“But that woman is the one Travis knows, and I’m going to tell you what happened because I don’t want you to think badly of my boy. He’s always meant well, was always a good son, despite his temper, despite what you saw today.”
Thinking of the way he’d waltzed into her home and threatened to kick her out, of the undesirables he associated with, of the way he’d first treated her, Billie bit her tongue and tried not to raise her eyebrows. He was definitely “good” in bed, but after today, once again she wasn’t sure about the rest.
“Whereas me?” Lorna continued. “I’m not a good person. And I was a terrible mother.”
Billie fought the urge to argue this point. The Lorna she knew had been nothing but kind and generous and good, even though she’d admitted to a difficult past.
Lorna rubbed her lips one over the other and then sighed. “I had Travis at seventeen, and by then I was already on a path of self-destruction. His dad could have been one of about ten guys I was sleeping with at the time and none of them were father material, so I decided to go it alone. Truthfully I probably would have had an abortion, but I thought my lifestyle would do it for me and by the time I realized that wasn’t going to happen, it was too late. And I was strangely attached. The baby kind of symbolized hope for me. Every night I’d promise myself that the next day I’d clean up my act, get help and become the kind of woman who’d be a really good mom.”
Baxter stirred on the floor and Billie put her foot out to stroke him, not wanting him to distract Lorna from her story.
“But I never seemed to manage it. I had Travis and fell immediately in love with him, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I had no support and although I’m not using that as an excuse, it was a factor. He was an unsettled baby, would scream and cry all night, and drugs or alcohol helped me through. I convinced myself I was better for Travis when I was using, because I felt better.” Lorna paused and sniffed as if this confession was taking a lot out of her. “I tried to do the good mom thing; we went to parks and I’d tell him stories of the local folklore. He especially loved tales about witches and zombies and ghosts. We got by until he went to school, and then things started to get more intense. I needed more money to look after him, and I’ll admit, to feed my habit. I started sleeping with men for cash or drugs. After a while I wasn’t buying food for my son, because I needed that money for my habit.”
Billie felt her throat choking up at Lorna’s sad words. She was both angry and heartsick at the situation.
“Often I had to take Travis with me, and he’d sit in one room drawing or doing math games—he always loved numbers—while I did what needed to be done in the room next door.” Lorna had been staring into her coffee while she told this story, but she looked up at Billie now. “See? I haven’t even told you everything and already you’ve probably changed your opinion of me.”
“No.” Billie tried to shake her head, but she feared her answer didn’t sound convincing. Truth was, she was looking at Lorna a little differently. It was hard to reconcile the woman sitting in front of her with the woman she spoke about, and her story did make Travis’s actions this morning a whole lot more understandable. However Billie felt about her own parents, at least they’d always tried their best.
“Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you had,” Lorna said with a sad sigh. “Somehow, despite my downfalls, and there were many, Travis did well at school. And he looked out for me. When I was really high or passed out, he’d watch over me and try and cook for me when I was alert again. He saw so much more than a little boy and then a teenager ever should, but he never stopped being there for me. Until the worst came when he was seventeen.”
Billie was on the edge of her seat, wondering what could be worse than a little boy having to look after his drug-fucked mother.
“Travis came home one night…” Lorna’s voice drifted off and she turned pale. Finally, she spoke again. “He found my dealer trying to rape me and he lost it. He beat that loser to a pulp, ignoring my pleas and screams for him to stop. If Danny was dead, where would I get my drugs? And then when the police came after him, I didn’t defend Travis. I didn’t corroborate his story of why he did it because Danny hadn’t died, so I was scared.”
Silent tears were streaming down Lorna’s face now and Billie was only just containing her own. She felt for Lorna, but everything inside her ached for Travis. “What happened to him? To Travis?”
Lorna’s chest rose up and down slowly as she took deep breaths. “He went to jail.”
Billie gasped, her hand rushing to cover her mouth.
“And that was the last time I saw him. I didn’t have the funds to bail him out, and so I just left him there and went on with my self-destruction. What kind of mother doesn’t stand up for her child?” Lorna asked rhetorically. “It got worse after that, though. I tried to kill myself a number of times and that last time was when I met Felicity. She found me. As you know, I’ve turned a corner since then. I’ve achieved what I thought was impossible and rebirthed myself into a better person, someone I actually like, someone who gets high on life and art rather than things that will destroy me. But there’s one thing I can’t fix, and that is my relationship with my son. For that I’ll always hate myself.”
Billie didn’t know what to say. Her thoughts were still on Travis being thrown into jail for protecting his mother.
“How’s he doing now?” Lorna finally asked. “I could barely believe my eyes when I saw him this morning. Last I heard he was riding with the Deacons—Lord knows I blamed myself for him getting in with that crowd—but then Katrina happened and I never heard of him again. I thought the worst, but I never stopped wondering.”
“He seems to be doing well for himself,” Billie said, her heart aching with sadness for Travis. So many things suddenly made sense—not the least his explosion when he’d first laid eyes on Lorna. “He’s a security analyst now, he has his own business in…” She was about to say Tallahassee, but realized it wasn’t her place to share such details. She felt torn—half of her wanted to help this poor woman, to give her something to hold onto, to let her know that despite his past, her son had turned out okay, but she found her loyalties had well and truly switched back to Travis. She didn’t hate Lorna, and she still admired the woman’s transformation and commitment to fight her addictions, but she also understood where Travis was coming from.
He might have a tough outer shell, but she guessed inside he was still reeling from his mother’s betrayal. How did a son recover from the knowledge his own mother had chosen her rapist drug dealer over him? Billie wished she could somehow help him heal.
Lorna smiled. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for him. Can you tell me anything else? What’s he doing back in the French Quarter?”
Lorna spoke with such enthusiasm, and Billie could tell she would do anything to rewrite the past. She didn’t know if Travis would ever soften enough to forgive his mom, or even talk to her, but what harm would it do to give Lorna a little of what she wanted?
“The leader of the Deacons died recently. I guess Travis came back to pay his respects, attend the funeral, and then he found out he’d inherited some property from the man. Travis owns my gallery; he and his friends are my new landlords.”
“Sheesh.” Lorna raised her eyebrows. “I’d forgotten your place used to be a biker clubhouse. Do you know what they plan to do with it?”
“Travis wants to sell it and leave town again.” At the reminder that her livelihood was in jeopardy, a cold feeling washed over Billie.
Lorna nodded sadly, her lips pursed tight. “I guess there’s nothing for him here.” Silence reigned for a few moments, and then Lorna reached across the table and grabbed Billie’s hand. Their gazes met and Lorna looked pleadingly into Billie’s eyes. “I know it’s a long shot, but if you have any chance to put in a good word for me—” She stopped abruptly and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m dreaming, I’m being ridiculous—of course there’s nothing anyone can say that will fix the
past no matter how much I wish it would, and I shouldn’t ask you to try and influence your landlord when you must be beside yourself about the uncertain future of the gallery.”
Lorna wiped her eyes and Billie felt her heart squeeze. This woman was utterly repentant, but she would never be able to forgive herself. And her son, the impenetrable Travis Sinclair, housed so much hurt and anger inside him, he’d never be able to live a full life either.
It was overwhelmingly sad. Billie wished there were something she could do to help both of them. Lorna was right—she was worried about her business, but in the end, her business and the gallery were only things, whereas Lorna and Travis were real people. Whether or not she should, Billie cared about them.
“I’ll do my best,” she couldn’t help promising. Although she guessed she probably didn’t have any more influence over Travis than Lorna did, she couldn’t let these two broken people go on as they were without at least trying to help.
“Thank you.” Lorna’s words were barely more than a whisper, but her gratitude was written all over her face.
—
Billie marched back into the gallery, her stomach a maelstrom of emotions—the anger that had filled her when Travis stormed out that morning had vanished, leaving in its wake anxiety and compassion. What would things be like between her and Travis now? She needed somehow to calm the waters without alerting him to the fact that she knew about his past. It didn’t take a PhD to know that he wouldn’t like that she’d been talking to Lorna about him. She hoped to gain his trust somehow and make him feel comfortable enough to tell her his whole story himself.
“Hey, Rolley,” she said as she approached her artist friend. His brow was furrowed and his tongue sticking out, indicating he was deeply engrossed in his current piece, but he looked up and grinned at her.
“Hello, my sweet. Did you do what you needed to do?”
“Yep. Thanks.” After Lorna and Travis had vacated the gallery, Billie had called Rolley and asked if he’d mind coming in and watching over everything for a couple of hours. Of course he’d obliged, and she felt a smidgen of guilt knowing he’d done so because he had a thing for her. But she didn’t have the time, or energy, to worry about that now.
Baxter trotted into the house and Billie glanced after him. “Have you seen Travis?”
Rolley glowered. “Yep. He came in about an hour ago, glared at me, went inside, grabbed his bag and then left. He was wearing biker gear and looked like he was ready to kill someone. Good riddance and all that.”
Billie’s heart clenched. “His bag?”
Rolley smiled as he nodded. “Guess we’ve seen the last of him.”
What only yesterday morning would have been good news now made her insides twist and a cold sweat erupt on her palms.
“You okay?” Rolley asked, looking at her strangely. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”
“I am,” she lied quickly. Then, “You okay out here for a few moments? I have a couple of things I need to do inside.”
“Sure.” He grinned happily and waved his hand telling her to go, before turning back to focus on his art.
Billie hurried inside after Baxter and found him a few moments later sitting on the floor in Travis’s room, looking up glumly at the bed where Billie had watched him sprawled in apparent slumber only a few days earlier. An illicit thrill shot through her body, leaving goose bumps on her skin at that recollection, but then she saw that Rolley was right. Travis had taken his bag. He’d even made the damned bed. She sniffed, trying to catch the scent of him, hoping it lingered in the air, but there was nothing. It was as if he’d never been here in the first place.
He’d really gone. Her knees trembled and she slumped down on the bed before they failed her. How could this feel like such a calamity—as if she’d lost both her legs, rather than just an unwanted houseguest—when she’d only known him a couple of days? Had he merely left her or had he left town? He wouldn’t have gone after Lorna, would he? But even worse than that possibility was the thought of never seeing him again, of never having his hands on her body making her feel things she hadn’t thought possible. No! She sat bolt upright. She couldn’t just let him walk out of her life like that. Quite aside from the fact that she wanted him again badly, he needed her just as much. Even if he didn’t know it.
Scrambling off the bed, she hurried out of the bedroom, down the corridor and into the courtyard, Baxter struggling to keep up.
“Back in five,” she called to Rolley, holding up all the fingers on one hand as she ran out onto Bourbon Street, almost took out a woman strolling past, apologized and then headed for The Priory. Last time she’d stepped foot inside this building, her heart had been filled with anxiety and anger over Travis and possible eviction, and now it was racing with another kind of trepidation. What would she do if he wasn’t here?
Oblivious to the people drinking and enjoying late lunches, Billie rushed inside, not caring when Baxter followed her. She headed straight for the bar and breathed a tiny sigh of relief when she saw Sophie without her scary boyfriend.
“Hey,” Sophie said, looking up from the magazine she was flicking through. “What can I get you?”
“Is Travis here?”
For a second Sophie looked confused and then said, “Oh, right, Cash. No.” She shook her head as a slow smile appeared on her lips. “He’s gone for a ride with the others. Is something going on with you two?”
Billie was helpless to stop her cheeks from flushing. They burned as if she’d dipped her face in an open fire. “No,” she squeaked.
Sophie laughed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a hopeless liar?”
Billie sighed and eyed the bottles of hard liquor lined up behind the bar. For the first time in her life—she’d never been much of a drinker—she felt like she could do with a shot of something potent.
As if she were a mind reader, Sophie turned around and fixed Billie a drink. She slapped it down on the bar in front of her. “It’s on the house. Truthfully, I didn’t think Cash was your type.”
Billie took a large gulp of the drink, wincing as it burned her throat going down. “Neither did I,” she admitted, although now that she’d been with Travis she honestly couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else. What a goddamn mess. She’d come here to heal her heart, to find herself, not fall for a tortured bad boy.
“Can I give you a bit of advice?” Sophie asked, cocking her head to one side and eyeing Billie as if she were a strange exhibit in the zoo.
“Please do.”
“Run. I predict the shit is going to hit the fan around here soon and it’s going to get ugly, if not deadly.”
“Because of your dad?”
Sophie looked surprised. “He told you?”
Billie nodded, although technically she’d initially got her information by eavesdropping and Travis had shut her down in the shower when she’d asked questions. Oh…A wave of heat flooded through her at the recollection of the shower.
“Well, either he’s lost his head out in the big bad world or you’re something special to him, because bikers don’t generally talk to their bitches about this kind of shit.”
“So, run?” Billie asked, realizing she desperately wanted to mean something to Travis, no matter the consequences. “Is there another option?”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “You want Cash? Then you give as good as he does. He’ll probably try to push you away, but being a biker’s old lady is a powerful thing. You need to earn that respect, that position.”
“Old lady?” Billie dared to ask. She’d heard the term before of course, but Sophie saying it made it real. Was that what she wanted? Hell, three days ago she’d been spouting about never being shackled to a man again, and here she was considering getting serious with her scary-ass landlord. Maybe she truly had lost her mind, the great sex messing with her common sense.
“Yes. If you’re not from our world, it’s hard to understand, but it’s not a derogatory term. Anything but, in fact. When
you’re a brother’s old lady, his property, you’re important not just to him but to the club.”
“I see. Has Travis had an old lady before?”
“I can’t speak for what happened in Tallahassee, but not as far as I know. And no offense, but I can’t see him changing his loner ways for someone like you.” Sophie glanced up and down Billie’s body, giving her the once-over. “I’m guessing the sex was fucking great and that’s made you a little delusional.” She grinned. “Lord knows good sex can do that to a girl, but…”
Billie didn’t hear the rest of Sophie’s sentence. She was too busy thinking about the sex. Yes, it had been off-the-Richter-scale fantastic, but it wasn’t simply her awakened libido that wanted Travis. There was just something about him. Something breathtaking and addictive. Something had shifted inside her since meeting him. In the café last night and during those tender moments post-sex, she’d seen a glimpse of who she believed he really was and she’d felt more herself than she ever had in her life. She wanted to get to know the real man better.
She wanted to be his first “old lady,” however insane that made her.
“Thanks,” she told Sophie as she slid off the bar stool and then downed the rest of her drink.
“Goodbye, Billie.”
“No.” Billie shook her head. “I’ll be back later, but don’t tell Cash. I want to surprise him.”
Chapter 10
Later that night, Travis tried to block out the noise from the bar as he sat once again in the office and hacked into computer records. This job was far easier when he knew what he was looking for. He guessed if there was evidence to find it wouldn’t be obvious—it wasn’t like the Ministry would have planned their hit via email—but at least this gave him something to do. Something to keep his mind off of Billie. And Lorna.
He shook his head at that thought and took another sip of the beer he’d liberated from the bar. The liquid had barely coated his throat when he felt a presence behind him. He turned slowly, expecting to see Ajax or Blue, but almost choked at the sight of Billie standing in the doorway. Or rather Billie’s bad-girl twin. Her blond hair was more mussed up than usual, but it was her outfit that made every muscle in his body tighten. She wore a fitted black T-shirt with the words “Fallen Angel” scrawled across her tits, and he wasn’t sure whether the strip of denim across her thighs was a belt or actually a very short skirt. Either way, his gaze snapped to her long, shapely legs, and the recollection of them wrapped around his body as he drove into her in the shower hit him as if it were a physical blow. Her feet, which were usually bare, were encased in some kind of black, strappy heels, giving him all kinds of fantasies he shouldn’t and didn’t want to be having.
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