Dean’s father is among them. He’s never getting out for what he did, but I remember his dad as a smiling, kind man; it’s hard to mesh that with the picture painted in the media of a savage killer.
And that’s what his father is: a killer, a murderer, by most standards a psychopath. That Dean could be cut from that same cloth boggles the mind.
It’s a mind fuck but I don’t know any different. This is my world and has always been.
And Logan is centre stage in it. He’s in a motorcycle club and it’s not a weekend riders one. These boys are outlaws and although I’m sheltered from what they do, I have absolutely no doubt who they really are.
There’s a big difference, though, between knowing the violence exists and coming face to face with it. When it is inescapable, as it was with Dean’s father and as it is with Slade, it’s hard to separate the man from the deed. How would I feel if it was Logan who burnt up Tap? Would it change my feelings?
I stare at him for a long moment, taking in this beautiful man, a man who has always protected me, even before we began to explore our feelings for each other. He saved me from Gina and her druggie friends, he rode to London to rescue me when my dickhead boyfriend abandoned me… Logan has always taken care of me and for that reason, I find it hard to care what skeletons he has in his closet.
Quietly, I say, “I love you, Logan, and no matter what, I’ll always love you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Grandad gets stronger over the next two days. I don’t manage to speak to Dad, but he texts me when he’s back on UK soil. I’m anxious to see him, but still feeling a little annoyed at him. I know I need to let it go because Logan and Jem are both right. I can’t hold this against him. He didn’t hold my ten-year disappearing trick against me. Dad lost his best friend, that gets him some slack, right?
Besides, my focus needs to be on Grandad and the fact I’m supposed to be getting married in two weeks’ time. I have no idea if that is going to happen, considering how everything is right now, but Logan seems determined that we should press on.
The girls have been trying to help behind the scenes with arrangements while I’ve been stuck in the hospital, so maybe by some divine act we might just pull it off. I’m hoping Grandad will be well enough to attend, but who knows. Right now, things don’t look so positive.
I’m sitting at his bedside, flicking absently through a magazine while he watches the TV above the bed when the door pushes open. I expect it to be Logan returning with coffee from the shop down the road, since the cafeteria stuff is like drinking mud.
I don’t expect to see my father.
He’s wearing his kutte, a battered looking denim jacket beneath it, and a pair of dark wash jeans with scuffed up boots on his feet. His silvery hair is flat, not styled in his usual faux mohawk, and he looks tired. Exhausted, if the dark smudges under his eyes are anything to go by. His eyes go straight to the bed and his father who he takes in with a jaw so tight I fear for his teeth.
“You look like shit, old man,” he mutters.
Grandad grunts. “You look like something the cat spewed up. Where the fuck have you been?”
“None of your business. What the hell have you done to yourself?”
“Pneumonia or some bullshit.”
Dad studies him. “Is it serious?”
“I’m in hospital, aren’t I?”
I watch as Dad’s lips twitch. “Smart arse.”
He closes the space and leans over the bed rail to grab his father’s hand. “You scared the shit out of me, you daft old bastard.”
“Yeah, I scared the shit out of myself, too,” Grandad admits.
I watch from the side of the room, smiling inwardly at the two men in my life who, aside from Logan, are my world.
“I think I scared the shit out of the kid more,” he says, peering around Dad to me.
Dad twists towards me. I expect him to hold his arms open but he doesn’t. Instead, he eyes me like I’m a wildcat he expects to pounce at any moment and claw his throat out. Maybe I’m projecting my irritation, even if I’m not outwardly saying it.
“I know you’re pissed off at me for taking off like I did, but—”
“Oh, shut up,” I snap and go to him.
I should be angry. I should lay into him. For weeks, I’ve been building up that irritation for him taking off, but seeing him standing here in front of me, all I feel is relief that he’s okay, safe, and back. I don’t have it in me to berate him.
I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tightly. He smells funky, like the road and sweat, but I don’t care. He’s here and he’s whole, and Logan’s right. He’s hurting over what happened with Tap. If Dean had done what Tap did, I would be devastated. I’d probably bugger off to Germany, too.
“I’m glad you’re home,” I whisper as Dad’s arms come around me and his nose nuzzles into my hair.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m glad I’m home too. I missed you so much.”
We just stand there, locked together, father and daughter, needing to let all our hurt and our fears be healed by our love for each other.
He’s the first to break the moment, pulling back, so he can cast an eye over me.
“You look tired.”
“I am,” I admit.
“Go home and sleep. I’ll stay.”
“You just rode however far. You need sleep more than I do.”
“You should both go,” Grandad complains. “I don’t need bleedin’ babysitting. I’ve got enough people here doing that as it is. I can barely get five minutes peace without someone fucking demanding attention from me.”
And he’s not wrong. Although after the first night, once we knew he was going to pull through, the crowd tailed off. There was no sense everyone staying. I’ve been here around the clock, with Logan dropping in and out, and Mary helping out so I could go home to sleep, shower, eat and check in at work. I had to move Mr Brosen’s appointment, which seemed to disappoint him. I hope I don’t lose him as a client, but he’ll have to get over it. My grandfather’s health is far more important to me.
“Kid, go home, have a shower, do whatever. I want to spend some time with Dad.”
Reading between the lines, this is not a suggestion, but an order. I nod. “Okay, fine.”
I kiss Grandad. “I’ll be back later,” I tell him, earning a grumble.
I grab my bag from the side of the chair and head for the door. Dad follows me into the corridor. Once the door is shut behind us, he speaks again.
“He looks bad.”
“He is bad,” I admit. “I didn’t think he was going to make it.”
I watch as Dad scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw that is moving into beard territory. “Fuck. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that. I shouldn’t have taken off. My head was just fucked up.”
I grab his arm. “It’s okay, Dad, you don’t have to explain.”
He scans my face, as if testing the validity of my words. Then he sighs. “So, you’re getting married in a couple of weeks, eh?”
“Yeah. Crazy, right?”
I watch as a number of emotions pass over his face. “I don’t know whether to shake Lo’s hand or smack him for taking my girl from me.”
I laugh. “Please don’t hit him. I want the photos to look good.”
Dad’s lips quirk. “Well, I wouldn’t want to fuck up the photos. Speaking of, here’s your man now.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Logan striding up the corridor, two polystyrene coffee cups in his hand. He eyes Dad as he approaches.
“Brother. It’s good to see you back.” He hands me one cup and then gives Dad a one-armed hug.
“It’s good to be back.” When they break away, Dad says, “Take my girl home, make her rest. She looks exhausted.”
“Yeah, I keep trying to get her to, but she’s stubborn.”
“She is standing right here,” I protest.
Dad kisses the side of my head. “Go home, love. Come back later if you want to, but go
home for a bit.”
I nibble on my bottom lip. “You’re staying, right?”
“Yeah, I won’t leave.”
“I mean in town,” I clarify.
He lets out a breath. “Yeah, Beth. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Logan wraps his arm around my shoulder and steers me towards the exit. “It’s good to have you back, Jack.”
With a wave, Dad heads back into Grandad’s room.
“So, Jack’s back,” Logan says when we reach the car.
We stop so he can dig the keys out of his pocket. His cup of coffee goes on the roof while he does.
“Jack’s back,” I repeat then frown. “Did he seem okay to you?”
“I spoke to him for about three seconds, B, but yeah, he seemed like Jack. Why?”
“I don’t know. He was quiet with me.”
“Baby, he just rode for two days, probably solid, to get here. Cut him some slack.”
I guess so. “Do you think he’s okay though?”
“Beth, quit worrying.”
“I can’t help it.”
He kisses the side of my head. “And this is why I love you. You always worry about everyone else.”
This is not true, but I take the compliment because it’s followed by his mouth on mine. His hand snakes around my neck, so he can pull me harder against him.
“Everything’s a mess,” I whisper when he releases my mouth, and Logan goes solid for a moment.
“Love, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is. Grandad’s dying.”
“Beth, he’s not.”
“Come off it, Logan. He has advanced emphysema. Even if he bounces back from this infection, he’s not getting better. Dad’s… I don’t even know. The Club’s a mess. Slade’s a psychopath and Jesus, poor Clara… Do you know what it’ll do to her if she ever finds out what he did to Tap?”
Clara is a nurse. She’s committed her life to saving people. What Slade did to Tap… I don’t know if she would ever be able to get her head around that. I feel better knowing Tap was dead when Slade set fire to him, but even so. He killed him. Do I have a problem with this?
I don’t think I do, but then I lay in the dirt, hands around my throat, waiting to die.
Clara didn’t experience that.
She didn’t watch Dean getting beaten while hanging from a hook.
She saw the aftermath of what Wilson did to Logan and Wade, but I’m not sure that would be enough.
An eye for an eye… would it resonate with her?
“That’s why you can’t ever say.”
“And that’s why I won’t, Lo, but secrets always come out. She’ll find out eventually.”
“Not this one. I mean it, B, you have to keep this one to yourself.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Part of me wants to ask what will happen to Slade for his part in taking out Tap, but I don’t. I have enough shit to deal with and frankly, it’s not my business. Slade is a big boy and he made his own bed. All I can do is be there for Clara when the shit hits the fan. That’s all any of us can do.
Logan opens the car door for me and I get in. Then I watch as he comes around the front of the vehicle and gets in himself. When he’s belted in, I turn to him.
“Maybe we should postpone the wedding.”
His head snaps in my direction.
“Do you want to do that?”
“No, but Logan look at the mess. It was stupid to think a wedding could somehow make things better.”
He reaches across the centre console and grabs my thigh. “No, it’s not stupid at all and I actually think you’re right; a good party is what is needed. Something to remind everyone what we’re about.”
“You don’t think I’m being overly sentimental?”
“No, love, I don’t.” He grins. “Okay, well, maybe a little. But we are a family and we do need reminding of that. Things have been fucking nuts lately and there hasn’t been time to remember that underneath everything, that’s what the Saxons is about: family. Besides,” he lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles, “I want to make you mine.”
“I’m already yours. You put your name on my back, Logan, remember?”
“I made you mine in our world, but I want to make you mine in the civilian one, too.”
My eyes roll. “You’re such a romantic.”
“I want you to have my name.”
“Bethany Harlow.” I wrinkle my nose. “It sounds weird.”
He snorts. “Like you haven’t been scribbling that on notebooks since you were twelve years old.”
A flush works up my cheeks because I totally was doing that. “Maybe I’ll just keep Goddard.”
He lets out a growl. “The fuck you will.”
“Oh, the fuck I will, eh?”
“Beth,” his voice cracks with warning. “You’re having my name.”
“Of course I’m having your name, you overbearing caveman.”
He grins. “You’re a pain in the arse.”
“Yeah, so why are you marrying me then?” I demand, folding my arms over my chest.
“Because I love you.”
“You’re crazy then.”
“Probably.”
He starts the engine. “Let’s get you home, future Mrs Harlow.”
And I have to admit, I do like how that sounds.
Chapter Seventeen
“Do we really need a hen do?” I ask Mackenzie, even though I already know the answer.
She merely smiles at me and nods.
“You know your brother is going to throw a shit fit if you and Sofia organise strippers.”
I’ll throw a shit fit myself. I’m not really into the whole ‘strange meat’ being slapped around in my face. Logan won’t like it either. He made his feelings perfectly clear about this when it was brought up for Liv’s baby shower. If the girls even contemplate having strippers for me, he’ll barricade me in the flat. He might be a modern man about… well, very few things (he’s actually fairly traditional about his role as the provider in our relationship), but he’s sure about the fact he doesn’t want his future wife to have some bloke’s dick swinging in her face before we’re getting married. I feel the same about this, and about him with some big titted woman.
Kenzie raises her hands. “There’s no strippers, and not because of Logan, but because we know you wouldn’t want them.”
Thank fuck for that.
“What are we doing then?”
“I can’t tell you that. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
I glare at her. “I thought we were friends. You’re my Maid of Honour. Aren’t you supposed to be… honoury?”
She falls apart laughing silently. Then she signs, “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I’m always on your side.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want anything weird—or embarrassing.”
Her hands flash. “The whole point of a hen party is to be embarrassed as much as possible. You’re only a bachelorette once in your life, babe. Well, unless you divorce Lo for a younger, hunkier model, and get married again.”
My brows knit together, but I skirt the divorce part, instead focusing on the other bit. “That’s not the point of a hen do at all.”
She shrugs. “It’s the point of this one. Now, stop whining. All you have to do is make sure you wear something gorgeous on Friday night, all right?”
I let out a breath as I place my pen back on my desk. Kenzie dropped into my office just over twenty minutes ago with a to-do list of things for the wedding, and to talk about my upcoming hen do.
Apparently, while I’ve been taking care of Grandad and finishing last minute wedding prep, the girls have been busy getting organised for my final party as a single woman. Well, technically anyway. I’m attached in the MC world already.
“What kind of gorgeous?”
She
thinks about it for a moment. “Something classy, but not too dressy.”
“Well, that really narrows it down.”
“What crawled up your arse today? Sarcastic cow.”
Her signed words are lessened by the slight lift of her lips, but I can see the hint of worry in her face.
I expel a long breath, feeling bad for taking my mood out on her. She doesn’t deserve my shittiness. “Sorry. I’m worried about Grandad and if he’s going to be there. I have a trillion things still to organise and my newest client is being a needy overbearing baby.”
Mr Brosen has messaged me at least six times this week to ask me about menial things on his account. I’m beginning to regret taking the job. The man is a nuisance.
“You don’t need to worry about organising things. Mum is handling most of it. Me and Sofe are helping. Liv too. Just focus on the things you have on your list.”
The problem is that list is still fairly extensive. It would be a shit ton longer though if it wasn’t for the girls.
“You guys are too good to me.”
She hugs me. Then pulls back to sign, “We love you, silly girl.”
I scowl at her. “That was sweet until the last part.”
Her smile is radiant. “I am sweet. You’ve always been like a sister to me. I can’t wait to have you officially join our family, B.”
Her words hit me right in the solar plexus. I blink rapidly to ward off the mist descending. “Oh my God don’t. You’re going to make me cry.”
I swear, I have never been this emotional in my life. Grandad told me he was glad I’m taking the Harlow name with all the blubbering I’ve been doing. I think I’ve embarrassed the Goddard legacy.
“No crying.”
I let out a long breath. “We need to find you a man to put all this sweet into.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t need you to play Cupid. I can find my own date, thank you.”
This I don’t doubt. Mackenzie is beautiful, smart and capable. She has all the best parts of the Harlow DNA pool. She’s definitely a catch.
“So, why aren’t you happily shacked up with a gaggle of brats hanging around your ankles?”
She gives me a look. “Because I have three overbearing brothers.”
Renewed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #4 Page 15
