She laughed. “Like I’d ever come back. You really are just a big, dumb, biker asshole aren’t you?”
She peeled out of the yard and made for the dirt road.
Grinding her teeth, she took a sidelong glance at Michael. He met her gaze briefly then looked back out the passenger window. She hadn’t seen him pull into himself like that since Kevin dumped him. A total clusterfuck. What could Travis have said to him? Was he just upset watching Ian get his ass kicked? Doubtful. The ringside seats for an MMA championship he’d scored last year ruled that out. Still, there had to be something.
“What did he say?”
Michael blew out a puff of air. “He said he was only fucking me to get to you.”
“Travis?” All the air in her lungs escaped. That was the only way this situation could get worse.
“No.”
“You’re fucking Ian?” Her tone was resigned. Somehow that didn’t surprise her. She knew Ian was bisexual. She hadn’t realized until that moment he and Michael had a thing. She guessed the macho pissing matches made a whole lot more sense.
Between her anger at Travis and her bewilderment at Ian and Michael, she couldn’t find words for Michael. “How long?”
“What?”
“How long have you and Ian been fucking?”
“I didn’t think it was just fucking.”
“You thought he was serious about you?”
“Yeah.” They were almost at the hospital. She couldn’t decide whether to drop Ian in the emergency room or just open the back gate and drive away—let him fall out of the flatbed and give him a few more bruises for hurting her best friend.
“I’m sorry.”
Regardless, she didn’t have the energy to deal with Michael’s low self-esteem right now. It shocked the shit out of her that he didn’t self-destruct. She supposed his computer brain helped.
She pulled into the emergency room, put the truck into park, and turned to Michael. “You need to take him into the hospital. Stay with him.”
“Why me? I’m a fucking mess.”
Jesus. He might have thrown money at her winery, but now he expected her to take care of him in a much deeper way. They were so fucking co-dependent it wasn’t even funny. “That’s not my problem right now.”
“What do you mean, it’s not your problem? He’s our business partner.”
“No, he’s your partner. Both kinds.” If she was still hung up on Ian, she would have been able to justify the sting in her words, but now she was just fucking angry.
“He’s not my boyfriend—fuck you, Skyler.”
“You already did that. Basic bro code, you don’t put your dick in your best friend’s ex.”
“But you were with Travis. Why do you even care?”
“Truth is: I don’t. I don’t love Ian anymore than you’ve ever loved anyone.”
“That’s not fair!” Nothing was fair when you were a billionaire who had people walking on eggshells all the time.
“Isn’t it?” She hit the steering wheel with a fist she didn’t realize she’d made. “You think people are like apps you can program and fuck over. Even me. And no one ever calls you out on it because you’re so goddamn generous that people mistake that for having a good heart. Like the winery. You bought the winery because you wanted me close. Because you were lonely. Have you ever wondered why you’re lonely, sweetheart?”
“I don’t want to talk about this now.”
“You never want to talk about it. You want to drink. To buy. To party. To fuck. You never want to talk about your real problems. And right now, you taking my pissant ex-boyfriend into that emergency room so he can get patched up isn’t about you. It’s about me. About what I want.”
“Haven’t I given you everything you ever wanted? That’s why I brought you home.” He put his hand on the door. He was actually going to do what he was told for once.
She’d never gotten seriously angry with Michael. Unlike Travis. Or her dad. He was her best friend, and the last guy she’d ever thought would let her down. She knew she’d forgive him eventually, but he had to get a hold of his shit. She couldn’t do it for him. He had to be on his own for a while. Hopefully, he wouldn’t go through a spiteful phase and kick her off the land he’d bought.
Even if he did, she’d find another job. Probably in Oregon. She wondered if they made wine in Timbuktu.
He looked back at her, so forlorn she almost went in with him.
“I’m not going to let him sic the cops against Travis.”
“I don’t fucking care.” She ignored the little bit of relief she felt when he said that. Travis should pay for what he’d done.
She put the truck in gear and headed for home, where she could grow things instead of fucking them up.
22
Ian was up, around, and packing his shit when Travis got to his hotel room the next day. He would be lying to himself if he denied that Ian’s flinch and the kaleidoscope of bruises on his face didn’t touch him, deep inside. Because, even though he was here to apologize, fuck this guy. He would do whatever it took to get Carrots back, even swallow his pride and pretend he was sorry for rearranging this fucker’s face.
“What do you want? Here to admire your handiwork?”
“Nothing to admire about you.” He wasn’t doing very well with this apology stuff. He cleared his throat to try again. “Sorry I fucked up your face.”
Ian let out a rueful laugh. “Bad news for you: you didn’t mess it up permanently. And you only knocked me out for a few minutes.”
Ian’s smile was smug. Travis fought back the growl at the base of his throat. He needed to apologize to this idiot, not beat him up again. He was lucky he didn’t wake up with a hangover from all the whisky he’d drunk after Skyler left and in the drunk tank. Even though they had an understanding, Ethan would enjoy making him spend a night in jail.
Beating a guy up twice in as many days probably wouldn’t help him win Skyler back either. Thinking about her reminded him why he was there.
“I came to apologize.”
“Because you think you’ll get her back?” So, Ian thought he’d won because Travis showed up here, hat in hand. “You won’t. She’ll come crawling back to me. You probably sped that up.” Ian moved over to the vanity mirror. “I mean, look at me.”
Travis’s pulse sped and blood poured across his eardrums, and all the things that had happened before the fight flooded his head. He couldn’t lose control again this time, but he had one more thing to say to this dumbass, pretty-boy fuckface.
He strode across the room and grabbed fistfuls of Ian’s shirt. Almost softly, he pushed the guy against the wall.
“If you want to keep your injuries less than life threatening, you’ll stay away from my woman.” He shook Ian, ever so gently, but the guy’s head still knocked against the wall. “We got in a fight because of you. My goal is always to keep my woman happy, and sometimes she just doesn’t know that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. I’m set on straightening her out on that account.
“If you think that you’re what’s best for that fine-ass woman, you’re more fucked up in the head than I thought. If you ever contact her again for anything except giving her the best spot in the Barlow—which you’re still going to do—I won’t just leave bruises. I’ll make you wish I had killed you.”
He dropped Ian, who barely remained standing. He didn’t often have to make threats, but when he did he made them count.
“When I tell her about this, you’ll never get her back.”
“If you talk to her about anything but contract terms, maybe I’ll rip out your tongue. Then, I would never get her back. Hell, I might end up in jail. But all that’s better than her ending up with you.”
“Serious question: Is it too early to get drunk?” Skyler asked from under her covers.
Sara laughed. “Depends on whether you want a hangover before you go to sleep or in the morning.”
Skyler looked at her friend, who sat at the table in he
r trailer. She narrowed her eyes and considered the bottle of tequila she’d brought. Her hand made it halfway to her nightstand to retrieve her phone and call Michael—never one to miss a tequila bender—before she remembered they were fighting. He’d left her more messages and sent more unanswered texts than Travis at this point.
Not hard, because Travis hadn’t called or texted her at all.
She’d called Sara because she needed her friend’s grounded strength and sense of humor right now. She didn’t need to be with any of the friends who complicated things for her. Sara offered no judgment. After all, she faced quite a bit herself right now; she’d just broken up with the county sheriff.
Skyler wanted to change the subject. “What happened with you and Ethan?”
“The whole thing ran its course. He’s nice. Really nice. And I could tell he was starting to want to marry me. That’s just not where I’m at with him. I was never there with him.” Sara grimaced. “He was good on paper, but there was no spark. Not like there is between you and Travis.”
Skyler plopped onto the bench next to her friend, the dull throb in her chest a reminder that chemistry wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. “Sparks are overrated.”
Sara shook her head.
“No really, they are.”
“They’re necessary if you’re ever going to make it through the hard stuff. I don’t know. Maybe I’m living in the past. But no one since Isaac’s made me feel…alive.”
“Hmm.” What Sara said made a lot of sense. If Travis hadn’t demanded unquestioning loyalty from her, maybe she could have met him halfway. But the part of her that still couldn’t trust anyone wouldn’t let her do that. To him, driving away with Ian and Michael had been a betrayal. To her, it was self-preservation. And that’s why they could never make a go. “I don’t know. Sometimes there are sparks because you’re different. And sometimes those differences tear you apart.”
“You and Travis aren’t all that different. You’re both stubborn.” Sara sighed. “I also don’t like how Ethan uses the Sinners to do his job. We got in a big old fight about it.”
“What do you mean?” Travis never mentioned doing anything for the sheriff. In fact, other than wanting her to like the guys, she didn’t really understand why he was in a motorcycle club. Other than some unresolved stuff with his brother.
“Travis and the Sinners keep the Diablos from doing business in Sebastopol. That’s why Travis started the club; it’s why Chevy joined when he got back from overseas. Travis was messed up after Isaac died and you left town. And then his dad died. Around the same time, the Diablos started selling heroin again, nothing big time, but it pissed Travis off. He went to Bishman, Rhoads, and Duster with an idea for a club. After that, the heroin stopped for the most part.”
If Sara had told her that Travis had a side career in musical comedy, she wouldn’t have been more shocked. All this time, all her glib comments about him being just like her dad when the opposite was true. He’d taken it on himself to protect the town, and she’d been assuming he was a criminal just because he rode a bike and wore a cut.
This changed everything. And it changed nothing because she’d driven away from him, and he wouldn’t want her back. All her thoughts kept returning to that night in the barn over a decade ago. It didn’t make sense, but it had shaped her and warped her and taught her that she couldn’t trust anyone to take care of her but herself.
For a few moments, she and Sara sat there looking at each other. She’d lost a guy who was everything she ever wanted. Travis gave her the bit of roughness she needed and he protected the town from people like her dad. She fought tears, not wanting to fall apart, even in front of her friend.
Skyler’s heart betrayed her when someone knocked on the trailer door. The weight that felt like it was sitting on her chest lifted for a moment when she thought it was Travis. She jumped up to throw open the door.
She knew then she wanted to make it work. That even after three days—days in which she laid in bed until the afternoon, as if she couldn’t even get her body moving without the possibility of touching Travis—she needed him. Knowing what she knew now, she wanted him back even more.
She reached the door so fast when she thought it was him. She couldn’t deny the only reason she’d holed up in the trailer was waiting for him to come to her.
Maybe she’d just have to get over the fact that they were different. She knew he wasn’t going to settle into some boring little polo shirts or pressed khakis life—she would never ask that of him. But how would they make it work?
She was ready to ask the question in person when she opened the door, but Debbie stood there instead of her son.
“I really am going to have to kill one of you, aren’t I?”
Oh, shit. I’m getting a motherly lecture instead of tequila and girl talk. Skyler opened the door and motioned for Debbie to enter. It’s not like the woman had ever taken “no” for an answer before, she wasn’t about to start now.
From the smell of the bags Debbie toted in with her, at least she’d brought Skyler a last meal before her execution. When she started unpacking the cartons and realized it was Mexican food, she perked up. Hopefully, Debbie would let her have a final drink because the tequila would be perfect with chicken mole and carne asada.
“Luisa’s?” Sara looked interested in the food, too. Good thing Debbie had brought enough for three.
The older woman gave Sara a look that said she wouldn’t think of going anywhere else. “So, you dumped Travis.”
“I didn’t dump him. I just didn’t do what he told me to do when he told me to do it. And he didn’t react well.” Skyler shifted in her seat. “You should really let us sort this out ourselves.”
“If I let you sort this out yourselves, both of you will be so stubborn that you grow old avoiding each other.”
“I agree with her.” Sara forked up the food Debbie had put in front of her. Traitor.
“What am I supposed to do? He doesn’t want to talk to me. If he wanted to kiss and make up, he would have called. Or just shown up.”
“You know he doesn’t want to kiss and make up. He wants to—” Sara said. She reached for another tortilla and Debbie slapped her hand. “Ouch. But you know what I mean.”
Did she ever. The ache of her heart breaking rivaled the ache between her legs only Travis could fill.
“By that dreamy look on her face, she remembers. I know my son used to be a man-whore. Before he met you.”
“I don’t need to think about that right now. I’m starting to consider taking him back.”
“Good. It’ll save me some grey hairs if you move past this nonsense and start making me grandbabies.”
Skyler got up to refill her plate. She hadn’t eaten a full meal since the night of the party, so she pretty much inhaled four carne asada tacos now. Maybe she could actually slow down and taste the second plate. The knot in her stomach that’d been there for days dissipated almost instantly when she decided to give things with Travis another shot.
So, she sat with Sara and Debbie, ate, and plotted how she was going to take her biker down.
“Wake the fuck up, Travis.” Ginger’s smoky voice reverberated through his skull. He kept his eyes closed as he catalogued his likely injuries—pounding headache, check; dry mouth, check; stinging skin on his upper arm, check. Broken, bleeding heart, double check.
He didn’t remember calling her, but his boxer briefs were still on and wherever he was didn’t smell like sex, so nothing had happened. Probably. He did remember Chevy deciding the Sinners needed to have a party because Travis’s “mopey-bitch attitude” was “harshing his mellow.” Travis had just growled at everyone there and hung out in the corner with a bottle of Jack.
He opened one eye and recognized Ginger’s living room. She played a video game from the armchair, and he was sprawled on her couch. “What happened last night?”
“You called me up just as I was closing the shop and begged me to ink you.” That would
explain the stinging skin; probably covering up a Skyler-related tattoo.
“And you did it?”
Ginger sniffed; she didn’t even look at him. “Against my better judgment. Mood you were in, you would have done it yourself.”
“Fuck.”
“You’re a goddamned mess, Trav.”
“We didn’t—” He didn’t think they’d had sex, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t even remember the pain of getting a tattoo.
“Sorry, wasn’t interested in your second-hand whisky dick. And the fact that you were sobbing about ‘Carrots’ the whole damned time I worked on you didn’t exactly put me in the mood.”
He felt bad he’d called Ginger, but he guessed that drunk logic would have made a tattoo necessary right now, and she was the best in town. He sat up, but his stomach seemed to prefer that he stay prone. He leaned back on the couch. “I’m sorry.”
“Why don’t you put some clothes on and get out of my apartment?”
“You’re such a generous hostess.” He’d spent so much time over at Ginger’s place so many times with even fewer clothes on that he hadn’t noticed how weird it was to be sitting on her couch in his skivvies at first. But as soon as she said the words he felt self-conscious. He looked around and found his jeans. It wasn’t hard to spot his clothes, as Ginger’s apartment was in its usual state of relentless neatness. As he moved around, he noticed how ripe he smelled.
“I’m sorry.”
She finally paused her game and looked at him. He welcomed the lack of noise.
“For what? Dumping me, or calling me in the middle of the night to tattoo your girlfriend’s name on your skin?”
“Both.” He tied his greasy hair at the back of his head. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
She shrugged. “You were never good at thinking about what anyone wanted but yourself. Not when we were together, and not now. You did me a favor.”
“What’s that?” He found his shirt and his cut; he wanted to get them on and leave her place before the conversation got heavier. He needed to get out of there and figure out a way to get Skyler back. He wasn’t going to live without her.
Biker B*tch Page 19
