Ripley's Saint

by Isabel Wroth

  “What the fuck is that about?” Roar grunted.

  Saint asked himself that very question as he watched Ripley disappear from sight and down the hallway.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ripley aimlessly wandered the hallways of the hospital in somewhat of a daze after having spent six and a half, manicure-annihilating days waiting on Saint to wake up after surgery, worrying, praying, crying. Generally freaking the hell out, and suffering motion sickness from the non-stop emotional roller coaster she had been stuck on.

  After the shootout and the unbelievable shock of having been through something as horrific as a freaking drive-by, after processing the fact that it had happened to her, to her shop, and how Saint had almost died protecting her, Ripley was exhausted.

  She stopped in front of the window, holding herself while she looked out at the dreariness of the day. It hadn’t stopped raining since Saint and Gee had both gone into surgery. The skies gray and heavy with clouds as though reflecting the emotional turbulence going on inside her.

  Ripley usually loved the rain.

  Loved to sit out on the back porch of her house and watch the water pool and feed her garden.

  Loved the way it smelled and how it brought out the sweeter scents of the grass and flowers.

  Now Ripley was going to remember the smell of death and cleaning solvents. Remember the incessant beeping of the heart monitor tracking Saint’s vitals. How cold it was in the hospital. Always so cold, like they were trying to keep the bacteria from spreading via refrigeration.

  The only time she had felt warm was when she lay under the comforter she’d brought from home, curled up against Saint.

  Ripley had seen the way Saint perked up, the light that came into his eyes when his brothers walked into the room. The immediate relaxation their presence had brought. Not Ripley’s presence, his brothers. Saint loved her, Ripley believed that. Unfortunately it didn’t do much to negate her feelings of inadequacy and displacement.

  “Hate the rain.”

  Having just gone through the most nerve-wracking experience of her life, the sudden voice at her ear made Ripley almost jump out of her skin. Ripley pressed her hand to her chest and turned to find Top standing next to her, hands in his pockets while he looked out the window.

  “Water feels like bee stings on your skin when you ride. Tires slip out from under you. Your clothes stick to you like glue. Feels like ice packs glued to your body after a while. Some of the worst wrecks I ever saw on a motorcycle happened in the rain.”

  Top’s voice was so deep it sounded like two rocks being grated together. It was, oddly enough, one of the most comfortingly gruff voices Ripley had ever heard. She listened to the club president as he rambled on about some terrible wreck.

  Well, listened to the sound more than the words themselves, not really wanting to hear about a motorcycle wreck. Top kept on for a while until she relaxed and shoved her heart back down from where it had leapt up into her throat.

  “Never will forget my first ride on the back of my old man’s Harley.” Top spoke with a warm, wistful smile. “I was five years old. You good?”

  Ripley blinked and looked up into the older man’s eyes, idly wondering where he got his beard barbered. Top had aged considerably over the last year, dropping enough weight that his club vest no longer fit perfectly. Now it hung differently on him, enough to be noticeable.

  Ripley wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, and despite having visibly aged, despite the deepening of those smile lines around his eyes and the weight loss, Top was still one of the most handsome older men Ripley had ever seen. She blinked out of her daze, noticing him lift his eyebrows up expectantly. His bright eyes twinkling with amusement at her.

  “Good?” Ripley managed.

  Top did that manly chin jerk thing at her. “I meant, how’s your head? I ain’t good at many things, but I can tell when a woman’s got too many thoughts rollin around under all that hairspray. Ain’t no shame in sayin you need to talk to a professional. Wouldn’t be surprised if you have nightmares that need tending to, sweetheart.”

  Ripley sucked back the tears and let herself lean on Top when he put his arm around her, letting herself just rest there for a minute or two.

  “I’m good. Athena gave me the name of her psychiatrist if I suddenly get hit with some kind of post shoot-out breakdown.”

  “You’re one tough bitch.”

  Part of Ripley rebelled at being called a bitch. No matter how many times she’d been told it was a term of great endearment when made by a biker, the abrasiveness of it still rubbed her fur the wrong way.

  “Not surprised though. Some doe-eyed little Barbie doll just wouldn’t be Saint’s style. You do like the same colors as Barbie.” Top sounded borderline disgusted by that.

  Ripley teasingly scoffed up at the older man, “So I like pink. Big deal. It’s a pretty color.”

  Being the manly man he was, Top didn’t comment on the finer qualities of the color pink. “You been in to see Ruckus and Gee yet?”

  Ripley shook her head, feeling guilty for not having gone sooner. But the two hours she had not been at the hospital, the two hours after Saint had been moved from surgery to recovery, Ripley had gone home to shower off the blood and had gathered up some stuff to take back to Saint.

  Every single minute of those two hours, Ripley had been a basket case. She hadn’t been able to get back to Saint fast enough and Pen, who had been her escort, hadn’t even bothered to suggest she slow down. Now she was standing here in the hallway, looking out the window at the rain, eager to get away. How messed up was that?

  “How about we go drop in then, huh?”

  Top smiled at her, the skin around his keen eyes crinkling warmly. He kept her close to his side while they walked down the hallway to another section of the hospital. Ripley felt a measure of relief, wondering what it was about Top that was so comforting. He was just so solid, exuding strength and command. So much so, that it was almost a sensation of certainty that nothing could go wrong so long as Top was there.

  Gee was unsurprisingly still asleep when they reached his room in the ICU. The left side of his face was bruised and swollen from having hit the coffee bar, tubes running from his arm to pump fluids and whatever into his body. Ruckus was right next to him.

  He looked exceptionally young, fast asleep in the chair beside Gee’s bed, boots kicked up to rest near Gee’s blanket covered legs. There were bruises under his eyes from stress and lack of sleep, his ginger hair vibrantly orange in comparison to his pale face.

  It was the gray and white puppy snuggled up inside Ruckus’s cut that had Ripley smiling even as tears had welled up. The adorable little thing had its nose tucked into the crook of Ruckus’s neck and was softly snoring.

  “Did they finally talk you into a club mascot?” Ripley whispered, glancing up at Top.

  Top pulled a face and rumbled back at her, “Hell no. Raid brought that little shitter home from the pound for Cruncher, because Cruncher apparently needed a friend. Athena brought Munch in for Ruckus under the guise of being a therapy dog in training.”

  “Munch?”

  “It’s the dog’s name.” Top rolled his eyes, while Ripley’s heart flopped around in her chest.

  Munch the puppy must have heard his name, because he yawned and came awake with enough force to make Ruckus jolt awake too. The prospect lit up and smiled when he saw her, his arm tightening protectively around the now wiggling puppy.

  “Saint must be awake.” Ruckus rasped, his voice rough from his nap.

  Ripley came in and sat on the arm of Ruckus’s chair, giving the puppy a scratch while she tried to blink her tears away and smile.

  “He is. How’s Gee?”

  Ruckus shrugged, his smile dimming as he looked at his friend. “Vitals are steady. Fucker hasn’t made any attempt to let me know he’s alive in there for real though.”

  The concern for his friend was plain in the rough accusatory tone of Ruckus’s voice.

&nb
sp; “He’ll pull through. Gee’s one of the most stubborn, hard headed little shits I ever had come on as a prospect. Including Nasa.” Top informed them.

  The admission got a smile out of Ruckus, but he was struggling. Ripley rubbed her hand between his shoulders, feeling like a big sister towards him for some reason.

  “If you want to go home and grab a shower, change clothes. I’ll sit with Gee.”

  Ruckus shook his head. “Thanks, Ripley. But I’m not…I can’t…”

  The young man fought to explain, but he didn’t have to. Ripley looked at where Gee lay in the hospital bed. His head wrapped in white gauze, a tube down his throat to ensure he continued to breathe, not a hint of his vitality or goofy personality to be seen.

  “You feel like the only thing keeping him here, is you. Like if you leave, something will go wrong. He’ll feel the lack of your presence and slip away. Or he’ll wake up alone and assume you don’t care because you’re not right here waiting for him.”

  Ruckus swallowed so loudly that she could hear it. The lines of strain etched into his face eased and he gave a tight nod, glancing quickly at Top as though expecting to get some grief from the boss man.

  “Boy, go home and shower. Eat something. Me and Ripley will sit right here with Gee till you get back. He won’t be alone.”

  Ripley was fairly certain she hadn’t ever heard Top speak to one of his crew in such a kind, gentle tone. After a silent minute of internal battle with himself, Ruckus nodded. Munch grunted and whined, wiggling to be put down.

  “And take that little shitter out to pee. One of the nurses sees or smells dog shit in here, and they’ll kick that sorry thing out on the street.”

  Ripley rolled her eyes to the ceiling at the return of Top’s commanding bark. Feeling Ruckus relax under her hand like it had been just the thing he needed to let go.

  “Alright. Just a couple of hours. I’ll be fast. Wouldn’t want Athena to come back and find Munchie out on the street again. She’d have my balls for breakfast. Gingers.” Ruckus muttered, like he wasn’t the gingeriest ginger to ever have gingered.

  “Gingers.” Top agreed with a glance skyward. As though he was praying for patience. Or deliverance.

  Ripley had just settled into the chair beside Gee’s hospital bed when her phone started to furiously vibrate in her pocket. It wasn’t a number she recognized, so she sent it to voicemail. Two seconds later, Top’s phone went off in his pocket and the Perdition patriarch scowled at the screen. Squinted actually, like he needed magnifiers but was too manly to wear them.

  “Yeah?” he greeted shortly. Obviously recognizing the number. His eyes shot to her and his lips twitched. “She’s sittin right here. We’re keepin an eye on Gee while Ruckus grabs a shower and some grub. Hang on.” Top turned and leaned out the door, then came back in. “Room eight-oh-nine in the ICU. You sure about that? Oh-kay.”

  Top hung up and chuckled, leaning his hips back on the hospital bed to look down at Gee. His expression was one of fatherly concern, stroking over the prospect’s sleeping features.

  “Ever and Athena probably have clued you in, but just in case they didn’t, I am a nosy old bastard when it comes to my boys.” Top admitted with a bit of a grin.

  Ripley smiled back and pulled her legs up under her in the chair, getting as comfortable as possible. “Ever told me you’re a big softie when it comes to your boys. Athena said, ‘burnt marshmallow.’”

  Top definitely scowled now.

  “Burnt marshmallow?” he growled in manly affront.

  Ripley let her shoulder roll in a playful shrug. “Yeah. All burnt and toasted on the outside. Gooey and sweet on the inside.”

  It took Top a minute to decide whether or not that was an acceptable comparison. His beard stuck out at an angle for just a second, but then his eyes softened and he muttered something under his breath that sounded like, ‘silly little twit.’ Ripley assumed he was speaking of Athena at that point and struggled not to giggle.

  “It shouldn’t be a shock then, if I butt into your business and ask what the deal is with you and Saint.”

  When Ripley didn’t immediately speak, Top lifted his eyebrows at her. Clearly expecting an answer. Ripley let her eyes drop to her lap, struggling to not to let her voice or her lips waver.

  “It’s complicated and I’m trying to work it out.”

  “Sounds like you’re not sure where you stand.” Top commented. Way too casually. Enough so as to make Ripley a little suspicious that Top knew something she didn’t about the ‘deal with her and Saint.’

  “That would be an accurate description, yes.”

  Top chuckled like he found her reply amusing. Even went so far as to waggle a finger at her.

  “You play it close to the vest. Diplomatic like. But seriously now, no bullshit.” All trace of teasing fled from Top’s eyes and he looked down at her with an expression that made Ripley feel decidedly uncomfortable. Her body tensing and ready to go on the offensive. “My boy just took a bullet for you.”

  Ripley opened her mouth to answer, but Top held his hand up to forestall her reply.

  “I watched you over the last few days. How you paced like crazy while Saint was in surgery. When he stabilized after the fuck up with the anesthesia, you were crying your ass off in the corner like you thought no one was watching.

  “You brought him shit from home to make sure he was comfortable. Argued with the nurses until they gave in and let you stay with him. Only time you leave his side is to take a piss and go get some shitty food from the cafeteria for yourself.

  “All that and what I’ve seen when the two of you are at the compound together, tells me you give a shit. A lot more than you let on. Saint taking a bullet for you isn’t surprising. He’s that kind of man.

  “What’s surprising is the wad he’s got his tighty whities in. The half-crazy panic he worked himself into because you didn’t answer your phone just now. The panic which has him hauling his ass out of his hospital bed to come find you.”

  Ripley shot up in the chair and gaped at Top. “He did not!”

  “He sure as shit did.” Top shot back, folding his arms over his chest to further glower at her.

  Ripley got up and made it to the doorway before she remembered her promise to Ruckus that she would stay with Gee. Torn, she hovered. Hugging herself while she looked down the hallway at where the elevators were.

  “He can’t possibly be walking around with that kind of injury. It hurt him just to sit up.” Ripley’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper, her throat burning with emotion to think about how painful it must be for Saint to even attempt to get out of bed. What in the hell was he thinking?

  Top snorted shortly, “Gut shots hurt like a son of a bitch. But he’s still comin.”

  Ripley held her breath as the elevator dinged. The doors slid open and out poured all five of the guys, Saint in the center of his brothers. Like they were protecting him or preparing to catch him if he suddenly dropped.

  Saint’s jaw was covered in scruffle, his usually very neatly groomed Van Dyke beard not so neat at the moment. Bed head like she could not believe, but he was walking towards her with a determined stride, wearing the black sweatpants and gray hoodie she had brought for him. He was about as gray as that hoodie too, but the look on his face was pure stubbornness.

  “You any closer to knowing where you stand yet?” Top asked from behind her.

  Watching Saint come up the hall like he was, six days out of a major surgery, feeling the focus of his gaze so intently made her knees feel like jelly.

  “I’ve never felt so vulnerable or insecure as I do around him, or so beautiful. But he acts like he can’t breathe without me one second, then can’t get far enough away from me the next. He’s emotionally hurt me more than anyone ever has before, and I still can’t help having fallen in love with him. I’m trying to accept some of the blame myself for what I did and didn’t do to make my feelings clear. He did take a bullet for me, whether or not he’s just that k
ind of man, he did it because he loves me. I know that. He’s just so…”

  Ripley struggled to find the right way to explain.

  “Hardheaded and stubborn. I know, princess.” Top soothed, seemingly satisfied by her over-share on what was a very personal matter.

  Saint made it all the way up the hall to her, sweat beading on his ashen brow. The first words out of his mouth were to demand to know why she hadn’t answered her phone. Ripley felt her eyes brim with tears, not because he’d barked at her like a drill sergeant, but because she could hear the worry in his voice. Shot in the gut, in the hospital recovering from a terrible reaction to the anesthesia that had almost killed him, and Saint was worried about her.

  “I didn’t recognize the number. What were you thinking, walking all the way up here? Where’s your IV?” Ripley carefully slipped her arm around his waist and tucked her shoulder under his arm, urging him forward to the chair waiting beside Gee’s bed.

  “I was thinkin you weren’t where you shoulda been. With me. And I took the stupid thing out. Hospitals always pump you full of more saline than you need. I feel like a damn over inflated tire. Fuck me.”

  Saint hissed the last part when he carefully eased down into the chair, shaking a little from the pain that had him white knuckling the armrest. He patted his right leg once he settled, clearly wanting her to sit on his lap but Ripley refused.

  “Saint, you’re already in pain. I can’t-”

  “Woman? I’m shot, not dead. Sit. Down.” Saint was glaring at her so hotly Ripley felt the burn kiss her skin.

  She hesitated just a little bit longer, but Saint reached out like he was going to pull her down and risk jostling himself. Ripley carefully eased onto his lap and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Feeling him relax back into the curve of the chair and almost immediately stop shivering. Like somehow her weight steadied him.

  Saint pressed a kiss to her brow as the brothers filled the room, making it seem like a closet with their combined presence. The weight of their stares settled on her heavily enough to make Ripley nervous. Saint didn’t seem to notice, or care if he did.