Scotch: Unraveled (Brimstone Lords MC Book 4)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  “In my defense, she never tried to contact me. To tell me she was pregnant or that they’d been born.”

  “How could she not tell you?” Judgement gone. Oh yeah, she’s giving me my in if I play this right.

  “That, I have no answer for,” I reply, hefting a baby carrier on the desk instead of keeping Macie on the ground next to my feet. She dropped them off and said they were my problem now.”

  Frankie unhooks Macie, who stills her crying in Frankie’s arms. “Did your mommy not take care of you?” she asks the babe.

  I unhook Mollie and pick her up. She cuddles against my neck. “Yar with me now, little ones. I promise to take care of ya.”

  That’s when a sigh resonates from around the room. I look up from my girl to see half of Frankie’s coworkers staring at us.

  “Listen, if you need help figuring out a nursery, I’d be glad to help. The babies need a room. They need toys and beds.”

  “Thank you, Frankie. Does yar car have a back seat?”

  “Yesss,” she says slowly as if she doesn’t trust me.

  “Would you want to take me, Mollie and Macie to pick up my new truck?”

  She bounces Macie and leans her chin down to kiss the top of her head. “Be here when I get off work at six. I’ll take you to the dealership. We have an extra crib here you can borrow, then Saturday we can drive into the city to find proper beds and whatever else you’ll need. Have you considered a color scheme?”

  “Color scheme? You do remember I’m a biker? We don’t consider color schemes.”

  “Think about it. We can stop at the home store for paint.”

  I’ll think about it tomorrow. The only thing I’ll be thinking about for the rest of the day is how to get her to have dinner with me and getting her out of her panties. If anything can help set my head straight, it’s a night with the beautiful Francesca Cardone.

  4.

  Frankie

  Promptly at six, which I totally didn’t expect, Rory shows up. He smiles. However, it’s not one of his flirty smiles. This one’s genuinely friendly. Before he even asks me a question, he walks over to where the girls are playing on a mat and bends down to pick first Mollie up. He kisses her head.

  Even though he still looks so unsure of himself, I can see he’s trying. Next he bends down to lift Macie into his arms, kissing the top of her head, too.

  “How’re my little ones today? Did ya miss yar old da?” he asks them and I watch as the girls snuggle down against his chest in the same spot I used to snuggle against when we were together. Whether we were in bed after making love or lying on the sofa watching television, that was always his most comfortable snuggle spot.

  Only then does he turn to me. “How’s Macie’s rash?”

  “It’s looking much better. You’ll want to give her a good soaking in the tub when you get home, then reapply the ointment. But you’re doing well.”

  He pops out a surprising laugh. “Well? I’ll be lucky if the lasses don’t end up in therapy. But I can honestly tell ya I’m trying my best here. Seems their mother forgot to drop off the product care manual and maintenance schedule.”

  God, I’m going to have to be careful around this man. With the sincerity shining through his deep, soulful eyes as he shows me a bit of his vulnerability, I have to fight the urge to run my hands through that thick, wavy ginger hair so I can pull his head down to kiss me. We’ve hardly spent any time in the same room, yet he’s bringing back all these old feelings. Feelings I thought I’d long let go of.

  “Should we get going?” I ask, plucking Mollie from his arms because I think he needs a little more one-on-one time with Macie.

  “Yeah, lead the way.”

  I slip the jacket on the baby girl in my arms, then hook her into her car seat, while he takes care of the other. Then he packs up their bag and slings it over his shoulder. He signs the girls out and picks up the carriers.

  When I offer to take one, he waves me off. “I got it, but thanks.”

  Who is this man? My Rory never said thanks for anything other than an amazing orgasm. I always knew he was thankful, but he rarely expressed it, other than with a kiss to the temple. And he never apologized. For anything. Ever.

  We walk out to my car. I bleep the locks. He takes one side while I take the other and we buckle the girls in at the same time. He finishes first, walks around to my side of the vehicle, plucks the keys from my pocket and climbs in the driver’s side, adjusting the seat back before I even have the back door closed. He adjusts the rearview mirror before I take the two steps to smack him on the back of his head for taking my keys. The hardheaded man doesn’t flinch.

  Rory smiles an irresistible smile at me instead, the same one that got him into my pants on more than one occasion when we were younger. Only, back then, I couldn’t have taken my eyes off his pearly whites if I tried. Today, I’m older, wiser, and weary of falling for his charms again, so I force myself to look away. The weird thing is, even though his smile is aimed at me, his gaze is directed across the lot behind me, and it doesn’t match his easygoing demeanor. He’s fixated enough to get me to look over my shoulder, but when I do there’s nothing there aside from the bright red dumpster. When I turn back, his eyes are with me again and Mr. Smooth intercepts my wrist, kisses my knuckle, and orders me, “Get in.”

  And there it is, that Rory-ness. That thing that is simply him. He’s not trying to be slick, he never had to be. He’s just being… Rory. Knowing this, knowing the way he gets to me has always gotten to me, I’d love for someone to let me know why I don’t go running for the hills. Why instead, for some reason that I haven’t figured out yet, I walk around the car—my car—and climb into the passenger seat. It’s ludicrous.

  “What were you looking at?” I ask. “Just then?” Using my thumbs, I shift in the seat to point to the dumpster.

  He shakes his head. “It was nothing—I don’t think anyway. Let’s go get the truck.” Rory starts the car, shifting into gear and rolls out.

  We spend the next fifteen minutes listening to the classic rock station on a volume soothing to the ears of the little girls in the backseat while he drives us to the next town over. The leaves have started changing interspersing with the greenery still clinging to life, that along with the mountains makes this one of the most beautiful stretches of road in the county.

  Staring blissfully out the window gives me time to think. Rory MacGregor and soft decibels doesn’t compute. He always wanted his music loud. The man only fucked to Ozzy. That’s not this man. As he turns into the Dodge dealership, I smile to myself realizing that I don’t know this Rory MacGregor at all.

  “You good with the girls while I get the keys?” he asks, using those clear blue eyes to bore into my soul even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it. Shoot.

  “Yes,” I answer quickly because I need to get him out of the car. How long has he been this new Rory? Years or since the girls came to live with him? Space. Distance. That’s what I need. Space and distance.

  “Why don’t you and the girls follow me back to town afterward,” he says. “Let us take you out to dinner to say thanks. You always liked steak. How about the Roadhouse?”

  This is the point where I should say no. It’s hard to put space and distance between us if I say yes, not to mention unprofessional to go out to dinner with a parent from the daycare. And there’s the little fact that he broke my heart so badly before that I’ve never allowed myself to fall for another man since. But the kindness he shines on me…

  I should say it’s a ride and nothing else. I should say I’ll help him set up a nursery for the girls and nothing else. I should say and do all this, yet even as I think it, I know that’s not going to happen. Not with Rory.

  “Sure.” The word falls from my mouth with ease. “The Roadhouse sounds great.”

  He smiles again, brushes his finger along my cheek, and walks away, leaving me with the girls. About fifteen minutes later, he walks out and jangles the keys. I assume that means he’s
ready to leave. I hadn’t even moved back to the driver’s seat yet, which I do. Having to readjust both the seat position, because I couldn’t even reach the pedal, and the mirror. Engine started, I wait.

  Rory climbs behind the wheel of a brand new, giant, silver pickup and rolls out first, with me following close behind him. We make the drive back to Thornbriar and head in the direction of the Roadhouse. My stomach growls in anticipation of a dinner with Rory as much as actual hunger.

  After he parks, I pull up into the spot next to his. We each go for a carrier and walk inside the restaurant looking every bit like the family I wanted with him so many years ago. And even though he’s holding one of the girls, he pulls a chair out for me to set Macie down on, then pulls one for me and finally Mollie before seating himself.

  When the waiter comes to our table Rory orders a beer and me my cherry 7 and 7.

  “Did Elise or Caitlin tell you I like those?” I ask.

  The stilted look on his face tells me he’s taken offense to my question. “Because we didn’t date for two years?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “So ya’ve forgotten everything about me? How I like my eggs? My favorite drink? What helps me feel better when I’m sick?”

  Shoot. He’s got me on that. I remember everything. Everything that made up Rory MacGregor during our time together.

  Instead of letting him in on that little secret, because of what it says about me and how much he meant to me, I simply say, “Thank you.”

  “Still eat yar steaks mooing?” he asks as our drinks arrive and he takes it upon himself to order for the both of us. Steaks. Baked potatoes. Onion blooms. Creamed spinach. Salad. Artichoke dip to start. Oh yeah, he remembers everything.

  “No better way,” I respond, and in return, I get his glorious laughter.

  Once the waiter leaves the table Rory takes a pull from his beer and says, “Tell me then, how long ya been here?”

  “A few months now. You remember I’m originally from here.”

  “Aye, I remember,” he says with a head nod. One might think he’s the epitome of composure the way he sits slouched on the chair, one bent arm over the back. Hell, I’d even think that if he weren’t picking at the paper on his bottle of beer, tearing little strips off the label to litter the table. “Ya got a place of yar own or ya staying with Brighton?”

  “You remember Brighton?” Shock doesn’t begin to cover my reaction. I mean, she’s been my best friend my whole life and came up for visits. We’d talked on the phone like every night. But it’s not as if he’d spent oodles of time with her.

  “Hard to forget a woman like Brighton. That woman laughed at fucking everything; so loud I heard her through the phone like she was standing in the room with us. Never met a woman who laughed so much—except when she saw me around town.”

  How do I respond to that? He can’t blame her. She’s mine, therefore, takes my side in breakups. It’s written on the first page of the best friend’s handbook. Not to mention we’re here, having a good time. Anything I say in her defense will lead to an argument.

  Instead, I push a forced smile over my lips and sip my drink, wincing at the pop of fizz going up my nose. “I have a tiny apartment at The Colonies.”

  “Nice complex,” he says. “Expensive.”

  “Expensive is right. But they had a studio available and I needed a place to live. I’d like to eventually buy a house.”

  The waitress drops our appetizer between us and it’s the only reason I can think of to pull my eyes from his, and I need to. My head is so messed up being here, sitting across from him, waiting for our dinners, a scenario that played out so many times in our two years together.

  My heart feels like its racing a million goddam miles a minute.

  After I scoop some of the artichoke dip onto my plate and shove a packed chip into my mouth, that’s when I chance a look at Rory and the look on his face rips a hole in every one of my defense mechanisms. The ones I’d built around my heart since the day Rory crushed it so thoroughly. The ones I kept in place in case I ever ran into him again, and the ones I kept in place to keep other men at arm’s length. He knows what I’m thinking without need for anymore words.

  Maybe I should’ve paid better attention to eating. Without chewing near enough, I swallow too soon and start to choke on the bite. I sip on my water to help force the food down while Rory shoots out of his seat to pat me on the back. Macie startles from the sudden movement shaking the table and scrunches her face up to cry. Up until now both girls had moved between smiling and gurgling, bouncing with baby fist pumps and kicky-legs each time the waiter approached the table to droopy-eyes and nodding off with the lull in activity.

  Each contact from his hand burns a path of embarrassment straight through me, I feel so stupid. They could shove me in a lighthouse to guide ships home, I’m lit up so brightly, and I push up from the table.

  “Excuse me,” I manage to choke out before I fast-walk to the ladies’ room. I seem to be having these moments a lot lately—running from the man I used to love.

  Once I hit the restroom, slamming and locking the door behind me, a horrible sob escapes my throat. I knew when I bolted from the table is wasn’t about embarrassment. It’s what it was always about, what it always will be about. Rory seeing to my needs. Taking care of me. Being a good man and a good father. God, I’m being such a romance movie girl right now. But he hurt me so badly. Coming here was a mistake, but if I go back out there like this, he’ll know how bad he gutted me when he took his love away. He doesn’t get that from me. Never again.

  If I’d meant to him what he’d meant to me, he’d have come after me all those years ago. He’d have held me in his arms and told me how he couldn’t imagine a life without me in it. But he didn’t do any of that. And I know he never would. Now he’s got the girls to love and protect. Club women to scratch his itches and beautiful baby girls to lavish his love upon.

  Okay—so, I have to pull myself together. Calm down. Put a smile on my face. It’s just dinner with an old friend. That’s it. Even I can do dinner with an old friend. It’ll be fine. I bend over the sink to splash cold water on my face. Me and Rory, and two beautiful girls. This was my dream eight years ago. But the more cold water I splash on my face, the more slow, cleansing breaths I take, the better I feel.

  There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

  “Just a minute,” I call, then check my face in the mirror before I go back to the table.

  Life took us un different directions. Remember that, Frankie. This is two old friends catching up. Feeling ready, I unlatch the lock and throw the door open to see Rory holding the girls.

  “Christ, woman. I thought ya were dying in here.”

  “No, I’m fine. Just embarrassed that I can’t hold my artichoke dip,” I reply, trying to laugh it off, grabbing Mollie from his arms. I couldn’t have felt any stupider standing here if I were naked wearing a crown of chicken feathers on my head.

  “Yeah, well—yar cut off, then.”

  “Come on, princess,” I say to the baby. “Let’s go eat steak.”

  We walk back to the table and I’m able to get through the rest of the meal without being a spazz. The food tastes melt-in-your-mouth incredible, and so long as I keep myself removed slightly, our conversation flows.

  Again, I do my best to avoid looking at him, shooting my gaze over his shoulder when I talk or fussing with the girls when he asks a question. But being back to this is better than being a blubbering mess.

  At the end of the meal while he pays, I begin to bundle the girls in their jackets and hook them in their carriers. Rory said this was a ‘thank you’ meal, so I don’t even offer to pay. Then, once the waitress returns with his credit card and receipt, we’re done. I’ll see him when he brings the girls to daycare, of course. And I had offered to help him fix up the nursery, but that needs to be the extent of it.

  “If you follow me back to the daycare, I’ll help you load that crib. You’ll
want two, but it’s big enough to sleep both girls for now. Then you can get off the floor,” I tell him as we walk out to our cars. We pause so I can hold the door open for him as he’s carrying both girls again. Then, once we’re in the parking lot, I take Mollie’s carrier for him so he can fish his keys out and wait as he unlocks and opens the door.

  Rory hefts Macie in first, buckling the baby securely in the back. This man… he blows my mind. He didn’t even have enough diapers that second day when he brought the girls in by himself. Now he’s buckling a baby in the backseat like he’s been doing it for years. “I can’t tell ya how much I appreciate this,” he says, and I swat his words away like they’re nothing.

  Then, because I’m a train wreck of a human being around this man, I hear myself saying, “Well, it’s hard to entertain those club ladies with the babies on the floor.”

  His eyes, I swear, grow three sizes as he chokes back an uncomfortable gasp before they go soft on me, crinkling at the corners. I guess neither of us expected that to come out of my mouth.

  “Frankie,” he says, his voice softens, too and he takes a step forward, lifting his free hand to—I don’t know—touch me, maybe?

  “Whelp.” I cut him off, shoving Mollie’s carrier into his hands between us. “I’ll see you back at the daycare.” I feel completely stupid and overwhelmed by all that is Rory being so close, saying my name in that soft tone I got used to all those years ago. It killed me when I no longer heard it. To hear it now, it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. Like I’m not really here right now with the man who shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces, like I’m only watching from the sidelines. I spin to run to my car like the winner that I am—not.