Merciless Ride Page 9

  Secrets Revealed

  Something is going on. Shooter came home after my shift last week and moved us all into his house. This whole ‘club business’ shit gets real old, real quick. Not that I need to know every detail, but when my safety is an issue to the point that I have to uproot my son and my mother to protect them, then damn, some information would be helpful. Granted, I haven’t come right out and asked questions either. Would Shooter give me answers or shut me out?

  I can’t complain, or at least, I shouldn’t; Shooter is keeping us safe. His house is amazing with the three bedrooms, two full bathrooms, and the family room with a fireplace a girl could fall in love with. His kitchen is a dream to cook in, and he has a full dining room with a table that could seat eight. Everything about his place screams family home, yet he lives here comfortably alone.

  The rooms and door jams are wide, easily accommodating Momma’s wheelchair when she needs it. Shooter, ever the gentleman, has moved to his empty room on an air mattress so Momma could have his room with the bathroom connected. He was sleeping on the couch the first couple of nights, although I tried to get him to let us all share one room. I would’ve given Momma the bed and slept on the floor with Axel, but since he wouldn’t let us do that, I went and bought the air mattress and set it up for him two nights ago.

  Axel is on a cot in the second bedroom, something Shooter had stored in his garage. With Shooter being ex-Army, Axel is obsessed now with becoming a soldier like him. He thinks sleeping on a cot in our room here is the coolest. The room is void of decorations. The cot doesn’t get in the way since the space only houses a bed, small dresser, and single nightstand. Everything is minimal.

  Honestly, out of the nine nights we have stayed here, Shooter has ended up in his guest bed with me. Too bad needing to be strong for my son doesn’t keep the nightmares at bay. I end up crying out in the middle of the night or waking up in a panic. No matter how quiet I try to stay, it’s like Shooter can sense it. He ends up holding me until I fall back asleep.

  There is something about him that soothes me. He carries himself in a collected, calm, and controlled manner at all times; maybe my subconscious is drawn to that. As long as I am wrapped in the safety and comfort of his strong arms, I sleep without waking and without the nightmares.

  Deciding to be as helpful as possible, I have given his already spotless house a spring cleaning. Light fixtures are cleaned, floors scrubbed, and vents dusted. With there being so little furniture cleaning is relatively easy. Feeling like I need to do more, I venture into doing laundry for Shooter. Mistake.

  Don’t ask a question you aren’t prepared for the answer to. Don’t go in a man’s drawers, whether to innocently put laundry away or not, unless you are prepared to pull out some skeletons from his past.

  The black velvet box in his sock drawer is haunting me. I have pulled it out and put it back more times than I can count on both my hands. The soft fabric under my fingers is a firm reminder this was once a gift for someone very special. The temptation to open the tiny box, to test the hinge, to touch the silk lining I am sure is inside, is almost too much to resist. The box is an enticing temptress. I keep going back to it.

  Someone at some point in time meant so much to Shooter that he bought the contents of this box for her. In all the years I have watched Shooter leave the bar, he is mostly alone. The more I think on it, he has never arrived with anyone on his arm. Sure, I have seen him leave with Corinne a couple of times and a few of the other barflies, but Shooter isn’t like the others. He isn’t in your face with his sexual conquests. Someone had him at some point, though: hook, line, and sinker. He was there, ready to give them everything. Why does that pull at me so hard?

  I am fumbling with the object of my curiosity when there is a noise behind me. Shit! I scramble, dropping the box at his feet.

  “Baby, do I even want to know?” Shooter questions gently.

  “Ummm… it’s not what it looks like.” God, I am so stupid. Of course it is exactly what it looks like. I was messing in his personal belongings, only I found it innocently, not because I was intentionally snooping.

  “Can’t say I know what it looks like. How ‘bout we don’t beat around the bush and you just tell me why you had a ring box in your hands in my bedroom?”

  Always honest, always blunt; he never plays games with me. Will he hate me for questioning him? This is beyond any of my business.

  “I found it,” I reply truthfully.

  “Where exactly did you find it?” he questions, picking up the object of my fascination. Opening the box, I see the sparkle of a small, emerald cut diamond engagement ring. “Never mind. I know where you found it.”

  “I wasn’t snooping. I washed your clothes and went to put them away when I came across the box,” I try explaining.

  “Tessie, just drop it.” He closes the box and wraps his hand around it tightly, his eyes appearing haunted. Watching him, my heart breaks.

  “Where is she?” I boldly ask.

  “Dead,” he replies, void of emotion.

  “Shooter—”

  “Drop it, Tessie. It was a long time ago. I’m sorry you found this. Thank you for doing my laundry.” He walks past me, returning the box to his drawer without another word. To further solidify his point that our conversation is over, he walks into his bathroom, closing the door without so much as a glance backwards.

  In this moment, it dawns on me how little I know about this man, a man who has held me at my very worst. What have I done to support him back? Not a damn thing. It’s time for this to change. It is time for me to give to Shooter as much as he gives to me, at least emotionally.

  How do I explain Tracie to Tessie? She would love me saying, ‘I know you can’t sleep until I climb into bed and hold you, but my ex shot herself because of me.’ I am sure Tessie would sleep really well then… not.

  I never thought about her doing my laundry and finding the engagement ring. Hell, I forgot I had the thing. Yet again, Tracie has come back to remind me of what I won’t have.

  Unable to avoid her in my house all night, I take a shower and make my way into the kitchen. Tessie, Claire, and Axel are all at the table working on Axel’s homework.

  “What’s up tonight, Axel?” I ask in my new routine of finding out the daily activities of a first grader.

  “Homework is stupid,” he replies candidly, making me laugh.

  “What’s wrong? Homework is important, not stupid,” I lie, knowing damn well I always thought homework was stupid, too.

  “I gotta do this worksheet, but Mom says I can’t use my answer.”

  When I raise an eyebrow at Tessie in question, she shrugs her shoulders at me and drops her head.

  “What’s the worksheet about?”

  “My Dad, My Hero is what it’s called. The teacher says we can draw a picture of our dad or our hero. Then, tomorrow, we have to stand in front of the class and tell all about our dad or our hero.”

  With two words, my gut twists uncomfortably. How does Tessie deal with this? He has to ask questions. What do the other kids think of Axel? It is not his fault his dad isn’t ready to be a dad and hasn’t been given the opportunity. I need to talk to Tessie about Rex. He needs to know. I will support her through the transition and explanations.

  “What’s your answer, so maybe I can understand what the problem is?” I question, not really sure how to help the situation.

  “You’re my hero, Shooter.”

  His words are a kick in the gut. I am far from being a hero. I look at Tessie as tears fill her eyes, making it obvious they have already had this conversation.

  Axel continues cheerfully, “You make my momma laugh and rest when she’s tired. Momma never gets to be happy. You give that to her, Shooter. That makes you my hero. You take care of my momma. I don’t have a dad that’s around. I’ve never met him. I can’t pick my dad so I have to pick my hero. Momma says my hero can’t be about her though. She says I can’t draw you, but I already did.

/>   “Momma takes care of everything, and I mean everything. She cleans my room, she makes me food, and she makes sure I get a bath so I’m not the smelly kid at school. No one takes care of Momma till you. Tell her you’re my hero, Shooter. Tell Momma I can leave it like it is.”

  Looking at Tessie, I see the tears roll down her face. Claire is wiping her eyes as I look at the bright blue gaze of the little boy at my table, pleading with me to make it okay for me to be his hero.

  Walking over, I put my hand on Axel’s shoulder and nod at Tessie so she realizes I am going to give in. How can you say no when his reasoning is out of love for his mother? She is raising a smart, little man. A strong, little boy who knows what he sees, what he feels, and doesn’t hold back. A little boy I could only dream of having for a son one day. To be his hero is an honor greater than anything I have ever had.

  “You can leave it, buddy.”

  Really not wanting to do anything to upset her, he looks to Tessie for reassurance, and she nods her head in agreement. She has raised him all on her own to be this amazing, little boy. Does she see what a wonderful job she has done? Probably not. No one has been there to support her and show her just how great she is doing. What would things be like if Rex were in the picture?

  The decision made about his homework, we clear the table of schoolwork to sit down for dinner together. Thinking this day couldn’t have any more emotional challenges, we all get a little too comfortable. Tessie is cleaning the kitchen after dessert while Axel takes a bath when the rumble of a Harley coming up my driveway draws my attention outside. Thinking it is most likely Boomer, I don’t react to it. Going to the front door, I open it to find Rex pulling up.

  Fuck! I step out on my wraparound porch and shut the front door. Leaning against the railing, I wait for my brother to dismount. I meet him at the bottom step, hoping to ward off any thoughts he has of inviting himself inside.

  “Shooter, I came by to check on Tessie.”

  “She’s fine. Thanks for stopping by,” I try dismissing him.

  “I’ve tried callin’ her. She won’t answer me. I wanna talk to her.”

  “Tonight’s not a good night. Tomorrow don’t look good, either.”

  The audacity of him to show up here now is appalling. He’s had his chance to step up and be a man. He should have been the one to claim her, but he didn’t. Now he comes to my fuckin’ house to mess with her head? Hell no!

  I don’t get a chance to dismiss him again. The front door flies open behind me right before a pajama clad Axel runs out.

  “Shooter, time for my bedtime story!” he excitedly announces our new routine.

  I watch as the recognition dawns on Rex’s face.

  “Fuck!” he roars, his tone stopping Axel in his tracks.

  Brother No More

  Rex’s yell draws my attention to the front door. Stepping to the porch, I watch as the man who has captivated my mind, body, and soul for years recognizes the little boy on the bottom step. There is no denying who fathered Axel, never has been. He came out looking like the spitting image of Rex.

  “Axel, come inside,” I instruct, because my son’s face is full of fear at the rage rolling off Rex.

  Thankfully, my boy listens and takes off into the house to find my mom. I stand on the porch numbly as I watch Rex ball up his fist and swing, connecting with Shooter’s jaw. I watch Shooter stumble at the impact before another swing then contact to the other side of his face. He grabs his head and forces it down as he brings his knee up. Crack. I hear the sound of Shooter’s nose breaking as I see the blood pour down his face.

  I cry out for him to stop while Shooter takes every single hit as they just keep coming. The tears run freely down my cheeks. One after the other, Rex is beating the hell out of him, and Shooter doesn’t make one move to fight back. With blow after blow to Shooter’s sides, he stumbles to stay upright and continues taking every hit Rex is gives.

  Unable to watch further, I step down off the porch. Adrenaline courses through me as I reach the men. Without a second thought, I pull at Rex’s arm as he aims to swing yet again.

  “Stop it,” I beg. “It’s my secret, not his.”

  Rex turns to me, his eyes filled with pure hatred, his knuckles bloody. I flinch as I see his hand go back. Before he can hit me, Shooter has reached up and grabbed his arm, yanking it behind his back so forcefully I am certain his shoulder is dislocated as he grunts in pain. His other arm wraps around Rex’s neck, holding constant pressure while allowing him to breathe.

  “No, fucker. You can beat the shit out of me all night long, but you will not raise your hand to her. She’s the Goddamn mother of your child, and you will not fuckin’ touch her, ever. Be pissed. I get it, but you don’t get to hurt her any more than you already have for the last however many years,” Shooter says as Rex slows his fight against the hold Shooter has him in.

  “Fuck off, Shooter. You’ve been playin’ house with my family.”

  “Your family? I’ve never been nothin’ but a whore to you.” I can’t believe he would say that after he almost hit me. I don’t know the man being held captive in front of me.

  “Go inside, baby,” Shooter instructs calmly. “It’s all gonna be okay. Stop crying, please. Go check on Axel; make sure he didn’t see any of this.”

  How can he be so calm? He just got the ever loving shit beat out of him, letting Rex get his aggression out on Shooter’s body so he wouldn’t take it out on me. Why does he do so much for me?

  My lungs burn with every breath I take. I am pretty sure I have two at least bruised if not broken ribs, and my nose is most definitely broken. Blood fills my mouth as I am sure I lost a back tooth. Once I hear my front door shut, I release the hold I have on Rex.

  “I’ll stand out here all night and let you take it out on me, but you almost put your hands on the mother of your child tonight, Rex. Tame that shit.” I spit out the blood on the ground beside me.

  “Fuck you, Shooter! Don’t you dare fuckin’ tell me what to do.”

  Wrapping my arms around my ribs, I wince in pain. Rex is pacing around my yard now, muttering obscenities.

  “I know it don’t make a difference, but I planned to tell you. With the war with the Ghosts, though, I wasn’t sure it was the right time. Tessie, she’s been through so much these last few months.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Shooter. You’re my brother. Dicks before chicks, bastard.”

  “Listen to yourself. You’re as much a child as the little boy she’s raisin’. Tessie was tryin’ to let you have your life. She thought being a parent, when you weren’t ready, would hold you back. She didn’t want to inconvenience you or disrupt your lifestyle, so she’s been waiting for you to be ready. She’s been waitin’ on you to grow the fuck up.”

  “That’s my blood running through that boy’s veins and no one told me.”

  “I know this is a shock. It took me by surprise, too. But you scared your boy tonight, and his mom and I need to clean up. Axel isn’t goin’ anywhere. When you have taken the time to take all this in, we’ll work this out.”

  “Don’t you blow me off, motherfucker! You should’ve told me.”

  “It wasn’t my secret to share,” I state honestly.

  “Fuck you, Shooter. She kept my son from me. You kept my son from me. Brothers no more.” His final words are another punch to my battered soul before he spits at the ground by my feet then goes to his bike and takes off.

  My world stopped spinning the moment I laid eyes on the dirty-blonde haired, mini me. How did I not know? How could she not tell me?

  Throttle down, I speed down the open road of the night, running from my life. In the blink of an eye, everything has changed for me.

  The secrets. The years of hiding him. My mind races. I can’t say Tessie has point blank lied to me about her son…

  Her son. Fuck!

  Our son.

  My son.

  I have a son. I am a father. Drexel Devon Crews, a dad. Shit, what’s his name?
Did she think to give him my name? Is he a Crews?

  Pops, my grandfather, the man who stepped in as my dad when I didn’t have one—it is his last name both Tripp and I carry. Does my boy carry on our name?

  Pops would be ashamed. Treasure your woman when you find her, boys, he always told us. I didn’t listen. Nope, I have followed my dick around to every hole open to me in North and South Carolina. Yet, I have always found my way back to Tessie. She has been the one person to take me exactly as I am. No matter how many times I disappoint her, fuck around on her, she has always had my back and been there. She has always been my safe place to fall. What have I done? Ruined her, ruined the possibility of us.

  Worse than that, she needed me and I turned my back on her to fuck with Shooter’s head. I knew he would claim her in that sermon. Why would I step up and give up the freedom of my life, my world, when my brother would step in and be the good guy?

  Why would she tell me about my son? I have never given her the opportunity to tell me any of her problems. Sure, she has lain in bed with me and listened to me bitch about work or life. She has taken me anyway she could, and I tossed it all away.

  What have I done to show anyone that I should be a dad? Sure, I am hard working and loyal to my club, but what does Tessie know about that? How can she know about my dedication to all things Hellions when I can’t even talk about ninety percent of it with her?

  The white lines of the road pass under me as the miles tick by. I am going nowhere fast, both on the road and in my mind.

  “Be men to be proud of. Actions speak louder than words, boys. When you do wrong, and believe me, you will do more wrong than right some days, you own up to it. Completely. You can’t take back the stone once it’s thrown. The reality is, you can never really right the wrong once it’s done. It will live on forever in one’s memory. You can atone for it. You can work hard to assure you never make the same mistake twice. But there is a time for freedoms and a time for life responsibilities. Be the man to handle his responsibilities. Be the man to take responsibility for his shortcomings and failures. Take pride in being humble enough to admit when you are wrong and when you have failed.” Pops’s words from a childhood fishing trip play in my head.