stumbled to the doorway, and grasping the banister in my right hand, eased my way down the stairs. The front foyer startled me with its brightness and I was amazed how much my potted plants had grown. I took a fortifying breath and turned the corner into the kitchen.
My house was an old Victorian, in good repair, but with creaking stairs, twelve-foot ceilings needing a fresh coat of paint, and the odd crack in the plaster where the walls had settled. It had belonged to my husband’s family and had passed to me in Matthew’s will. Unfortunately, he had died of a heart attack in May right in the middle of dinner at our dining room table.
“Holy fuck, Portia, you’re up,” Jackson’s mouth dropped open and he jumped to his feet.
“I made it.” I slumped down onto a kitchen chair and exhaled.
“Let me get you a coffee.” He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter. “I can’t believe you’re down here. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you,” he flashed me his beautiful smile. “I’ll get the cream.”
“I can imagine what a disaster I am. I haven’t bothered to look in a mirror since you brought me home. I’ll have to face that fright later, and don’t get too close to me—I reek.” I chuckled a little to myself.
Jackson froze and focused his dark brown eyes on me. “That’s the first time you laughed in two months. I was so damn worried. I know nothin’ from nothin’ about women. Especially smart, beautiful women like you, Portia. I’ve had a couple old ladies since I been in the club, but they were stupid, boring biker bitches.” His lip curled up. “All they wanted to do was… oh, fuck…never mind.”
“I think that was a compliment.” I smiled and picked up my coffee. “Thanks, Jackson.”
“Do you want some breakfast? I’m getting pretty mean with scrambled eggs.”
My stomach lurched at the mention of eggs. “Some toast and jam maybe.” My eyes welled up with tears as I watched him bustle around my kitchen. “Do you have any idea how much I appreciate you giving up your normal life to take care of me?”
“No more crying.” He draped an arm around my shoulder and was close enough for me to inhale his shampoo and his after shave. Too close. The scent of him made my head spin a little. “Two months of that shit is enough for you.”
“You’re right, enough is enough.” I slumped back into my chair. Enough talking.
The toast popped up and he strode across the kitchen, a sight to behold in his cutoff jeans and big, black scuffed up Harley boots. The heavy silver chains clanked around his ankles when he walked. He buttered the toast and took a jar of raspberry jam out of the fridge. “Here you go. I don’t know how you survived on the crap I cooked you all these weeks. It’s a fuckin’ miracle you’re still alive,” he chuckled.
I hadn’t seen my kitchen in two months, and seeing it again made me realize how much I had missed it. Cooking was one of my passions. The cupboards were outdated, painted wood, with glass doors and old fashioned handles, but the appliances had been upgraded and the room was serviceable and homey. Ensconced in the sunny window corner were a small antique drop-leaf table and two black Windsor chairs.
“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the market and get a load of groceries. Today, I think I’ll just take a hot bath, get dressed and call it progress.”
“I’ll drive you to the market. You can’t go out alone.” Jackson got up, refilled our mugs at the coffee maker and seemed twitchy at the mention of me leaving the house. He changed the subject. “Angel will be happy you’re up. She’s been moping and quiet and she won’t play with her ball.”
“Aw, no.” I stared at my hands, “I’m depressing you and the dog.”
“I’m on cloud nine, because you got out of bed, and so we can remember, I’m circling this day in red on the calendar.” He grabbed a pen out of the junk drawer and drew a red circle.
“After I get cleaned up, we’re going to have a serious talk about the future.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “After my bath.”
Jackson nodded, looking a little bewildered. His phone rang and I made my exit. On my way up the stairway, I overheard him unleash a vicious stream of cursing into his cell. He’d reverted into his gang leader persona and a jolt of pin pricks ran up my backbone. Something was wrong at the club.
I spent an hour in the porcelain claw-footed tub, soaking in French vanilla bubbles, and trying to summon the courage to start my life over without George. They say you only get one true love in a lifetime and I certainly had mine, in spades. Letting the waterworks begin all over again was not an option. There was no turning back. The decision had been made—today was the day I faced the future and pulled myself together.
As I toweled my hair dry, I kept my gaze lowered and avoided my reflection in the mirror as long as possible. N
ot a pretty sight. The gash on my face had healed but I was left with a jagged scar to remind me of the bomb planted under my Jeep and the time I had spent recovering in the hospital.
My streaked hair had grown long and shaggy over the past months and looked like a skunk on steroids. My summer tan had faded and left my skin pale and pasty looking. The weeks of crying had left my eyes red-rimmed and smudged, surrounded by dark circles from lack of sleep. And I didn’t need to step onto the scale to confirm that my weight was down.
Oh well. Work with what you’ve got, girl.
I dressed in a pair of black jeans and pulled a faded Springsteen t-shirt over my head, brushed my mop of hair and tried to hide the flaws on my face with a few make-up tricks. A little lip gloss and a spray of perfume and that was it for the first day. After a few deep breaths, I forced myself out of the bedroom that had become my whole world over the past two months. Tears burned behind my eyes and I ignored them as I put one foot in front of the other and went downstairs.
Jackson brightened when I entered the room. “Wow. Is that what they call a make-over?” He walked towards me and held out his arms for a hug.
His arms were strong and warm as they closed around me and I realized how starved I was for human contact. “I needed a hug,” I whispered, hanging on tight to his muscular back.
“Me too,” he said, grinning as he stepped away.
“Want to sit outside?” I asked. “You could relax and smoke out there.”
I wanted to run back upstairs and pull the covers over my head.
I slid the patio door open and was amazed that my garden had changed seasons in my absence. Gone were the colorful pink and purple blooms of the pansies and petunias. Time had moved on without me. Now, masses of brown-eyed Susans filled the beds and brightened the yard with their happy yellow heads nodding in the breeze.
I wish I felt as happy as they look.
Angel caught sight of me from the back of the yard and put it into high gear. She ran and jumped up on me going full tilt, her front paws slamming into my shoulders. I reeled backward right into Jackson who filled the doorway. He caught me and Angel and saved all three of us from falling. “Wow, Angel, that was quite a greeting,” I said.
“Save that power for the bad guys,” Jackson said. He sat down opposite me and lit up a smoke.
He was so handsome. A fact I hadn’t overlooked in the past, but George had fulfilled my needs and I had never thought of Jackson as more than a friend, and one of the boys in the Regulators Club. He was tall and well-built with longish dark hair that curled around his neck. His eyes were dark and expressive, and to me, always held a certain amount of sadness. He was tanned from riding his bike in the wind and had an outdoorsy feel about him. The python tattoo slithering down his arm was inked in vibrant colors and glowed against his dark skin. His butt was well rounded and accentuated by the tight jeans he always wore.
“What?” he looked up and caught me staring.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and felt warmth rising in my neck. “You look great today. I guess I haven’t… noticed you for the past couple of months.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” He flashed me a smile and kept his gaze locked on mine, “You can stare at me all you want.”
The sudden shift in the air between us made me blush outright. I cleared my throat. “I need a notepad and a pen. Be right back.” I rummage in the junk drawer in the kitchen and found what I needed. When I returned, the moment had passed and we were back to business.
“We need to make all kinds of lists. Stuff that needs to get done around here, groceries we need to buy, bills that need to be paid. And after that, we need to talk about what you want to do.”
“Well, I tried to keep everything humming around the house…kind of day by day. I didn’t know when you would…umm…be able to get up.”
This guy has taken care of me, Angel and the house and waited for two months for me to get out of bed. Wonder how he ran the club at the same time?
“The cleaning girls come every Friday, so they took care of that end of it. The gardening girls are still doing the yard. I only went to Mac’s when we ran out of stuff, so we don’t have many groceries. The bills that came while you were…umm…upstairs…I paid them. I don’t think things are in as bad a shape as you think.”
“How did you pay the bills and the cleaners and all?” I scowled, thinking I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“The boss gave me a bank card for an account he set up for you when he asked me to be your bodyguard. I think he had a bad feeling about his heart after that first scare. He was worried. The boss loved you, big time, Portia.”
What? That sounded rehearsed. A bank account already set up?
My eyes filled up hearing Jackson talk about George. “Thanks, Jackson. That means a lot to me. I’m going to make a fresh pot of coffee before we carry on.”
I took my time rinsing out the carafe and measuring the coffee, using my time in the kitchen to take a few deep breaths and hide my tears.
Was George that concerned about his health that he set up a bank account for me?
“Are you okay, Portia? Maybe we talked enough for the first day.”
“I’m okay.” I tried to smile. “This is an ongoing battle that won’t be won in a day.”
Jackson nodded.
“What I’m concerned about is you. You’re a young guy that must have better things to do than hanging around watching out for some weepy female. What happened to your job at the Harley store?”
“Well, when you were so bad off n’all, I couldn’t leave you here alone. It wouldn’t have been right. And I promised the boss I’d take care of you.” He stared at the table. “I had to quit.”
My heart sank, “I’m so sorry, Jackson. You must have been bored out of your mind sitting here for two months waiting for me to suck it up.”
He shook his head, dark wavy bangs falling into his eyes. “No, not really.”
What did you do all day?”
“When I wasn’t ‘taking care of business’ I turned on that computer in the office and played poker online. I hope you don’t mind that I touched your laptop.”
TCB. Running the club. Better if I don’t know the details.
“Of course, not. That laptop isn’t mine anyway. It belonged to Matthew. I left it sitting there after he died because I don’t know the first thing about computers. Is poker fun online?”
“Oh, yeah. You can play for fun or real money, or you can play in tournaments. It’s not like playing poker with real people, but it’s something to do. Other than that, most nights Rusty would come over and we’d go over what needed to be done at the club.”
“How did you run the club from here?”
“I managed.”
Another lie.
I knew by the tone of his answer that he should have been at the clubhouse in person. Those Regulators weren’t the easiest boys to handle—George had never let them get away with much, but I couldn’t see Jackson being as tough or as demanding as George. Maybe he was, but discipline couldn’t be handled over the phone. And it wasn’t a subject that I could discuss with Jackson. Club business was just that. Private.
I switched back to poker as I sipped my coffee. “Maybe you could show me, sometime. I like to play cards, but I haven’t done it since I was single, and that seems like a lifetime ago.”
“I’ll show you with a deck of cards first and then when you go online, you’ll know a bit about what to do.”
“I would love that. Just like when George taught me how to shoot. I’d never done it before, but I loved it from the first day.”
“And we both know how fuckin’ good you were at that, don’t we, Annie?” Jackson beamed.
Hearing my nick-name I said, “I loved it when George called me that.”
“Would it bother you if I called you that sometimes? It reminds me of when we were all together, sorta like a family.”
“A family? I guess we really were. I didn’t know you were sentime
ntal, Jackson.”
George and his boys are the only family I’ve ever had.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Me neither. Must be getting that way in my old age.”
“Your old age is what now, about thirty-five?”
“About that,” he said with a wink, “thirty-six, actually.”
“Okay, back to the subject on the table. Now that you’re mature, and all that good stuff, you must have an idea of what would be the number one thing you want to do in life. What if you could do anything you wanted? Don’t think about it. Spew it right now. Go.”
“Umm…anything?” He thought for a moment. “Then I guess, I’d be a pro poker player in Vegas.”
“Good enough. Now we have something to work with.”
“Are you bullshittin’ me, Portia? Why in hell would you want to help me do that?”
“Basic logic, sweet boy. I have to rebuild my life from the ground up and I don’t have a dream or a purpose anymore. All that died with George. Now that there’s just the two of us—we have to use your dream, simple as that. Your dream will be mine.”
CHAPTER TWO
GEORGE CLUTCHED HIS chest as he stood up in the boat. We were alone on the lake at night. He teetered near the side and I screamed as he fell backwards and disappeared into the black murky water. I stretched my arm over the side of the boat to save him. His hand reached up for me amid the dark green weeds floating near the surface. I leaned over the side of the boat stretching out my arm as far as it would reach as he came to the surface one last time. His hand reached for mine, his black eyes begging me to help him. I tried to hold on as I felt him slipping out of my grasp. He called my name as he disappeared below the surface. I screamed as bubbles broke the top of the water.
My screaming woke Jackson and he came running from the guest room.
“Portia, are you okay?”
I panted for a moment to get my breath and tried to slow my heart down. “Just a dream,” I whispered.
