OLIN (A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga Book 3)

by Debra Kayn

  Part 3

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  THREE YEARS.

  Thirty-six months.

  Sentence served.

  Ashley opened the passenger side of Lindsay's car and slid inside, locking the door behind her. Afraid the prison officials would change their mind and come running after her, tasers blazing, she wasn't going to make it easy for them to get ahold of her.

  She should've been released last week. Seven days ago. Ten thousand and eighty minutes overdue.

  The prison warden held her longer because of some technicality over paperwork. Every day that'd gone past her three years felt like hell until she started to believe she'd never set foot outside the cement walls.

  Lindsay started the car and held her hands out in front of her. "Look at me, shaking. You'd think I was the one walking out of prison after so long."

  Ashley looked down at her hands. She wasn't shaking.

  Her nerves had been physically and mentally beaten out of her. The first year of her imprisonment was a mix of fear and humiliation, topped off by the wonderment of having her son only to barely live through something she couldn't even name. It wasn't grief, because Trik and Olin were alive. It wasn't trauma because the level of pain she'd lived through was unmeasurable.

  Sending her family away was worse than anything she'd ever lived through, and a new day never brought relief.

  Her second year in prison passed slowly. She no longer cared about herself or what she was going through. Trik had been safe with Olin. That's the only thing she focused on.

  As soon as she was taken off suicide watch, she'd ended up in the hospital for three days because of a bleeding ulcer. Upon her return to the pod, she was greeted by a beat-down from two other women who'd heard Ashley had given her child away.

  The last year behind bars, she started to walk during her hour allotted time outside in the yard. It was the sight of the grass, the dandelions, the blue sky that fortified her. Somewhere deep inside of her became stronger. Her body strengthened and maybe that helped her mind focus more—or she adapted to her surroundings.

  She started to think about the day she would walk away from the prison.

  And, now she was here.

  Sitting beside Lindsay, like she'd done for years, but instead of going to get their nails or hair done, she was going home.

  Home.

  She peered out the windshield.

  No, she was going to Lindsay's house.

  The only thing stopping her from rushing to Trik was her need of a shower. She wanted to scrub the filth of prison off her skin in the chance that Olin would let her touch her baby.

  Her baby.

  Trik was thirty months and one week old. No longer a baby.

  She stared at the road ahead of her. Every milestone of Trik's that she'd missed branded on her soul. She would never get to see him take his first steps or say his first word or get his first haircut.

  She had no idea what he looked like beyond the descriptions Lindsay, and her mom gave her during visitations over the years. They'd said he looks like Olin.

  That pleased her because Olin was a beautiful man.

  "Mom's going to drive up from Portland this weekend and be at the house." Lindsay glanced over at her as she drove out of the parking lot. "I thought I'd save that bit of information for when you were released."

  "That doesn't even bother me anymore." She rested her head on the back of the seat. "She's not as nosy anymore."

  "That's because she was afraid of upsetting you in prison." Lindsay turned onto the highway. "Instead, she drilled me about everything happening to you."

  The softness of the leather seat, the most comfortable cushion she'd had under her ass in three years, she wasn't sure she wanted to get out of the car when they arrived at Lindsay's house.

  "Did Olin ask about what was happening today?" she said before she could catch herself. "I'm assuming Devonport informed him I was being released."

  "You've never mentioned if you wanted him to be here or not."

  She closed her eyes. "I didn't want him to know."

  "Why not?"

  "Because all I had was time to think inside my cell. The less I knew, the more I could control how I felt." She opened her eyes and looked at her sister. "Did he talk about what would happen after I was released?"

  Lindsay blew out her breath. "For a little while after you made him take Trik out of there, but then he...no. No, he didn't."

  He'd stopped.

  She turned her head away and looked out at the side of the freeway.

  He'd moved on.

  Before she'd given him Trik, she knew losing Olin's love was a risk. She'd expected him to hate her.

  Maybe she needed him to hate her. She deserved to lose him.

  Twenty minutes later, Lindsay pulled into the driveway. Ashley stared at the vacant lot between her sister's house and Olin's home.

  "When did that happen?" she asked, looking around at where the old house used to sit.

  "About a year ago." Lindsay shut off the car.

  She tore her gaze off the now-vacant field and looked at Olin's house. Her chest squeezed. He still never mowed his front yard, and the brown paint on the siding was weather-worn in areas. She would've thought he'd keep up on appearances, considering he had his son living with him.

  Trik couldn't even play in the overgrown weeds.

  Lindsay opened her door. "Come on. I'm not going to help you walk inside."

  She slid out of the car in shock. Her son could be next door with Olin. She was within distance of shouting his name or running over there to touch him.

  Would she even recognize him?

  Trik had no idea who she was. Too young to remember her when she'd sent him away, she was afraid of frightening him.

  But, before she could think about seeing her son, she would need to get permission from Olin. It would be his decision whether or not he'd allow her back in Trik's life.

  She owed him that much and more.

  She owed him the rest of her life multiplied by ten, but she had a feeling what she wanted wouldn't be how he took his payment.

  "Do you want something to eat or—"

  "Shower. Clothes. Food." She looked around the living room, finding it similar but different as if she'd missed a large chunk of time—which she had. Every home had a different smell, and she couldn't remember if the air was the same.

  "You know where everything is. Go do what you have to do, and I'll make us something to eat. Do you feel like a sandwich? Or, I could cook you a hamburger or some tuna casserole."

  "Do you have salad? Maybe some veggies?" Her stomach growled reminding her of the year when any growling resulted in burning until the acid burned a hole in her stomach.

  "Sure." Lindsay walked into the kitchen. "I'll make sandwiches, too."

  Prison meals lacked any vegetables, and fruit was something they'd received in the form of an orange once a year when the rest of the world celebrated Thanksgiving with their families. She walked up the stairs, peeking into the rooms trying to settle herself in her old surroundings.

  In the bathroom, she started the shower, stripped out of her clothes, and stepped into the spray of warm water. She flinched under the scolding of the heat but refused to turn down the temperature.

  Soaping up her hair, she inhaled deeply. The clean apple scent of her sister's shampoo almost had her sobbing at the pleasure of something clean and pleasant, something she used to take for granted. Using her sister's hair conditioner, she spent minutes running her fingers through her strands, finally feeling the snarls let loose.

  Her scalp tingled from the abuse and she gave up to scrub her body until her skin turned red and she was sure every speck of germs and filth clinging to her from prison were gone.

  Exhausted from the overwhelming sensations, it took her a few minutes to realize the warmth of the water had turned cold, and she hadn't moved a muscle to get out.

  After drying off, she invaded Lindsay's close
t and picked a pair of jeans and a button-up long-sleeved shirt she recognized as one that she used to own and that her sister probably had borrowed and never given back. Somehow, she'd need to get her clothes from Olin's house—unless he'd burnt them to rid his life of any reminder of her.

  Walking barefooted, she went downstairs and was greeted with a large salad covered in cut-up meats, cheeses, olives, tomatoes, and cucumbers. She pulled the stool up to the counter and sat down.

  "This looks wonderful." She picked up the fork, rolling it in her hand. Even real silverware seemed foreign to her.

  "My jeans fit you." Lindsay raised her brows. "I don't think that's happened since we were young."

  "I've gained about fifteen pounds." She held up her fork. "If I never see another carb in my life, I'll be happy."

  Together, they ate their lunch. Her sister let her concentrate on her food and Ashley enjoyed every single bite.

  Sitting straighter, she inhaled and tried to slow down. So caught up in tasting the fresh food, she hadn't realized she missed one noise that she'd expected upon her arrival.

  "Why aren't there any motorcycles around?" she asked.

  "Olin keeps his bike at the clubhouse since he can't ride it with Trik. The others—they stopped watching the house when you were gone. I guess there wasn't any need for guards coming around." Lindsay shrugged. "Once in a while, Chief, Jett, or Thorn stop by Olin's house but he usually keeps to himself."

  That's right, Olin used the daycare at the clubhouse during the days for their son. Her mom had told her that. At least some things hadn't changed. He still enjoyed staying home at night.

  Lindsay leaned to the side, removed her phone, and read the screen. Ashley picked up the cell when her sister passed it to her.

  Johanna: Can I come over?

  She handed the phone back to Lindsay, picked up her fork, and took another bite of her salad.

  "Well?" asked Lindsay. "You know she wants to see you."

  "It's your house." She scraped the bowl and took the last piece of lettuce. "I'm going to lay down for a while."

  She understood Johanna wanting to come over and see her. She'd shut her best friend out of her life because she couldn't handle seeing someone who was living the life that she wanted. Johanna was a reminder of everything.

  How she'd met Olin.

  How she'd wanted children.

  How she'd lost everything.

  Johanna could come over and interrogate Lindsay about her, but she wasn't ready to face her oldest friend. The only person who deserved an explanation from her was Olin, and she'd talk with him first before facing anyone else who demanded answers.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Trik slept on Olin's shoulder. He quietly let himself into the house and carried his son to the bedroom. Having already put his son's pajamas on at the clubhouse, he put Trik in his big-boy bed, added the stuffed Harley Hog, and pulled the covers up to his chest.

  Standing over his son, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. It wasn't as if he brought Trik home after midnight to avoid running into Ashley staying with her sister the last three nights. He was ready for her to see Trik.

  He'd prepared his son the best he could by showing him old pictures of his mom. He'd opened his closet and dresser drawers and let Trik look at his mom's clothes. He'd even explained how his mom had been gone from his life because she was serving time in prison—something no one protected him from knowing as a child when Chief went away.

  Under the belief that the truth was better than a lie when it came to a parent's love, he chose to tell Trik in little ways that he had a mother. She just wasn't around at the moment.

  And, now she was, and he held off being at the house during the times she'd be more likely to come over because he still hadn't gained control of his reaction to having her out of prison. The last three nights were hard enough knowing Ashley was two minutes away if he went out the door and started walking.

  He backed away from the bed, closed the door halfway in case his son woke in the middle of the night and wanted to crawl into his bed, and went into the kitchen and grabbed a cold beer, twisting the top, and taking a long drag.

  The club was scheduled to go on a run in a week, and the different crews were putting in long hours to make sure they stayed on schedule.

  He carried the beer to the table and sat down while the house was quiet. A rare occurrence.

  When Trik was awake, there was always noise. If he wasn't making truck and motorcycle sounds by sputtering his lips while wheeling his Hot Wheels around the house, he was asking why. His kid was on a one-way ticket to solve every question in the world.

  A soft knock interrupted the quiet. He never flinched. As if sensing Ashley near, he knew she was coming over tonight.

  The dozen steps to the front door were the heaviest he'd ever walked. With his hand on the handle, he failed to slow his racing heart. Shaking his head, he opened the door.

  Ashley stood under the porch light.

  She stared.

  He stared and couldn't move. His heart thudded.

  Despite being prepared to see her, he wasn't set for the swift, hard punch to his gut. He searched her eyes trying to see the Ashley he knew better than himself. The one who looked to him for guidance and love.

  The deep brown eyes that stared back at him were full of hesitancy. He swept his gaze down her body, noting that she was all in one piece, looking beautiful.

  "So...you're out?" he asked, knowing damn well the second she'd been released.

  She moistened her lips and inhaled deeply. "On Thursday."

  He ran his hand down his beard. "Yeah, Lindsay mentioned she was going to pick you up."

  His chest hurt from the pounding of his heart. The beer he'd drank set heavily on his stomach.

  "Can we talk?" she asked, stiffening, preparing for him to tell her to leave.

  "Trik's sleeping." He stepped back. "We can sit in the living room."

  She nodded, squeezing past him and came up short.

  He stood behind her, trying to figure out what was going on in her head. All he could see were a bunch of Trik's toys and the kiddie table in front of the couch. There was nothing to warrant shock or curiosity.

  "You can sit anywhere," he said.

  She jolted, moving forward and perched on the edge of the chair near the window. He sat on the couch, waiting while she looked at all the new things scattered around the room.

  "You're probably wondering why I would come over here—"

  "Not really," he said. "I stopped wondering what the hell was going on in your head two and a half years ago."

  "You didn't let me finish." She paused and raised her brows in a familiar sign that she was barely holding on to her temper. "You're probably wondering why I would come over here at this time of night, and it's because I wanted to make sure Trik was in his room sleeping while I talked to you."

  He grunted. She wasn't starting off on the right foot with him. He put his son first. If she didn't want to deal with Trik, she could hightail her ass back out the door.

  "I would like to see him." She raised her palms in front of her. "On your terms. When it's okay. I understand that he doesn't know me. I-If I could even see him from a distance...like if he played outside and I could see him as I walked by, I would apprecia—love that chance."

  He stood and walked into the kitchen, grabbed two beers, and returned to the room. Holding one out to her, he said, "You're not on probation?"

  "No."

  He moved the beer bottle closer. "Go ahead. You look like you could use one."

  She took the offered drink and set it down on the floor beside her feet. "I want you to know that I’m not going to disrupt Trik's life. I know at his age, he's probably leery of strangers. But, I want to see him. I need to see him and make sure he's okay. I mean, I know he's okay. I just...I'd like to see him with my own eyes."

  Ashley blinked rapidly. He watched to see if she would cry. The situation was her ow
n doing. She had no right to tears.

  "Whenever and however you want it to happen. I'll do anything," she said, her voice cracking.

  He inhaled deeply and looked away from her pain. "I'll let you know. That's the best I can do tonight."

  "Thank you." She stood up and walked to the door without looking at him. "Thank you for listening to me."

  Ashley slipped out of the door quietly. He followed her and stood out on the porch. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the house in the shadows. The streetlight lit her path. Afraid to blink as she walked back to her sister's house, he stared at her taking her freedom back.

  Halfway to Lindsay's, Ashley stopped and looked out into the vacant field. Olin's jaw muscle ached at the tension eating away at him. Seeing her after so much time only executed the fact that she was a part of him.

  Bars and time were not strong enough to break their connection. Unable to get enough air in his lungs, he raised his hands and hooked his fingers behind his head. His pulse thudded, and he inhaled a shaky breath.

  Ashley bent forward. He squinted, trying to see what she was doing but the light only lit up the back of her as she straightened. She took a few more steps, stopped, bent at the waist, and then moved on.

  He witnessed her bending over at least a half a dozen times when it finally hit him.

  Ashley picked at the dandelions at the edge of the road that was spilling out of the field where he'd bulldozed the house down. He sucked air into his lungs and stared into the darkness, losing sight of her. Even unable to see her, he continued standing on his porch until he heard a faint click of her shutting the front door of Lindsay's house.

  When he knew she was safe inside, he cleared his throat of the spasms wracking his whole body.

  He leaned his head back against the side of the house. Weak as a baby, he closed his eyes and saw her sitting in the house, scared shitless of him. It'd taken all the spirit she had inside of her to ask to see her son.

  That wasn't right.

  "God damnit," he muttered, hitting his head against the wood.