That sounded…
Like a plan.
“That’s a plan.”
“Thank fuck,” he muttered, clearly thinking he’d get backtalk.
I didn’t comment on that.
I prompted, “Kristy.”
He’d gone unfocused, such was his relief I didn’t argue with his plan.
But he focused then.
And his focus was a deep, intent, gleaming, magnificent focus.
Instantly, I read my man.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“I do not know the woman I just talked to,” he confirmed what I’d read. “But she wants me to call the school to start the transfer, and she says, once that’s sorted, we can move ’em down.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
“Yeah,” he said.
Suddenly, he caught my head in both hands and put his face in mine.
“I do not trust this shit, so I don’t wanna say anything to them. I told her I want that in writing. I want an emailed letter, I want it by tomorrow morning, with her printing it out, putting her goddamned signature on it and sending it to me. I’m still callin’ the school first thing Monday. But we don’t tell the kids until I got that email. You with me?”
I nodded mutely.
“Tatie good?” he asked.
I nodded again mutely.
“You gonna pass out, seein’ as you’re not breathing?”
“We’re getting the kids,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he whispered back, that intent, gleaming magnificent look back in his eyes.
I caught his head like he had mine. I yanked his mouth down on mine. I kissed him hard.
Then I broke away, turning from him.
I bent over, pumped my arms rapidly at my sides, jerked up, then clapped silently, jumping up and down.
“Jesus, fuck, Toots, you are a dorky librarian,” he noted, smiling broadly.
“We get the kids, we get the kids, wegetthekids,” I chanted quietly.
He kept smiling.
“We get the kids, we get the kids, wegetthekids,” I repeated my chant quietly.
“Baby, don’t make me wanna fuck you. Both of ’em are still awake. You know we don’t fuck until they’re out.”
“We get the kids, we get the kids, wegeththekids,” I said yet again.
He burst out laughing, doing it hooking me by my neck, and I face planted in his chest because he made me.
I wound my arms around him.
He pulled me closer, smooshing my face in his chest.
I turned so I had my cheek to it instead.
Then, in the top of my hair, he whispered, his voice guttural.
“We get the kids.”
“Yeah,” I replied.
He held tight.
I did too.
And it was all good.
32
The Life and Times of West Hardy
Later that night, I was in my nightie, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, my gaze on the frames on the dresser across the room, when the light went out in the bathroom.
I swung my head that way, seeing Buck walk in wearing cutoff, flannel pajama bottoms.
He rarely wore pajamas. If he had to don something, he put on jeans.
But sometimes, for reasons known only to West Hardy, he put on one of the three pairs (all cutoff, all frequently washed) of pajama bottoms he owned.
I didn’t question this.
First, because he looked good in them.
Second, because I got to take them off.
I watched as he turned his head to glance at the picture frames while he walked to the bed.
But he didn’t come to the side.
He went to the foot.
And then, stunned immobile, I watched as his big body teetered and then he fell to the bed.
After he bounced (and I did as well), this ended with his muscles and back tats on display, his head in my lap and he added winding his arms around my hips.
He had his bristly cheek to my inner thigh, he didn’t make a move to take anything further, and it came to me that I had a different West Hardy on my hands.
No.
That wasn’t right.
For the first time, I had all of West Hardy on my hands.
Really all of him.
And having it all, I immediately learned there was more to like.
Because he now felt free to be like this with me.
Having a good night.
Getting great news.
And giving me a biker cuddle.
By the way, it was the best…cuddle…ever.
I slid my fingers in his dark hair, seeing occasional threads of silver catch the light, watching the thick strands embrace my fingers, feeling the smooth silkiness, and again marveling at the perfection.
He didn’t purr at my touch.
But he rubbed his beard against my thigh.
And that was better.
“Tell me,” I urged quietly.
“Tell you what?” he asked my thigh.
“About it.”
He tipped his head well back to catch my eyes but didn’t lose hold on my hips.
My God.
God.
This was my man.
And I had all of him.
“About what?” he asked.
“Your mom. Your dad. Your sisters and brother. How you fell in love with Kristy.”
A teasing light hit his eyes. “All that right now?”
I wasn’t teasing.
“Yes.”
He studied me a moment before, regrettably, he took his arms from around me and did a one-armed plank.
Not regrettably, he wrapped the fingers of his free hand around my ankle and tugged.
I bit back a cry as I slid down the bed, having no choice but to fall to my back, head hitting the pillows. He pushed up a bit.
And then he settled his weight on me.
I liked him with his head in my lap.
But this was nice too.
Very nice.
“Dad’s name is Locke. We named Gear after him,” he told me.
Instantly, I felt a wash of relief.
Of gratitude.
Contentment.
Happiness.
Just knowing his father’s name.
Just knowing the name of the man I’d seen in those pictures time and time again.
Just knowing more about my man.
“Another reason we call my boy Gear. To avoid confusion,” Buck went on.
“Right,” I whispered.
“Mom was called Lenora. Sisters, Sheila and Megan. My brother was called Bruce ’cause Dad’s a big Bruce Lee fan.”
I nodded, my head moving against the pillows.
“And you’re West because…?” I prompted.
“We live in the Wild West, darlin’.”
I smiled up at him.
“And how did Buck come about?” I asked.
His expression grew cautious.
Uh-oh.
“You can tell me,” I said softly.
“Right, so I lost my virginity at age fifteen and I got caught doin’ it.”
My mouth dropped open.
“From then on, I was Buck.”
I started to laugh.
He smiled down at me.
“And why am I Toots?” I pressed on.
“Baby, you are a Toots. From the tips of those spiked heels you wore to the Dive the first time I saw you, to your round ass in that tight skirt, nice tits, prim and proper blouse, big eyes, lotsa hair. You’re Toots top to toe.”
I liked that.
And to share that with him, I slid a hand up his back.
I then got us back to business.
“So, let’s start with your sisters,” I suggested.
Buck nodded.
“Sheila is sweet and quiet. Like Lorie and Pinky. Just a good woman through and through. Her man’s called Dog. He’s solid. Decent. Good guy. Loves my sister a lot.”
“I’m glad
.”
“They been together for a while, through a lot of tough times. Stayed solid. Those times were about his Club. They were also them tryin’ for a kid. Both wanted one real bad. It just didn’t happen.”
“Oh no,” I whispered.
He nodded, his nod communicating the gloom in my words.
“They decided against adoption ’cause they thought there were too many kids who needed love who were already around, and those weren’t the babies. So they became foster parents.”
I stilled under him.
“Yeah,” he said. “First kid they got, though, it was love all around. They adopted. So they did it again. And again.”
I closed my eyes, pieces falling into place, all that made West Hardy.
“Great kids, great family. They still foster. They’re happy,” he said quietly.
I opened my eyes.
“That’s good.”
He stared down at me, his face gentle.
Then he said, “Meg, Meg was like Mom.”
Oh boy.
This was the rough stuff.
“Yes?” I asked softly.
“Yeah. Dad was funny and open and had a booming voice and an even bigger laugh. Mom was edgy. Opinionated. Tough. But she did a lot of mom things, like she taught me how to cook.”
That explained that.
And when it did, more of that relief washed through me.
Gratitude.
Contentment.
This from receiving the gift of knowing more about him.
What made him.
And what made him amazing.
“So she was an exceptional cook,” I remarked.
A grin quirked his mouth. “Yeah. Mostly, though, she was a mom. She was an old lady. She didn’t put up with any shit. Not from her kids. Not from Dad. She held her own. That didn’t mean she wasn’t affectionate. She was. But Dad was the good-time guy, she was the tough nut. They worked it, because, for the most part, we kept our shit sharp. But if we jacked around too much, she washed her hands of us, went to Dad, and he’d lower the hammer. And since that wasn’t him, if he did that, we knew shit was serious. So we got ourselves in line.”
“Sounds like they had a good system.”
“They were great together.”
God, his voice when he said that.
“I love it that you had that, Buck.”
He bent to brush his lips on mine, moved away and replied, “I do too.”
I sighed under him, loving that he had that, sad for him it was gone.
He kept sharing.
“Mom wanted a good life for her babies. She’s the one who pushed me to learn a trade. And sayin’ ‘push,’ there was pretty much no other road I could take.”
He paused.
It was a weighty pause.
Then he said, “Dad worked hard. Mom did too. We didn’t want for much. And we had all we needed. But she told me no one was gonna hand me shit. I’d have to work for it. I had to learn that. I couldn’t go through life expectin’ the world to look after me. I had to look after myself.”
Perhaps not the same words, but the same message I’d shared with him I thought was important to teach children.
And his reaction to that of weeks ago was also explained.
I dug my fingers into his beard at his jaw and stroked when I hit bone.
“She sounds pretty awesome,” I noted.
“She was. And she and Dad were…” He trailed off.
“They were what?” I prompted when he didn’t go on.
“Lookin’ back, especially recently, I think the reason I was so fucked up about what happened with Kristy and me was because I wanted that. I wanted what they had. I wanted it for me. And knowin’ how it felt, havin’ it growin’ up, I wanted to give that to my kids.”
I sensed there was something there I needed to tease out.
“Was there more to what they had and what they gave you kids that you haven’t told me?” I asked.
“They were into each other.” He tipped his head to the side. “The reason I don’t stray? The reason I won’t stray?”
I nodded for him to go on, keen to hear this.
Not that I wasn’t keen on it all.
But I definitely wanted to know this.
“Dad would never do that. He got it and I get it that there are some bikers who are in the life so they can live theirs a certain way, without the strictures of traditional society fencing them in. And that’s part of it. Bein’ free to do with your dick what you want. But Dad would never turn to another woman, and not only because Ma would lose her shit, turn him out and not look back. He was just into her. She was into him. They made out all the time. They touched a lot. They disappeared in their room for long stretches of time. They were partners. But they were also lovers. And it wasn’t unhealthy or inappropriate how they did it, but they didn’t hide it.”
More explanation of why, from the start, Buck did not hide what he and I were from his kids.
“And they talked,” he continued. “Dad had a bad day, he’d take it to Ma, and she’d listen. Mom, she could hold on to things. But he could read her. And he’d pin her into a corner in the kitchen or somewhere and pull it out of her. He couldn’t stand it. Not her being in a mood. Something bothering her and him not doing something about it.”
I was falling in love with his parents already.
“And I didn’t have that with Kristy,” Buck continued. “My folks had all the time in the world for their kids. We had family times. Family dinners. They took us on family vacations. They loved us and let that show too. Kristy was about Kristy. I’m not sayin’ she doesn’t love Gear and Tatie. I’m sayin’ they were like accessories. Like a handbag you were happy to show off, but then you’d set it aside when you weren’t usin’ it and get on with other shit that took your attention.”
Buck was now reading me, I knew, when both his hands came up to frame my head.
“That makes it sound worse than what it was,” he muttered. “She does love them. But when you love yourself most of all, you can’t really love a kid the way that kid needs to be loved.”
“Or a husband.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. Then he said, “Baby, relax. She’s gone.”
“I’m allowed to be mad about this, West.”
“All right,” he murmured. “But so you can get over it, I’ll give it all to you.”
I already knew there was more to give.
I just no longer wanted to have it.
Though I needed to have it, for Buck, me and the kids.
However, I didn’t have to pretend to like it.
So I didn’t.
“Fantastic,” I said sarcastically.
He grinned.
Then he kept talking.
“We fought. Even in the early days, we fought. We fought more later. Then more. Back then, I didn’t get it. I had on my hands this pretty girl who was sweet as sugar then could turn on a dime. I was too young to know she was sweet as sugar when she was getting her way, and she made that turn when she was not. I had no clue what I’d gotten myself into. I just knew what my folks had. I wanted what they had. I was all in to start a family because I loved the one they made. And that family had fallen apart. I wanted it back. I was too young to know Kristy was not the right woman and I made a family with her and then it was too late.”
“Oh, Buck,” I said quietly.
He shook his head.
“I do not regret havin’ my kids. I regret that was what they grew up with. And it scared the fuck out of me. Because, seein’ us, their mom up in their dad’s shit all the time. Screaming at him. Him shoutin’ back at her. Her sticking him with a knife. They wouldn’t know what they should look for. What they should expect. Some version of what my mom and dad had. I’m not sayin’ Mom and Dad didn’t fight. They did. But the bottom line always was that they loved each other. They were into each other. They listened to each other. They liked spending time with each other. And I did not give that to my kids.”
>
He shook his head again.
I didn’t say anything and waited.
He kept going.
“Took Kristy to see Dad. A few visits in, he asked her if he could have some time alone with his boy. She took off and left me with him. And he said, ‘Son, get shot of her. She’s not the one.’ By then, Kristy was pregnant, but we didn’t know it yet. It didn’t matter. I thought I was in love and I told him he didn’t know what he was talking about. But he’s my dad. He knew what he was talking about.”
“Sometimes we have to make our own mistakes.”
“That one, my kids paid for.”
“Buck,” I whispered, feeling that for him because he wasn’t hiding how deeply he felt it.
“Mom had only been around her a couple of times before she died. She never said, but I don’t think she thought much of her either.”
“West, you were a very young man,” I reminded him. “Nobody ever has all the answers or makes the all the right decisions. Even adults. But you were nineteen. Twenty. That’s two, three years older than Gear. Think about that.”
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“And they have you and I’m not sure you realize what a steadying force you are in their lives.”
“They also now have you.”
At that, I engaged my other hand to use his beard to pull him down to me for a quick kiss.
I then pushed him back and reiterated, “But they’ve always had you and what you and Kristy had might not have been great for them, but I can assure you not ever having it, that having one parent who knocks himself out to show them love and teach them good lessons and give them a safe space really works.”
“I hate you didn’t have that, darlin’,” he said in a voice that shared eloquently how much he meant it.
“I know you do,” I replied. “But that’s over, West. And it’s on the other side, but I have it now. And the kids will soon be here full-time, so I’ll really have it. It’s all good.”
He took his time examining my face as if to ascertain if what I said was true.
When he got that from me, he moved on.
“Thinkin’ on things, again recently, been wonderin’ if I didn’t do right by Kristy.”
That surprised me.
“Sorry?”
Still Standing Page 41