by Harley Stone
Since the weather was nice, I’d normally take her to work, but I needed to go grocery shopping and pick up some weed-n-feed and more rocks for my back yard, so I climbed into the Jeep instead.
The Sunday morning traffic was light, and I made it to the renovated fire station that served as the Dead Presidents headquarters in no time. Link met me in the parking lot with a cup of coffee in hand, looking worried as a mother hen. Concerned about the newlywed, I hurried to get out of the Jeep and join him.
“Hey brother, what’s up?” I asked.
“There’s a man here asking for you by your real name. Says he knows you from the service.”
“Who is it?” I asked, confused why one of my old Navy buddies would have him acting weird.
“Introduced himself as Carson Rucker. Said you used to call him Hound.”
“Hound’s here?” I asked, taking a step toward the fire station. Hound and I had lost contact years ago and I was looking forward to seeing him again.
“Wait, Wasp.” Link moved to cut me off. “He’s… he smells like he’s coming off a bender, and he’s high as a fuckin’ kite. You know how I feel about that shit.”
“Hound?” I looked from Link to the building, trying to reconcile the Hound I remembered with Link’s description. I couldn’t imagine it. “Are you sure?”
Link gave me a flat stare. “What the fuck do you think?”
Right. Link was always sure. “Look, Prez, I don’t know what he’s been up to, but I gave Hound that nickname because he helped servicemen fight for benefits they were denied. He was like a goddamn bloodhound, sniffing out the decisionmakers and making sure our men got what they needed. He didn’t rest until they were taken care of. He’s good people.”
Link’s frown only deepened. “Well, you might want to get your ass in there and see if you can remind him of that, because junkies aren’t allowed in this club.”
Wondering what the fuck had happened to Hound, I hurried inside.
Carly
FATHER’S DAY STARTED out in the worst possible way. Trent woke up me up at the butt crack of dawn with the very question I’d been dreading since we high-tailed it out of Idaho almost four months ago.
“Can we go see Dad?”
Still half asleep, I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping this was some horrible nightmare rather than an actual conversation he wanted to start the day with. But when I reopened my eyes, my kid was still standing beside my bed, his expression somber, waiting for an answer.
“What?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t understood the question in a desperate ploy to buy myself time. As if any number of minutes could help me figure out how to respond.
“Dad. I want to see his grave. Like we did after he died.”
My chest constricted. Tears stung the backs of my eyes and I tried to think of some way to distract or redirect him. “How about the Children’s Museum? You love it there. I heard they have a new space exhibit.”
“I don’t want to go to the Children’s Museum. I want to see Dad’s grave. Chuckie’s dad took him to his mom’s grave, and they put flowers and pumpkins on it.”
“Chuckie?” I asked, envisioning some creepy, murderous little doll. “Who let you watch Chuckie?”
“Chuckie from Rugrats.” Trent rolled his head to the side like he was exasperated with me. “The cartoon, Mom. Dad liked football and fish. We can put those on his grave. And some army men to protect him. Then you gotta say what you remember about him.”
The last memory I had of Robbie was blood dripping down his driver’s side window as the tow truck hauled it toward the police station. Desperately trying to blink that image away, I took a deep breath and wished my kid could be content watching Road Runner drop shit on Coyote’s head. Why did he have to like the stuff with morals and storylines and feelings? Who the hell wrote cartoons about visiting graves?
Knowing I was losing the battle for Trent’s peace of mind, I countered with more options. “What about swimming? We can go to the Y and spend all day there if you want. You can even climb the rock wall.”
“You’re not listening, Mom.”
I was listening so hard my heart was in danger of shredding and floating out through my ears. My kid wanted something simple and reasonable, and I couldn’t give it to him. “I am, Trent. I promise. But we can’t go back. I told you this already.”
“But Dad and Aunt Becca don’t have anyone to put things on their graves. It’s up to me and you to do it.”
“I’m sure Becca’s mom takes her flowers,” I reassured him. “She might take your dad flowers, too.”
His eyebrows rose, and he gave me a look that called me on my fib. “But we should check. Dad might think we forgot about him.”
Every swear word I’d ever heard filtered through my mind. It seemed like I should at least get coffee and a Prozac before Trent bombarded me with this. He wasn’t going to let it go, either—I could tell by the set of his jaw and the squaring of his shoulders—and when Trent dug his heels in there was no distracting or diverting him. Guilt dug its way into my stomach, reminding me of my role in Robbie and Becca’s deaths. If it hadn’t been for me, my two best friends would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be waking up to this conversation. I’d created this mess. Time to put on my big girl pants and handle it.
Sliding out of bed, I crouched down beside Trent. “Dad’s grave is a long way away and we don’t have a car.”
“Jess would let us use hers.”
“Possibly, but it would take days to drive there and back and Jess has to use her car for work. And I have to work, Trent. Otherwise we won’t have any money to pay rent or buy food. And driving back to Dad’s grave would cost lots of money in gas. I’m sorry, but we can’t do it.”
Trent’s shoulders slumped, and he looked up at me with his big brown eyes, making my heart melt. “But it’s Father’s Day, and he shouldn’t be alone.”
That did me in. Tears stung my eyes and my chest made a sound like a deflating balloon. I bolted upright and turned away from him, trying to compose myself before he saw me lose it. No parent should ever have to explain the finality of death to their child. Especially a five-year-old who had all the questions and wanted all the answers. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I stuck to my guns. I had to. No matter how much Trent wanted to see his father’s grave it wasn’t safe, and I might bankrupt us to make him happy, but I’d never put him in danger.
“We can’t go back there, Trent. I’m sorry.”
“Is it because of the bad man?”
I didn’t want to talk about the bad man. Telling him in the first place had been a mistake, but he wouldn’t stop asking why we were moving away. I needed him to be safe, so one day, when I’d had more than I could take of his incessant questions, I caved and told him we had to get away from a bad man. Now, no matter how many times I reassured him that his dad and Becca had died in accidents, Trent was convinced the bad man had gotten them.
And I was running out of lies to make him believe otherwise.
Praying he’d finally let me change the subject, I replied, “Come on. Let’s go make pancakes. I’ll even add chocolate chips, just the way you like them.” And then we’d both eat our feelings, because I was a shitty mom, his shitty dad was dead, and I didn’t know what else to do.
Trent must have sensed that I was teetering on the edge, because he put his little hand in mine and nodded, leading me to the kitchen.
Jessica had a coffee tumbler in one hand and a light jacket in the other. She was heading for the front door but paused when we made our appearance. “Hey you two, good morning.” She took one look at us and her eyes went all soft, making it even more difficult for me to hold myself together.
“Go see your family. We’ll be fine,” I assured her, lying through my teeth.
“Okay, but call me if you need me.”
“I will.” Another lie. She’d done so much for us already and there was nothing she could do to help. Not with this. I refused to drag her day down,
too. Besides, if she stayed to hang out with us, she’d probably expect answers that I couldn’t give.
I waved, and Jessica walked out the door.
“Come on, kiddo, let’s make that breakfast,” I said, plucking him from the floor and sitting him on the counter. Then I got out a bowl and had him help me crack the eggs, pour the milk, add the chocolate chips, and stir the batter. By the time we finished, the kitchen was a mess of flour, eggshells, measuring cups, and spoons. Trent still looked sad, but not devastated, so I counted it as a win. We ate, quickly cleaned up the wreckage, and then caught a bus to the YMCA. Trent and I swam for a couple of hours before he decided it was time to climb the rock wall.
He loved swimming and climbing, but he wasn’t smiling. Not even when a couple of his friends came over and asked him to play dodge ball. He joined them with a stoic determination that broke my heart.
My kid was in his own little survival mode.
Trent had never been much of a crier, but his tears dried up completely after Robbie’s death. I knew it wasn’t natural and realized I should get him in to see a counselor, but had no idea how I would pay for it. Besides, any counselor worth their weight would want to know Trent’s background and all sorts of information I couldn’t give out. And what would be the best-case scenario? The counselor fixed him, and he started crying all the time? The minute Trent broke down, I’d lose it. We’d both be a wreck of tears and snot, and we’d never be able to function again.
No, thank you.
So, we powered through the morning together, like we had every morning since Robbie’s death, just two people trying to survive despite our hole-riddled hearts.
After the dodge ball, we shot hoops. By two p.m. we were starving and bored of all the YMCA had to offer, so I took Trent to a sandwich shop across the street. As we ate, I tried to come up with ways I could make this stupid day easier on him, easier on both of us.
Maybe we should have gone with Jessica after all.
My gaze kept drifting to my purse. Last night, after my shift, I’d found the napkin with Wasp’s number on it lying on the table in the break room. Promising myself I wouldn’t use it unless it was an emergency, I’d stuffed it in my purse. This wasn’t technically an emergency, but the situation was dire, and after seeing the way Trent looked at Wasp, I knew that if anyone could cheer my little man up, it was the crazy biker who couldn’t seem to take no for an answer.
Trent was already attached to Wasp. He’d given the biker a Father’s Day card, for crying out loud. I couldn’t let them spend more time together. If I cracked open the door, Wasp would come barreling through it. Then, when he left, everything we’d been rebuilding would come crashing down around us.
We couldn’t lose anyone else. It would destroy us.
But, I also couldn’t bear to see Trent looking so depressed, especially not after watching Robbie struggle with depression for years.
Finished with his sandwich, Trent pushed grapes around his plate, looking so damn pathetic it tugged at every heartstring in my chest and tied me into knots. I had to do something. There were almost six hours left until bedtime, and I refused to let him spend them miserable. Before I could overthink what I was about to do, I grabbed the napkin from my purse and keyed Wasp’s number into my phone, pressing dial. It rang three times, and I was already waffling and about to hang up when he answered.
“Hello?”
That deep sexy voice reminded me why this was such a horrible idea. Needing to keep the door between us closed, I wanted to hang up. But one look at Trent’s sad little face steeled my resolve. We needed help.
“Hi, Wasp, it’s Carly.”
Across the table, my kid perked right up, his eyes round as he stared at me. He looked so damn hopeful I wanted to pat myself on the back. Or stab myself in the leg. Only the outcome would determine whether I was a brilliant problem-solver or a masochistic moron.
“I was hoping you’d take my number.” Wasp sounded relieved and genuinely happy to hear from me, which made me feel all sorts of things I shouldn’t. “Is everything okay?”
“Um… yeah. But Trent and I were wondering if that offer to hang out today still stands.”
He hesitated. “Actually, something came up.”
After seeing the way barflies flung themselves at Wasp, something probably meant someone. No doubt she was gorgeous and funny, and had given him her phone number the first time he’d asked for it. A surprising wave of jealousy washed over me, threatening to take me under. Why the hell would I be jealous when I couldn’t be with Wasp? I didn’t even want Wasp, and now he was evoking this weird emotion. Calling him had been a stupid idea. Forcing my smile to stay fixed on my face for Trent’s sake, I replied, “Okay, thanks anyway.”
I went to hang up, but Wasp shouted, “Wait! Carly? You still there?”
Putting the phone back up to my ear, I answered with a hesitant, “Yes.”
“I was going to say, I’m almost done checking my friend into rehab. Let me make sure he’s squared away, then I’ll come pick you both up. Glad I brought my Jeep today. Where are you guys?”
So, Wasp wasn’t with a woman after all. He was trying to help a friend get clean. I loved everything about that, way too much. Becca could have benefited from having a friend like Wasp, but she’d been saddled with me instead, and I’d abandoned her when she’d needed me most. Guilt threatened to drown me. I swam through it, taking a deep breath when I finally surfaced.
“We’re at a little sub shop across the street from the downtown YMCA,” I said. “There’s an ice cream shop about a block south of here. We’ll wait for you there.”
“I know the place. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
We hung up and I dropped my phone into my purse before looking up at Trent. The first smile I’d seen all day stretched across his face, lighting up his eyes. “Wasp is coming?”
I nodded, hoping I was doing the right thing. Trent’s smile was infectious, though, and I felt my own lips curve up in response. “We’re gonna hang out with him for a while.”
“Yay!” Trent punched the air so hard he bounced off his chair and almost fell.
We cleaned up our mess and headed to the ice cream shop to wait. Trent got ice cream, but my stomach was too unsettled for sweets. I was nervous. I’d actually enjoyed talking to Wasp last night, and that scared the crap out of me. I needed to reinforce my walls against this guy, but his very presence was a battering ram. And now I’d invited him into our lives…
Wasp pulled up in a blue Jeep, somehow getting a parking spot right in front of us. Trying not to look too interested, I watched out of the corner of my eye as he got out. Without his biker vest on, his tight T-shirt revealed every sexy pectoral and abdominal muscle known to man. Straight blond hair swept across his shoulder blades, and his jeans hugged the muscular curves of his legs.
Like some sort of Greek statue, Wasp’s body was a work of art.
His gait was commanding, powerful. Just his presence made me feel safer, and in so much danger that death was eminent. He immediately got the attention of the table of women beside me, and their low whispers of appreciation reminded me that he could have any woman he wanted. The bikers usually did.
Falling for him would only lead to tears, and I was sick and tired of crying.
“Wasp!” Trent shouted, jumping and waving to get his attention.
“Hey T-man. How the heck are you?” Wasp caught Trent midleap and pulled him in for a hug.
Trying not to get all mushy at the nickname he’d given my son, I stood. “Watch his ice cream,” I cautioned as the dripping cone closed in on Wasp’s beautiful bicep.
Too late. Trent pulled back his cone only to leave a melting blob behind. “Oops,” he said, wrinkling his face up. “Sorry.”
“Don’t sweat it. It’s just ice cream.” Wasp brought his arm to his mouth and licked it off. “Mm. Mint chip. One of my favorites.”
The two women sitting at the next table over whimpered. I understoo
d completely, because my mouth was suddenly super dry, and the area between my legs was all hot and bothered.
Wasp gave me a smirk that said he knew exactly what he did to my body. What he did to the body of every woman within a ten-block radius. “Hey, Carly. You look nice.”
Knowing Trent and I would be going swimming, I’d thrown a floral off-the-shoulder sundress over my tankini and slipped on a pair of sandals. I’m sure my messy pool hair looked anything but nice, but I thanked him for his compliment and stood.
“Hurry and finish your ice cream so we can go,” I said to Trent. Belatedly, I remembered my manners and asked, “Do you want anything, Wasp?”
“No, thanks. I ate at the club. Do you have some sort of seat for Trent?”
His concern over my kid’s safety was like a wrecking ball, smashing against my defenses.
Trent’s own father had been awful about using car seats, always insisting that he was a safe driver. I caught him without strapping Trent in so many times I stopped trusting him to take our boy anywhere. I’d never understood why Robbie would take the chance when buckling a seatbelt took one second.
Trent’s seat was currently at my apartment, and although I didn’t want Wasp to know where I lived, I saw no way around it. Ironic that I finally knew a man who cared about my kid’s safety, and I was having a hard time trusting him with something as simple as our address.
Strangely enough, I did trust Wasp. He just had an undeniable good guy vibe and protective tendencies. I couldn’t help but wonder if that came from being a soldier, or if I was just wishful thinking because he had an incredible body and charming personality and I was lonely.
Regardless, if I expected him to help us get through this day, I’d have to trust him at least a little. Blowing out a breath, I nodded. “My apartment’s a few blocks from the Copper Penny.”