“It’s not,” Jack growls. “There,” he sneers. “That what you wanted to hear, Blackie?”
“What happens now?” Pipe interjects.
“What happens is they give me some new meds and I pray they keep me sane or it won’t be long until my battle with this disease is over and I’m locked in some padded room wearing a straightjacket.”
The room goes still as he turns his gaze back to Blackie.
“Congratulations, you’re one step closer to sitting at the head of this table.”
It’s a future we all knew was coming.
A future we didn’t expect to see so soon.
A future none of us are ready to accept.
Chapter Seventeen
By the time Bas returned to pick us up, it was dark outside and both, Ryder and myself were exhausted. Him from playing all day and me—well, I wasn’t sure if I was dead on my feet because of all the wine I had consumed or if I was still reeling from my conversation with Ally. Our situations were very different and I’m sure any pain and suffering I have experienced fail in comparison to everything she’s survived. Yet, we shared an unidentified common thread.
“You’ve been quiet since we left Jack’s,” Bas comments.
Not long after Bas strapped Ryder into the backseat, he fell asleep, leaving Bas and me in silence. Surprisingly, I wasn’t bothered by the quiet. What was the point of talking when Bas didn’t want to hear anything I had to say? He sure as hell didn’t want to answer questions either so keeping my mouth shut and getting lost in my head seemed fine with me.
“I thought you would’ve at least asked a bunch of questions by now,” he continues, keeping his eyes on the road. “Did something happen at Jack’s? Someone make you or Ryder feel uncomfortable?”
Peeling my eyes away from the window, I watch his knuckles whiten around the steering wheel.
“No, they’re great people,” I assure him. “I don’t remember the last time I saw Ryder smile so much.”
That much was true.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“There is no problem.”
“Bullshit, Mac,” he growls. “You’ve been busting my balls with questions since we left Kentucky and now that I finally got some answers for you, you sit there like a statue.”
“I don’t have the energy to fight with you,” I tell him, looking away. “If there is something you want to tell me, then just say it already.”
Muttering a curse, he slams his hand against the dash and I roll my eyes. He doesn’t volunteer any information and I don’t ask him anything. The both of us have always been too stubborn for our own good. At least something has remained the same. Too bad it’s the one thing in our relationship we promise each other we’d fix.
A little while later, he pulls into a darkened driveway and I stare up at the two-story house it belongs to.
“Open the door and I’ll get Ryder,” Bas says, handing me a key.
Taking it in from him, my eyes bounce between him and the house.
“I thought you said you had an apartment.”
“I do.”
Leaving his response to a minimum, he gets out of the car and rounds the front. Glancing down at the key in my palm, I close my fist and reach for the door handle. He works on getting Ryder out of the back as I climb out of the truck. Instead of climbing the few stairs towards the front door, I lean against the side of the truck and watch Bas gently maneuver Ryder into his arms without waking him.
God, they’re a sight.
A dream really.
One I made a long, long time ago.
“I’ll come back for the stuff,” Bas says, kicking the door closed. “Think you can get the door?”
Pushing myself off the side of the truck, I brush past him and start for the stairs. He follows close behind and leans against the frame of the door as I fit the key into the lock. Stepping back, I give him room to enter the dark house. Once he’s in, I step inside too and feel around the wall for a light switch. Flicking it on, I blink and force my eyes to adjust to the light.
One sweep of the room and it’s obvious whoever owns this house hasn’t been here in quite some time. There is an inch of dust on the floors and sheets are draped over whatever little furniture there is. My facial expression must mimic my thoughts because Bas is quick to excuse the mess.
“I’ll have a cleaning crew in here first thing in the morning,” he says in a hushed tone. “There are two bedrooms upstairs that probably need sheets and shit. Pipe said there are some linens in a closet down the hall. Why don’t you grab something and makeup one of the beds so I can put him down,” he suggests, running a hand down Ryder’s back.
For a moment I’m stuck watching as he gently caresses Ryder’s back. I wonder if he realizes he’s doing it. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t. If he was aware, he would’ve stopped by now. Instead, he continues to do what his natural instincts call for him to do, reaffirming what I’ve always known…Bas would’ve made a great father. I shouldn’t use past tense that’s being rash and naïve. I’m sure one day, when the time is right, some lucky woman will give him a baby of his own and make him a daddy.
“Mac, the sheets,” he calls, interrupting my thoughts.
“Right,” I stammer. “Which closet?”
“Down the hall,” he directs, jutting his chin towards the hallway behind me.
Snapping out of it, I find the closet and rummage through it, grabbing the only fitted sheet I could find. I also grab two blankets before making my way back to them. Following him up the stairs, he enters the first bedroom he comes across and I busy myself making the bed. Once I’m done, Bas gently lays Ryder in the middle of the queen size bed.
“Stay in here with him tonight in case he wakes up,” he orders. “Tomorrow you can get yourself settled in the room next door.”
“What about you?” I ask as we walk towards the hall. “Where will you sleep?”
“I promised I’d keep you guys safe and I’m doing that,” he answers vaguely as he pads down the hall.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I call out as he starts down the stairs. Following him as quick as my legs allow, my chest slams into his back when he comes to a complete stop at the bottom of the staircase. I brace my hands on his shoulders to stop me from falling and his body goes rigid at my touch.
“Bas—”
Covering my hands with his, he pushes them off his shoulders and turns to face me. Being one step higher than him brings us nose to nose.
“Quit looking at me like that,” he orders hoarsely.
Expecting him to pull away from me, I brazenly press him by staring at his mouth as I ask my next question.
“Like what?”
“Like, the last six years never happened,” he murmurs.
I want to ask him what life would have been like if they hadn’t, but I can’t because I already know the answer. Life hasn’t been pretty without Bas, but it would be empty and meaningless without Ryder. As bad of hand as I’ve been dealt in love, I’ve also been dealt a winning hand when it comes to children.
“There’s a prospect outside,” he reveals. “He’s going to bring the rest of your shit in the house and then he’ll spend the night on the front porch. I’ll be back in the morning with groceries.”
“So, you’re just going to leave us here?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips. “Go get your rocks off somewhere else and then come back before the sun comes up?”
“You offering, baby?” he seethes, leaning closer to me I catch the mischievous gleam in his eye. For a fleeting second, I wonder if I am and if I admit that would it make him stay. Images of us going at it start to flood my mind. Involuntarily, I close my eyes, savoring the erotic details.
“Didn’t think so,” he mutters.
My eyes snap open just as he reaches for the door.
“Bas,” I call.
“Please don’t do this,” I whisper.
“Don’t do what?” he snaps, fisting the doorknob. “I�
��ve done nothing but the right thing since I put you and that boy in my truck. I brought you here, pleaded your case to my brothers and got you and Ryder protection. It’s no fucking castle, but you got a roof over your head, a whole fucking house for you and Ryder to do as you please. No more sharing a bedroom with your son, Mac. Instead of busting my balls why don’t you show a little gratitude.”
Gratitude.
Of everything he’s said it’s the one word that resonates with me. If I close my eyes and block everything out, I can recall Junior using the same word as he pulls his limp dick from his pants and orders me to my knees. I bet if I really concentrate I can also hear him tell me how I’d have nothing if it weren’t for him.
Funny, how he gave me one thing and took everything else from me.
My self-respect and my dreams.
My willpower and my independence.
He took and took until there was nothing left.
Until I was stripped down to the bone and gave myself out of gratitude.
Gratitude for the clothes on my back, the roof over my head and the fact Junior let me live when it would’ve been so much easier for him if he had just ended my existence.
“You used to be better than him,” I rasp. “You used to be everything he wasn’t and now, you’re just like him. Should I get down on my knees and thank you or maybe I should bend over, which one would you like?”
As soon as I say the words, I lift my hand to cover the gasp and wish for the ability to take them back
“I don’t need a fucking visual of you bending over for my brother either. Lord knows I got plenty of those to keep me hating you well into my next life,” he shouts before he storms out of the house. I swear the walls shake from the force of which he slams the door. Moving to the door, I toy with the idea of going after him. Instead, I peer out the window, watching as he throws the truck keys to some faceless prospect with a Satan’s Knights t-shirt. Bas moves to the trailer and removes his bike. Watching him straddle the bike, I tuck my hair behind my ears and will my tears away. Seeing him start to peel away from the house, I turn my head and focus on the empty house.
I’m about to walk further into the living room when the door opens. Hopefully, I spin around, expecting Bas. Instead, I come face to face with the prospect. I don’t bother asking his name. I don’t even look him in the eye. I thank him for bringing my bags in and tell him the rest can wait until the morning.
Once he leaves, I lock up for the night and take my bag up the stairs. Finding the bathroom, I wash the makeup from my face. I crave the steam of a hot shower but seeing it's just me and Ryder in this place, I decide it can wait for the morning. Reaching for my bag, I realize the prospect brought Bas’ bag in instead of mine. As cliché as it is, I take the first piece of clothing I find, a shirt, and bring it to my nose. Breathing in the musky scent of him, I lean against the counter and revel over how something so simple can bring so much comfort to a person.
It’s not enough though and as I start to remove my clothing, I realize nothing will bring me closure. I pull his shirt over my head and glance at myself in the mirror.
Absolutely nothing.
Not some shirt and not the truth that lies hidden beneath it.
Leaving my clothes on the floor and the bag on the counter, I close the light in the bathroom and do a quick check on Ryder. Sure he’s down for the night, I wander the hall and find the second bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it’s bare of any personal touches and in need of thorough cleaning. A fresh coat of paint wouldn’t hurt either.
I try to picture the couple I met earlier living here, making this little house their home. Layla seemed so vibrant and full of life. I imagined her home reflects her personality yet, the walls are a boring shade of beige and there is no sign of her or those kids anywhere. Walking further into the room, I finally spot an abandoned picture frame perched on the nightstand.
Making my way towards it, I take a seat on the edge of the bed and lift the frame. Staring at the couple in the photograph, I recognize Pipe standing next to what appears to be a really cheesy Elvis impersonator but the woman wearing a bright red dress, carrying a bouquet of silk flowers, does not resemble Layla.
Being around Pipe and Layla, witnessing them interact with one another and their kids, it’s hard to believe they haven’t been in one another’s life forever. I guess Layla walked in on the second act of Pipe’s story.
It makes me wonder how the couple in the photograph ended, how they drifted apart when they appeared so in love.
So incredibly happy.
Whatever the reason, Pipe moved on from the woman in the picture. He loved and lost but found happiness again. Maybe after all this, I can move on too. I think the key to finding happiness, is finding it first within yourself. It’s burying the past and finding the courage to reinvent yourself. It’s looking in the mirror and liking what you see. It’s loving yourself in spite of your flaws.
I think the key to embracing a future is to do it without keeping one foot firmly planted in the past.
I need to let go of Bas.
I need to accept we’re not the same two people who fell in love all those years ago.
That there is no repairing what was so badly broken.
I just need to find the strength to do it.
Setting the frame back where it was, I take one final glance around the room before lifting myself from the bed. I make it two steps before I hear the front door open and close. Creeping into the hallway, I pause in front of Ryder’s room and listen.
If it was an intruder, they would’ve had to get past the prospect. I may not have noticed the color of the guy's eyes but there was no mistaking he was a big beast of a man. I would’ve heard the struggle between him and someone else.
Clearing my throat, I close my hand around the banister and peer down the stairs.
“Who’s there?” I call out, taking the first step.
No answer.
I take another step and then another.
“Hello?”
Reaching the middle of the staircase, I lean over the banister and freeze at the sight of Bas kicking off his boots.
“Bas?”
“Go to bed, Mac. For fuck’s sake, please just go to bed,” he says.
Biting my lip, I keep myself from responding and watch as he takes a seat on the couch. Lifting his head, his eyes slowly travel up my body.
“Jesus fuck is that my shirt?”
Instead of answering, I straighten and turn around. I make it one step before pausing. I suppress the urge to thank him for coming back and remind myself of the revelation I had only moments ago.
We’re over.
“Goodnight, Bas,” I say softly.
He doesn’t respond, and that’s okay because he’s already said more with his actions than he can ever say with words. I continue to climb the stairs, reaching the landing when I hear his voice call out into the dark.
"Goodnight, Mac.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Are you sure this is okay with Mommy?”
It’s the third time Ryder has asked me if I was sure Mac was okay with me taking him out and it was starting to grate on my nerves, mainly because the kid had me doubting myself. I didn’t think I needed to ask permission to take Ryder for breakfast. He woke up at the crack of dawn and I heard his stomach rumble from the stairs. Mac was still sleeping and a sleeping Mac was a silent Mac. Taking advantage of the peace and quiet, I left her a note telling her I took Ryder for breakfast and that we’d be back soon. Judging by the way she was snoring, I figured there was even a chance we would be back before she woke up. Now, I’m not so sure.
“Did anyone ever tell you, you're a worrywart?” I reply, taking a sip of coffee.
His brows furrow as he shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
“What’s a worrywart?” he asks with his mouth full.
My lips quirk as I point a finger at him.
“You shouldn’t talk with your mouthful,” I t
ell him, setting my mug down and lifting my fork. “A worrywart is someone who worries too much,” I say, poking at the eggs on my plate. Lifting my fork, I look across the table at him and notice he frowns slightly.
“I had a book that used to help with the worries,” he reveals. “My mom would read it to me before bed every night.”
“Where is the book now?”
“I don’t think Uncle Mooney packed it.”
“If the book was important to you than I’m sure she told Uncle Mooney to pack it,” I say, chewing my eggs. “I tell you what, when we get back to the house we’ll go through the boxes.”
That doesn’t satisfy him. He appears to be in deep thought as he pushes away his plate and I start to think we’re going to have to ask for the check and make a mad dash for a bookstore.
“What’s the matter?”
“I hid the book.”
I’m about to ask him why he would hide a book his mother read to him every night when he blurts out an explanation. One that causes my fist to curl around the fork.
“My dad didn’t like that I worried all the time,” he reveals. “I remember him and my mom fighting about it one night. He had come into our room when she was reading the book to me and told her she was turning me into a cat.”
“That son of a—”
Grasping for control, I lower the fork and shove my plate aside. Resting my elbows on the table, I lean over and stare into his blue eyes.
“Listen to me Ryder, I know you don’t know me very well but, I knew your dad better than most people, probably even better than your mom ever did.”
“Because you were brothers,” he says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Because we were brothers.” The sentence leaves a foul taste in my mouth and I fight the desire to tell Ryder his father was a piece of shit that didn’t deserve him. Knowing no kid wants to hear someone else talk bad about a parent, I scramble my brain trying to find the right way to tell this kid that it’s okay to worry.
“Your dad didn’t mean what he said,” I tell him. “Sometimes we say things we don’t mean when we’re angry.”
The Devil Don't Sleep Page 13
