Wild Like the Wind by Kristen Ashley
Love you.
Had he disconnected because he realized he’d said that?
Love you.
Or had he said it because it was so natural to say it, he just disconnected.
Love you.
He loved me.
Hound loved me.
I knew he loved me but he just told me.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
I pulled my phone from my ear, my finger poised to dial Bev, and then I realized I could not.
“Shit,” I hissed.
“All good?” I heard asked and looked at one of the teachers sitting at another table in the staff lounge having his lunch.
Keith Robinson.
He was one of the ones I really liked, but I didn’t know all that well (that last part being how I knew all of them). He seemed totally cool. The kids adored him. I even had one hardcase who skipped school but came back just to hit his class.
“My new man just told me he loved me for the first time,” I blurted.
Okay, I couldn’t believe I just blurted that.
But Hound just told me he loved me.
I had to tell somebody!
Keith’s entire handsome face lit with a smile.
“Right on,” he replied.
“He’s loved me for eighteen years.” I thought on that and added, “Maybe longer.”
Keith’s brows drew together. “That took a while to say.”
“I was married to his brother. He died.”
“Sorry,” Keith murmured. “Rough. Really sorry, Keely.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” I told him.
“I’m seeing it’s not that easy for him to make that play, your husband was his brother,” Keith remarked.
He could say that again.
“They were biker brothers,” I explained. “They belong to the same motorcycle club.”
Somehow, he completely got it. “Right then, probably really not easy for him to make that play.”
“The Club doesn’t know yet,” I shared.
“Likely strategizing that communication is akin to planning the raid when they found Osama Bin Laden,” he joked.
“You got that right,” I agreed.
He gathered his sandwich, bag of chips and drink and moved to my table.
“Know a guy in a club,” he shared once he’d settled. “Good man. Good club. What I know is that kind of brotherhood is a deeper one than any. If your man loves you, they’ll want him to have that and they’ll come around.”
“I hope so,” I muttered, looking at my burrito and thinking maybe I should pack my lunch because Keith’s mammoth homemade shaved roast beef sandwich looked way better than my microwave burrito.
“You doubt it?” he asked.
“My man, my husband, I mean, he was, well . . . he was more beloved than most by those guys.”
“And your new man, they’re not fond of him?” Keith teased.
“Graham, my old man, he was the glue of the Club. Shep, my new old man, he’s their shield.”
“Sounds like you have good taste,” he replied.
I gave him a small grin. “Yeah, I totally do.”
“It’s gonna be fine, Keely,” he said gently. “And just to say, don’t know you all that well, but do know the woman I find myself separated from during lunch a lot of the time for, I don’t know the last four or five years, is not the woman I’m sitting with today. So I’m thankful to this Shep for pulling out the woman who’d reach across that separation to me finally and give me a bit of yourself. It’s an honor. Thank him from me.”
“Oh my God.” I stared at him. “Now you are gonna make me cry.”
He looked concerned. “You’ve been crying a lot recently?”
“I’ve been grieving my dead husband for nearly two decades, let my life slip away, then decided to take a shot on jumpstarting that life, doing it with Shep. Lost a woman who came to mean a lot to me in the expanse of a weekend. She died in her sleep last Monday. Almost lost Shep because I was playing to win but I failed to tell him the booty was me. And tonight, we’re telling my sons, who he helped me raise, that they finally got the stepdad they always knew was just that, we’re just making it official.”
“So you’ve been crying a lot recently.”
“Yeah, or on the verge,” I confirmed.
“Let those tears loose, Keely,” he advised. “Because I’m thinking those days are gonna be over for you soon so you might as well let them out when they come now. When the reasons for them disappear, you can look back at them fondly.”
“Stop being awesome,” I demanded.
“That might be tough but I’ll give it a shot,” he returned, lips twitching.
He bit into his delicious-looking sandwich.
I bit into my floppy, tired-looking bean burrito.
Once I swallowed, I asked, “Who’s the guy you know and what club is he in?”
“His name is Carson, goes by Joker in the club. And it’s Chaos, the men behind that custom car and bike business and auto supply store on Broadway.”
That got him a huge smile. “That’s my man’s Club.”
And I got a return huge smile. “Then maybe we’ll see you at a hog roast. Joker has been asking us to come for months. But my wife and I had a new baby and she wasn’t wanting to get a sitter. But the time is coming she needs to give Dora some space, and get some herself, so maybe we’ll see you at one.”
“I hope so,” I replied. “And I contributed to the pot when it went around to get you a baby gift. Was so happy for you guys. Everyone was.”
“Not as much as us,” Keith told me.
“Yeah. Kids are da bomb.”
“They absolutely are.”
We talked about Dora. We talked about Dutch and Jagger. And when our lunch breaks were done, Keith walked me back to my office before he went to his classroom.
I watched him go, thinking that suddenly, I had a new friend and we had something in common.
And oddly enough, that was kids . . . and Chaos.
I’d worked there years, but also when I was in my other jobs, when I was volunteering, when I was at school, and just in life, I had not opened myself to making a new friend since Black died.
I had not opened myself up at all.
I was about Dutch, Jag, anger (at both Graham and my asshole families, but also just at life) and grief.
Oh yeah, I was going to tell Hound I made a new friend and express Keith’s gratitude that he got the same.
Because Hound gave me that.
Sure, I walked up to his door to get in his face and make the first play.
But Hound walked down that hallway then dropped to his knees and went down on me.
And now here we were.
Here I was.
So perhaps we would not be sharing widely how it all started.
That said, I didn’t think ever in my life there was anything as amazingly beautiful and scorching hot as watching my biker badass drop to his knees and bury his face in me.
So being his biker bitch, that kind of start so totally worked for me.
At six twenty-four that night I was a nervous wreck.
This had to do with the fact that the boys were showing imminently and there I was, in my kitchen, making pork chops, mashed potatoes and buttered, real bacon-bit covered green beans with Hound.
This also had to do with the fact that just hours earlier he’d told me he loved me, had not given me the chance to return that sentiment and now . . .
Now . . .
Now I didn’t know what to do.
I loved him, but could I declare that love to him before my sons arrived to eat their first dinner with us as a couple?
I mean, we didn’t need to be fucking on the kitchen table (again) when my boys walked in the back door.
“Keely, chill,” Hound growled.
He was at the stove, manning the pork chops.
I was at the KitchenAid mixer, squeezing roasted garlic cloves into the boiled potatoes.
&n
bsp; The kitchen table was set. It would be nice to eat in the dining room but there wasn’t an odd number of people that would make even seating unless all ten seats could be taken.
Anyway, I figured the kitchen table was more homey, intimate and familial instead of formal, so I went with that.
The green beans were ready to blanch. The buttery, bacon-bit goodness ready to toss them in. The rolls were warming in the oven. I’d bought a pistachio mousse cake from LeLane’s on the way home from work (both the boys’ favorite, if I didn’t make the cake that was).
It was all under control.
And I was still a wreck.
“They’re almost here,” I told him.
“Chill,” he told me.
“What if it goes bad? What if they, like, realize you’re spending the night? Or what me spending the night with you means? That you’re banging their momma? What if they get weirded out by that and that turns protective or mean and—”
“Chill,” he interrupted.
“It’s weird!” I cried. “They’ve never had to face something like that.”
“We both know neither of your boys are virgins,” he stated.
“Ugh,” I grunted.
“And unless they’re under the impression they’re the second and third coming, they’ve put it together their momma got her cherry popped a long time ago,” Hound went on.
I was right then regretting running my mouth.
Hound moved to me, yanked the spent garlic out of my fingers, tossed it on the counter, hooked my neck with his arm and yanked me into his body.
“They might dig me but they love you, baby, down to their bones,” he said softly. “They want you to be happy. They been waiting a fuckuva long time to see that happen for you. This is gonna go great. So . . . chill.”
I put my arms around him even as I declared, “You know, it’s really, really annoying how totally, totally awesome you are.”
Hound gave me a look.
Then he threw his head back and busted out laughing.
I smiled up at him, loving that look on him best of all.
The back door opened.
Oh shit.
Hound’s laughter turned to chuckles as I twisted my neck still in Hound’s hold to look at the door.
The boys were both through and staring at us.
“Yo,” Hound greeted.
Dutch’s body jolted.
Oh man.
Jagger blinked.
Shit!
“Yo,” Dutch said.
“Thank fuck, the smell of pork chop grease. Been queasy all day, just what I need,” Jagger declared, moving toward the stove.
“Did you roast garlic, Ma?” Dutch asked me, going to the fridge.
“Of course,” I whispered, not quite understanding what was happening.
“Hound, got beer?” Dutch asked.
“Could use a fresh one,” Hound told him, bending to run his lips along my cheekbone before he let me go and moved away.
“Jagger, you want a beer?” Dutch asked.
“Please, God, if you say beer one more time, I’m punching you in the mouth,” Jagger groaned from the stove.
Hound had made it to him, so he clamped a big hand on the back of Jag’s neck, swaying him back and forth.
“Still hangin’?” he asked.
Jagger twisted his neck to look at Hound. “Is it entirely necessary to take a shot of tequila after each and every brother takes his shot of tequila?”
“Can’t be Chaos if you can’t hold your liquor, son,” Hound replied.
Right.
What was happening?
“Uh . . .” I mumbled.
“Ma,” Dutch called. Having moved across the space, he was handing Hound who was disengaging from Jagger his fresh one.
I turned my gaze to him.
“You want beer or you got wine?” he asked, twisting off his own beer top.
“Wine,” I peeped.
“Need it topped off?” Dutch offered.
I shook my head slowly.
What I needed to do was glug it from the bottle.
After I took a shot of tequila.
“Grab those beans, Jag, throw ’em in the water,” Hound ordered then looked to me. “Babe, that thing probably mashes potatoes a lot easier if you turn it on.”
Both my sons emitted low chuckles.
I just stared dazedly at my man.
“Right,” Hound muttered. “I’ll turn it on.”
He moved into me, reached around me and the KitchenAid started whirring.
“What’s happening?” I asked quietly before he moved fully away.
He lifted his brows.
“Ma, serious, Hound does his shot with Jag, hornin’ in there to do it first, then he takes off on his bike like the devil is chasin’ him. Next thing we know, you’re callin’ a family dinner when we all haven’t sat down to dinner since Christmas. We figured it out,” Dutch proclaimed. “You guys pulled your heads outta your asses. Now it’s pork chop time.”
“You had her pork chops?” Jag asked Hound.
“Not fried ones,” Hound answered.
“Man, you are gonna lose your mind,” Jagger told him.
“Jag, Ma got a pistachio cake from LeLane’s,” Dutch shared with his brother.
“God, I hope like fuck the pork chops work on my hangover so I can eat half a’ that thing,” Jag murmured.
“Since I’m eatin’ the other half, what are Ma and Hound gonna eat?” Dutch demanded to know.
“Neither of you men are eatin’ half a’ shit,” Hound proclaimed, tossing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me away from the counter. “Jag, get a drink. Dutch, man the potatoes. Your mother needs to sit down before she teeters over, so it’s up to us to serve up. Get on it.”
Before Hound could push me in the chair he pulled out, Jagger was there, slinging his arm around the shoulders Hound’s arm just vacated.
“Jeez, you look like you just got sucker punched in the nose by Anthony Joshua,” he observed. Then he gave me his sweet boy grin and lowered his voice. “It’s all good, Momma. Chill. Yeah?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” I whispered.
He shoved me down in the chair.
Hound brought me my wine.
They moved around, dealing with shit while I sipped.
Chairs scraped.
Before they started passing stuff around, I called, “Halt!”
Three sets of beloved male eyes turned to me.
I looked from Hound to Dutch to Jagger, saying, “Okay, boys, making this official, even though that’s unnecessary. Your momma and your Hound have finally got their heads outta their asses and we’re doin’ this. And I mean we’re doin’ this. For now, we’re keeping it from the Club. We’ll share when that’s gonna change. But we’re taking time for ourselves first and to be with you boys.” I lifted a hand Dutch’s way, as usual, my potato boy had put the bowl in front of his plate. “Now pass the mashed potatoes.”
Dutch shot me a grin.
Jagger punched Hound in the arm.
I took the potatoes as they started passing the other stuff.
I felt Hound’s gaze after I picked up my knife to start sawing into my chop.
I lifted my eyes to his.
And there they were.
Hound’s eyes across from me at my kitchen table.
My biker and my boys all around me.
A dream I’d lived once, but it died when the blood of its most important component ran free across a pizza place parking lot.
And here I had it again.
I love you, I thought.
I love you, those eyes replied.
I smiled at him.
His mouth got soft.
Then I picked up my fork and started sawing.
“This isn’t the time to get into it.”
“Jag—”
“But if we don’t take this time to get into it, that time is gonna pass, we’ll never get into it, so we gotta get into it.”
; We were still at the kitchen table.
The meal had been decimated.
It worked wonders on Jag’s hangover.
All three of my boys had hefty pieces of cake and then seconds.
Now Jag had something to say that Dutch clearly didn’t want him to get into.
I felt a nervous prickle in my belly as Jagger finally pinned Hound with his gaze, but the question came out low and mellow when he asked, “Why’d you keep Jean from us, man?”
Shit.
“You’re right, honey,” I piped up, aiming this at Jag. “This isn’t the time to get into that.”
“Yeah, Jagger,” Dutch growled. “Shut it.”
“Dutch, appreciate you’ve got a mind to me,” Hound rumbled. “But Jag, you got somethin’ on your mind, you don’t act like a dick about gettin’ it out there, you put it out there.”
Dutch shot me a look.
I gave him a just-let-it-happen nod and turned my attention to Hound.
“And this needs to be said because it needs to be understood. Before anything gets any further and thoughts wander, I’m gonna lay it out there like it is,” Hound declared.
Yep.
Shit.
Hound kept pronouncing.
“Most important, it isn’t lost on you boys that I had feelin’s for your ma for a while. You know that, it’s now where it is, you were right. That’s what it was. But if you ever get it in your heads that was why I had all the time in the world for either of you, push that shit out because that’s not only not true, it’d piss me off it even crossed your minds.”
Now all of us were staring at Hound.
“It started because of my love for your old man and my respect for your mother. It took about a week before you both earned what you got from me, what you have from me, what you’ll always have from me,” Hound told them. “I did what I could in the part I played to raise you like my brother woulda done if he wasn’t gone. That was for Black. But me doin’ it was all for you.”
Fucking hell.
I was definitely going to start crying.
“Place in my heart, Hound,” Dutch murmured. “Always.”
Start crying like a ninny!
“Yeah, Hound,” Jagger mumbled. “Always.”
Damn it!
“Jean was mine,” he said.
Oh boy.
I swallowed.
“I get you both got me in your hearts, you didn’t have to tell me that. And I get you feel betrayed I kept somethin’ that meant something like Jean did to me from you, knowin’ I know what you feel for me, how I feel about you. But she was mine.”
Had he disconnected because he realized he’d said that?
Love you.
Or had he said it because it was so natural to say it, he just disconnected.
Love you.
He loved me.
Hound loved me.
I knew he loved me but he just told me.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
I pulled my phone from my ear, my finger poised to dial Bev, and then I realized I could not.
“Shit,” I hissed.
“All good?” I heard asked and looked at one of the teachers sitting at another table in the staff lounge having his lunch.
Keith Robinson.
He was one of the ones I really liked, but I didn’t know all that well (that last part being how I knew all of them). He seemed totally cool. The kids adored him. I even had one hardcase who skipped school but came back just to hit his class.
“My new man just told me he loved me for the first time,” I blurted.
Okay, I couldn’t believe I just blurted that.
But Hound just told me he loved me.
I had to tell somebody!
Keith’s entire handsome face lit with a smile.
“Right on,” he replied.
“He’s loved me for eighteen years.” I thought on that and added, “Maybe longer.”
Keith’s brows drew together. “That took a while to say.”
“I was married to his brother. He died.”
“Sorry,” Keith murmured. “Rough. Really sorry, Keely.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” I told him.
“I’m seeing it’s not that easy for him to make that play, your husband was his brother,” Keith remarked.
He could say that again.
“They were biker brothers,” I explained. “They belong to the same motorcycle club.”
Somehow, he completely got it. “Right then, probably really not easy for him to make that play.”
“The Club doesn’t know yet,” I shared.
“Likely strategizing that communication is akin to planning the raid when they found Osama Bin Laden,” he joked.
“You got that right,” I agreed.
He gathered his sandwich, bag of chips and drink and moved to my table.
“Know a guy in a club,” he shared once he’d settled. “Good man. Good club. What I know is that kind of brotherhood is a deeper one than any. If your man loves you, they’ll want him to have that and they’ll come around.”
“I hope so,” I muttered, looking at my burrito and thinking maybe I should pack my lunch because Keith’s mammoth homemade shaved roast beef sandwich looked way better than my microwave burrito.
“You doubt it?” he asked.
“My man, my husband, I mean, he was, well . . . he was more beloved than most by those guys.”
“And your new man, they’re not fond of him?” Keith teased.
“Graham, my old man, he was the glue of the Club. Shep, my new old man, he’s their shield.”
“Sounds like you have good taste,” he replied.
I gave him a small grin. “Yeah, I totally do.”
“It’s gonna be fine, Keely,” he said gently. “And just to say, don’t know you all that well, but do know the woman I find myself separated from during lunch a lot of the time for, I don’t know the last four or five years, is not the woman I’m sitting with today. So I’m thankful to this Shep for pulling out the woman who’d reach across that separation to me finally and give me a bit of yourself. It’s an honor. Thank him from me.”
“Oh my God.” I stared at him. “Now you are gonna make me cry.”
He looked concerned. “You’ve been crying a lot recently?”
“I’ve been grieving my dead husband for nearly two decades, let my life slip away, then decided to take a shot on jumpstarting that life, doing it with Shep. Lost a woman who came to mean a lot to me in the expanse of a weekend. She died in her sleep last Monday. Almost lost Shep because I was playing to win but I failed to tell him the booty was me. And tonight, we’re telling my sons, who he helped me raise, that they finally got the stepdad they always knew was just that, we’re just making it official.”
“So you’ve been crying a lot recently.”
“Yeah, or on the verge,” I confirmed.
“Let those tears loose, Keely,” he advised. “Because I’m thinking those days are gonna be over for you soon so you might as well let them out when they come now. When the reasons for them disappear, you can look back at them fondly.”
“Stop being awesome,” I demanded.
“That might be tough but I’ll give it a shot,” he returned, lips twitching.
He bit into his delicious-looking sandwich.
I bit into my floppy, tired-looking bean burrito.
Once I swallowed, I asked, “Who’s the guy you know and what club is he in?”
“His name is Carson, goes by Joker in the club. And it’s Chaos, the men behind that custom car and bike business and auto supply store on Broadway.”
That got him a huge smile. “That’s my man’s Club.”
And I got a return huge smile. “Then maybe we’ll see you at a hog roast. Joker has been asking us to come for months. But my wife and I had a new baby and she wasn’t wanting to get a sitter. But the time is coming she needs to give Dora some space, and get some herself, so maybe we’ll see you at one.”
“I hope so,” I replied. “And I contributed to the pot when it went around to get you a baby gift. Was so happy for you guys. Everyone was.”
“Not as much as us,” Keith told me.
“Yeah. Kids are da bomb.”
“They absolutely are.”
We talked about Dora. We talked about Dutch and Jagger. And when our lunch breaks were done, Keith walked me back to my office before he went to his classroom.
I watched him go, thinking that suddenly, I had a new friend and we had something in common.
And oddly enough, that was kids . . . and Chaos.
I’d worked there years, but also when I was in my other jobs, when I was volunteering, when I was at school, and just in life, I had not opened myself to making a new friend since Black died.
I had not opened myself up at all.
I was about Dutch, Jag, anger (at both Graham and my asshole families, but also just at life) and grief.
Oh yeah, I was going to tell Hound I made a new friend and express Keith’s gratitude that he got the same.
Because Hound gave me that.
Sure, I walked up to his door to get in his face and make the first play.
But Hound walked down that hallway then dropped to his knees and went down on me.
And now here we were.
Here I was.
So perhaps we would not be sharing widely how it all started.
That said, I didn’t think ever in my life there was anything as amazingly beautiful and scorching hot as watching my biker badass drop to his knees and bury his face in me.
So being his biker bitch, that kind of start so totally worked for me.
At six twenty-four that night I was a nervous wreck.
This had to do with the fact that the boys were showing imminently and there I was, in my kitchen, making pork chops, mashed potatoes and buttered, real bacon-bit covered green beans with Hound.
This also had to do with the fact that just hours earlier he’d told me he loved me, had not given me the chance to return that sentiment and now . . .
Now . . .
Now I didn’t know what to do.
I loved him, but could I declare that love to him before my sons arrived to eat their first dinner with us as a couple?
I mean, we didn’t need to be fucking on the kitchen table (again) when my boys walked in the back door.
“Keely, chill,” Hound growled.
He was at the stove, manning the pork chops.
I was at the KitchenAid mixer, squeezing roasted garlic cloves into the boiled potatoes.
&n
Anyway, I figured the kitchen table was more homey, intimate and familial instead of formal, so I went with that.
The green beans were ready to blanch. The buttery, bacon-bit goodness ready to toss them in. The rolls were warming in the oven. I’d bought a pistachio mousse cake from LeLane’s on the way home from work (both the boys’ favorite, if I didn’t make the cake that was).
It was all under control.
And I was still a wreck.
“They’re almost here,” I told him.
“Chill,” he told me.
“What if it goes bad? What if they, like, realize you’re spending the night? Or what me spending the night with you means? That you’re banging their momma? What if they get weirded out by that and that turns protective or mean and—”
“Chill,” he interrupted.
“It’s weird!” I cried. “They’ve never had to face something like that.”
“We both know neither of your boys are virgins,” he stated.
“Ugh,” I grunted.
“And unless they’re under the impression they’re the second and third coming, they’ve put it together their momma got her cherry popped a long time ago,” Hound went on.
I was right then regretting running my mouth.
Hound moved to me, yanked the spent garlic out of my fingers, tossed it on the counter, hooked my neck with his arm and yanked me into his body.
“They might dig me but they love you, baby, down to their bones,” he said softly. “They want you to be happy. They been waiting a fuckuva long time to see that happen for you. This is gonna go great. So . . . chill.”
I put my arms around him even as I declared, “You know, it’s really, really annoying how totally, totally awesome you are.”
Hound gave me a look.
Then he threw his head back and busted out laughing.
I smiled up at him, loving that look on him best of all.
The back door opened.
Oh shit.
Hound’s laughter turned to chuckles as I twisted my neck still in Hound’s hold to look at the door.
The boys were both through and staring at us.
“Yo,” Hound greeted.
Dutch’s body jolted.
Oh man.
Jagger blinked.
Shit!
“Yo,” Dutch said.
“Thank fuck, the smell of pork chop grease. Been queasy all day, just what I need,” Jagger declared, moving toward the stove.
“Did you roast garlic, Ma?” Dutch asked me, going to the fridge.
“Of course,” I whispered, not quite understanding what was happening.
“Hound, got beer?” Dutch asked.
“Could use a fresh one,” Hound told him, bending to run his lips along my cheekbone before he let me go and moved away.
“Jagger, you want a beer?” Dutch asked.
“Please, God, if you say beer one more time, I’m punching you in the mouth,” Jagger groaned from the stove.
Hound had made it to him, so he clamped a big hand on the back of Jag’s neck, swaying him back and forth.
“Still hangin’?” he asked.
Jagger twisted his neck to look at Hound. “Is it entirely necessary to take a shot of tequila after each and every brother takes his shot of tequila?”
“Can’t be Chaos if you can’t hold your liquor, son,” Hound replied.
Right.
What was happening?
“Uh . . .” I mumbled.
“Ma,” Dutch called. Having moved across the space, he was handing Hound who was disengaging from Jagger his fresh one.
I turned my gaze to him.
“You want beer or you got wine?” he asked, twisting off his own beer top.
“Wine,” I peeped.
“Need it topped off?” Dutch offered.
I shook my head slowly.
What I needed to do was glug it from the bottle.
After I took a shot of tequila.
“Grab those beans, Jag, throw ’em in the water,” Hound ordered then looked to me. “Babe, that thing probably mashes potatoes a lot easier if you turn it on.”
Both my sons emitted low chuckles.
I just stared dazedly at my man.
“Right,” Hound muttered. “I’ll turn it on.”
He moved into me, reached around me and the KitchenAid started whirring.
“What’s happening?” I asked quietly before he moved fully away.
He lifted his brows.
“Ma, serious, Hound does his shot with Jag, hornin’ in there to do it first, then he takes off on his bike like the devil is chasin’ him. Next thing we know, you’re callin’ a family dinner when we all haven’t sat down to dinner since Christmas. We figured it out,” Dutch proclaimed. “You guys pulled your heads outta your asses. Now it’s pork chop time.”
“You had her pork chops?” Jag asked Hound.
“Not fried ones,” Hound answered.
“Man, you are gonna lose your mind,” Jagger told him.
“Jag, Ma got a pistachio cake from LeLane’s,” Dutch shared with his brother.
“God, I hope like fuck the pork chops work on my hangover so I can eat half a’ that thing,” Jag murmured.
“Since I’m eatin’ the other half, what are Ma and Hound gonna eat?” Dutch demanded to know.
“Neither of you men are eatin’ half a’ shit,” Hound proclaimed, tossing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me away from the counter. “Jag, get a drink. Dutch, man the potatoes. Your mother needs to sit down before she teeters over, so it’s up to us to serve up. Get on it.”
Before Hound could push me in the chair he pulled out, Jagger was there, slinging his arm around the shoulders Hound’s arm just vacated.
“Jeez, you look like you just got sucker punched in the nose by Anthony Joshua,” he observed. Then he gave me his sweet boy grin and lowered his voice. “It’s all good, Momma. Chill. Yeah?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” I whispered.
He shoved me down in the chair.
Hound brought me my wine.
They moved around, dealing with shit while I sipped.
Chairs scraped.
Before they started passing stuff around, I called, “Halt!”
Three sets of beloved male eyes turned to me.
I looked from Hound to Dutch to Jagger, saying, “Okay, boys, making this official, even though that’s unnecessary. Your momma and your Hound have finally got their heads outta their asses and we’re doin’ this. And I mean we’re doin’ this. For now, we’re keeping it from the Club. We’ll share when that’s gonna change. But we’re taking time for ourselves first and to be with you boys.” I lifted a hand Dutch’s way, as usual, my potato boy had put the bowl in front of his plate. “Now pass the mashed potatoes.”
Dutch shot me a grin.
Jagger punched Hound in the arm.
I took the potatoes as they started passing the other stuff.
I felt Hound’s gaze after I picked up my knife to start sawing into my chop.
I lifted my eyes to his.
And there they were.
Hound’s eyes across from me at my kitchen table.
My biker and my boys all around me.
A dream I’d lived once, but it died when the blood of its most important component ran free across a pizza place parking lot.
And here I had it again.
I love you, I thought.
I love you, those eyes replied.
I smiled at him.
His mouth got soft.
Then I picked up my fork and started sawing.
“This isn’t the time to get into it.”
“Jag—”
“But if we don’t take this time to get into it, that time is gonna pass, we’ll never get into it, so we gotta get into it.”
The meal had been decimated.
It worked wonders on Jag’s hangover.
All three of my boys had hefty pieces of cake and then seconds.
Now Jag had something to say that Dutch clearly didn’t want him to get into.
I felt a nervous prickle in my belly as Jagger finally pinned Hound with his gaze, but the question came out low and mellow when he asked, “Why’d you keep Jean from us, man?”
Shit.
“You’re right, honey,” I piped up, aiming this at Jag. “This isn’t the time to get into that.”
“Yeah, Jagger,” Dutch growled. “Shut it.”
“Dutch, appreciate you’ve got a mind to me,” Hound rumbled. “But Jag, you got somethin’ on your mind, you don’t act like a dick about gettin’ it out there, you put it out there.”
Dutch shot me a look.
I gave him a just-let-it-happen nod and turned my attention to Hound.
“And this needs to be said because it needs to be understood. Before anything gets any further and thoughts wander, I’m gonna lay it out there like it is,” Hound declared.
Yep.
Shit.
Hound kept pronouncing.
“Most important, it isn’t lost on you boys that I had feelin’s for your ma for a while. You know that, it’s now where it is, you were right. That’s what it was. But if you ever get it in your heads that was why I had all the time in the world for either of you, push that shit out because that’s not only not true, it’d piss me off it even crossed your minds.”
Now all of us were staring at Hound.
“It started because of my love for your old man and my respect for your mother. It took about a week before you both earned what you got from me, what you have from me, what you’ll always have from me,” Hound told them. “I did what I could in the part I played to raise you like my brother woulda done if he wasn’t gone. That was for Black. But me doin’ it was all for you.”
Fucking hell.
I was definitely going to start crying.
“Place in my heart, Hound,” Dutch murmured. “Always.”
Start crying like a ninny!
“Yeah, Hound,” Jagger mumbled. “Always.”
Damn it!
“Jean was mine,” he said.
Oh boy.
I swallowed.
“I get you both got me in your hearts, you didn’t have to tell me that. And I get you feel betrayed I kept somethin’ that meant something like Jean did to me from you, knowin’ I know what you feel for me, how I feel about you. But she was mine.”