HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter

by Cummings, Bink

  Little does he know I wasn’t going to cut and run until summer. I decided that on my own this week. The thought of uprooting the girls mid school year for a second time isn’t fair to them. They shouldn’t be punished. Now that I’ve experienced Red Fort firsthand, I’ve come to realize this is an agreeable place to live. Plus, the girls seem to like school a lot. And it’s not like I have much to get back to. My mom, if that’s what you’d call her, knows where I am and doesn’t seem to give two flying fucks. That’s how she operates. Manless, and she’s grandma of the year, always around, wanting to spend time with the kids—with me. Now that she has a new beau, she’s too busy to stop by or care about anything but herself—typical. It’s not changed since I was a child. Only now that I’m an adult, I can read the warning signs. Like I’ve mentioned before, she’s a changed woman—to a degree. Nonetheless, when it comes to the D, it wins over family. Always has. Always will. Wanna know how I know? Since we’ve been here, I’ve initiated a single text conversation that lasted all of five minutes. She’s yet to initiate one herself in any capacity. Old habits die hard. This is why I was raised by my father until his fabricated demise because she couldn’t be bothered to raise the fruit of her loins.

  “If you’ll draw me baths like this once a week until our daughter’s born then I agree,” I reply. No use in telling him the whole truth. It’ll come out in due time. Don’t want him getting the wrong idea… Ya know, thinking this is something it isn’t.

  “Thank you,” Ryker mumbles more to himself than me.

  I say nothing since I’m not sure what’s left to say. A feelings talk is not on my agenda. Between the weird doc’s office, the doctor herself, the rogue biker, family dinner, and everything else, all I wanna do is chill. Not think. Not feel. Just relax behind a carefully constructed steel barricade where pesky worrying and heartfelt emotions are slaughtered by a mighty dragon that Daenerys Targaryen controls like a bad mama jama.

  As he finishes filling my bath, I fish a towel out from under the sink and lay it by the tub for later. Flicking the final flower petal into the water, Ryker uses the lip of the tub to help him to his feet. His knees crack loudly through the simple motion, delivering a friendly reminder that we’re no longer young kids—that things have changed. We’re different people. He’s much different. Granted, not completely, as shown by his attention to detail with this cabin. Ryker knows me well. Whereas I know little about him. The stories I was told years ago were fictitious. It’s as if these past few days have exposed an entirely different man. The Brent I knew wouldn’t have put a woman on her knees for disrespecting me. He’d have soaked up the attention in an understated manner. The Brent I knew didn’t wear a leather vest, ride a Harley, or have lots of tattoos. He wasn’t part of a motorcycle club. Then again, my Brent did run me baths and eat whatever I fixed with enthusiasm. He was kind and helpful. In his own way, I thought he loved me even if he never said it aloud. Shit. I’m doing it, aren’t I? The one thing I said I didn’t want… To feel, think, over assess. It’s what I do. Calculating is in my nature. I learned from the best.

  Dialing my brain down ten notches, I refocus on the now, which includes Ryker standing before me, the front of his shirt wet from drawing my bath. It molds perfectly to his sculpted chest. Lucky cotton. Eyes downcast, he gestures to the water with the sweep of his hand. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s nervous.

  “Take your time. I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re done,” he comments, then swiftly exits the bathroom, shutting the door in his wake before I can get a word in edgewise.

  The … bedroom?

  Frozen stock-still, I exhale a heavy breath and shake out my arms to alleviate the tension. I will not examine these churning emotions. They mean nothing. This means nothing. It’s a friendly gesture. Loathing the ludicrous way my heart reacts, I thump my breastbone with my fist. “Stop it,” I hiss under breath. “It doesn’t mean anything.” I’m done thinking. Done, I tell ya.

  Undressing without falling on my ass, I slip into the heavenly water. An orgasmic moan falls from my lips. It’s perfect. Just what I need. Closing my eyes and tilting my head back, I decompress. The world falls away as I bask in the blankness of my mind. Limbs turn to noodles. Pulse slows to a steady rhythm. The scent of jasmine and burning candles fills my lungs. Swishing my fingers through the water, I concentrate on breathing. It’s never too early for Lamaze training. One minute of pristine nothingness turns to two, then three, and before I know it, the water’s chilly. Dammit.

  Re-engaging my lethargic muscles, I sit up to scrub myself. Dillydallying without a care in the world, I massage my scalp and rinse it with clean water out of the faucet as I unplug the drain. The steamy heat sluices through my hair, unleashing a pent-up groan from the pit of my soul. This is too darn good for words…

  Eyelids heavy, a small smile curling at the corners of my lips, I swish my Scarlett painted toes through the water until the very last drop swirls down the drain. Then I splash a few handfuls of freshwater across my body to rinse the soap off. Blah. Now I suppose it’s time I get out. Grumbling through clenched teeth, I use the tub for leverage to stand. Yay me, I don’t fall flat on my face. Sadly, it takes three tries to heft my rubbery legs out of the bath and onto the awaiting mat. The lush towel that serves as a small rectangle of fabric dries me off good enough to get by. There’s no use in trying to tie it around my body with a belly this large. One of these years, stores will sell pregnant lady towels. By then they’ll be useless to me.

  Wrapping said towel around my wet hair, I meander into Ryker’s closet naked as a jaybird. Who needs maternity wear when I can have my pick of biker duds? One thing’s for sure, Ryker doesn't lack in the clothing department. I don’t think I’ve seen any one man own this many t-shirts. What’s weirder, is they’re hung according to color. Somebody’s a little OCD about his tops. Although, I gotta say, the cool thing about them is that most are Harley shirts from different dealerships around the country. Yanking one off a hanger at random, I flip it over to read the imprint. Dun dun dun, and tonight’s chosen T is from Docs Harley Davidson in Wisconsin. Beneath the hanging clothes is a dresser. Reaching into a drawer, I randomly extract a pair of black joggers. They’re too big, as are the rest of his bottoms… Can I tell you a secret? They make me feel pint-sized, which is why I wear them. Also, they’re Ryker’s, and as much as I don’t want to accept my inner feelings, they’re still naggy naggersons that won’t go away—kinda like gnats or mosquitos.

  Taking my precious time, I finish dressing, comb my wavy hair, clean my glasses, apply moisturizer, brush my teeth, floss, roll on powder fresh deodorant, doctor my scarred cheek, and go prepubescent crazy with EOS on my lips. Its strawberry flavored. Can you tell I’m stalling? I am. It’s one thing to hang with Ryker in the living room. It’s another to spend time together in the boudoir… It’s too intimate. Definitely not a place I want to spend any time with him unless I wanted sex. Which, I don’t. Not really. Okay. Yes, ya caught me. I do want sex. Who doesn’t? What I mean is: I’m not gonna have it with him. Not now. Not ever.

  Pulling up my proverbial big girl panties, since I’m actually free ballin’, I depart the bathroom to find Ryker sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, staring at a framed picture of me in his hands. The photos that I took down for the girls’ sake, I slid under the bed for safe keeping. He must’ve found them.

  Plopping down beside Ryker, close enough that I can see the image, but not enough to touch, I ask, “What ya doin’ there?”

  He traces a finger across my body on the photograph. It’s a newer picture of me. Less than five years old. Definitely candid. I’m walking out of my house, smiling to myself, with a purse slung over my shoulder and a stack of books in my arms.

  “This is one of my favorites,” Ryker admits, caressing the image affectionately with his fingertip.

  “Why?” I whisper, not wanting to sever the moment.

  “You look happy.”

  “I do.” He�
�s right. I know where this is going. “I have been. You didn’t break me by leaving.”

  Ryker massages the back of his neck, ejecting a pain laced groan that burrows deep enough to hit marrow. “Shouldn’t have done it.”

  “We’re not rehashing this anymore. What’s done is done.” To offer comfort, I lay a hand on his knee. “We’re here now. Life goes on.”

  “Until you leave.”

  “Until I leave,” I agree.

  Ryker’s much bigger palm comes to rest atop mine. His balming heat absorbs into my flesh, joining us as one for a small window of time. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. We sit here side by side, breathing the same air, skin on skin, and simply be together. My deprived heart rejoices, getting the wrong impression like she often does. Whereas my mind finds a sliver of peace alongside its capacity to forgive Ryker’s wrongdoings. There’s no anger in this space. No hatred. Just love in its simplest form.

  A weight that has burdened me for years lifts off my shoulders.

  Minutes later, Ryker’s the first to pull away. Wordlessly, he removes his shirt hot man style, the muscles in his arms and abs contracting through the smooth motion. Tossing his balled shirt to the floor, his nipples pucker as they hit the air, accentuating the barbells pierced through them. Salivating like a horny teenager, I watch him flick the silver bars, tightening those buds further. Tiny goosebumps sprout around them. Now, why did he have to go and do that? Someone’s playing with fire.

  Lifting his glittering eyes to mine, Ryker seductively undoes his pants, plying me with his sexual prowess. The naughty curl of his lip is a dead giveaway. Shithead. He knows I’m not going to complain about his rippling physique. Years ago, it used to make me blush and act like a bumbling idiot. Guess it’s nice to know I’ve somewhat evolved. Trust me. I’m not the only person who believes it’s a crime against humanity to hide that exquisite maleness under layers of clothes.

  Kicking his jeans off, revealing my special tattoo on his thigh, Ryker slips under the covers and pats the spot beside him. “Come to bed.”

  Excuse me?

  Umm … Nope … Nope … Hellll nope.

  Arching a brow, I regard him as if he’s lost his damn mind, because he has. “I’m not coming to bed with you.” The man candy buffet is meant to be ogled, not sampled. Smelling him all the time is bad enough. Watching him wander through the house shirtless makes me wet. The last thing I want is to lay beside the ultimate temptation.

  Undeterred, he pats the spot again, harder. “Come on, Tiger. I wanna sleep beside you. We don’t have to touch. All we’re doin’ is sleepin’.”

  My irritation flares. “Do you think you could’ve asked me before you assumed this was okay?” Why does he always assume A=B without considering my stance?

  “It’s sleeping,” he reiterates calmly, palms up to placate me.

  “With our children in the same house.” His thick skull needs to remember that. Is it just me, or does he always go and ruin a perfectly magical moment by doing something so stupid that I wanna throat punch him?

  Back against the headboard, Ryker rubs his exposed chest absentmindedly. “Sleep, Katrina. Sleep. No sex. I’m not gonna try to make a move on you. You have my word.”

  My first reaction is to blurt, ‘your word means jack shit.’ But that’s counterproductive. Instead, I will myself to relax a pinch so I don’t throttle him. Then I respectfully consider his stupid proposal like an adult. The deliberation lasts all of five seconds. There’s no way he’s going to convince me this isn’t a horrible idea.

  Ryker doesn’t relent. “That bedroom door’s locked. I’m gettin’ up before the girls. We won’t even talk. Just sleep. Okay?” He’s on the verge of begging, and damn if it doesn’t look good on him. Those puppy dog blues should be illegal.

  Standing my ground, I shake my head. “Not happening.”

  “For one night.”

  “Then you’ll ask for two,” I quip.

  “I won’t.”

  “You will.”

  “I’ll want to, but I won’t,” he promises, lying a palm over his heart and dipping his head in a silent vow. It’s nearly enough to convince me to leap over the line of insanity and join him on the other side.

  Heaving a sigh, I rub our daughter to center myself.

  “Babe, I need this for one night.” Another plea, much sadder and full of sorrow.

  He’s killin’ me here. Why can’t he accept I’m not comfortable with this? Sighing inwardly, I force myself to be the bigger person.

  Conceding for his sake, I swallow the dangling bait like a mindless fish. “Why does it have to be tonight?”

  “Because it does. And if you give me this, I’ll make sure you have pecan pie here every single night.”

  That sounds delicious but unnecessary. “You don’t need to bribe me, Ryker. I can’t be bought. I just wanna know the truth.”

  “The truth is that I love you and I miss sleepin’ beside ya,” His rough and tumble Texan twang comes out in full force. “I’ve given ya space, and I’m not violatin’ that by sharin’ our—your bed with you.”

  Knowing damn well this sexy fool won’t give in, I waddle to my side of the bed and join him beneath the soft covers. Turning onto my side, facing him, cheek on the pillow, Ryker snuggles down until our noses are inches apart and his breath fans my face. He carefully slips my glasses off and sets them on his nightstand before returning to the same position. Tilting his chin up, he pecks the tip of my nose. “Goodnight, beautiful. Sleep well, and thank you for this.”

  I stifle a yawn. “Goodnight, Ryker. Thank you for today.” It was quite special.

  Our noses bump as he leans forward and presses an innocent, soul surrendering kiss to my lips. “No. Thank you for today,” he breathes there, smelling of … Ryker. Gifting me a small smile, he pecks my nose once more and turns over to turn out the light.

  Hopefully, I can get some sleep tonight. If not, there’s always a bathroom to ease the growing ache between my thighs. I dunno what I’ve gotten myself into, but I pray I don’t regret it tomorrow. Wish me luck.

  Thirty-One

  Kat

  Walking into the kitchen in my pajamas, I come to a full stop when I see Kade filling bowls with cereal. Not Ryker. What the heck’s going on? When my alarm went off, Ryker was gone just as he said he’d be. There was no note. But here stands his brother… Kade’s never arrived this early aside from the day of the lip incident. We have a standing family dinner date each night. Not breakfast.

  If he’s here, that means… My heart and stomach hit the floor like a sack of flour.

  Confused to the bone, I loosely point to him, the bowls, the girls, and the milk carton on the counter. “Kade?” My voice quivers.

  What could only be described as pity stares back at me.

  “Morning, Mom,” Roxie says.

  “Morning.”

  I paste on a fake smile to hide the brewing sickness that’s twisting me up. How could Ryker do this? He promised he’d be here every morning, and if he wasn’t, he’d send family. Okay. So I guess he did keep that promise. But he could’ve told me he was leaving. What was he thinking? Oh, right, he wasn’t. Was that why he wanted to sleep in bed with me last night? Why I found him spooning me when I woke up to pee in the middle of the night? I laid there in the cocoon of his protective arms until baby number three decided to play soccer with my bladder. When I climbed back into bed, he somehow knew I was there. His legs tangled with mine. Palm loved on my belly. It was sweet. Too sweet. Too familiar. The emotions I always tamp down began to runneth over. Then came the tears, the anger, my fears. It was three a.m. before I could get back to sleep.

  “Morning, Kat. Could I speak with you for a moment?” Kade thumbs toward the rear of the house, indicating that’s where we should talk. I nod definitively and follow him out the back door as the girls eat.

  “What the hell’s going on, Kade?” I demand, leaning against the rough exterior right outside the door, to keep the wind from biting my sk
in and the rocks from digging into my feet. It’s too damn cold to stay out here long. Should’ve grabbed a hoodie.

  Kade paces the drive in front of me. A knife’s extracted from his cut, thus commencing his sadistic, crazy town, blade worship. The polished steel glistens in the early morning sun that cuts through the trees. He swishes the weapon through the air exchanging hands frequently. If he’s not careful he’s gonna drop that thing.

  Crossing my arms to conceal my painfully hard nipples, I tap an impatient, fuzzy pink foot on the ground. If he doesn’t spill now, I’m going indoors. There’s no use in freezing to death. “Kade,” I prompt for a final time.

  The pacing ensues. “I’m gonna murder my brother, Kat,” he growls.

  “Why?”

  “He’s with her. I got a call at five this morning…” Kade shakes his head in disgust and spits on the ground. “That piece of shit asked me to move in here. He wants me to take his spot.” Derision drips like rich golden honey from his lips.

  Logically, I knew that’s what had to have happened, or Kade would’ve mentioned this last night when he was here for supper. But it doesn’t hurt any less to hear it spoken aloud. My chest physically aches at the sad reality coming to fruition for the third time. First, he leaves shortly after Scarlett was born, again last year when he showed up unannounced, and now. I knew the ball would drop at some point. It always does. Today must be the day. That son of a bitch played me. That bath and all those romantic speeches were chockfull of slimy bullshit. And for what? What did that accomplish? Guess that’s what I get for wanting to believe in him. That he’d changed. So much for honesty. Goddamn untrustworthy men. Is my heart really that fun of a toy to mess with?

  Combing my fingers through my tangled bed hair, I sigh. “Are you going to stay?” Please say yes. Please say yes.

  Kade stops pacing and turns toward me, jaw ticking, nostrils flaring. “You’re my family. Those are my girls.” He stabs the knife through the air, indicating the backdoor. “That’s my girl.” He gestures to my belly with his weaponless hand. “You’re mine to take care of. That dumb fuck is gonna wish he never did this. I know he’s been there for Vanessa a lot more than I approve of. But I let it go, ‘cause he was still takin’ Rox and Scarlett to school. And you seemed happy. This, Watermelon Tits, ain’t gonna make you happy. This is gonna turn you into a mopey, pie addict. He’s gonna pay for this, Katrina. I’m gonna make him suffer.” With that, Kade unleashes a venom-drenched grunt and expertly pitches his knife at a nearby tree, sinking half the blade into the bark. Snarling, he leaves the thing there and marches to the door. Kade yanks it open so hard I worry it’ll rip off its hinges. Then he tilts his chin toward me, his chest struggling to breathe through boiling fury. “Come on. Get inside. Let’s get my girls ready for school. It’s too fuckin’ cold out here for ya.”