Heated Ride: Hellions Motorcycle Club (The Hellions Ride Series Book 7) Page 7

  I start to reply, but his hand comes up in the air to stop me. “Say nothing. Think on the road before you. Think on what you see when you think of the end of the road. If you need a place to stay here, you got one. If your ol’ lady or your kids need something, just say the word, brother. We’ve got you.”

  “Roundman, thanks.” I pause. “Thanks, and I don’t just mean for this, but for everything all along.”

  “Long time ago, a young man and his young woman were in a small car, riding down a busted road in the pouring rain. My bike had blown a tire. I was waiting for Frisco and Danza to come back with a truck to haul her home when these strangers stopped.” His eyes meet mine. “I laid her down that day. I had one of those moments when you crash and the world is falling around you. I sent the boys back and stayed so I could have a moment to put my head back on straight. I was drowning that day, but not just in the rain.

  “Your path led you into mine. You didn’t have to stop that day. Shit, brother, I can’t say that, with my woman in the car, I would’ve done the same thing. Nevertheless, you did, and you did it with no expectation of anything in return. That shows the man you are.” He reaches out and pokes my chest harshly. “Don’t get lost in the moment of today and forget where you came from and, more importantly, where you’re headed.”

  Before I can take in all he’s said or come up with a reply, he walks away.

  Where am I headed?

  Home.

  Dread fills me. What will I find when I get there?

  My path was meant to lead me to the Hellions. In the club, I found the family I lost when my mother died. I found brothers I never had and father figures who were better than the bastard who left me behind.

  I brought Jenna with me. Julio and I put her on the plane and got her to us. We set her on this path. And now I have left her to find her own way without me. Is that right? Am I the man Roundman just described? I don’t know. I shouldn’t have told her what I was feeling. Surely, I could find a way to make myself feel again. Then again, what if I can’t?

  My life has suddenly taken a left turn on an unmarked road. I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Roundman says don’t forget where you’re headed … However, I can’t see beyond the moment to know what the future holds.

  The sound of his Harley pulling up catches my attention. I know the day is here and the time is coming, but I am no readier for it than I was two days ago.

  I want to run outside and cut his tires. I want to shove him, punch him, rip his nails off with pliers, and every other painful thing imaginable.

  During the time apart when he’s called, I maintained my composure. For my kids, I made sure to keep things as normal as I could. They don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know how to tell them just yet.

  As soon as the kids went to sleep each night, I sobbed into my pillow. Picking up the pieces is hard to do when I never thought I would have to. My entire existence has been wrapped up in being his wife for so long I never imagined a day when we wouldn’t be together, when we wouldn’t be in love. Yet, here we are.

  “Papi’s home!” RJ cries out, and his two sisters come from their room to rush to the front door with him.

  Emotions fill me. The hard shell I have tried to build over this weekend is ready to crumble already. My entire world has crashed around me, and I somehow have to be the strong one who finds a way to be nice to him in front of my children.

  He is and always will be my children’s father. There will be a place in our home and in our lives for him no matter what. But how do we navigate this? How do we find a way to co-parent? Can we manage to co-exist?

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I, too, go to the door to wait for the father of my babies to make his way inside.

  “Dame fuerza.” I beg for strength to get through the evening.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the door just as Ruben makes his way up the steps. I am strong, I remind myself as he looks at me and our eyes meet. There is a pain in the depths of them that I can feel as he makes his way inside our home.

  Stopping in the doorway, he kisses the top of each of our children’s heads. Then, making his way to me, he stops and kisses my cheek.

  Awkward. I don’t know what to say, what to feel, or what to do.

  Whispering, I remind Ruben of our situation, “You can’t take it back.”

  He steps back and just looks at me while I remain strong, fighting back my need to cry. Once the stone is thrown, it can’t be un-thrown. Once the words are spoken, they can’t be taken back. He can’t come in here like nothing has happened.

  “Mami made menudo for dinner,” Mariella informs as she makes her way into the kitchen to finish setting the table, breaking the moment between us.

  “Looks like I’m home just in time,” Ruben replies.

  I want to scream. Home! Does he really think this is home? Does he think we can simply move on after he told me he isn’t in love with me? How can we have a home with no real love?

  I watch as our children scurry to the kitchen to get ready to eat while he makes his way inside, carrying his travel bag.

  Home! It burns deep inside me. Down to my soul, I feel the pain. How can this be home?

  Taking his bag into our room, he surprises me when he doesn’t come out in his usual sweats, but instead, stays in his jeans, T-shirt, and cut. We sit down without a word shared between us.

  As he eats the Mexican soup, he looks to me with unspoken questions. What? Did he really think I would be the welcoming party?

  Oh, yes, dear, thank you for returning from doing God knows what with God knows who. I’m just thankful to have you here. Please just stomp on my heart, kill the life we’ve built together, but as long as you make your way back, it’s all okay.

  He’s smoking crack if he thinks like that.

  Dinner passes with me barely able to eat. Then the children move about their nighttime routines as if nothing is happening.

  Hold it together, I tell myself.

  For them, I can get through this. I have held it together the last few days all by myself as I have tried to figure out my future. I can remain rock solid for them for a little while longer. However, once they go to sleep, Ruben and I need to have a very important conversation.

  The one that begins with, ‘It’s over, so now we must find a way to begin again.’

  Picking Up the Pieces

  “Jenna,” I begin once the kids are quiet and I’m confident that comes from them being sound asleep.

  She looks at me. Her once tired eyes look completely exhausted. I caused her that level of pain.

  Guilt eats at me as I pat the couch beside me, hoping she will sit. However, she shakes her head and paces our small living room.

  Pausing in her stride, she looks at me. “We have to find a new way to go on.”

  I nod, lacing my hands together, resting my elbows on my knees, and looking at the carpet beneath me. “What have you told the children?”

  She gives a sharp, half-laugh that is sarcastic. “Nothing. I can’t wrap my own head around it enough to have words to give our kids.”

  Looking up, I catch her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  She blinks. “Sorry? You’re sorry? Ruben, do you know how sorry I am?” There is sharpness in her tone, but she doesn’t yell. “I have no idea what to tell the kids. I don’t know what to do next.”

  I think while she stands there, looking at me for answers.

  “Let’s just try to see if we can get the spark back,” I suggest, believing in all honesty that it could happen.

  Tears fall down her face. “You think you’re gonna live here when I know you aren’t in love with me anymore? You think I can just forget it?”

  “No, no, not forget, but we can work on things.”

  Tossing her hands up in frustration, she looks at the wall behind me. “Do you know what I can’t let go of?” She can’t even look at me right now, and I think that hurts the worst. “I can’t get past the hesitation. You see, Ruben,
it wasn’t the words, although I must say those cut like a knife. It was the pause you took to think about your answer. If you asked me, ‘do you love me?’ without question, without fail, I could answer that, through it all, yes, I do. You couldn’t do that.”

  Taking a deep breath, I try to find the words to soothe her. “What do you want me to say? I can’t take it back. You know it and I know it. We’re in this place, a tipping point. Maybe we can tip the scales back in our favor.”

  She puts her hand on her hip and stares at me. “Do you think I can work on anything knowing you aren’t in love with me anymore? Knowing we had it and we lost it, and I can’t even for the life of me figure out where it all went wrong?” She moves closer, never raising her voice. “For two days”—she holds up two fingers for emphasis—“two days, Ruben, I have sat here, racking my brain. Forty-eight hours, I have spent trying to find the thing I did wrong, the moment in time where it all fell apart. Do you know what I figured out?”

  I stand and reach out, only to have her pull away, staying out of my grasp. “No, Jenna, I don’t know what you figured out when I can’t figure it out for myself.”

  “I am not the same woman you married; that’s what I figured out.”

  Things look up. She can see where I’m coming from. I have this glimpse of hope.

  “No, Vida, you’re not.”

  “And you, Ruben Castillo, are not the man I married.”

  Well, if that isn’t a blow to my ego as she throws my own hang ups back at me … She’s right, though. I’m not the man she married.

  She continues, “We grow. We change. We either do it together, or we do it apart. The time has come when we do it apart.” The tears continue to fall, but the firm look on her face shows me she is serious.

  “Is this what you want?”

  She wipes her eyes with her hands and pauses. “What I want …? What I want is for my husband to love me for better or worse. What I want is to raise my children in a home where, day in and day out, they get to see and experience the real love of a man and a woman the way it should be.”

  “I want that, too.”

  “Do you really? The last time I asked you if you were in love with me, the answer was not in line with that. If I asked again, would your answer change?”

  This is not anything like I expected my return to be. I stop and think. Would my answer change? I can’t say it would. It’s only been two days, during which I was gone.

  “I don’t want you to answer that question again,” she continues when I am quiet for too long. “I don’t want a lot of things. I don’t want to feel less than. I don’t want to simply be with you because it would be easier or it would take the burden of guilt off your back. I don’t want to, as you say, ‘work on things’ and have it translate into me walking on eggshells around you, my husband, the man who should love me unconditionally.”

  Her words rock me, and I sit back down, dropping my head into my hands. “You want me to leave?”

  “One of us has to. I can take the kids and stay with Boomer and Pam until I can sort something out for us. It’s not fair to either of us to try to make this work when I can’t make you love me, and I’m not going to worry about, if dinner isn’t just right, will that be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I have too much to worry about with raising my children.”

  “Our children,” I interject. “You aren’t alone in this, Jenna. I’ll still be here.”

  She looks at me, and I can see the fight in her. “You will be … for them.”

  I stand again and go to her. She doesn’t move, so I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. “And for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

  She cries quietly while I hold her, feeling like I’m dying inside from doing this to her, to us. When she pulls away, I look down at her swollen, red eyes and fight back the emotions swimming inside me.

  “I’ll stay at the compound. You and the kids stay here. Lock up the house, and Boomer is down the street if something happens. I’ll come back tomorrow after work. We’ll figure out what to tell the kids, and I’ll help you get them ready for bed.”

  She sniffles and nods her head in agreement. I guess we are getting somewhere, even if that somewhere is farther apart.

  Oddly enough, having settled some things with Ruben, I feel like I am getting my head around all of this. At the end of the day, he can’t stay here. We can’t fake it until we make it. To do so wouldn’t be fair to either of us, and it would only succeed in drawing out the inevitable. Our children deserve better than that.

  Picking up his duffle bag, I move to our room. I’m not sure of the laundry situation at the duplexes on the compound, so I simply put his dirty clothes in our hamper like I have for so long. Then, opening the bag, I help my husband pack to leave.

  I’m not sure what would be harder: packing my own stuff and the kids or packing him, knowing this is it. We are really separating. We have really made it to the place of no return.

  It feels all wrong … Then again, I don’t know of any couple who gets married with the intention of splitting up.

  Not long after we start packing, we are finished, knowing Ruben will be back for more things at a different time yet having enough to get by for now.

  At the front door, I don’t know what to do or say.

  Stepping out onto the porch, Ruben turns and looks at me. “I never meant for this to hurt you.”

  Sighing, I whisper, “I don’t know of anyone who has been together as long as we have whoever did anything with the intention of hurting their partner. It just happens. We’ll get through this.” I force a smile. “A bump in the road.”

  I see the pain in his eyes, and I find satisfaction in the fact that he is hurting, too.

  Before he makes it to the end of the porch, I step back then shut and lock the door. Leaning against the doorframe, I wonder if anything will ever feel right again.

  How can I find it in myself to trust in anything again? I believed in us. I believed in forever and happily ever after. In less time than it took to build my marriage, it was broken, and I’m left to pick up the pieces. I guess this is step one.

  With that in mind, I take the first physical step to my bedroom. One, two, three, four, five … One foot in front of the other, I will keep going.

  Lying in bed, I count the tasks to be done tomorrow. One, I will wake up and face a new day. Two, I will get my kids up and ready for school. Three, I will pack my lunch and go to work, a job I am more grateful for by the minute. Without my job, I would have even more to worry about with my marriage falling apart. Four, I will make a budget to ensure I can provide for me and the kids without relying on Ruben.

  He’s a good provider, but everything is changing between us. I can’t guarantee his support for myself or my children. They didn’t ask to be born, and they didn’t ask for us to separate, so I’m going to bust my butt to make sure they feel the effects of this as little as possible.

  Continuing my mental bullet points of tasks, I decide I need to come up with what to tell the kids concerning our situation. At some point, I will need to reach out to Ruben to determine if he plans to eat dinner and go on with nighttime routines with us for a while or just for tomorrow. If he’s going to eat here, I need to plan meals accordingly, which will, in turn, cause me to have to adjust my budget for having another mouth to feed.

  My mind goes over the many things I need to get done until I finally drift into a restless sleep. When day breaks, I get up before my alarm, needing to give myself time to face the day alone before having the responsibility of motherhood weighing me down further.

  I can do this. Day one of finding and remaking myself is here.

  With that in mind, I step out of my room and into the kitchen. As if nothing has changed, I make my children breakfast. Today, they get oatmeal. It’s certainly not their favorite, but I have a long day with a lot to get done; therefore, I need something easy this morning.

  Luckily for me, they are used to Ruben keeping
strange hours with the runs, so when he isn’t around this morning, they don’t ask me any questions. I don’t know what to tell them yet. I can’t even bring myself to say the D-word.

  Will we really get divorced? I have more questions than answers, and I’m pretty sure even Ruby doesn’t know. At least I have this break, and tonight, Ruben can help me tackle our explanation.

  This morning, I will be thankful for small miracles.

  ***

  After a semi-normal day at work, I am home and trying to sort my mind for dinner. I change into my house clothes of an old T-shirt and lounge pants. Then, walking into the kitchen, I breathe. My sanctuary.

  I love to cook. I love being in the kitchen. I love preparing a hot meal for my family.

  Family.

  What does that mean now?

  Moving around, I gather things to make Mexican rice and chicken for dinner. Dicing the onion, I feel like I am cutting my heart, and I fight back the tears that aren’t caused by my task at hand.

  I have to tell my children that everything they have found security in, everything we have found security in is gone. How can I rebuild for them?

  The steady tick of the Harley pulling up in our driveway spikes my anxiety even higher. Ruben then makes his way inside while my children don’t hide their excitement of seeing their father.

  Continuing to focus on dinner, I try to find the words in my head to be able to explain this to my kids, but I draw a blank. How can I help them make sense of something I have yet to figure out?

  When Ruben comes to me and places his arm around my hip like he has so many times before, I want to vomit. Fighting my emotions, I shake my head at him.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Jenna,” he whispers into my ear. “I didn’t mean for it to be this way.”

  I choke back a sob. What does he want me to say?

  I continue to shake my head. I need him not to touch me. I need him not to try to take this back. He did this to us. He can’t kill me figuratively then think it’s all going to be okay somehow. Magic like that doesn’t exist.