The Novella Collection: A series of short stories for the Pushing the Limits series, Thunder Road series, and Only a Breath Apart

by Katie McGarry

  “He reminds me a lot of James. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he had been raised by him.”

  I’d thought the same several times throughout the day. I also had a lot of other thoughts—most of them about Nina. After tonight, there’s no reason for us to interact again. Chevy will be heading to college, and she can visit Isaiah through her son.

  For years, we wanted to be rid of each other, but I don’t feel that way, not anymore. “How would you like to have dinner with me this week?”

  Nina’s head whips in my direction as though I’d announced there is a shark on dry land. “What?”

  Not a hopeful initial reaction. “Dinner. With me.”

  She blinks repeatedly. “Is the club having another family dinner?”

  I shake my head. “I was thinking we could go out someplace. We could stay in town if you’d like, but there are better restaurants near the army base.”

  A faint smile, a hesitant smile, slowly spreads across her lips. “Are you asking me out?”

  I am. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you over the past few days, and I’m not ready for that to end.”

  Nina laughs lightly and relaxes beside me. “I’m going on a date with Eli McKinley. My, how my world has changed.”

  I chuckle along with her, knowing mine has, too.

  Chapter 28

  Pigpen

  Leaning against the bar in the clubhouse, I watch in awe as Caroline and Rebecca swap potato salad recipes and discuss what it’s like to have overbearing bosses. There’s a part of me that wonders if I was in an accident on my bike earlier today. Or maybe before graduation I was blindsided by a semi, and I’m now in a coma dreaming happy dreams.

  If so, I’m fine with never waking up.

  Razor walks to the bar and orders a water for him and a diet for Breanna. Doesn’t take long for the order to be filled. I glance over and give him a nod. I expect him to nod back and return to his girl, but instead he stays where he is.

  “You okay, brother?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s Breanna?” She has to be torn up about her best friend leaving town.

  “Concerned for Addison, but relieved she’s getting help.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on Addison,” I say.

  “Thanks,” he responds, and I once again expect him to leave, but he stays still. My spider sense is screaming so loudly I’m surprised other brothers in the club haven’t drawn their guns in response.

  Razor places the water and the diet back on the bar. “I need to talk to you.”

  Aw, hell. Is it too much to ask for this kid to go through one night without having his heart ripped out? “Talk away, brother. I’ve got nothing but ears and time.”

  Razor takes a deep breath, and I hide the fear of what falling off this cliff is going to be like. This kid has never been easy.

  “I know,” Razor says.

  My forehead furrows. “Know what?”

  “I’ve known for a while. I didn’t know how I should talk to you about it or if I should avoid it all together.”

  It’s like he’s speaking Latin. “You lost me.”

  “After everything that went down with the detective that was investigating my mom’s death, and Chevy and Violet being kidnapped, I ended up reading more of the files that the police released.”

  “Yeah?” We all did.

  “I saw that there was someone from the Riot Motorcycle Club who had been funneling information to the cops.”

  My stomach drops as I figure out the road he’s going down. My younger brother started working with the police after everything that happened with Oz and Emily last summer. His goal was to take down the Riot—the MC our father belonged to.

  A muscle in Razor’s jaw twitches and then the truth comes tumbling out. “I met with your brother. I know that your father is the one who ran my mom off the road and killed her during the war between the Riot and the Terror, and I know that you know. I also know that the reason you’re here is because of me.”

  A hand over my face as all the blood drains from my brain. “I’m sorry, brother. I swear to you, I am. If I had any idea what my father was capable of, I would have taken a gun to him myself.”

  Razor places a hand in the air. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I knew he was following your mom. I overhead him talking about it with another member of the club. I should have done something. I should have stopped him from going out that day.”

  “You couldn’t,” Razor says.

  “I should have.”

  “You were a teen,” Razor pushes as if that’s a good enough defense.

  “And you were a kid,” I shout, and the guys surrounding us go quiet. “My flesh and blood took away your mom, and I’m to blame!”

  Razor stares at me in that slow, calm way of his. “It’s not your fault.”

  His words are like a hook to the head. For years, I’ve blamed myself, felt the guilt, felt the blood streaming through my fingers. I couldn’t look at my dad, and I couldn’t look at myself. How could I be related to someone so horrible?

  So, I left, joined the Army and when I was honorably discharged due to my wounds, I came here to Snowflake and begged this club for forgiveness. Forgiveness they said I didn’t need because her death wasn’t on me. They took me in and gave me the chance to make it up to the son of my father’s victim. To watch over Razor because his mom was no longer on this earth to do so.

  “I appreciate your looking out for me,” Razor says. “Being there for me at every turn, but I think it’s time you take a step back and focus on you.”

  “You’re my brother.” I close my eyes to try to contain the emotion raging within me. “I’ll always have your back.”

  “And I’ll always have yours, but I’m leaving next month, and you need to stay here.” His eyes flicker to Caroline, who thankfully is on the other side of the room and has no idea of the drama taking place near the bar.

  I never thought twice about the prospect of packing up and leaving town with Razor. It’s what I’ve done: watch over this kid. A guardian angel he never knew he had—until now. “Are you telling me you’re too good for me now?”

  He chuckles. “I’ve always been too good for you.”

  I can’t help the short, bitter laugh.

  “I’m living my life for me now,” Razor says, “and you need to live your life for you. I buried my mom’s ghost, and it’s time you do, too.”

  “When did you get so wise?”

  “I guess from the years of you talking at me.”

  Smartass. Yet I bring the kid in for a hug that includes hard pats on the back. We let go and he shoves my shoulder. “It sucks that every time I come home I’m going to have to talk to my English teacher.”

  I can only hope. “Go be young and not stupid, brother.”

  He gives me one of his rare smiles and leaves.

  A soft and gentle touch on my bicep and I turn my head to see Caroline gazing up at me. “Is that offer for a ride on your bike still available?”

  For her? “Anytime.”

  I take her hand, and we weave through the crowd so I can take the most beautiful woman on the planet on the ride of her life.

  And They All Lived Happily Ever After:

  A Pushing the Limits Novella

  Chapter 29

  Noah

  My eyes snap open and my body jerks so abruptly that the bed shakes. After all that I’ve been through in life, I’ve acquired the ability to sleep through fistfights in school, screaming foster fathers, and even gunshots in the crazy neighborhood of the first apartment I shared with Isaiah. But where the harsh world couldn’t break my sleep patterns, the shadow of a three-year-old doing nothing more than staring at me can wake me from a deep sleep with the same dread I’d feel at a clown hovering over the bed with a machete.

  “What’s wrong, buddy?” I sit up on my elbows and squint in the darkness to try to make out my son. All I see is his outline and the glint of light reflecti
ng off the plastic eye of the stuffed rabbit held close to his chest.

  “I used the bathroom.”

  My foggy brain tries to weigh whether or not that means he needs a pull-up change.

  “I didn’t pee in bed.”

  And there’s the answer. He made it to the bathroom in the middle of the night. “That’s awesome.” And I mean it. Took forever to night train his sister Macie.

  “There’s a monster in my room.”

  I’m too tired for this. “No, there’s not.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  Here’s the thing about three-year-olds: they can continue this type of conversation for hours. A doggedness I swear my children inherited from their mother—my wife.

  Exhausted from a few late nights due to finishing a project—designing a high-end house, one of many on my growing list of clients—and then from helping Echo clean up after the vomiting hurricane that was kiddo number one this evening, I fall back onto the bed. Damn that pillow feels good, and I’d give a kidney to keep my eyes closed.

  “Echo?” I say. She rolls onto her side, away from me, while simultaneously kicking my leg. Hard enough that it should sting, but I’m immune to the action. “It’s your turn.”

  “No, it’s not,” comes that sexy groggy voice that still has a way of making me want to wrap my arms around her and kiss her until she’s breathless.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  As I said, doggedness that can go on for hours.

  “I put Macie to bed tonight,” I say. That meant four books, two sips of water, three trips to the bathroom, six laps around the dining room table and me falling asleep in her bed as she read book number five to me.

  “And after two grueling twelve-hour labors, you sweet-talked in my ear how much you wanted another baby.” She drops her voice to mimic me. “A third baby will be a piece of cake. The labor will be shorter. We have this baby thing down.” She returns to her sexy drowsy tone. “Do I need to remind you of the twenty-four hours of labor followed up by an emergency C-section and then two months of a colicky baby while you travelled three of those weeks for work? And I’m the one Macie threw up on tonight because you were determined to play that stupid jelly bean game with her. I call not my turn for the next four years.”

  For people so small, my children can expel horrifying amounts of puke in the span of thirty seconds. Plus, they spew like a lawn sprinkler, that is until you actually deposit them in front of a toilet. That’s when they’re empty.

  While I’m exhausted, I can’t argue with Echo’s well-thought-out, two-in-the-morning argument. Makes me wonder how long she’s been forming this speech, and whether I need to step up my game for a planned counterattack.

  Tonight, or rather this morning, she wins. Echo has clients tomorrow. After a few years of doing freelance artwork, which she still does on the side, she eventually earned her master’s degree in art therapy. Helping traumatized children is a tough job, but Echo has a gift, and at the end of the day feels she’s making a difference. I believe that, too.

  I roll out of bed and swoop Seth into my arms. He lays his red-haired head on my shoulder, and any annoyance that I had from my two a.m. wake-up dissolves.

  Our oldest, five-year-old Macie, is headstrong, determined and exudes confidence. So much, it may be possible to bottle it and sell it in bulk at Costco. Her only downfall is she can’t stomach dead-fish-flavored jelly beans. Our baby, Oliver, is only eight months, but he’s as chill as they come. A constant smile on his face, and not counting his first three months, rarely cries.

  Seth, though, is the one that yanks out your heart and hands it to you. His soul aches for every lost cat and every puppy without a home, and he’s terrified caterpillars are lonely when they go into their cocoons. If he needs monsters scared away, I’m the man for the job. After all, I’m his dad.

  I head down the hallway and take the first door on the right. His nightlight is on and it gives his room a soft glow. I lay him down in his toddler bed, a gift from my best friend: a red racecar made out of thick plastic that holds his tiny mattress. Even though it’s a shrunken version of a twin bed, my son looks small as I pull the blanket over his pajama-clad body.

  I then do the dad thing—check under the bed, open and close the closet doors and mock a ninja chop when sneaking a peek behind the door, which earns me a fit of giggles from the bed.

  Content that his room is safe, Seth rolls onto his back and stares at the colorful glow-in-the dark stars hand-painted by Echo. Then his eyes roam over the walls and across the mural of trees, grass, butterflies and bunnies. Once again, painted by Echo with some help from Seth and Macie and a handprint from Oliver.

  There are rabbits on the wall, stuffed rabbits surrounding his bed, and his pajamas even have bunnies. Seth has a love of rabbits—an influence of his godmother.

  “I’m in the wedding?” Seth asks.

  “Yes. They specifically asked for you.”

  Seth smiles, and I tuck the blanket around him. I never knew it was possible to love anyone as much as I love Echo and my children. I never knew it was possible to be loved so much in return.

  “But they aren’t going to want a cranky boy,” I say. “I need you to go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.”

  With his stuffed bunny cuddled tight, Seth rolls to his side and closes his eyes. “I love you.”

  Hearing those words never gets old. “Love you back.”

  I stand and watch him longer than needed. It doesn’t take long for him to fall back asleep and hopefully he’ll be out for the rest of the night.

  There’s no way to wake up at two a.m. and not check in on the rest of my kids. It’s a gravitational pull I don’t try to ignore.

  Macie has her covers kicked off and is sprawled out in her bed with arms and legs in every direction. She has Echo’s features, but she has my dark hair and brown eyes and too much of my mischievous side. If she’s going to continue to be a little too much like me, I dread high school.

  In the room next to hers is a white crib that once held both Macie and Seth. It now holds Oliver, our other redhead. I’m quiet as I approach the bed. If I wake Oliver, Echo will castrate me. Luckily, he’s sound asleep in his terrycloth sleeper, and his little mouth squishes as if he’s sucking on a pacifier.

  I search around the crib, and sure enough, the pacifier has fallen to the floor. I pick it up and stick it back within arm’s reach. Maybe he’ll find it in the morning and give Echo and me a few extra minutes of sleep.

  Oliver takes a breath in and a breath out. After Echo had the emergency C-section because the cord had wrapped around Oliver’s neck, I spent a lot of nights watching his chest move up and then down. Somehow, I had never appreciated the simple act of my child’s breathing until then.

  During the C-section, Echo experienced a blood loss. So many things had gone wrong in a short period of time, and it was awful to do nothing more than stand back and be helpless. My child in a nurse’s arms not crying, my wife’s hand going limp in my mine, and me watching her eyes close against her will. The anesthesiologist asking her to open her eyes and her not responding. The way my heart stopped beating and I grew cold.

  My mind cracked with the quietness that had overtaken the doctors as they worked quickly and in desperate determination to save both my wife and my son. Those brief few moments were the longest of my life.

  I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t lose her. Without them, I would be lost.

  Then my baby cried, Echo opened her eyes and my knees went weak. I almost fell to them, but instead held my wife’s hand, crouched down to her eye level and told her that our child was alive.

  I’ll never forget the wetness that filled her eyes, the tears that fell down my cheeks and how good it felt when I pressed my lips to her forehead.

  The gravitational pull is now in another direction—toward my siren. She calls to me, always. I keep our bedroom door open only a crack and climb back into bed. Echo’s sti
ll on her side. I wrap my arms tight around her and mold my body to hers. Spooning her close, relishing her soft skin, my hands moving along her curves, my nose nuzzling the spot behind her ear. She stirs as I place a kiss on her neck.

  Echo leans back into me, her hands gliding along my arms, and as I continue to kiss her neck, she turns to face me and places her hand on my cheek.

  “I need you,” I say.

  “You have me,” she whispers against my lips.

  She doesn’t understand. “I need you.”

  “I’m here.” She gently kisses me, and I start to lose myself in her.

  “I need you,” I say again, and Echo weaves her fingers into my hair and encourages me to rest my weight on her.

  “I’m yours.”

  And I’m hers. Forever and always.

  Chapter 30

  Echo

  Noah’s youngest brother, Tyler, will make an amazing father someday. He’s in his early twenties, has recently graduated from college, and is courageous enough to have started his own company, making video games. He’s quiet, single, resourceful, looks just like Noah, and my children adore him.

  Tyler’s on the floor, playing a very intense game of dolls with Macie, Seth scales Tyler’s back as if he’s climbing a mountain, and Oliver kicks and blows bubbles on Tyler’s lap while trying to grab for the doll in Macie’s hand. There aren’t many people I’d trust all three of my children at the same time with, but Tyler has made the top of the list.

  I’m arranging flowers in the tent where the wedding reception will take place. Noah and I agreed to be in charge of setting up in here. The couple could have afforded to have people set up for them, but they really wanted something small and intimate without a lot of strangers around, so we volunteered to help. Knowing how much work it would be, we enlisted the help of Noah’s two brothers, Jacob and Tyler, and my younger brother, Alexander.