Heart Like Mine (Reapers MC: Conroe Chapter, #3)

by Hunter, Bijou

  “I love you,” she says immediately and grabs for me. “I knew you’d come back.”

  Despite her words, she clearly worried like crazy. That’s how Georgia works.

  Before we escape the chilly afternoon, I catch Pop being loud in the house.

  “What’s he doing in there?” I ask, assuming my father’s starting trouble.

  “Scarlet and Tucker made up. I mean, it seemed like they did anyway. I didn’t want to spy,” she says and then whispers, “Well, I spied a little.”

  Enjoying her sheepish smile, I open the door and walk inside to a sight I haven’t enjoyed in a long damn time. Scarlet stands with an arm wrapped around her woman’s shoulders while they smile at Pop holding Lemmy. Nearby, Mom stares at her husband like he’s magic. My nephew looks at his grandfather and laughs hysterically. At least, I’m not the only one the kid thinks has a funny face.

  Pop notices me and gives me his dumbfuck smile that I know too well. I want to remain angry at him, but Scarlet and Phoebe forgave him. Wouldn’t make much sense for me to hold a grudge when they’re playing the happy family. Then I’d be as much of a dipshit as Pop for refusing to keep up with life’s changes.

  My sister beams when she hugs me. I’m still not surprised when she shoves me against the fridge. “Wiener.”

  “I love when you get sappy,” I taunt and try to knock her down. “You worried so much while I was gone. Let me hug the fear out of you.”

  Scarlet runs out the back door into the yard where Rebel and the girls sit on the trampoline. He gives me a worried smile.

  “You’re using that thing wrong,” I tell the kids before diving for Scarlet who runs past me.

  The girls and Rebel climb out of the trampoline and chase me chasing Scarlet. I catch Georgia laughing from the back porch and then I see her on the front porch once I’ve circled the house a few times. Then she disappears. Based on the amount of laughing she did, I assume she’s in the bathroom.

  I finally allow Scarlet to survive without my stinky hugs, and we retreat to the warm house. Pop hangs out in the basement with Mom and the twins. While my nieces join them, I corner Rebel, who’s still wearing his nervous smile.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll start designing a house to stick in the yard.”

  “That’s not real.”

  Grinning at his expression, I explain, “See, we’ll buy a little land from Scarlet and build a real house right next door. Your mom, you, me, and the baby need a home of our own, but I also like living on the farm.”

  “Me too,” he says, and the anxiety in his blue eyes fades a little.

  “You’ll have your own room.”

  “I don’t care if I have to share.”

  “I know, but you need somewhere private for when your friends are over or if you get sick of me and your mom kissing.”

  Rebel smiles. “It’s gross.”

  “You’ll understand one day, kid, when you find a beautiful girl who smiles at you just right.” Grabbing my bag, I pull out his comic books from the house. “I figured you might want these back.”

  Taking them, Rebel asks, “Did everything go okay?”

  “We shouldn’t have any more problems with Milkweed.”

  “But my dad is in prison,” he says, scared again. “He’ll get out.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Rebel studies my face. We’ve gotten closer during the last month, but it’ll take time for him to think of me as more than his mom’s boyfriend or his brother’s dad. Finally, he nods.

  “Then trust that he’ll never bother you again.”

  Rebel isn’t dumb. In his comic books, the bad guys often have to die to protect the good guys.

  “Okay,” he says, and the fear in his eyes shuts off.

  I pat his head because I haven’t gotten the hang of hugging him yet. It’s my next big goal with the kid. In a few months, his brother will enjoy hugs. If Rebel doesn’t get any from me, he’ll feel left out.

  I wish I thought of that on my own, but Scarlet spelled it out for me the other day. She said she was jealous of me when I was born. Not that I blame her. I was a gorgeous child, and everyone was already bored with her. Oh, man, did I suffer a punch to the gut over that comment.

  Tormenting my sister leaves her calmer. I could tell as soon as I walked in that she was overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events with Pop. Later, I’ll get the details on how that played out.

  For now, I let Rebel hang out with the girls downstairs. Phoebe and Scarlet finish up pizzas. Georgia is the only one missing.

  As if responding to my silent call, she appears next at my side and smiles easily. Her light brown eyes shine as her arms slide around me. My hand instinctively goes to her belly, where my son gives me a hard kick.

  “He’s going to be a badass,” I say proudly.

  “It’s in his blood.”

  “With a badass pop, sweeter-than-sugar mom, and a loyal brother, this kid will have it fucking made.”

  Smiling wider, Georgia rests her head against my chest. She worried herself out while I was gone, but we’re finally ready to stop stressing the threats from the past and start focusing on what looks to be one helluva future.

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THEIR STORY ENDS

  THE DOORMAT

  On a cold winter day, I gave birth at home to Rebel while surrounded by people who didn’t like me. Panicked, I even called my mom despite knowing she would recognize the number and not pick up.

  When I first moved in with Patrick, his family put on the façade of friendliness. That was long gone by the time Rebel was born. Even the midwife barely acknowledged me. No one in Milkweed wanted me to forget that I was nothing more than trash Patrick knocked up.

  Giving birth to Ryder is completely different and not only because I have him in a hospital. I’m surrounded by people who love me. When I cry out in pain, they comfort me. When I’m frightened, they reassure me. When I’m exhausted after a day of contractions, they inspire me to keep going.

  Before I got to hold Rebel, the midwife handed the baby to Patrick. I remember thinking such a bad man had no business touching someone so innocent.

  But I never worry about Jack. He might do bad things for the club and his family, but he’s fundamentally a good man. I’ve seen him with his nieces and nephews. I know how he treats Rebel. My heart never fears Ryder in his arms.

  As I rest after the delivery, I watch Jack sit with Rebel as they take turns holding the baby. My firstborn looks so proud of himself, and he later says he’s proud of me.

  “It hurt a lot,” he whispered while cuddling in bed with me. “I was scared.”

  “I know, but the pain goes away when the baby is born. Just like it did when I had you.”

  “Was I a cute baby?”

  “The most beautiful.”

  “Did I have a red face like Ryder?”

  Grinning, I glance at Jack holding our boy. “You were my perfect little tomato.”

  Rebel cuddles closer and stares into my eyes. Underneath his smiles, he still worries. I believe a time will come when he’ll stop thinking about Milkweed or believing we might send him away.

  Jack and Rebel bond a little more each day. Sometimes, they forget how to be around each other, though. Jack will wear his grumpy look and Rebel pulls away thinking he’s done something wrong. But they’re learning.

  So am I.

  Rather than hide in the background, I speak up now. I’m not so quick to flinch. Looking scared a lot is a habit I didn’t know I had until Scarlet mentioned it. Fear and planning for bad things kept me safe, but hope is what will make me strong.

  On my first night in the hospital, Jack gets Rebel set up in the pullout bed. The baby stays in the room too. Jack doesn’t want either boy out of his sight. My long, painful labor got him riled up. Hours later, when I’m ready to crash, Jack still hasn’t calmed down.

  “Why couldn’t they dope you up more?” he whispers while curled around me in bed.

  “They thought it would go faster,
and I didn’t want to be completely numb when it was time to push.”

  Jack makes a noise that indicates he doesn’t accept any of that nonsense. We got a lot of info on birthing from our friends, but Jack never seemed to really get that I wouldn’t be drugged the entire time. Seeing me in pain did a number on his head.

  “Next time,” he whispers in my ear, “I hope you want to be completely stoned. Seeing you suffer...”

  Jack doesn’t finish, but I get the point. This is a man accustomed to remaining in control, yet he could do no more than watch me suffer. Though I consider pointing out that I did have some pain medicine, he probably won’t accept that. He’s tired and worried.

  Soon, the memories of me grunting and crying out will fade. Just like how I’d forgotten how much pain I felt during Rebel’s delivery.

  “Next time?” I ask, squeezing his hand.

  “I wouldn’t mind having a girl one day.”

  “What would we name her?”

  Jack tilts my head to the side so he can kiss me, and then he whispers, “Guillermo.”

  We chuckle quietly, trying not to wake the boys. Then we fall silent, and I think about having another baby. It would be interesting to actually plan a pregnancy for once.

  But not right away. I’d love to see my feet for a while, sleep on my belly every night, and visit the bathroom less. Plus, more sex without worrying about positions would be a treat. Yeah, I’m in no hurry to do this again.

  One day, though...

  THE HOTHEAD

  I rarely get scared. It just doesn’t happen. Even when I was sneaking around Milkweed, I wasn’t anxious about an asshole killing me. I chose not to worry.

  But when I see Georgia crying out in pain during labor, I’m fucking terrified. Pop and Mom swear what I’m seeing is normal. Scarlet claims Georgia will ask for more medicine if she wants it. Instead of doping herself for a trip to Stonerville, my woman suffers way too much.

  Feeling powerless to help her, I stand near the corner of the labor and delivery room while Soso breaths with Georgia. At one point, Scarlet and Phoebe join in, panting and puffing in unison during a contraction. If I didn’t know them, I’d think they were mocking her. But somehow, them sharing her pain is meant to give her strength. It’s fucking weird.

  In fact, at one point while the women are panting, I lean over to tell Rebel, “This is fucking weird.”

  “She’s in pain,” he says, fighting tears all day long. I ask him more than once if he wants to wait somewhere else. He always shakes his head. “She needs me.”

  Georgia does smiles at him often. Whenever she’s not contracting, she talks normally. Despite Rebel and me being two useless shits, she looks relieved to have us nearby.

  Then after way too fucking long with her in pain, she pushes for what feels like another million years. I swear my kid’s never going to be born. Holding Georgia’s hand, I’m ready to yell at the doctor to make it happen faster. Can’t he see how much pain she’s in?

  Before I go nuts on everyone, Jack Ryder Johansson is born. He lets out one helluva scream and Rebel bursts into tears. I don’t know if the older boy is scared or relieved. He stares at his mom and then looks at the baby. Georgia immediately opens her arms, and he runs to her.

  “You yelled like that too when you were born,” she says while he cries.

  Rebel seems ashamed to be bawling in front of the doctor and nurse. I don’t blame him for getting upset or feeling embarrassed. It’s been a long day.

  Then Georgia holds Ryder, who’s all wrapped up in a blanket with one of those little hats on his bald head. He looks pissed, which makes me smile. It’s been a long fucking day for him too.

  Georgia seems calmer than I expect. After all the pain, she ought to be a mess. But she smiles easily and keeps both boys in her embrace.

  Later, I’m about to hold Ryder on the couch with Rebel when he warns me not to drop him. I consider pointing out how I held both twins at the same time, but then realize he’s not talking to me. Rebel’s telling himself to be careful.

  “Babies are easy,” I whisper and rest his brother in his little arms. “They sleep and cry and poop and eat. That’s it. In a few months, he’ll do other stuff. But you’ll need to be patient.”

  Rebel is nearly shaking while holding his brother. Staring down at the sleeping baby, he wears the strangest expression.

  “Whatcha thinking?” I ask quietly while Georgia watches from nearby.

  Rebel whispers, “I thought he was going to die, but he’s okay.”

  “Yeah. You took good care of your mom and him.”

  Rebel nods, but he’s struggling. I hate seeing that look on his face, but there’s no fixing it. His dad is still out there in the world. His dead brother haunts him. That’s not shit that’ll wash off with a few months of comfortable living.

  “I’m going to take care of you,” Rebel tells Ryder. “I’m going to be a good big brother.”

  Georgia’s earlier calm disappears. She looks at her boys and cries quietly. Over Rebel’s fears and her inability to fix what broke in him. She cries over the baby she lost. She sobs over what could have been.

  But her tears end when she has her boys back with her in bed. I manage to squeeze my ass in next to her. Being this close to my woman and boys is the only thing that settles me down.

  “It’ll be a rough few months,” I tell Rebel. “Ryder doesn’t know shit. He has no idea who we are and how to be part of our family. We’ll need to help him.”

  “I can read comic books to him.”

  “Your mom says you’re getting good at reading,” I tell him, and he immediately smiles.

  Yeah, I’m getting the hang of fatherhood. It’s not nearly as difficult as I assumed especially with Rebel. If I stay out of my own way, the boys and I will do just fine.

  As for marriage, I have no worries now that I’ve found a woman whose heart is like mine.

  OH, BY THE WAY, FROM THE HOTHEAD

  Patrick Hegseth has no intention of returning to Milkweed. His brother and sister-in-law are dead. His elderly mother is raising their kids. His solution to his family’s troubles is to take a bus to Louisville and settle in the city.

  He shares his plans with a pretty blonde he meets in a bar during his first night of freedom. She slides up to him, claiming she thought he was a man from her church. Patrick quickly charms her. He’s been locked up for a year, and she’s the pretty, virginal type he prefers.

  After a few drinks, she invites him home for coffee. He’s feeling a little woozy from the beers. She asks if he’d rather call it a night. Seeing his chance at sweet pussy slipping away, he agrees to go despite feeling sick. Her place sounds better than some cheap motel he can afford with the money his mommy sent for his trip home.

  A bound and gagged Patrick wakes up later in the trunk of my car. The virginal seductress decides to remain in Louisville with Denver and Cavalry. The three of them are goofing around in the snow when I drive away.

  I’m near Ellsberg when the sick fuck starts trying to free himself. I watch him, using a little camera stuck in the trunk. The dick is still fighting the restraints when I pull the car down a dirt road leading to a cabin the club uses for just such situations.

  I thought long and hard about how exactly I wanted to kill Patrick Hegseth. So many options—beat him to death, set him on fire, shoot him in the face, bind him to two cars and tear him apart. Just a whole lot of options.

  But I settle on one while holding baby Ryder at the hospital. Georgia was asleep in bed while Rebel cuddled next to her and read his comic book. Watching my happy family made me think of the slow death that Georgia would have endured back in Milkweed if she never ran. Day after day, her life wasting away. Eventually, Patrick would have ended her, but not before he left her emptied out.

  Once at the cabin, I’m met by Pop and Scarlet.

  “It’s been a long fucking time since we camped,” he says while we stand next to the trunk.

  Shivering under her
jacket, Scarlet smiles. “Way too fucking long.”

  I unlock the trunk, and we take a gander at our roommate for the next few days.

  “Doesn’t look like much, does he?” I mutter, frowning down at a blindfolded Patrick.

  “He pissed himself,” Pop says. “You’ll need to burn the car.”

  I smile at how he’s still trying to teach me shit.

  We haul Patrick out of the trunk and drag him into the cabin. Over the years, this place has been fixed up. New flooring, a nice wood burning stove, cozy furniture, and in the middle of the living room is a pull-away floor with a compartment underneath. Originally, it was somewhere to stash weapons or drugs.

  On occasion, though, the “coffin” is where we stash assholes. Sometimes, we plan for them to live and only want to put the fear of God in them without leaving any marks.

  Other times, we want the asshole to die slowly in the dark.

  This is one of those times.

  “Breakfast smells great,” Pop tells Scarlet as we drop Patrick into the hole.

  My sister has a pile of board games to keep us entertained for the next few days. Not much else to do besides talk, sleep, and play “Jenga.”

  Yanking off Patrick’s blindfold, I smile down at him.

  “Hello, asshole,” I say, and he blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust to the light. He shouldn’t get too used to seeing, though.

  “What the fuck is this?” he demands.

  “You must know the answer,” I say, loving the fear in his cold blue eyes. “You had to know we were coming for you.”

  “I don’t know anything, fucker.”

  I want so badly to punch him. But the pain will distract Patrick from his thoughts, and I want this asshole to spend his last days thinking very fucking hard about what he did to end up dying this way.

  “Well, then here’s a hint,” I growl before closing the lid, “Georgia and Rebel say hi.”