Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Brother,” she heard Fury mutter, but could only stare at Hoss.

  “I get back from taking care of club business and you’re fucking packed up and gone, not a fucking word to me. Not a fucking word to your sister, even. No note, no word, no notice. Just packed your shit up and moved on, not giving a good goddamn about what you left behind.” His arms tightened around her.

  “You remember me telling you I didn’t want stupid shit to get between us?” He gave her a little shake, and she quickly nodded her head, not trusting her voice. Why is he so mad? “You didn’t listen very well, did you? Because this is stupid shit getting between us, Hope. What kind of stupid shit did you let get wrapped around your head, baby?”

  His tone softened, and he shifted her on his lap, hand at the nape of her neck, pressing her face into his chest, and she breathed in his familiar and reassuring scent. “I got there and you were gone? Scared the fuck out of me, baby.”

  She swallowed hard, heard receding footsteps, and knew Fury was attempting to give them privacy. Swallowing again, she said, “Mercy moved in with Deke.”

  From the perplexed look on his face, she knew he wasn’t going to understand until she spelled it out for him. “I’ve saved a little while I lived with her, but the rent on that apartment was too much for what I make, even with the extra jobs.”

  Feeling her eyes get wet, she squeezed them tightly shut.

  “Hope—” he said, but she talked over him.

  “I found a cheaper place for me and Sammy. Something I can afford and still do things like be team mom for the hockey league. Life’s not a fairytale where things magically fall into place simply because we want them to. I know I have to work to make things happen, so I did what I had to do. I’d already lost you; I couldn’t stand to lose Mercy, too.

  Her voice broke and she had to swallow again to push down the tears before continuing, “I wanted us—Sammy and me—to stay in Fort Wayne, near Mercy. So, I tried to find a way for that to happen.

  Why is he acting as if I wronged him? He’s the one who left us. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she whispered, “You were the one gone without a word, Hoss. You think I left without telling anyone? No, you did. Because, I did try to contact you. I tried. I did. I reached out to you, wanted to find out what had gone wrong at dinner that last night, because I couldn’t figure out what I’d done. What I’d done wrong, what was so bad, so wrong, so embarrassing that you walked away without even a breakup text. I tried, but you didn’t call me back, didn’t return any of my messages.

  Shaking her head, she looked into his face, his expression not giving her any idea of his thoughts. “I waited for a long time. But, you didn’t get back to me. Zero response. So then, tell me, what was I supposed to think? You walked away without a word, made it seem easy peasy. Good and gone. I got it wrong. Okay, I can deal with being wrong. You were gone, so I went back to what I know, being responsible for myself and my son; making sure I’m putting Sammy first. It’s all I know.” With a muffled cry, she turned her face away, pushing hard against his body, and his arms tightened around her again, hard bands making her efforts futile. Her sobbing voice rose to a shout as she yelled, “Now would you please let me go?”

  He had gone still while she spoke, and his voice was soft when he said, “Hope, baby. Not easy, not a chance it was easy. Do you not remember me telling you the only reason I couldn’t move you into my house was because I didn’t want to fuck up Deke’s play for Mercy?” He paused and then gave her a shake until she nodded. “Then why would you think I wouldn’t jump on the chance once that play was no longer an issue?

  She opened her mouth, but he talked over any words she might have said. “Did you not understand I wanted you there? I’ve never taken a woman to that house, ever. You seen the inside of my house, baby?” Eyes tightly closed, she nodded and opened her mouth again, but he forged on.

  “Fucking right. I told you the first time you walked through my door, ‘Welcome home’ and I meant it.” His fingers stroked her cheek, folding underneath her chin and turning her face up to his. “Look at me, baby.” Fingertips stroking across her lips, thumb insistently tugging the bottom one down, he opened her mouth slightly. “Baby, look at me,” he pleaded, and she opened her eyes, blinking away the still-flowing tears.

  He hovered over her, eyes sweeping back and forth across her features, anguish clear in every deep line etched on his face. “I never tried to do this before, never tried to be someone to anybody. I fucked up. Baby, this is me telling you I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t understand. Scared the shit outta me, walking into that apartment and everything that was you…gone. Lost my shit, baby. Ain’t gonna lose you. I ain’t gonna let you run away. No fucking way. I will always find you and bring you home, baby. As long as you love me, I’ll bring you home.

  She squinted up at him and opened her mouth again, but then closed it as he threw his head back with a groan. “Baby, don’t deny it. Don’t tell me to let you go. Ain’t happening. You named it when you told me you wanted my cock in you. You told me to make love to you. Baby. Let me bring you home.”

  Can’t catch me

  Fucking killed him, the way Sammy looked at him now. Head down, corner of the eye. Those looks drilled deep and painful, scouring over his skin like barbed wire. Day two of them being moved into his house, and it was crystal the boy trusted nothing from him anymore. Hoss thought he was good at locking his shit down, but Sammy seemed a fucking master. Standing in the kitchen, hip to the counter, he raised a cup of coffee to his lips, sipping cautiously at the hot liquid. His eyes were on Sammy, seated near the bottom of the stairs, elbows to his knees, chin propped in his hands.

  Hope had left about an hour ago to drive to Dale’s office. She told him she needed to get payroll out the door, unresisting when he lifted her chin with his fingers to take her mouth in a soft, sweet kiss. Unresisting, but not responding as she had before. She may have moved in, but she wasn’t with him yet. Not a fucking chance. After everything that had gone on the day before, beyond exhausted when she finally fell into bed, she had been asleep in minutes. He had curled around her, pressing his chest tight to her back, and lain awake listening to her breathing slow and deepen, not needing more than her in his arms to be happy in the moment.

  Midway through the night, he heard a thin shout from Sammy. Before he could do anything, she had jerked awake and was up and out of bed, stumbling and nearly running into the wall in her haste. He followed her at a more considered pace and watched as she blindly crawled into bed with Sammy, pulling him into her side with a soft mutter, eyes already closing.

  Fuck, she had lost all the easy gained before he ran out on them. He could dress it up all he wanted, but he ran out on them. Sowing distrust and sadness. From what Hope said, it was obvious she felt he left them hanging. He had fucked up hard, seeding doubt and sorrow, and now he would reap that crop.

  Tense and nervous even in her sleep, the anxiety bled from her into the boy. As he stood and watched from the doorway, their rest was again disturbed by Sammy’s dreams. Both occupants of the bed twisting and moving in their sleep, trying to get away from whatever plagued them in the darkness.

  Knee to the bed, he climbed in behind her, answering her startled question with a quiet, “Hush, baby,” as he wrapped his arms around them both. Turning her on her side, he tucked himself against her, his bigger spoon to her small one, both cradling the baby spoon. In the morning, when she finally stirred, the sun had edged in around the curtains and his eyes were still open, scratchy and burning from lack of sleep, but Hope and Sam had rested, deep and dreamless under his attentive protection.

  Over breakfast, he watched the interactions between mother and son, their bond as strong and pure; impossible as it seemed, maybe even tighter than ever. Hoss had seen how the skin around her eyes grew taut with worry every time Sammy opened his mouth. Hoss knew—would have known, even without Jase’s revelations—that Sammy wanted to hate him, and so he braced
for the shit that would eventually have to be aired in order to heal.

  Time to get things straightened out, he thought and, setting down his cup, called, “Tridents tonight, you and me, Sammy.”

  Eyes, nearly the same as his mother’s, cut to him then away. “No, thank you,” came the overly polite, quiet response. Same shit he had been getting since they picked up the boy at the Foundation offices the day before.

  “Yep, you and me. Boys’ night. I already got the tickets.” He turned away, fumbling open the refrigerator door, and stood staring at nothing inside, his mind as empty of comfort as the shelves. “We need some groceries. Grab a jacket.”

  “I want Mom.” The boy’s words were spoken so softly if there had been any other sound in the house, he would have missed them. Yeah, time to clear the air, he thought, turning to see Sammy staring at the bottom step.

  Remembering a previous meaningful conversation with Sammy, he used the same words the boy had thrown at him. “No lies.” That got him a frozen kid, stuck in place, staring in front of him with wide eyes, because apparently the phrase held a power he hadn’t understood. Not sure what he had bought with the two words, still he forged ahead. “I’m a fucking asshole.” He stated this firmly, painfully taking in the unspoken agreement in Sammy’s gaze when it snapped to him. Yes, you are. “I didn’t call.”

  “You didn’t call,” Sammy agreed, not moving. Hurt my mom.

  “Fucked your life up for weeks, me not calling and making sure your momma knew what I wanted.” Sammy didn’t respond, so he nodded in agreement with his own words. Giving the boy both physical and verbal affirmation his anger was acceptable, because it had been earned. “Fucked up your momma’s life, too, her thinking she didn’t mean anything to me, when she means the world. Caused her to question lots of things, uproot you both to try and keep your hearts safe.”

  Sammy nodded slowly, still not speaking. Made her sad.

  “This is me trying to make things right, Sammy. I rolled back into town, and the first place I went was the old apartment, because I wanted to be home. Even without thinking about it, I knew home wasn’t this house; it was wherever you and Mama were, so I went where I thought you’d be.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You weren’t there, and I lost my fucking mind.”

  He heard Sammy’s gasp at that statement, so he repeated it, leaning forward at the waist and hissing, “I lost my fucking mind. Your shit was gone, and no matter the calls I made, the people I begged for information, you and Mama hadn’t shared with anyone. Didn’t have anyone she trusted, so she didn’t share. Because I’m a fucking asshole and I didn’t call.”

  “You lost your mind?” Back straight, sitting still on the step, Sammy laid his arms on his legs, wiping his hands on the fabric of his jeans nervously. Fuck. Remember his daddy lost his mind once, too, nearly killed the boy before he was born. Easy, I gotta go easy, he thought.

  Nodding, he stood and walked across the room, settling on the step next to Sammy, his longer legs reaching farther down, boots on the step that recently bore the weight of the boy’s stare. “Lost my fucking mind, because I didn’t know where my Hope had gone. Where my Sammy was. It came to me all of a sudden that neither of you had mindreading in your resume, so I knew I had fucked up big.” He lifted his arms, hands far apart, palms facing as he measured the span of his stupidity. “Big.”

  Another slow nod from Sammy, then a question, “Why didn’t you call?”

  “Million dollar question, son.” He saw the rejecting jolt when he called Sammy that word, a word that meant the world to Hoss, and then he pushed down the hurt, setting the boy’s reaction aside for a moment. “I have a thousand excuses, but not a single fucking reason. I can say things like I was busy, or it would get late, or things were good when I left, and while each of those statements are true, not a single fucking one is a reason.”

  He shook his head, tilting his chin down. “I could have made two minutes time to call and tell her I was thinking of her, because I was, all the time. I could have called at three in the morning and she would have picked up, because she’d know I needed her voice. I know good things don’t stay good just because of wishes. Good things need work, and I should have done that work, put in the time to make sure your momma was good. I didn’t, because…well, anything I say after ‘because’ is an excuse, and I’ve decided I ain’t gonna fall back on those. So I didn’t call, and that was me fucking up”—he lifted his arms again, stretching his fingertips wider than before—“big.”

  They sat in silence for a minute, then two, the quiet stretching into comfortable positions, settling around them companionably. Sammy sighed, and then wiped his hands on his jeans again. “It’s good you know that.”

  “Yeah,” Hoss agreed. “I know it, so I can put the time in now to fix it. So much harder to fix something than it is to build it in the first place. You’d think I’d be smarter than this. I can tell you one thing, Sammy. If I can fix this with your momma, with my Hope…if I can make her believe and understand how I feel, then you can bet your boots I won’t be letting things get broken again. I will hold it close, put in the time, work to make it stay good all the time.”

  “You really still like her.” This wasn’t a question, but Hoss answered it anyway.

  “Yes, I like her.” He hesitated then said, “I like you too, son.”

  Sammy’s chin dropped to his chest, and his face screwed up tight and hard. Fuck. His shoulders jerked, and Hoss knew the boy was trying not to cry, trying to clamp down on the feelings overwhelming him. Fucking shit.

  Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around Sammy, pulling him in close. “I like you too, son,” Hoss repeated, and felt Sammy silently jerk again and again, nearly convulsing as he fought to hold in his fears and tears, anger and sorrow. “I ain’t going anywhere, boy. You and your momma are stuck with me now.”

  “I—” Hard, hitching breath. “I lied.” This was cried on a wail, the four letters of that word stretching out to fill the air with a swelling pain that ripped through Hoss, flaying him in places he had never felt such agony, and he sensed Sammy’s desperate hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as the boy burrowed closer. “I lied,” he wailed again, and Hoss leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of Sammy’s head.

  “It’s okay, Sammy. Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out, son.” Keeping his voice low, he tried to control the sweep of anger igniting inside, so fucking furious with himself that he hurt the boy this way. He understood Jase’s anger more clearly now, because the kid deserved better from the people who loved him.

  “I lied, because he’s not nice.” Still wailing, the words separated by breaths sucked in between raw sounding sobs. Fuck.

  “Sam. Son, take a breath, we’ll sort it out.” Fuck, how did people do this?

  “You can’t be like him, because you matter to her.” Breathing still uncontrolled, Sammy sobbed against him for a minute, and then he howled again. “You can’t tell her I know.” What the fuck was the kid talking about?

  “Sam—”

  “You can’t tell her I know he’s not nice. She still thinks he’s nice, and if she finds out he isn’t, then she might not think I’m nice, because I’m his.” Fuck. The boy was talking about Suiter, his father. Fuck.

  “Tell me what you think you know, son,” he urged gently.

  “I’m not your son.” The wail cranked wide open again and Sammy’s pain surged around them, carried on the raw sounds coming from his throat. Sammy gripped him tighter, hard hiccups interrupting the boy’s nearly futile attempts to breathe.

  “Does it count if I want you to be?” What in the hell am I doing? This was a promise he wasn’t sure he was ready to make. “If I want you and your momma to be my family, does that count for anything?”

  “You can’t tell her.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, but uncertainty had crept in and Hoss pressed the advantage.

  “She’ll understand better than you think. She knows exactly
the kind of man your daddy is, Sammy. Better than most, because she lived with him.” It wasn’t his place to tell him what had gone down, and rather than confuse him with half-truths, he would just draw the line, urge him to talk to Hope. Then the boy spoke again, crashing things around him like shattering window glass dropping in dangerous shards to the ground.

  “Mac told me what he did,” Sammy whispered, and at that moment, Hoss hated Mac, a man he had never met. “My Grandmamma visited the diner one time and Mommy didn’t know. We went to the park and she told me all these mean stories about Mommy. Tried to tell me my mom was a bad person.” He took a deep breath, the stress still thick in his voice, but no longer sobbing aloud. “I told her she was a big, fat liar and she slapped me. Hard. Mommy never hits me. I didn’t want Mommy to be mad, so I didn’t tell her. Mac knew. Somehow, he just knew.”

  Hoss listened to him talk, hearing how his speech patterns reverted to the age he had been when this happened. “If Mommy knowed, then we wouldn’t go back. Grandmamma lived in the country, like Grandfather and my other Grandmother. Mommy misses the country, and if she knew, then we wouldn’t go back, and that would make her sad.”

  “You need to talk to Mom, son,” he urged gently. “It will make her more sorrowful when she eventually learns this, and you know she will, because she’s that kind of persistent. Give her a chance to make it right.” This drew a half-hitching sob from the boy, and he pressed his lips to the top of Sammy’s head.

  They sat still for a moment, the hitches in Sammy’s breathing coming less and less frequently until they seemed to stop. “You gotta talk to her, Sam. Talk to her and tell her how you know, and how that knowing makes you feel. Let her give you back something, because it will make her better. She might be sad for a moment, but you gotta give her that, son.”

  He tightened his arms around Sam then leaned down to kiss the top of his head again, closing his eyes at the wash of emotion the scent of soap and skin gave him. That feeling of home he hadn’t even known he was missing until he tried to move towards it and found an empty apartment instead. My boy. Home.