by Drew Elyse
“You’re a good brother.”
“I try.” I could hear the grin in his voice. “With my sister, too, even if she’s been a pain in my ass since she was born.”
Joel used to say the same thing about Daz, but only ever teasingly. He’d had to raise his brother because their parents just checked out. Never once did he indicate he resented it, even in private with me. He made no bones about how he felt about his parents—or mine, for that matter—but none of those feelings extended to Daz for a second. Seeing him as a big brother was one of the things that made me fall for him. I’d never seen that kind of unconditional love before.
“All right, I’m going to need you to lay down so your waist is flat.”
The instruction startled me. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been spaced out, thinking about Joel.
And comparing him and Liam.
I laid down while he adjusted the table for me, and I couldn’t stop the train of thought.
There were a lot of things that were similar about Joel and Liam, and yet there were fundamental differences. Like that little flirting Liam snuck in. Maybe it was because he was just a flirt, not actually interested, but it was so far off of how Joel had been. When Joel wanted something, he went after it. No hesitation.
Liam got back to it, that scratching feeling back to irritating my skin.
“Still doing all right?”
“It’s like scratching with a hangnail.”
“That’s a new one.” He laughed.
“How have you had other people describe it?”
He shook his head, and my eyes were drawn down to the powerful line of his jaw. With his hair pulled back, more of that edge was visible. He could be his own piece of art with a jaw like that.
“The way I’ve had people react in that chair, you’d think I was waterboarding them, or shoving shit under their nails.” It was a good thing he wasn’t working right then because just the thought of fingernail stuff made me tremble. “One dude actually accused me of ‘upping the gauges’ so it would hurt more. Like the asshole had a damn clue how this thing works.”
“Try working in a bakery. I get asked if things are gluten-free and vegan a dozen times a day.”
His eyes squinted like he was waiting for the punch line. “But there are signs that say if they are.”
I raised one eyebrow. If anything would make me snap at work, it would be one of the hundreds of customers asking if things were gluten free when they clearly had no clue what gluten even was.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“Avery and I keep track now. We have a running tally to see if we can unseat the ranking of fifty-three times in one day.”
“I hope for your sake—and a bit for humanity, not going to lie—that you don’t achieve that.”
I laughed again, and it still felt strange.
But it was a good strange.
Chapter Eight
Kate
“It looks amazing!” Evie gushed, bending sideways at the waist to get a better look at the outline despite the layer of clear gunk over it.
Stone stood behind her, an indulgent smile on his lips.
The newlyweds were sweet. Sometimes, it was hard to look at, but it was impossible to deny that they were a great match—even with their age difference. It took no time being around them for the fifteen odd years separating them to disappear.
We were in the farmhouse kitchen. I’d come in while Evie and Avery were discussing plans for a cookout at the clubhouse that weekend. Once spring took hold of Hoffman, this would be nearly every other weekend to some degree. The guys loved any excuse to grill meat and party.
I hadn’t really planned to make a thing of the tattoo—or what I had of it for the moment, anyway—but I’d already told Avery since she was the one watching Owen. When I got back to the farmhouse, she’d demanded to see it in front of the others.
“Looks good, darlin’,” Doc agreed.
Doc and I had a different bond than I did with the rest of the Disciples, if only because of how much longer I’d known him. He lived next door to Joel and Daz when we were growing up. Daz, in particular, had gotten close with him—not that Joel, and then myself by extension, didn’t. Doc had introduced both of the Larson boys to motorcycles and went further to introduce Daz to the Savage Disciples and club life. He’d even taken Daz in when Joel and I were eighteen and Joel was determined to get me away from my family. We’d planned to take Daz with us, but Doc had stepped in so Daz would stay in the same school—and we wouldn’t be two teenagers trying to make it while being financially responsible for another.
He was family.
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Who did it?” Avery asked.
There was flour on her clothes, and I wondered if Owen looked similar. She said he was down for a nap when I came in. He liked to claim he loved baking, which always got Avery excited about doing it with him, but he really just liked making a mess and eating whatever they made.
“Liam.”
I felt shy saying that. Like I was going to start blushing or something equally ridiculous.
“Kid’s got talent,” Doc commented.
“Sketch wouldn’t hire anyone else,” Stone put in.
“I’m going to go check on Owen quickly,” I threw out, not wanting to get into a conversation about Liam, especially after having spent so long with him.
Especially not after what had happened on the way out.
“We’ve got you down for two weeks, but, like I said, we’ll have to see how you’re healing up then,” he said, leaning against the reception desk. Jess was nowhere to be seen, and I worried maybe she was intentionally making herself scarce for some reason.
I nodded, feeling awkward now. Over the last couple hours, I’d gotten comfortable with Liam. Then, we’d finished and he’d shown me the progress. Seeing that outline in real ink, knowing that it was there on my skin forever now, having it be so beautiful, was overwhelming. He seemed to get it and focused on all the aftercare instructions rather than asking me why I was acting strangely.
Truth was, I didn’t know. I just knew I was feeling that moment more acutely than I’d felt much of anything in a long time. I owed that feeling—good or bad, I wasn’t sure yet—to Liam, even if he had just been doing his job.
Now, with all of my instructions understood, my tattoo wrapped up, and the bill paid, there was nothing left to say.
Or, I had nothing to say, anyway.
Liam looked at me for a long moment. His hair was down again, and I couldn’t tell if it was that or something in his expression that made him look on edge.
“I need to say something,” he finally spoke. “But I don’t want to fuck with your head before you go home.”
That was…unexpected. Still, after all he’d done, giving me this beautiful piece of art—even in its unfinished state—and making me feel comfortable enough to not have to pretend to be fine the whole time, I felt like I should give him this.
“Tell me.”
“Connor’s injury?” I nodded to indicate I was with him. “He got it in a car accident.”
My stomach churned and I felt bile burning in the back of my throat. Every muscle in my body was braced like I could break into a sprint and escape this.
“The accident took my dad from us.”
There it was.
Suddenly, I remembered what he’d said earlier.
“We know more intimately than most how much worse it could have been.”
And what he’d said at the bakery that day.
“I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t help at all. I know it still hurts and all the sympathy in the world doesn’t touch that, but it’s true.”
He’d all but told me, I just hadn’t caught it.
“Mom.” He shook his head. “She loved him. More than anything. I watched for years as she just lived every day for the three of us, and I can see that’s what you’re doing, too. And that’s okay. That’s what you need now, and you deserve to do whate
ver you need to keep going after what you lost. But I want you to know that I’m here. I know you’ve got one fuck of a support system from the club, but if none of them feel right, I’m right here whenever. Or she can be, if you’d want to talk to someone who’s been there. She’d be there for you in a heartbeat. All you have to do is ask.”
I was concentrating so hard on not letting myself fall apart, an instinct born of years of practice, that I couldn’t get my jaw to release enough to say anything back. Not that I knew what to say even if I could.
“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he went on anyway. “I just needed you to know, but that’s that. The ball is in your court, whatever you want to do. Okay?”
It was an effort to nod, but I managed it.
“Okay.” His voice was soft, and so was his expression as he reached up and tucked some of the hair that had fallen from my ponytail behind my ear. “I’ll see you soon, gypsy.”
He didn’t move away after he said it, just stood there waiting for whatever I did next. I contemplated a million options: telling him it was none of his business, offering my condolences, trying to deny what he’d said about what I was going through, and even—surprising myself—considering taking him up on it. Instead, I met his gaze for a long moment, hoping there was something there that might serve as a thank you, and I left.
I moved quietly down the hall to mine and Owen’s rooms, replaying it all. Even though the defensive instinct had flared up, I was glad I hadn’t acted on it. Liam was a good guy, and he was trying to help. I’d lost my temper too many times with people for trying to do the same. Daz especially.
With a slow push on the cracked door, I saw my boy curled up in his bed. He was still out, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. Naps were all but a thing of the past at this point. Instead, he seemed to be an endless supply of energy. Some would probably say it was natural for a six-year-old, but I wasn’t so sure. The Larson boys always had that kind of boundless energy, and every day Owen reminded me more and more of his father.
As I watched him sleep, I couldn’t help but think of Connor, of Liam’s mom, about what he’d said about wishing he could change Connor’s fate but loving him the same either way. I’d played out many times how much worse the accident might have been. Owen and I had been right there. I could have lost them both. Owen could have lost both of his parents. Or I could be standing here right now thanking every power that I had him, even if he was never the same.
It was hard to feel fortunate when I’d lost the man I loved with all my heart for years. Right then, looking at the beautiful life we made together, I felt it. Despite the anger and the bitterness, I felt it so strongly it nearly brought me to my knees.
I pulled the door open again and turned to head down the hall to see Daz standing a few feet away, watching me. He looked concerned, and my gut tightened. I walked to him, and he watched me without any change.
“What?” I asked low.
“You’ve been back here for fifteen minutes,” he explained.
This was surprising, but not overly so. To a normal person, zoning out that long would probably seem odd. Unfortunately, I went into my head like that a lot only to come back and realize how much time I was missing. Fifteen minutes was nothing. There were times closer to the accident when I would lose hours, even the better part of whole days.
“Are you doing okay?”
It was a question I’d been asked more times than I could ever begin to count since losing Joel. I’d gotten into the habit of automatically assuring everyone that I was. I was always okay. Maybe I wasn’t the same woman I had been, but I was getting on with life.
At least, that’s what I said.
Right then, though, I couldn’t muster the words.
Daz’s usually carefree face was so marked by his worry. I thought about everything Liam had said about loving his siblings unconditionally. Daz had given me that from the beginning, even if I wasn’t his family by blood. Suddenly, that familiar lie felt like ash on my tongue.
“It’s just hard sometimes.”
Even that mistruth felt wrong, but it would have to do.
It wasn’t hard sometimes. It was hard all the time.
You were doing all right earlier. Almost like the girl I fell in love with. I’ve missed her.
Those words in Joel’s voice in my mind hit me like a blow. I felt the tears I usually held in unless I was alone gather and fall.
Daz wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in against his chest. He probably thought it was the relief of admitting that or the strain of having a bad day making me lose it, but that wasn’t it at all.
It was the realization that the woman I’d become in my grief, the pretending, the lies, Joel would hate it all.
Chapter Nine
Liam
“For the love of God, some of us are actually trying to work,” Jess snapped.
She’d been in a shit mood all day but wasn’t giving anyone a clue as to why. My second appointment had canceled on me, and I’d planted myself at her desk since.
What could I say? Apparently, being pushy was just in my nature.
“Real easy to get rid of me,” I pointed out.
“I’m having a shitty day. Can’t you just leave it alone?”
No, I wasn’t sure I could. Tracy said I was a fixer. I was pretty sure I just wasn’t a jackass who’d let people in my life suffer through shit without trying to help.
At least I knew well enough not to ask her if it was that time of the month.
I didn’t get a chance to keep pressing her because the door opened and she smiled in a way that wasn’t entirely her hostess bullshit. Turning, I saw Sketch coming in with his almost-three-year-old daughter, Evangeline, in his arm, and his eight-year-old, Emmy, holding his hand. It was a familiar sight. What was different about it this time was Owen on his other side, holding onto his pant leg.
It’d been a week and a half since Kate had been in, and I was already looking forward to her appointment to come back. I hadn’t seen her in that time. I’d given it a few days before going into Sugar’s Dream, just in case she needed the time without me showing up. When I finally did go in again, she hadn’t been working. I knew there’d been a party at the Disciples’ clubhouse, but I’d been at Mom’s for a “family dinner” she’d insisted on mostly as a way to guilt Tracy into the same room as her so she could continue her pestering about the boyfriend.
Owen being here with Sketch had my interest all kinds of piqued.
“Jess!” Emmy greeted, running in and around the desk to get to her. Her blonde curls flew out behind her, as did the fluffy pink skirt she had on. Sketch might have been a tattooed-head-to-toe biker, but his daughter was all princess.
It was still too early to tell what way Evangeline was going to go. She seemed shy, like her mother, but there was still a whole lot of time for her to shake that. For the time, she was ducking her little face into her dad’s chest, hiding behind her similar mass of blonde curls.
Both his girls took after their mother in looks, and Sketch was the first to say how thrilled he was about it. We’d see if that feeling lasted when they got older.
Emmy was already talking a mile a minute about the new dress Jess had gotten her for her birthday a couple months ago and how much she loved it. Meanwhile, Jess—who no longer looked like she wanted to strangle someone—was listening animatedly.
“Babysitting duty, huh?” I asked.
It wasn’t uncommon for him to have his girls in here, or a couple other kids of his club brothers. Though, that was usually just if he was checking in. I knew he had appointments that day.
“Ash was watching Owen today, but she’s feeling like shit. I decided to bring them here for a while to give her a break. The girls will be good here with me until later, and Kate’s going to swing by to get Owen in a bit when she’s done at the bakery.”
And just like that, my day got brighter.
“I can watch them for a while,” I offered. “My next appointmen
t bailed, so I’ve got nothing until six.”
Sketch bobbed Eva on his arm. “This one needs her nap, so I’m going to put her down on the couch in my office. Emmy’s probably got another hour or more of attaching herself to Jess.” We both looked down at Owen, who was preoccupied looking around the room. That just left him.
I knelt down, and his eyes swung my way. I’d noticed before how much he looked like Daz, which probably meant he was the spitting image of his dad, too. Still, I could see hints of Kate in him. He had her nose.
“What’s up, little man?”
“Hi, Liam.”
I was surprised he knew my name right off. I’d met all the kids, played around with them a few times at the clubhouse, but I wasn’t a fixture.
“Do you like to paint?”
His eyes lit up and he nodded quickly.
“Come on, let’s go make a mess.” I offered my hand and he put his in it.
Sketch jerked his chin in thanks as I led Owen to the back of the shop. Back here, Carson—the shop’s previous owner—had made a studio for us to use for whatever other kinds of art we were into. Sketch had made a couple changes to make part of the space kid-friendly.
Owen’s eyes moved all over the space, taking in the canvases that were left out drying, the supplies packed in everywhere they could fit.
“Wow.”
“Pretty cool, huh? Do you like art?”
His face scrunched up. “Lucas said art was for girls.”
Well, Lucas sounded like a little dipshit to me.
“Who’s Lucas?”
“He was in my kindergarten.”
“Are you friends?”
Owen considered that, and I wondered if he thought it was a trap. Maybe they were teaching that “all your classmates are your friends” stuff.
“No.”
“Good. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Do I look like a girl?” Owen shook his head hard enough I worried he’d hurt himself. “Does your Uncle Sketch?” All the kids around the club referred to the brothers as their “uncles.”
