by Nicole Fox
I didn’t know where such anger had come from. Did I blame him, for the things that had happened? For not being what I needed him to be when I found out I was pregnant with Rose? Maybe I did a little. If he—if we—had both been the people we needed to be, none of this would have happened. It had been a joint effort.
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this when you came back? Why did I have to hear all this shit coming from a Jackal’s mouth before I heard it coming from yours?”
I looked at him, shaking my head.“Would you have taken it well then, knowing what happened?”
“I’m not taking it well, now.”
“You would have taken it less well then.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
“I know.”
We stood there, quiet for a time. I had known that this would come up eventually. I merely wished that I had been the one to bring it to him.
“Back there. You said that you hadn’t intended to stay. Was that … Was that still the intention, even after you moved in?”
I looked to him, hurt.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I hadn’t wanted to make this permanent, Trip. Do you think I’m that cruel?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“If I didn’t want to stay here now, I would still be living out of that back room. I wouldn’t have gotten Rose’s hopes up and enrolled her in a school. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t have let you touch me and love me again, Trip. I’ve made bad choices, but that never would have been one of them.”
I walked over to him. I didn’t know how to ease the hurt. I knew that I had made the choice that I thought was right back then. I just—
“I never did anything to hurt you, Trip,” I said softly, placing my hands on the sides of his face. “Nothing that I ever did or ever will do was ever done just to make you suffer. I love you far too much for that.”
It took him a while before his eyes met mine again. I leaned up, knowing there weren’t words in the universe to convey any of that to him. So I kissed him, putting all my love for him into it. I pressed to him, letting my mouth move against his until he was reciprocating, until his arms circled back around behind me. It didn’t go further than that. It was the first time that it didn’t go further than kisses. It was just us feeling each other out, trying to get on some sort of common ground with each other.
“I love you, Trip,” I breathed against his lips. “I’m sorry for lying, even when I thought it was what I had to do.”
“I know … I know …” He pressed his forehead to mine, and I looked into those blues of his. “I love you more than my own damn life, Misha. You know that, right? I always have. I’m always going to. Holland, or Rigger, or that limp fuck out there, isn’t going to change that, not in the damned slightest, you understand? I wish you wouldn’t have left. I wish none of this would have happened.” He laughed. “Can’t change the past, can we? But I meant what I said, Misha. I told you, I am gonna protect you and Rose, and I fucking meant it. You’re never gonna have to run away again. Ever. You hear me? It was my own damn fault for all of this—”
“Trip, no, it wasn’t—”
“It was,” he said. “It was. You were my girl, and you didn’t feel like I could do what needed to get done. Not this time, Misha. This time, I set things right.”
Chapter Thirteen
Trip
Before my father died and Bobby took me in, he told me that no man that couldn’t take care of and protect his own could claim to call himself a man. I learned that I hadn’t yet earned that right when I learned about what really happened with Misha.
Things returned to normal, somewhat, after the warning brought to us by Jared. He didn’t stick around long, good fucking riddance. He was getting the hell out of Dodge before the Jackals could realize he’d skipped out on them, and he wasn’t welcome here, either. Misha accepted it, if only for the fact that she knew he’d never be safe here, Rigger out of the picture or not. Jackals didn’t take well to traitors; Jared was a good one.
We kept this shit from Rose. Misha and I agreed that this wasn’t what we wanted her being aware of, nor something that we wanted her worrying about. She’d dealt with enough already.
I kept one of the boys watching the diner when Misha worked, and the house when I wasn’t around. Travis even drove by the school during recess if I or Misha couldn’t run by, just to make sure that nothing questionable happened. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something.
The days went by, and then about a week. We weren’t tailed by anyone, and we didn’t catch a peep of the Jackals. Either they were waiting to see what was going to happen, or they were spooked by the fact Jared had taken off. Whatever the case, when week two came, I had other big things to worry about.
Our first parent-teacher conference.
“You should stop fidgeting.”
We sat together outside of Rose’s classroom. Inside was another pair of parents, chatting it up with Ms. Bedroom Eyes. I had forgotten about her in the aftermath of Rose’s first day, but I didn’t know at this point if I had the patience to deal with her. Hell—I didn’t know if Misha had the patience to deal with her.
“I don’t know how to do this parent-teacher stuff,” I muttered back. “Doesn’t help I’m in this shit.” This shit being a suit. It was Misha’s idea. I had been regretting this entire affair from the moment that I sat down.
“I think it makes you look handsome,” Misha said. “Very attractive.”
I looked down at her. “You think?”
“Mmhm. I want to rip it off you, it’s so hot.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, now I know that you’re just playing with me.”
She laughed.“Maybe a little, but you do look really, really hot in that—”
“Misha Daven and Anthony Collins?”
I groaned.“Haven’t been called that in years,” I muttered, standing up with Misha. The teacher’s eyes fell on us, and they widened a little.
“Oh, Trip,” she said, smiling at me without giving much of a look Misha’s way. “I didn’t realize that was you.” Misha cleared her throat, making the woman stop her staring long enough to cast her eyes to Misha. She didn’t seem too particularly impressed, and less so when her eyes trailed down between us, seeing that I was holding on to Misha’s hand. I smiled at her.
“Shall we?”
The teacher—who I saw when I finally paid attention was Ms. Bradson—sat behind her desk as Misha and I took our places across from her. At least these were larger seats, more suited for adult bodies, as opposed to the tiny seats we’d used while waiting. I was too damn big for that shit.
“It’s nice to meet the both of you,” Ms. Bradson said. “Together in person, finally. You’re Rose’s parents?”
“Yes. Mother and father,” Misha answered. If I didn’t know any better—hell what was I thinking, I knew exactly what was going on—I would have said that Misha scooted closer to me then. Which she did. I let her, too.
Ms. Bradson smiled, though I could tell that it wasn’t particularly genuine.
“Yes … Well, the good news is, there isn’t a lot to report on, as far as Rose is concerned. She’s incredibly bright for her age, loves asking questions as much as she does answering them, and participates in all of the group activities extremely well, despite voicing the fact that she’s never really been around other children.”
“Yeah, she’s an only child,” Misha said. “Before we moved here, there weren’t a lot of children for Rose to play with, really. None were around her age.”
“How unfortunate; she makes friends fairly well. There is one issue, however.”
“An issue?” I interjected. Rose hadn’t said anything about there being problems at school at all. “What kind of issue?”
“Well.” Ms. Bradson reached into a drawer on her desk and pulled out a little folder. Inside were a few drawings—damn good ones. A lot of ones with bikes, one outside the bar, a couple others that I didn’t recognize, but it m
ight have been shit from when she was with the Jackals. Misha looked over them too, lingering on the ones that looked like they had to do with the Jackals, and looked to Ms. Bradson.
“What’s so wrong with these drawings?” she asked. “They’re very good.”
“The issue isn’t the quality, more the content, and the fact that Rose seems very … knowledgeable on adult topics and freely talks about them in front of the other children. There have been several parents asking why their children are coming home asking about coke—and not the soda kind—as well as talking about biker terminology and Jackals—”
“Our daughter has a vivid imagination and an interest in bikes. It’s something her father does, so she likes it.”
Ms. Bradson smiled. “Yes, well. There’s that, as well. She never refers to Mr. Collin here as her father. It’s always Mr. Trip. I had assumed that he was merely a boyfriend of the mother, since Trip was clearly not a name on any of the forms, but it’s obvious that the family structure is skewed a little—”
“Are you implying that there’s something wrong with my family?” Misha asked tersely.
Ms. Bradson’s smile widened, though it was still far from being friendly. “I’m implying no such thing. I’m merely saying that perhaps with the unconventional arrangement of your family, certain things have become normalized for Rose that aren’t normalized for other children. I’ve spoken with her about certain things not being appropriate for the classroom, but it doesn’t seem to connect with her like it would with other normal children—”
“Rose is perfectly normal,” I cut in. “She’s just … experienced different things from other students.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Ms. Bradson said. “However, as her teacher I only have her best interests at heart—”
“I’m sure you do,” Misha said tersely. “Is this all?”
Ms. Bradson nodded. “For now, yes.”
Misha and I stood. I didn’t spare another look for Ms. Bradson, even though I felt her eyes on me. Creepy. I had my arm around Misha as we left, and when we were out of the classroom, I let out a sigh.
“Well, that’s over now, at least.”
“Mmhm.”
“It could have gone worse.”
“Mmhm.”
I raised a brow and looked down at Misha as we walked through the hallway, and shook my head. She was pissed. I could hear it in her ‘mmhms’ and see it in the little stomps of her feet as we made our way out into the parking lot.
“Misha,” I said. “You know what she said in there doesn’t mean shit, right? There’s nothing wrong with Rose.”
“I know there’s nothing wrong with Rose,” she said sharply. “But that’s not the point.” She sighed. I waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. I reached out and took her arm, making her stop and turn around to face me.
“What is the point, then?” She frowned.
“That she—she’s smart and well liked, but she’s not, you know. Like the other children. She wasn’t brought up like the other children, and it’s obvious that she wasn’t brought up like the other children. I don’t know why I thought that she would just, I don’t know, blend in seamlessly. I should have known that there would be things that were different for her than there were for them. It’s not her fault, and it’s not fair, but—”
“Misha.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Does that really matter? Does it? So she’s got a couple of quirks and says and knows things other children don’t. It’s fine. We’ll get her set a little straighter for the environment that she’s in. It’s gonna take time. Remember: that was all she knew for five years. The whole five years that she’s been alive. It can’t be helped, babe.”
Misha drew in a deep breath, and after a few moments, she nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re right. I just wish that woman wasn’t so … smug about it! Like it was a fault or something.”
I smirked. “Sure you’re not just mad because she was making eyeballs at me?”
She smacked my arm. “I’m not above making you sleep on the couch, mister …”
# # #
We got back home to Travis and Trixie looking after Rose. They had her on the front porch, doing more drawings in chalk like she’d done at the bar. She looked up when she saw Misha and I pull up, and bounded on over.
“Mama! Mr. Trip!” She gave us each a hug as Trixie and Travis walked over.
I smiled down at Rose. “Hey, sweetie. Why don’t you go inside and get washed up so that we can start dinner soon, okay?”
“Okay!”
I watched her trot inside before turning to Travis. “Anything?”
“Nah. It was all nice and quiet here, no disturbances or anything. Which ain’t a bad thing, but all this quiet is really weird, don’t cha think?”
“Weird, but it’s not unwelcome. We’ll keep on having an eye until something stirs. Anything about—”
My phone started to ring. I rolled my eyes. “Great. I bet this is something great.” I answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Brig.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“A hospital.”
I paled.
“The fuck are you doing at a hospital—”
“I wanted to see if I could get some information on what was going on with Holland,” he said. “Sorry, it was last minute. I knew you wouldn’t want me heading off—”
“You’re damn right I wouldn’t want you heading off.”
“Listen, Trip. Bitch me out later. But you need to know, Holland’s dead. I think they’re gonna start moving a little quicker now that he’s officially out of the picture. From what I’ve gathered poking around, it seems like it was dragged out a little, pulling the plug. Seems Holland’s old lady was trying to hold out, but I guess Rigger was getting impatient.”
“I bet he was.”
“Yeah, well. Just keep an eye out on things. I think I’m gonna keep an ear on the ground to keep you informed.”
“You figured that all out on your own, huh?”
“I figured you had enough you were dealing with and at least this way we have real information, instead of just waiting to see if they’re going to do something.”
“Fair enough. You keep yourself out of too much trouble, Brig.”
“I make no promises, boss.”
Click.
I sighed.
“What is it, Trip?” Misha looked up at me, worried.
“Holland’s dead,” I told her. Her eyes widened.
“Rigger—”
“His old lady. Pulled the plug.”
“Christ.”
“I don’t think shehad another choice. At least this way she had control over it. At least this way Rigger wasn’t able to do something worse to him or make him suffer.”
“Yeah.”
I gave a look at Trixie and Travis, nodding up to the house. Travis got the hint and slid his hand into Trixie’s. He tugged her up and led her away from Misha and me, and when they were gone, I pressed my forehead to Misha’s.
“You okay?” I asked. She breathed in. She let it out. She did it a couple of times, and as she did, I watched her face. The tears were slow to come, but they came. Misha didn’t sob, though. I wondered if she even had it in herself to sob over a man like Holland.
After a few moments, she looked up to me. She blinked a few of the tears out of her face, but what made me sigh in relief was the smile that was on her face.
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “I am okay. Really, I am. It’s not the worst thing that could have happened, and I was expecting it anyway.”
“But he meant something to you …” I tried, and did fairly well, keeping the jealousy out of my voice. “At least on some level.”
“I was attached because he was the safest thing around,” she said. “But it was never going to last. Or I knew that it couldn’t last. And I never let whatever safety and comfort I got from him overshadow the fact that he still took me and kept me and Rose like he
did. Like pawns …”
“Hey.” Her eyes had downcast to the ground, and I tilted her chin up so that she could look at me. “Don’t worry too hard about it, okay? That’s all behind us, and we’ll work on the shit that’s ahead of us now.”
She leaned up and kissed me, and I kissed her back, eager as I ever was.
“Trip?”
“Yeah, Misha?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, baby.”
I kissed her, bringing her in close to me. It deepened pretty quickly, my hands finding her ass and gripping her there to pull her against me. She whined and moaned so pretty for me, and I backed us up until we hit my bike.