While I hook Mollie up in her restraints, Duke hooks up Macie.
“Yer in good hands,” he says as he crooks his finger and uses it to tickle under the lass’s chin. Then he clomps off into his office.
Whose reality did I fall into?
“Come on.” Elise snaps me from my baby stupor. “Let’s get going.”
“Where am I supposed to put them? I only have my bike.”
“We can carpool today, but you’re going to have to sort this out. Babies can’t ride on the back of your bike.”
Like I didn’t know that.
She drives us down the mountain into town and turns into the Wally-World parking lot. I’m not sure where that term came from, but everyone here calls it that.
The carts are extra wide and Elise shows me how to hook the car seats up safely. Then we shop. It’s an athletic event. Diapers. Formula. Bottles. Burp cloths? What the hell do I do with a burp cloth? Wipes. Diaper rash ointment. Blankets. Booties. Sleepers.
“Laundry soap for sensitive baby skin?” I read the side of the bottle.
Elise chuckles, although she doesn’t answer me, too busy dropping more outfits than they’ll probably ever wear in the cart. I mean, how much clothing do the wee tots need? They’re just babies, for Christ’s sake. I make bank at the shipping company but looking at the price of the formula, I think I might have to take on a second job to pay for this shite. Somewhere there’s a CEO laughing his or her fool head off at my pain while checking their bank balance.
“There,” she says. Her eyes have glazed over with a primal exuberance of a huntress winning the hunt. She’s a bit scary. “This should do you for a few days.”
Excuse me? A few days?
But before we leave the baby department, she hefts another industrial-sized box of diapers into the cart. And lastly, she grabs a black leather diaper bag off the hook as we pass. It’s similar to the one I’ve seen Duke haul around.
We go through the self-checkout. It takes us fifteen minutes to scan and bag what might equate to half the baby department and it’s a good thing I brought my credit card. Just this load came to over $300.
Once we’re back at the car, Elise helps me pack the diaper bag. “Are ya kidding me?” I ask. “They’re going to daycare, not trekking to the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro.”
“Scotch.” She pats my chest. “You have so much to learn. Just trust me on this one, yeah?”
“I yield to the master.”
Ten minutes later, we pull into the Happy Child Daycare and Learning Center. I hook the diaper bag strap over my shoulder and unclick the seatbelts to heft the baby girls in each hand. Loaded down with kids, Elise and I walk inside.
She shows me where the sign-in is, then we wait for the receptionist to get the forms for me. And that’s when my worst possible nightmare comes true.
“Elise? Is that you?” The voice hits us first. Sweet with just a hint of husky. And then there’s the woman belonging to the voice. A woman I haven’t seen in eight years. The only woman to ever break my heart.
“Frankie?” I ask, and I almost drop the carriers, tightening my grip at the last second.
Francesca “Frankie” Cardone. Fuck me. She’s as beautiful as I remember and I’m sure her feminine wiles are just as lethal. Only now, there’s a tiny diamond twinkling from the left side of her nose and one above her lip like a glittering mole, showing a little more of her bad girl side that she used to reserve mostly for me. My heart races and I almost drop the carriers.
She’s wearing her hair’s shorter than she used to wear it—that’s not hard considering when she used to wear it down, the tips brushed her ass—it’s still long enough to catch a man’s eye and silky enough to wanna run my finger through it. I can tell even through the messy braid she wears flipped over her shoulder, hanging down the front. Though it barely reaches her tits now. It’s lighter in spots, too. Like she’s added highlights or hell, maybe she spends a lot of time in the sun. And good goddam, Frankie can still fill out a pair of jeans like no woman I’ve ever seen. Her pink skin deepens to red at her cheeks and her forearms. She’d always flushed red when she was angry or really turned on. But it’s her eyes that undo me. The sweetest toffee colored eyes that once held so much love for me now look at me like I’m dog shite stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Did this day ever take a turn in the wrong direction.
She gasps and whips her head to look at me. “No,” she says, then quickly collects herself. “Are you giving Elise a ride?”
“’Fraid not. I’m signing the lasses up for childcare.”
Her ruddy complexion goes ashen and she looks about ready to vomit. I know exactly how she feels.
2.
Frankie
The universe officially hates me. Hates me. There’s no other explanation as to why Rory MacGregor would show up in Thornbriar of all towns toting not one, but two babies. We didn’t even meet here—we met three counties away when I moved to take care of my mamaw after graduation. And his babies are freaking adorable to boot. They look just like him with all their coppery red hair and piercing blue eyes.
Speaking of piercings. The Rory I knew never had his ears pierced, let alone gauges. Though, I’ve always considered gauges hot—no, Frankie. Not on him. Gauges on Rory are bad. He’s bulked up. Rory was always tall, but now he looks like he’s spent the last eight years eating sides of beef for three meals a day and bench-pressing people. How dare he show up here looking that good? The audacity.
The years have been kind to him, too. Really kind. His best friends, in fact. With the exception of the lines around his eyes implying he’s done a lot of laughing, further implying he’s had a lot of happiness, he’s hardly aged a bit. It’s possible the guy vacuum seals himself at night to keep himself fresh. It’s more than possible that the man hasn’t spent the last almost decade pining for me or lamenting making the single biggest mistake of his life in letting me go.
That doesn’t suck, it hurts. Kills. Is it too much to ask to have him show up here a haggard mess of a man regretting every second of the past we weren’t together? Is it? Is it?
I realize I still haven’t responded to him and as a potential client I probably should, but instead I keep my lips pressed together scrutinizing every inch of him on display for public consumption. Come on, there has to be something. Find it, Frankie.
Well… there is that scar that slices through his eyebrow now and his hair hangs a shade too long around the ears which I’m telling myself neither are sexy even though they freaking are. There’s light scruff along his upper lip, chin and jaw. So not sexy either, except for I love the scruff. Scruff another woman gets to enjoy, Frankie. Don’t forget that. And he joined a motorcycle club? I mean, he always wanted a bike, but that’s a far stretch from simply wanting a bike.
He has kids. Stop, stop, stop, Frankie. Stop obsessing over that. Water under the bridge. Professional mode engaged, I plaster the best smile on my face I can muster without looking maniacal and lead him to the cubbies where I assign one to each girl. That’s where he can store their diaper bag and lunch boxes as they get older. If we have notes for him, that’s where they’ll be.
“Frankie,” he says once more, but I have to put a stop to whatever he’s going to say and instead of responding, I snatch a baby from each of his hands.
“Say goodbye to Daddy,” I say, lifting the girls up to get one last glimpse of him. “I have to get back to my room now, Mr. MacGregor. You can finish up with Felicity, our receptionist.” Then—and no, it’s not my proudest moment—I speed-walk away from him, back into the safety of my infant room.
Boy, little Macie has a set of lungs on her. Bottles. Burping. Diaper changes. Playtime on the mat with the mobiles—nothing satisfies her. I’m determined to make her happy despite her sister being so easy you could almost forget she’s in the room, and thus, being the sweetheart I naturally want to gravitate toward. Mollie gets her time, too. Each of my five babies gets Miss Frankie time. I don’t play favorites.
<
br /> “That hot dude’s here for them twins,” my coworker Nissa says, popping her cherub-faced head around the doorjamb into the infant room I’m working today. That’s not possible; he literally just left us. I mean, he did just leave us, right?
I look up at the old analog clock hanging on the wall and gasp. Has it really been five hours already? As shocked as I am at the time passage, part of me is glad to give Macie back for the night. Today has been too mentally draining to deal with a grumpy baby. Even I have my breaking point. Had she not belonged to Rory I might not have reached it. But the fact remains she does belong to him and I can’t deal with seeing him again after the day I’ve had. “Nis, can you hang in here? I’ll take your room until he leaves, please.” I beg her.
“Girl, did you not hear me? He’s hot. Why do you want to hide your eyes from that tasty piece of man candy?”
“It’s a long story… just, please.”
“Sure, go now before he gets in here.”
“Thanks, Nis.” I squeeze her arm as I pass by and duck right away when I exit the room. Our daycare has a long hallway where the cubbies are located as well as the preschool and school age rooms. Then there’s the front desk for check-in and check-out. Beyond the desk is a great room where the kids eat breakfast, lunch or dinner, depending on the times they attend, and a large carpeted area for play. Off the great room there are the baby and toddler rooms. Three each. I work with the babies in room three next to Nissa’s toddler room. I’ve never hidden from a parent before, but there he is gathering the girls’ bag and sweaters from their cubbies. His head’s bent low so he doesn’t see me. I slip into the toddler room next door where Nissa had been.
After twenty minutes, she walks back with me. “He’s gone. Babies that age, the boy should be better equipped. But he don’t know what he’s doing.”
That’s odd. His girls are like four months old or so. He should have a better handle on things. Maybe his wife or girlfriend does more of the day-to-day care.
Oh, crap. The thought hits me: I’m going to have to meet his baby mama. Chances are she’ll be the one bringing them tomorrow.
As soon as I’ve signed out and second shift has started, I pull my phone from my purse and dial Brighton, my best friend growing up. She heard all about Rory from the time we met to the day he shattered my heart, and for months after.
“S’up, babe?” she answers.
“Can you meet for a drink? I need you.”
“Sure, now?”
“Yes.”
“Whoa, Frankie. It’s not even the weekend. What the hell happened?” she asks. I can hear her keys jangling in the background. She doesn’t even have to ask where to meet. We go to the same place ever time one of us needs to blow off steam, since the day I’d rolled back into town and she introduced me to it. A cool little bar called Lady Sings the Blues.
Odd name, I know, but the atmosphere is incredible. And the bartenders—wow.
I give her one word: “Rory.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Be there in five.”
That’s the mark of a true best friend. When I get there, she’s already sitting at a table and has my cherry 7 and 7 waiting on a paper napkin in front of my empty spot. As I walk over to her, a waitress approaches the table, setting down french fries, onion rings, deep-fried mushrooms, and a huge platter of battered catfish. Tonight is a battered catfish kind of night.
“Talk to me, babe,” she says as I drape my jacket over the back of my seat and slide my bottom down on the old-yet-sturdy wooden chair.
Before I do, I slam down half my drink and then load my plate with fish, fries, mushrooms, and rings. She ordered us two separate bowls of ranch to dip in. Yes, bowls. That’s a lot of fried goodness. We need the ranch to break up the richness from the oil. Plus, it tastes good.
I dunk a mushroom, pop it in my mouth, and chew. “Rory’s here,” I tell her around my food, then swallow. She starts to respond, but I hold up my hand and shake my head. “He has kids.”
“Fuuuck.” She drawls out the word.
Fuck is right. “Twin baby girls. Mollie and Macie. They’re the sweetest things ever. And he joined the Lords. Did you know that?”
“I don’t exactly hang out in the same circles as the Brimstone Lords, so no.” Brighton is so pretty with her long, wavy, coffee-brown hair. She has these delicate features and the most interesting brown eyes with a hint of yellow. I know why I’m still single. Men are scum and can’t be trusted. But I can’t believe she’s still single. She’s never been damaged by love. She’s never even tried for it.
“He just enrolled them at the daycare,” I tell her, shoving another large bite into my mouth. Normally, I’m not this garish; it’s him, or rather the stress of seeing him again, that’s turned me into a boar.
“Got that,” she replies. “Listen, I need to be honest with you.” She picks up her bottle taking a hearty swig before ever saying another word. Yes. I’ve known this woman all our lives and she is stalling.
I swallow my catfish bite hard. An opener like that means I’m not going to like what she says. “Okay, sock it to me,” I tell her.
“I knew Rory was in town. Cross my heart swear I didn’t know about the lords.” She uses her finger to swish a cross over her chest. “I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn’t come home… and Frankie, you’ve been away for so long. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. But you should’ve told me. Thornbriar’s not that big.”
“I know. I’m a selfish hag. He’s been seen—that can’t be undone. The question is, what are we gonna do about it?”
Do? Aren’t we currently doing something? I’m drowning my sorrows in greasy fried food and booze—well technically not booze. One drink doesn’t equal drowning. That comes later after we’ve both made it safely home and aren’t leaving the house until tomorrow. I thought she understood. All I know is that once we’ve consumed every last bite of food on the table, I need to undo my pants, and I’m ready to really get my drinking on.
We split the check, and Brighton heads to the cashier while I pull on my jacket and collect my purse. We head to our cars. I send her home to dig up some jammies and a blanket for me because I plan on getting so drunk, I have to crash on her sofa, while I, of course, head to the liquor store.
I’m in the whiskey aisle perusing the shelves for the Seven Crown, my cart already half full with three two-liters of 7-Up and three jars of maraschino cherries, so ready to erase any errant thoughts of the sexy Scotsman that I don’t see them until it’s too late.
Elise Hollister and Caitlin Brennen-Ellis. Daycare moms. And funnily enough, Lord old ladies. These sweet, easygoing, educated women attached to the club. I don’t know how they do it, or why for that matter. It’s hard enough to put up with a regular man. I’ve heard tales about the biker life.
“Miss Frankie,” Elise calls over to me. “It’s good to see you.”
“Thanks.” As I try to discreetly push past them, she blocks my cart with hers, leaving me with only one option. To play along. “How’s Gun?” I ask, forcing a smile onto my sullen-not-nearly-inebriated-enough-to-deal-with-these-two face.
“He’s with his daddy. Male bonding, so Caity and I decided to have a girls’ night at her place.”
I look over to smile at Caitlin. It’s odd to hear people refer to her as ‘Caity.’ She’s a doctor. “Hi, Caitlin. I suppose Diesel is bonding with his dad, too?”
“Sure is. Lords from birth.” The two women crack up laughing, as if that’s supposed to mean something to me. “Jade’s with him too until we get back, and then she’ll come back to the house with me. But it’ll be bedtime, so she won’t see mom getting snockered.”
That’s good, I suppose. “Well,” I say to wrap this up. I’ve got drinking to get on as well. “It was good seeing you.”
“Wait,” both women say at once. Elise throws her hand out in front of her for effect. She’s the one to continue. “How do you know Scotch?”
“Scotch?” I
ask. I don’t know a Scotch. Could she be referring to—“Do you mean Rory?” Great. I’ll never stop thinking about him now.
“Rory?” Caitlin asks. “His real name is Rory? That’s amazing. I’m so calling him that when I see him.”
“No. You can’t,” I plead. They look at me like I’ve ripped the heads off their Barbie dolls. “He’ll know I talked about him. Please don’t. For me. I know we don’t know each other well, but please.”
“Okay, we won’t,” Elise readily agrees. My heart grows lighter. “If you tell us why you looked like you’d been kicked in the gut when you saw him this morning.”
Well, there goes the light heart. “I can’t.”
“Oh, girl, you so can. We need to know this story.”
I could fight it. But the fact remains, I don’t know these women well enough to discern if they’re being truthful about ratting me out or blowing smoke up my ass. I sigh and ask, “You promise?”
Both women nod and give their verbal yeses.
“We dated a very long time ago.”
“How long?” Caitlin asks.
“About eight years. I met him in Lexington when I moved there to take care of my ailing mamaw. He’d only been in the country a few months. I mean, it’s not hard to see why I fell for a man like him,” I ramble on.
“You fell for him?” Elise leans way close to me like I’ve just given her the best secret she’s ever heard in her life.
Shoot. Why couldn’t I be more careful with my words? Yet another reason to prove the universe hates me.
“Yeah. We dated for two years.”
“What happened?” Elise again.
“We broke up.”
Scotch: Unraveled (Brimstone Lords MC Book 4) Page 2
