Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Yeah, I was worried too. But my concern had more to do with how to explain to my kid about all the shit raining down on the two us in that moment.

  All because of a decision I’d made way back in the day, when I’d only been a naïve young woman who hadn’t been able to handle the life she’d chosen. With the man she’d allowed in.

  And the sigh that escaped as I entered my bank info into the Rosemont’s computer system pretty much summed up the hopelessness that was settling deep within my bones.

  As J.R. had said…I’d sure fucked things up.

  *.*.*.*.*

  Bishop was dressed and just signing the last of the release papers when the bedside phone rang. It had been a good morning, one where he learned he was being released even if he was told he wouldn’t get permission to go back to work for another couple of weeks so he could ‘heal at home’. Something Stella explained was to ensure that he learned to adapt to his new lifestyle, the new way of eating they’d recommended before allowing him back into the real world.

  “I know you, Bishop. Know how you think just because you feel better means you can go back to your wild Hellion ways. But those days are over, my friend. You’ve got to relearn how to eat and to figure out how to handle stress, not to mention get your strength back. That kind of stuff, those kinds of changes don’t happen overnight.”

  “Two weeks, though?” He remembered thinking that he sounded almost whiny with his question.

  “Either you change or I’ll see you again real soon. Only instead of helping you get the hell out of here, it’ll be to help you get over your surgery.” Stella’s expressive brown eyes had been as serious as her tone of voice.

  Bishop felt he had no choice but to agree.

  Now he was just wanting for a ride in order to go home, dressed in clothes Huff and Carly had dropped off the night before but Bishop still didn’t have either his wallet or cell. To his mind, the ringing phone more than likely signaled that Trey had sent a recruit to come and pick him up.

  “Bishop,” he growled into the receiver.

  “What the hell are you trying to do, Stan?” The whisper that was barely heard over the sound of rushing water in the background was harsh and angry. “Goddamit, all you’d had to do was ask and I would’ve been willing to discuss having J.R. visit you.”

  It was Dory.

  Dory who sounded as mad as a red hen.

  “Yeah, right,” he replied with a snort. “I know you, babe. And am fucking learning about how you’ve grown into quite the little lying sneak in our time apart. What makes you think I’d damn-well believe a fucking word out of your mouth?”

  “But I…”she started, again on a whisper. Where was she that she couldn’t talk to him in her regular voice? “Stan, you’ve gotta believe me…”

  “Listen to me, babe, and listen good, yeah?” He’d deliberately cut her off, not wanting to hear another fucking, lying word come from her plump sexy mouth. “I’ve met with an attorney and he says I have a good fucking chance of getting custody of the kid you’ve kept hidden from me all these years.”

  “You aren’t even listed on his birth certificate!” she shot back, the anger and fury in her tone overriding the one he’d read as disbelief.

  Bishop smiled but in all truth, it wasn’t an expression of humor or happiness but one of satisfaction. “Something that’ll be rectified as soon as the fucking results of our DNA tests come back. Did you get the papers yet?”

  “Yeah, I got ‘em, both the ones regarding custody and the ones telling me I can’t leave the state.”

  Bishop was surprised to hear about the latter as it wasn’t something he’d asked for in his phone conversation with Stephenson. But if that was what was needed in order to ensure she didn’t make a run and go into hiding with his boy, Bishop would back that play with every motherfucking thing he had. “Good. You need to read them through thoroughly because it’s got the date, time and location so you can get J.R. to the clinic next week.”

  “This is bullshit, Stan!” But the strident tone she used was quickly replaced by a wheedling one. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We could’ve talked and worked things out between us without attorneys, clinics or having Trey crack the Hellion whip to put the squeeze on other people.”

  Bishop didn’t stop the ruthless chuckle that exited his mouth. “Oh, that wasn’t Trey, babe. He isn’t the only one that knows how to use the Hellion’s power to get what he wants.”

  “You?” she breathed, so close to her cell’s mouthpiece that he could hear the pants of both her anger and her disbelief. “But why, Stan? Why would you do that when you could’ve just talked with me?”

  A movement from the corner of his eye had him turning his head towards his hospital room door. Chuckie was waiting, twirling his key-ring on one finger as he awaited permission to enter. It was time to get her off the phone so he could leave. “Here’s my advice, Dory: get a good lawyer and maybe even a job because you might be in Missoula for more than awhile until I get what I want.”

  “You’re not freaking taking J.R. from me, Stan. You can’t take my son!”

  Bishop didn’t bother to answer but simply set the receiver back into the phone unit before turning to his Hellion brother. “You my ride, Chuckie? Then let’s hit it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I tried to relax to allow my mind to settle into nothingness as I walked the perimeter of Greenough Park, to enjoy the feel of sunshine on my skin, to take the beauty of the trees and breathe in the smell of the freshly cut grass. I was keeping one eye on J.R. though since on that day, the last day of the Labor Day weekend found the large park teaming with people. Was filled with the various groups that had come out to enjoy the last official day of summer.

  Typically, back in Casper anyway, I’d be knee-deep in the party I held every year in our backyard. One that included our friends and neighbors, lots of music, food and beer as well as the ringing of laughter. It was something J.R. and I looked forward to every year, working together as we started planning for it just after the fourth of July.

  But that year, the year when I’d decided to introduce J.R. to his father, when I’d come back to Missoula to make amends, to clear out my storage locker and to hear Stan’s official ‘goodbye’, J.R. had gotten involved in a pick-up game of basketball and I found myself walking in order to find some measure of peace.

  It had been a long couple of days.

  Long-assed, frustrating days and nights filled with nothing but arguments, self-recriminations and, worst of all, excuses from my younger self about the decisions I’d made way back when. Especially in light of what Stan’d mumbled to me as he’d lain on the carpet, puking his bleeding guts out on the motel room’s floor. And how he’d denied me access at the hospital, only deeming to talk with J.R. afterwards. Leaving me stuck outside in the hall.

  But none of that self-talk had helped me understand how Stan had turned the tables, forcing me to play whatever freaking Hellion game he had in mind in order to get to J.R.

  Custody? Full custody of a person he hadn’t known existed until recently?

  Bull-effing-shit!

  But my anger and frustration over the situation I’d gotten myself into was all edged with the biting guilt that burned inside. Of the remorse so deep it was almost a physical pain.

  On Sunday morning, I’d had a long conversation with Joy, my business partner and best friend, about what was happening. I’d left J.R. playing video games in our room as I sat in my car, scheduling my call for a time I knew her kids would be with their father, giving us both the privacy to talk. She’d been through the whole custody deal, one that had lasted throughout our entire time in cosmetology school and beyond. I needed to pick her brain in order to understand what I was up against.

  “But my situation was different, Dore,” she’d argued. “I was trying to get Carson to take responsibility for Joel and Tara, not trying to find a way to keep him from them.”

  “Isn’t the method, the system the sa
me, though?”

  She was quiet, which I knew signaled she was thinking. “Maybe. Although, I can’t be sure since I don’t know Montana’s take on child-custody.”

  Her lack of knowledge sucked but I couldn’t blame her for not knowing. It was her next statement that found my knees shaking. “It takes a hell of a long time to get through the process. A long, long time, Dory. What do you need me to do?”

  I tried to think but came up with nothing concrete. “Pray?”

  Her well-known giggle came down the line and I found myself wallowing in it, wrapping it around me like a warm blanket because it sounded so much of my home, my place in Casper. “I meant about your house. The mail, utilities and other stuff. I can call Loretta and see if she can take over your clients, but you need to decide what to do about the rest while you’re out of town.”

  Shit! In the whole of the storm I was then facing, I’d forgotten about my day-to-day responsibilities back in the city where I lived. “Are you saying I need to, like, get a house and get a job here?”

  “What I’m telling you is that you might be there for a year or more, so yeah. A house or apartment wouldn’t be a bad idea, much cheaper than living in some motel. And you need to see if you can get your license transferred so you can work in Montana. I know you have savings but you don’t want to have to dip into that if you can help it.”

  My mind churned as I absorbed her advice.

  “Actually, honey, you might even consider scouting around for a new shop. We’ve talked about expanding, of doing a second Luscious. Why not set one up in Missoula?” The excitement in her voice was contagious.

  “As partners? Do we have that kind of money to invest?” My mind was whirling with possibilities.

  She giggled again. “You would know better than me but even if we don’t, we have the knowledge, the skill-set and the credit rating to impress any banker.”

  She was right, we did. “But then I’d have to enroll J.R. in school here and call a moving company to have my stuff boxed and then trucked…”

  “Trifles!” she cut in, her voice high and tight with glee. “And if it means you work something out with Stan, something that left both of you happy and involved in J.R.’s life? How awesome would that be? Because that’s the final goal, right?”

  It was.

  And as a goal, the ultimate target, it was a worthy one.

  “Why don’t you take the rest of the weekend to think it over and give me a call with the list of what needs to be done on Tuesday night. I’ll take it from there, either doing it myself in all the spare time you know I have or hiring people to work it for us.”

  My eyes had filled with tears as my best friend, the sister of my heart, pledged her support during my time of trouble. I clutched my cell phone with both hands as I closed my eyes, feeling the tears spill over and down my cheeks. “Thank you, Joy.”

  “Aw, Dory. You’ve always but always been there for me. It’s just my time to give some of that love back, honey.”

  As I remembered that conversation, my feet fell out of cadence on the uneven trail I’d been following and I stumbled a bit. Shooting my eyes back to the basketball court, I saw J.R. was still running with the group, chasing the round, orange and black ball as it moved throughout the group of teenagers.

  I’d finally decided that I’d fight Stan tooth and nail over full custody but was more than willing to work with him on some kind of joint agreement. Allow him access to J.R. so the two of them could get to know one another, to forge a relationship independent of me. But when I’d tried to contact Stan to work something out, I’d gotten no reply. Not to my voicemails or my texts.

  His lack of response told me volumes on his take of the situation. Of what his plans were and how he was going to play them out. And made me sad, angry and frustrated by turns, finding me crying alone in the bathroom with the faucet running to cover the sound. Or punching the hell out of my pillow in the middle of the night, beating the shit out of it while trying not to wake my boy.

  Of snapping at J.R. over the least littlest thing, the smallest infraction.

  Keep your eyes on the goal, I reminded myself as I continued to put one foot in front of the other along the dusty trail that wove along the edges of the grassed expanse. Missoula isn’t so bad and a year isn’t so long.

  But the calm that was finally beginning to unfurl inside me was shattered when my ears caught the sound of motorcycle pipes. I stopped in my tracks, my eyes searching the tightly packed parking lot that was situated in a far corner, watching as three bikes backed into one space.

  And I somehow knew who had arrived even before I spied the skull surrounded by flames that adorned the back of the denim vests, although I didn’t know how they’d figured out where we’d be.

  As I was fast learning though, the Hellion’s reach within Missoula was both long and very informed.

  *.*.*.*.*

  The doc had said he needed to heal at home, but not to actually stay there and Bishop took full advantage of that fact as he decided to offer an invite to the Hellions annual Labor Day bar-be-que to J.R.

  One that would have to be extended to his kid’s mother as well. A fact that he didn’t like in the least, but felt was the right thing to do. Especially in light of the voicemails she’d left, of the texts she’d sent him. That she’d attempted to initiate contact in spite of the way he’d treated her at the hospital had been surprising enough. But when combined with her whole ‘let’s work something out’ requests, had just confused him.

  And pissed him right the fuck off because he was no longer able to predict what Dory would do. Back in the day, Bishop had been able to read her like a book. But the woman she’d grown into was totally different than the girl he’d married. Stronger and yet more flexible in ways he couldn’t fathom.

  It hadn’t taken Pagan but a few moments to get her location from the GPS on her phone and relay it to Bishop. But Bishop wasn’t going to show up at the park alone. No, because according to Stephenson, all his dealings with Dory needed to be with witnesses, people that could attest and affirm to every meeting they had until the custody of J.R. was settled.

  Shutting off and then climbing off his bike, Bishop was amazed at how good he felt. With both the pills the hospital had provided as well as sticking to the diet they’d recommended, he felt great! He’d had no pain and hadn’t vomited once since he’d been released, a fucking amazing thing no matter which way he looked at it.

  He needed to see J.R.

  And her, if he was working the whole goddamn self-honesty angle. The fucking enigma of Dory was a puzzle he wanted to work out, that his heart almost demanded be understood. It didn’t take much to admit he still loved her, still found her desirable, but it was the lack of trust between them that was skewing their shit all to hell and beyond. He knew he’d had a hand in that by fucking forcing her to stay in town through legal means and by letting her know in no uncertain terms that he damn-well demanded to be a permanent fixture in his boy’s life.

  But the fact she’d fucking hidden J.R. from him for so many years pissed him off on every goddamn level! She had no fucking right to keep him from their son!

  So he’d tracked her fulsome ass to the park in order to invite her and his kid to the annual Hellion Labor Day bar-be-que, one of many parties the club held but also one that was more family-oriented than most of the others.

  Less sex and a lot more along the lines of ice-cream than condoms in what was used to keep the brothers happy.

  Bishop left his gaze drift over all the people, the crowds that dotted Greenough Park. Christ! How was he supposed to fucking find two people in the clusters of civilians that shifted, coming together before moving away?

  “Isn’t that her up on the ridge?” Dare asked from Bishop’s right and he dragged his eyes upward. Only one girl he’d ever known had hair that bright.

  “Yeah,” Bishop breathed, feeling his heart speed up at just the long-range view of where she stood. “Do you see my boy?”r />
  “Check out the far b-ball court,” Snake advised, and Bishop turned to see a group of young teens yelling and running, their skinny frames chasing a basketball. He had no trouble picking J.R. out of the quickly moving mass of kids.

  He turned back to Dare. “You go get her and I’ll get him.”

  “You know this ain’t gonna be easy, yeah?” Dare laughed. “And my wife seems to like the way I look. I’m too fuckin’ pretty to get marked up by a she-wolf full up in a pissy, shit-fit even for you, asshole.”

  “She doesn’t know Snake and probably hates my fucking guts, so you’re the lucky fucker of choice, dig?”

  Dare shrugged before stepping away to join the crowds.

  “Stay with the bikes,” Bishop instructed Snake before he turned towards the part of the park dedicated to all things sports-minded.

  He tried to think of what to say to J.R., of the best approach he should take in case his mom had begun her campaign to plant the seed of hate at what Bishop was putting into play in gaining a right into the young man’s life. But truth be told, Bishop had never spent a lot of time around kids. Although he and Hardwood’s brother had gotten tight in the couple of months the kid been in town.

  In fact, now that he thought about it, Derek was just about J.R.’s age or maybe a bit older. So if he talked to him as he’d done with Derek, man-to-man and without any bullshit, maybe J.R. would respond.

  Bishop waited at the edge of the court, watching as his son (his son, his mind and heart bellowed in delight) as he watched the kids play. Christ! Had he ever been so young, so filled with fucking energy that he could run that fast and that long without needing a break?

  As his eyes zeroed in on J.R., Bishop took in the sweat-dampened hair, the way the kid’s t-shirt clung to his back, amazed at how his boy moved. There was surety in both his large hands and feet, appendages he knew grew faster than the rest. But he didn’t see any bumbling in J.R.’s movements, just confidence as the boy-man skidded, grabbing the ball seemingly out of mid-air to sink a three-pointer into the net without even a swish.