Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4

by MariaLisa deMora

  Hoss couldn’t imagine her any other way. He couldn’t even bear to think about her born silent and still, scooped lifeless out of a belly, no thin shrill, then stronger-still demanding cries voiced in the room, or ever. No sunny chatter through his house, phone and vid bills running up, laughter ringing bright and true. I was right about Cassie. His arms tightened reflexively. Bravest woman I’ve ever met.

  Ever since the unthinkable happened to her, Cassie had been fighting demons. Fears assailed her everywhere, people and places pulling unmetered responses from her. Then there was the sheer terror of the panic, which had proven as much a deterrent against reentry into the world as the actual attacks. She was determined not to be stifled, though, always looking for ways to expand her world, push back the horizons that seemed to be shrinking in on her every hour.

  His art had become one sure way for her. Cassie had found the emotion in the pieces enough of a draw to bring her out to shows. Each moment of the night carefully orchestrated, but managed. Hockey another, finding what she could stand and maneuver her experiences into that space. Use of tools and rituals her measuring stick of success. Now the bike, a thing she could control, something to master. Her own competence finally winning out, bringing her into the world in a way so unique it beat back the terror.

  Fuck.

  He had triggered her twice in this bed without knowing it.

  The first when he lost her eyes, when she couldn’t see his face—when she could no longer see him—she’d felt the rapists’ hands on her, experienced again the paralyzing fear when all she could see were the stocking-distorted faces, noses smashed flat and upturned, porcine in appearance, their obscene tongues waggling through strategic slits, nothing to make them human.

  The second was when he rolled her, leaning in for a kiss. His weight morphing into a restraint in her mind, his mouth the operating room mask that mixed with the pain in her memories to turn it into a terrifying thing.

  Two things I can easily avoid, he thought, stroking her hair slowly.

  My gorgeous girl. So fucking brave.

  Show me

  Cassie

  The next time she woke it felt more in line with her normal routine. Heart jackhammering in her chest, she knifed upright and swung her legs to dangle off the edge of the bed. She sat there for a moment, elbows to knees as she pushed her hair back from her face, nightmare-triggered sweat chilling on her skin. Eyes to the floor, her gaze traced the tangle of clothing lying there, and she blinked in surprise. What?

  There were a pair of boots on her floor, one upright, a sock draped over an edge, and one on its side, the companion sock nowhere in sight. A man’s boots.

  Hoss. She recalled everything, memories washing over her in a rush. Her eyes sank closed as her chest hitched. I told him…everything.

  Boots meant one of two things. Either she had freaked out so badly he had run from the house barefoot, uncaring of the gravel paths, or he was still here, in her house. Last night had been so confusing. First had been riding behind Hoss for the first time, something she’d enjoyed more than expected. The positioning on the seat a necessary intimacy, she’d taken advantage of, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Then dinner with his friends, and she’d only realized after the fact how much care had been put into the plans. Hoss had worked hard to create a safe space for her, and Cassie couldn’t remember the last time someone had done such a sweet thing.

  They’d been back home when Hoss had held out his arms and she’d stepped into them. Just moved to him, into his arms as if she belonged there always. She’d felt so secure, even telling herself it was an unspoken promise when they tightened around her.

  That promise had been immediately tested last night when she had not one but two freak-outs on the man. Then I had to go and tell him the entire sordid story. Cassie blinked fast, driving tears from her eyes. Promise tested and broken, just like me. Her eyes rolled almost of their own volition, then closed, holding back the sight of yet another failure. Poor little Cassie, did the bad men hurt you? She shook her head, ruthlessly shoving down the pain of Hoss leaving. Suck it up, buttercup. Shit happens.

  Going to sleep next to him was nice. She snorted a laugh, because his absence proved it’d been a mistake. And the safety she’d felt in his arms would never again be experienced. Time to pick another door. She listened intently to the quiet permeating the house, then snorted again. Definitely a runner. With a sigh, she eyed the abandoned boots. A barefoot runner. Fingers folding into her palms, she fisted her hands, straining until the muscles in her arms shook. I’ll mail his property back to him. Then she straightened and with eyes still closed, began her morning ritual. As always, as ever—alone.

  “Be a fucking lion,” she whispered. “Become the person you want to see in the mirror.” Rocking her head back and forth, she stretched her neck, settling back into place before saying, “Color outside the lines.” Tipping her head back, she told the ceiling, “Take back your power. They get nothing.”

  Opening her eyes, she glanced towards the sign over the door, but her gaze stuttered and locked at the sight of the man standing in the doorway. With one shoulder propped against the frame, he was watching her, the line of his mouth stern and tight, lips pale where they pressed together. Hoss. Wearing only his jeans, he straightened and began to pad towards her. Her belly quivered and Cassie flicked her gaze up at the sign over the door and finished the ritual by reading the words aloud, her voice scarcely a whisper, “Actually, I just woke up one day and decided I didn’t want to feel like that anymore, or ever again. So I changed. Just like that.”

  He stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Slowly he reached out, his leisurely movements giving her every chance to avoid the touch if she wanted. She stayed in place waiting until his palm settled against her cheek and then she leaned into him, the heat and touch, all his wealth of caring transformed into a physical expression of support. At her subtle surrender, his mouth curved, finally, and he bent to brush his lips over hers.

  “Mornin’, darlin’.” His drawl was more pronounced this early, and she felt her lips tip into a small smile.

  ***

  “Tell me again what process you go through to determine the supporting pieces you use to accent the main art?” Hoss’ demanding voice came from behind her where he sat on the couch.

  Feet planted, she twisted in place to look at him, knowing she was scowling and not giving a damn how it looked on her face. “I don’t know. Didn’t I already tell you that? I don’t know, I just do. I look at the painting or drawing and I just do.”

  “So, what do you think this one needs?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t focus because someone is talking.”

  “So you need quiet to do this?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never not had quiet in my house, so I don’t know.”

  “You’re sayin’ you want me to shut up?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. You’re saying that. I’m just not disagreeing.”

  His laughter startled Cassie and she turned away, not wanting to see it since she knew how memories could become twisted. She wanted to experience it, like she had when he called her name last night and she’d felt it, so she closed her eyes now, soaking in the emotion flooding through the room. Happy. Relaxed. Strong. Opening her eyes, she looked at the painting of his dead wife and smiled, filled with a sudden knowing.

  She turned and walked fast, moving through the house to her photo albums. Picking up the top one, she flipped through until she found what she wanted. Carrying the image in one hand, she went to a nearby bookshelf and thumbed the spines on the bottom shelf until she found a specific art book. A return to the photo albums had her placing one on top of the book, then Cassie grabbed her tablet on her way past the dining room table. When she got back to the living room, Hoss stood, but immediately moved further away, giving her space.

  On her knees, she flipped through the album, fingertips pausing over first one pi
cture then another, discarding them mentally as she continued to move through the pages. There. She pulled one picture from the album, and then two pages later, another. She almost closed it, but then quickly flipped towards the back, removing a final snapshot from the album.

  Artbook next, she performed the same actions, flipping and hovering, then moving on. Finally, she found what fit, what worked, and she carefully ripped one picture out of the book. Then another.

  Tablet in hand, she settled back onto her heels, glancing up at the painting from that supplicant’s position as she looked at images on the screen. Two hours later, she had placed half a dozen orders for various items, as well as prints of the things she had found in the book, and frames for her family photos.

  Ass on the floor, she leaned against the couch and stared at the painting. Her eyes traced the profile of the woman Hoss had loved and lost, a strong measure of his love shining through this picture, and as with all of them, the emotion brought to life so bright it was blinding. She knew the story, had read a hundred accounts of how she died, the tragedy of her short life, and the gift she had given him. Faith. Their daughter.

  “Show me,” he whispered, and without looking up at him, she turned the tablet over. The software was active and showed the painting and arrangement she intended to use with the other things she bought. “Beautiful.” His voice so soft and loving, she expected him to be looking up at the painting, at his wife, but when she turned to face him…he was looking at her. “My gorgeous gal.”

  About damn time

  Hoss

  “Box tonight, baby girl,” Hoss said through his shirt as he pulled it on, juggling his phone and keys as he dressed. They were getting ready for Sammy’s game. It had been two days since he had seen Cassie, and he hoped to break that streak tonight. This was after spending three full days at her house before leaving to come home and relieve Jase and DeeDee’s daughter Gilda from her friend-sitting of his Faith. I miss her.

  As Gilda had walked out to her car, headed back to campus in Muncie, she’d raised a hand and pulled a laugh from both father and daughter when she said, “Bu-bye, Hoth.” He had known the girl her whole life, and often teased her about how she’d lisped his name when younger. Hearing that reminder of their shared lives and memories, all built through longevity, had pulled his throat tight. Now, just remembering that moment, he knew the smile slipped from his face as he walked through the house.

  “Dad?” Faith called from in front of him, and he stopped, the echoes of his footsteps fading quickly.

  “It’s okay, Faynez. Just had a moment.” These flashes when the loss of Hope would sweep over him and darken his mood still happened. Not as often as before, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He hated reminders of what he and the kids had lost, while contradictorily still wanting them to continue. It boiled down to him not wanting to lose any part of Hope. Even grief due to her death had always been a way to keep her with him.

  Faith’s voice was soft when she asked, “Did you and Uncle Tug have a good dinner? I haven’t seen you much since then. Uncle Tug behave himself?” His baby girl knew his moods, probably better than he did himself, and she knew if she could get him talking about spending time with friends, it would help lift the threatening shadows.

  He made a decision. Time to test the waters. “You remember the woman from the show?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Saw her out riding a few weeks ago.” Twisting in place, he watched as first joy and then a look of caution flashed across Faith’s face. “Turns out she bought a bike from our shop. I found out your Uncle Tug had been teaching her to ride.” Now Faith’s expression was confused but pleased, and he nodded, laughing. “Yeah, he never said anything. He didn’t have any way of knowing who she was. Just being the nice guy, helping out a damsel in distress.”

  “Uncle Tug is hilarious. Him and Aunt Maggie are both awesome like that.”

  “Yeah. For an old bastard, he’s pretty decent.” Hoss laughed. “I saw her, rolled the guys after her, and we pulled her into our column.” At that statement, Faith’s eyes got round and he nodded again. “Yeah, wasn’t thinkin’ very clearly, or I’d have seen how that might be a tad bit…intimidating.”

  “Ya think, Dad?” She shook her head, then asked, “How’d she handle it?” Faith knew how to ride, but beyond the basic skills had no interest in it other than sitting pretty on the back of someone else’s bike, which she enjoyed. But she’d been on enough runs that she knew how frightened people could get when a mass of bikes rolled up beside them.

  “Champ. All the way. Total champ.”

  She smiled broadly, her pleasure in someone else’s achievement marking the kind of woman he knew she was growing up to be. “Proud of you, Faynez,” he said gently and watched her face change, soften. “I don’t tell you enough, but I am, baby doll. Proud of you.” Taking a breath, he continued sharing, “Had opportunity to sit a meal with her.” He’d only gone out for one meal recently, and she’d already referenced it, so Hoss knew his girl would put two and two together.

  “She knows you painted her?”

  “No, didn’t come up. I just told you I sat a meal with her.”

  “But, then you didn’t come home.”

  Fuck but his girl was quick to put two and two together. “No, I didn’t. That bother you?”

  “No.” Stated emphatically, she left no room for interpretation. If he wanted to dig into this with Cassie right now, Faith was a hundred percent okay with it.

  “Gonna explore this with her.” Not quite a warning, but he knew Faith would take his meaning, and she did.

  “I’m glad you are.” And she was. The honesty of her words was written in the soft expression on her face.

  “Means she’ll be around some.” Faith nodded. “Baby, she’s had a hard time of it. She’s got some—” He drew a blank for what to say next, then settled for something other than Tamara’s word. “—unusual challenges.” Tipping her head to one side in a motion that was all Hope, his Faith silently urged him on. “She has anxiety attacks, so she doesn’t go out much. Doesn’t feel comfortable around a lot of people, means it’s hard to earn her trust.”

  “But she trusts you?”

  “Yeah, seems to. Which is a good thing for your old man.”

  “You want me to meet her?” That was Hope all over, and a feeling of grace swelled inside him. Faith was her mother through and through, standing here offering him what he needed.

  “God, Faynez. Sometimes you are exactly like your mother.” Faith startled and then smiled slowly. He’d surprised and pleased her with that. He repeated his earlier words. “So proud of you, honey. Honored to be your father. And yeah, eventually, I want you to meet her. Cassie means a lot to me.”

  “Then I’ll meet her when you think the time is right. She makes you happy, Daddy. I told Sammy—” Faith scowled and shook her head. He knew she hadn’t meant to let that slip. Hoss understood his kids worried about him, but they tried to keep any machinations on the down low, usually.

  “What’d you tell Sam?”

  “That you were working. That you were engaged in things again. That you were smiling and humming and just…happy, Daddy. I told him whoever the woman was you were drawing, she made you happy.”

  “Good eye.” Hoss waited, and Faith gave him a trembling smile. “Now, we’re in the box tonight, so I want you to behave.”

  “Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “When do I ever not behave?”

  He gestured towards the door to the garage, letting Faith move in front of him. They were down the two steps and beside the truck when he dropped the hammer on her hopes. “When you eyeball Jonny like you want to climb him like a tree. You are not nearly old enough to be running after a boy like that, Faynez.” Her gasp made him grin. “Thought you had a secret, huh?”

  “Dad.” Faith’s exasperation was clear in her tone, his name gaining several syllables in how she drew it out.

  “I remember the day you were set on marrying
Garrett in Uncle Mason’s living room.” Hoss angled his head so she couldn’t see his smile as he folded into the truck and jammed the keys into the ignition. “You swapping your allegiance, honey? Poor boy’s gonna be devastated.”

  “God.” She huffed as she threw herself into the seat next to him, already digging in her back pocket for her phone. “Kill me now.”

  “Not sayin’ Jonny’s a better bet than Garrett. Boy’s good, but he’s older, honey. Life’s changed for him over the past couple of years. I’m also not sayin’ Gar’s a better bet than Jon-boy, either. Both boys are good, I’ll give you that.” He opened the garage door and twisted the keys. Shifting smoothly to pull out of the garage, Hoss glanced at Faith, catching a glimpse of her bright red face. She’s really embarrassed. It was time to cut her some slack. “But, my girl deserves the best. So…” He changed topics, giving her a chance to regain her composure. “Who are we playing tonight?”

  ***

  Hoss kept his binoculars trained across the rink, following Cassie’s every move. It was near the end of the first period, and she’d seemed settled, eager to watch the team skate. He hadn’t told her he would be in the arena tonight, hadn’t mentioned the club kept a box, so she wasn’t watching for him.

  He grinned when she lifted a hand, fingers curled into a fist so she could give a knuckle-pound to some of the boys as they came off the ice. A pane of heavy plastic separated them, but that didn’t seem to dilute her pleasure. There was an empty seat beside her that called to him and he glanced at the clock. Four minutes left in the period could be upwards of fifteen or more with penalties, so he likely had time to hit up a concession stand on his way over if he wanted. You’ve already decided to go, old man. Just go already.