“I just confessed to being the club’s lackey, Dory, when I wanted you to think of me as your hero. Please don’t fucking say something that’s gonna make me regret it.” What I saw in his gaze, in his face, told me in no uncertain terms that he was talking honest and was more than sorry that he’d led me on.
I nodded slowly because I knew those feelings, could admit to doing the same, something I probably wouldn’t have copped to had I been sober. But I wasn’t and was at that moment able to admit to knowing what it was like to create some kind of persona that was so far from the truth of the life you were leading. Much like I’d hidden how I had been treated by the Honeys from him way back in the day.
And in hiding J.R. and his parentage from everyone but Joy.
“We good, then, babe?”
I forced my chin up and down before he lowered his hand from my mouth only to slide it around my shoulders as he pulled me against him. He let out a long, deep sigh as my forehead found its way to the area between his jaw and shoulder, a special place I’d always claimed as my own. And which had always felt doubly good when I was well and truly drunk.
“C’mon, you need to see this,” he said after a time, what felt like a long calming moment. Turning me but still keeping an arm around my shoulders as if he could tell I needed steadying, we continued along the edge of the building, turning at the corner and I saw a row of six doors that all faced the back of the lot. “We took the space from where we had the pool tables and made rooms, each with their own bathroom here at the back.”
His arm dropped from around my waist and I leaned against the building, felt the hard prickle of stucco on my arm before I heard the snick of a padlock, the squeak of a door announcing it was open. He pulled me in and kept his hand on my forearm as he shut the door in the dark before flipping a switch, turning on a small lamp that sat on top of a small desk. Turning to me with a grin, he swept an arm around the tiny room and I found my eyes following it as it moved.
The room wasn’t big but contained a double-sized bed, bracketed by nightstands with the desk tucked underneath the one window. I saw a doorway and from the bright smell emitting from it, I knew it was a bathroom. It wasn’t fancy and I couldn’t imagine why Stan thought the area was important enough to show me in such detail. I mean, I could’ve just stood weaving in the doorway to admire the way the Hellions had turned the space into a cozy room.
That was, until I recognized the furniture.
It was the bedroom suite Stan and I had searched for, decided on as we’d roamed the various furniture stores together. Arguing for or against this or that. Deciding we both liked maple and wanted something that had both a headboard and footboard for the bedstead, one that came with nightstands, a nine-drawer dresser and a desk.
I couldn’t help myself as I stumbled to the bed, my fingers automatically finding the scratches on the spindles of when we’d decided that the novelty handcuffs were for wimps and we’d sprung for the ‘official’ kind. Dents in the wood that had been result of Stan laying me out spread-eagled and with a blindfold as he’d had his nasty way with me, so wonderfully delicious that the next door neighbors had banged on the wall at my very loud though thoroughly involuntary moans.
“I think they’ve probably changed out the mattress.” Stan said into the quiet, apropos of nothing since I hadn’t said a word. “What with all the baby oil stains before we finally figured out how much to use, it was kind of…”
I shot my eyes to his as I clung to the footboard and in that exact moment, I saw the bad boy I had married. Of a Stan that had been at the beginning of his adulthood even as my mind played with the various scenes, the various ways we’d used that bed. How we both had laughed as we ascribed the nightly price to our installment loan and sometimes adding more money to the occasion based on how much we’d both enjoyed our bed-play of the day.
Or night.
And, oh dear god.
Those nights.
Nights filled with heat and of others filled with such tenderness, such sweetness between us that I caught my breath at the clear, vivid memories of them.
Of Stan on top of me, my calves over his shoulders as he told me how much I turned him on, of how very much he loved being inside me.
Or with chest to mattress as he filled me from behind, his words, his very voice causing the fire he’d created between my legs to flare out of control. ‘Damn, Dory. Your pussy, that fucking tightness…’ he’d moan which was all I’d needed to send me over the edge in order to find my orgasm.
I’d been standing, swaying with my back to Stan, my ex-husband who I suspected still held in my heart, before I turned to look at him over my shoulder.
“I donated this to the club after I did a re-do of my house, my grandparent’s place after they died.” His words were succinct and given without much emotion, but I knew how close he’d been to the people who’d raised him. I’d only met his grandmother, though, since Dave, a Hellion known to the club as ‘Pops’, had passed long before I’d met Stan. “But letting it go was hard, babe.” His eyes, which I’d seen had been on the bed frame, moved to mine.
I saw him swallow as our gazes caught and held. “Do you ever think of it? The time we spent together, of us breaking in the mattress and mentally giving our play a dollar value in order to pay off the loan?”
I quit touching the wood, trying to force my woozy head back into the present moment, staggering toward the desk with a thought to grabbing at its edge in order to hold my swaying self still.
But he intercepted me, moving until he was just inches from where I stood, his large hands gentle on my waist. “Do you, Dory?”
I kept my head down, avoided looking at him as I tried to take a step back and away.
But he wouldn’t let me.
Or maybe I wouldn’t let myself disconnect from him, from his touch.
So taking in a deep breath, I went into my backup mode, the snarky bitch I’d more than learned to be in our time apart. “Wha’ would be da fuckin’ point, Schtan?”
Chapter Nineteen
Bishop let himself back into the little efficiency apartment, noting that J.R. had done just as he’d asked in packing up his stuff. As soon as he’d gotten them both upstairs, Bishop had gone to the manager’s office and paid for another room, one right next door. The fact that Dory hadn’t sprung for two but miserly rented only one for her and their boy to share was like a barb underneath his skin. “Here’s the card-key to your new place. Let’s get you moved, kiddo.”
J.R. turned to look at his mom who had been unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the queen bed and was currently face down, fully dressed, on the bedspread snoring lightly. “Is she gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” Bishop drawled, trying to make light of Dory’s drunkenness as he snagged a handle on one of J.R.’s bags. “I’ll stick around though just to make sure.”
“I’ve never seen her like this,” the teenager mumbled as he also picked up a suitcase and carrier bag. But the kid’s eyes even as he moved kept shifting back to his mother’s still form.
Bishop was a little surprised by the word ‘never’ since he and Dory had enjoyed a buzz often back in their early days, but he figured she must’ve played ‘Susie Upright Citizen’ after giving birth. Which meant she was more than overdue in blowing off some steam. “She’ll probably be hurting tomorrow so try and find something quiet to do until she wakes up, dig?”
“I couldn’t disconnect my game system without moving the TV,” J.R. advised over his shoulder as he opened the door and stepped out, glancing yet again to where Dory lay.
Bishop shrugged as he followed the young man outside and watched as the kid entered his new room, dropping his stuff on the table and chairs after turning on the lights. “So we’ll get to it tomorrow after your mom wakes up. I think you can fucking handle one night without it.”
Placing the bag he’d carried next to the others, Bishop’s eyes followed the boy as he walked through the small space, checking out every roo
m before coming back and using a toe-heel motion to remove his kicks. “Keep the fucking door double locked, J.R., and use that peep-hole thing before you open it to anyone. And I do mean fucking anyone, yeah?”
The kid stilled and Bishop watched as his sharp jaw tensed and his skinny shoulders straightened. “I know the drill.”
“Good,” Bishop replied firmly, keeping his face serious. “But there’s a big fucking diff between knowing and doing. And I expect you to do, dude.”
“Sheesh! I’m not seven, Bishop!” Christ, if that was the kind of attitude parents of all young teens got slapped with, Bishop was kind of glad he’d not been around! “I can handle myself.”
Allowing the boy both his play and attitude, Bishop bit back his retort and simply advised, “just keep the fucking door locked, all right?” But it was said on a sigh, one Bishop was sure had been given by every parent since the beginning of time. “Sleep sweet, little man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
J.R.’s face went pale and his eyes got round. “How’d you know about that?”
With a hand on the doorknob, Bishop stopped both at the view and at his son’s words. “About what?”
The kid swallowed deep. “It’s what my mom always says, you know, before I go to bed. Something she’s always said. The stuff about sleeping sweet.”
Yeah, Bishop could believe it because it was something they’d always exchanged every night they’d been together. But rather than get into that or how the remembrance affected him, Bishop just shrugged before letting himself out of the room, waiting outside of the closed door until he heard the double snick as J.R. shot both locks.
He went back into Dory’s room, idly noticing she was no longer in the bed but he could hear her retching in the bathroom, its door partially open. Heaving another sigh, he sat on the edge of the mattress and removed his boots before standing and taking off his cut, his t-shirt even as one part of him listened to the noises coming from where Dory was.
It was when he was undoing his belt buckle, the clinking of the metal loud in the quiet when he heard her flush the toilet and he walked barefoot and bare-chested to the doorway of the tiny room. She was still bent over the bowl, hanging onto its sides with a white-knuckled grip, her head turned away towards the tub.
“Mama’s shorry, baby. I mushta ate shomethang b-bad,” and the slurred whisper she used echoed in the small space. “Jush go ta behd. Ah’ll be all raight in a fe-few.”
Christ! Dory wasn’t just a little drunk, the woman was fucking trashed! And both the thought and the view of his beautiful ex-wife well and truly snockered found Bishop biting the his lips to keep from laughing out loud. Although his mind supplied a lot of fucking one-liners with which to tease her about her condition, Bishop kept his peace and just reached for one of the clean washcloths, wetting it with cold water.
“Okay, babe,” he crooned softly as he took a knee beside her on the floor. “C’mere. Let’s clean you up a little before we get you back in bed.”
She lifted her face from the toilet seat but kept her eyes closed as he ran the cloth over her face, paying particular attention to her amazingly lush mouth. He stood and rinsed the square bit of fabric out before kneeling again to drape it over the back of her neck. “You wanna brush your teeth, mama? Get that fucking yucky taste out?”
Dory nodded but it was slow as if the movement caused her pain although Bishop suspected it had more to do with her queasy stomach than her head. In his mind, she was still too drunk to even be aware of the headache that he knew would be coming.
He found a purple toothbrush in a travel holder next to the sink and squeezed on some paste. He only hoped that he could just hand her the implement and let her do it herself instead of forcing him to perform the ritual. And at finding she could, Bishop smiled as he oversaw her ministrations, holding a glass of water out before taking the used toothbrush away to rinse it in the sink.
Seeing her hold up the glass of water without looking, caused him to grin which remained even as he settled the tumbler on the vanity before he reached to snag her, his beautiful ex-wife, the mother of his amazing son, underneath her arms in order to haul her drunk-assed self to her feet.
“Wait!” she yelped as her noodle-like legs and toes tried to find their purchase on the tile floor. “Ah can do dis…” she tried to advise, but the movements of her body said otherwise as the full weight of her body dragged his arms down. Bishop moved and placed his feet on either side of hers as he adjusted his grip, holding her waist tightly as he shuffled her back into the bedroom. It was a long, tiresome shuffling shamble. One comprised of hitting her heel with his toes in order to move it forward before performing the same maneuver on the other foot just to be able to get her close to the bed.
Because he wasn’t sure, even though he was feeling so much better, he had the strength to pick her up and just fucking carry her there. Which would’ve been the easier choice, but one that might’ve resulted in the both of them sprawled on the carpet of her hotel room.
“Just a couple steps more, babe,” he encouraged through heaving, panting breaths. He didn’t remember her as being so heavy back in the day. But then he hadn’t been on the tail ends of a sickness he’d thought was gonna kill him either. “That’s it. Just a little bit more.” He braced her against the side of the mattress as he leaned down and ripped the comforter, the top sheet open.
When he straightened, he saw her eyes were wide open and although glazed were no longer struggling to maintain their focus. “Why’re ya bein’ so good ta me, Schtan? Why’re ya here?”
Pushing down on her shoulders, Bishop finally got her seated albeit in one of the swaying variety before replying. “’Cause I promised J.R. I’d protect you. Even if it’s from your fucking self.” He tried to catch her eye as he struggled for the truth, but her eyes couldn’t seem to stay focused on him. “I hate the situation, babe. Hate that you kept my son from me. But I don’t hate you.”
“Fuckin’ fucked up shit, huh?” she grumbled as her eyes followed what his hands were doing, as he unbuttoned and then removed her jeans. “Jay-sus, ah really fucked up dis time.”
He was grinning while he used a couple of fingers as he reached behind her, over her sexy as fuck t-shirt to unlatch the back clasp of her bra before pressing those two digits in the center of her chest in a silent order to lay back. Which she did, thank Christ, without complaint.
And as she watched him slide the straps of her bra down her arms, reaching beneath the jersey to snag where the lacy covered underwire met in the center and dragged it out from underneath her top without touching her breasts. He was surprised to find she was smiling when his eyes came back to her face.
“Ya used to love to do ‘at,” she slurred. “Get ma clothes off. Make me nekkid.”
She wasn’t wrong in the least and at her words his mind immediately flashed with the mental pictures at what her speech called to mind. Never mind the chubby he’d grown, totally without his knowledge and consent, which took that particular moment to call attention to itself with a deep throb. “Just trying to get you into bed, Dory,” he mumbled as his face heated although he would’ve been hard pressed as to say why.
Bishop shifted her body on the sheets, using both hands on her shoulders as he righted her on the pillows, tucking her long bare legs beneath the covers. But as he stood to his full height, assessing his ministrations with an eye to fixing anything she wouldn’t find comfortable, he felt her fingers as they snaked into the palm he had dangled at his side. “Don’t…” she said on such a stricken note and without even a hint of a slur, that his eyes immediately shot to hers. “Don’t leave me, Stan. Please. Don’t leave me again.”
What. The. Fuck?
He felt the arc of anger as it moved through him, so sharp and so fucking fast that it caused all his muscles to tense. He wasn’t the one who’d packed his shit and taken to the road without fucking warning! Wasn’t the one to unexpectedly call their marriage quits without explanation. A marriage that he’d
considered to be of the ‘forever’ variety even though they had hit a rough patch as all fucking couples do. And just as he opened to mouth to correct her, Bishop again heard a soft snore.
Somehow between the moment she’d pleaded with him not to leave her again, whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean, and him trying to formulate an answer that would’ve blistered her skin with the fury he was feeling, Dory had passed out cold. So quickly and thoroughly, he found it was his fingers that still held her then limp ones.
He carefully disengaged, placing her hand on bed while he felt the flash flood of his indignant rage begin to drain away although her words were stuck in his brain, winding their way deep within him.
Is that how she really saw it?
That he’d quit her instead of the other way around?
Bishop turned quickly away from the bed, wishing he could twist away from his questions just as easily. But it was impossible for him to stop plucking at the threads of his memory of their time together, looking for the ones that would give him an inkling of what she’d meant with her fervent entreaty.
Please don’t leave me again.
A request that was probably more fueled by the alcohol than anything else. But he knew that wasn’t the full truth and for the first time since he’d heard her good-bye, received her farewell kiss that had been given with tears trailing, Bishop opened himself up to the possibility that he may have had a hand in losing his wife.
There had been the nights when she’d been crying so hard that their bed had jiggled, fucking waking him up with not only the movement but the sound of her sobs. The first couple of times he’d cuddled to her, asked her what was wrong, being as fucking solicitous as he knew to be. But after receiving some rambling account of something the Honeys had said, had done, he’d just tuned that goddamn shit out. Had just murmured some kind of crap about how she needed to suck it up and learn to work with the other girls. To just shut up and follow their direction before he’d find his heavy eyelids closing again in order to get some sleep before he’d get yet another bullshit call out to handle some other fucking thing in order to sort out whatever stupid stuff a brother had gotten himself into. And then after those first couple of times, he’d just played possum, pretended to be asleep so he didn’t have to deal with all of Dory’s fucking shit as well as his own.
Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel Page 19
