by Debra Kayn
"Okay." She watched him walk through the house to the back door.
He'd woke up after a fitful sleep and spent an hour on the phone. She'd kept herself busy doing laundry, straightening the bedroom and then making lunch. The whole time, Jett went back and forth from the house to the garage, barely saying two words to her.
After last night, she'd expected more. He could be mad at the world for his circumstances, but she wanted to share that with him. He wasn't alone anymore.
A rumble came over the house. The lamp on the end table rattled atop the surface from the deep vibration. She walked to the front window to see who had arrived and it hit her that the noise came from the garage, setting her normal pulse to erratic.
She hurried through the house and stepped out to the garage. Jett sat on his Harley. Her gaze dropped to his right hand, and she groaned. He'd taken off his bandage and brace.
Just that morning, she'd had to fasten his jeans and belt, tie his boots, and help him on with his vest because he couldn't manage the job with only one usable hand.
She stepped forward. "What are you doing?" she yelled over the noise.
He stared at her. She walked closer. He couldn't ride. Chief described Jett's limitations when he'd updated the family prior to release.
She shook her head. Getting no response from him, she pointed at the handlebar. "You can't ride."
His gaze intensified and he cut the engine. Silence filled the garage. The rush of her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
"I will ride again." He got off the bike and moved over to his tool chest.
When he continued to ignore her, she turned to go back in the house when Thorn rode up the driveway on his motorcycle, followed by Freddy. She walked toward them.
Once their bikes shut off, she said, "It takes two of you to take my sister to work?"
Johanna had called earlier and told her to take the week off to be with Jett, and they'd figure out what kind of babysitting schedule they could work out the next Monday.
Thorn raised his hand to Jett and turned his gaze to Sydney. "We were told you both need a ride to the clubhouse."
She shook her head. "I'm not going in this week."
"You sure?" Thorn looked behind her. "What's up, Jett?"
She glanced over her shoulder. Jett had come out to the driveway, a rag draped over his injured hand.
"Run in and get your helmet. You're going with them," said Jett.
She moved over to him and turned her back to the guys. "I'm staying home with you."
"Chief's coming over, and I've got things to do. Go be with your sister at the clubhouse."
"What?" She rocked back. "You already set this all up and didn't tell me?"
"You hear me now." He lowered his head, cupped her face, and whispered in her ear, "Do what I say."
She stepped away from him, hurt and angry over him pushing her away. He had all day to tell her the change in plans. Bursting into the house, she almost collided with Kylie.
"What's wrong with you?" Kylie held on to a helmet.
With her sister using the extra helmet, she'd have to ask Thorn for his. "I'm going to the clubhouse with you."
"Why?"
"Who knows," she grumbled. "I don't want to go."
Kylie walked to the door. "So, stay here."
For a split-second outside, she'd thought about it. Nobody could force her. But, she'd made a promise to herself to be upfront and not complicate Jett's life. At least until things went back to normal.
"Come on." She reached around Kylie and opened the door. "I just want to get away and clear my head before I blow up."
As she got on Thorn's motorcycle, she stared at Jett. He knew what he was doing. If he were in his right frame of mind, he'd never allow her on the back of another man's motorcycle. She'd learned enough being at the Brikken Clubhouse that a woman belonging to a member should never get on another biker's ride. It was a big enough offense, it could get a biker killed.
Chapter Thirty Six
Chief untwisted the top of the whiskey bottle and handed it to Jett. "Second night back and you've already sent your woman away, called me, and are resorting to alcohol. Tell me what's going on, son."
He lifted the bottle and took another drink. "Just because I'm out doesn't mean the threats stop. Sydney's safe at the clubhouse. I wanted some whiskey to take the edge off. It is what it is."
Chief ran his hand down his beard and leaned against the truck in the garage. "Coming back is all kinds of fucked. Hell, son, you know how it is. It gets harder each time you go behind bars, and you were inside without Brikken covering your back. That's something only Rollo had gone through, and I know it did a number on him. I've always had other Brikken members on the inside with me." Chief whistled low on an exhale. "Paranoia starts playing with the best of us, but you've got to find some way to ground yourself here."
"What is that going to do?" He cradled his hand against his chest. "I fucked up. It's not like I got the shit beat out of me or our enemies took me out. They went off on Sydney, trying to break me, and they did a damn fine job of it. I was in that cell alone. The damage to my hand, I did myself because I saw red. The thought of losing her...I can't lose her."
Chief walked over to the tool chest, opened a drawer, and took a ratchet out before turning back to Jett.
"What are you going to do about making sure you don't lose her?" Chief walked over to Jett's Harley.
"Push Sydney back. In here..." He lifted the bottle and tapped it against his head. "I'll force Sparrows to come after me another way than through her."
"Are you ready for that?"
He drank a swallow of whiskey. "Look what happened to Rollo when he showed his weakness. I won't let his fate happen to me, to Sydney, to Brikken. Hell, I can't even protect her with my hand ruined."
"It wasn't Rollo's fate. It was his mistake." Chief worked on loosening a bolt. "One thing the Stanton men have always had was a good woman at their side. You've picked Sydney."
"I never picked her." He took another drink. "It just happened."
Chief removed the bolt holding the brake cable. "You brought her to the clubhouse and kept her, even after you believed she was behind your incarceration. You picked her, son."
Maybe he had.
He walked around to the front of the motorcycle. What he wasn't going to do was let any of his weakness show. His lapse in control cost him use of his hand.
The next time, he could lose his life or worse, lose Sydney.
Chief continued working on the motorcycle. Jett put a good dent in the whiskey until most of the pain in his hand disappeared.
Sydney might not like being pushed away from him, but in time, she'd come to understand his reasons. He couldn't protect her the way he had before going to prison. Through the years, he'd developed a reputation for using his hands and a knife.
For all the skills he had now, having the use of only one hand in a fight would get him killed.
Chief pulled the throttle off the handlebar of Jett's motorcycle. A nut dropped, rolling on the garage floor. He bent over and picked it up, handing it to Chief.
"You do know that nothing is wrong with the cables, right?" He stepped out of his dad's way when he walked around to the left side.
"You've got separate cables running up the fork. We should be able to switch the throttle to the left side to your good hand." Chief changed out the socket.
Jett set the whiskey bottle on top of the tool chest. "Still won't work. The cables are too short. I won't get enough wheel range."
"There's enough."
Jett studied the bike through the fog of alcohol. "The whole transmission would have to be changed out for an automatic, and I wouldn't get caught dead riding a winger."
"I'll put a tapper down here on the side." Chief patted under the gas tank. "I don't want it going to your foot. Too risky."
Jett looked over at his dad. "A suicide clutch?"
"Yeah." Chief's gaze softened. "You've got enough strengt
h in two fingers for the brake?"
He nodded, more hopeful than earlier in the evening. Customizing his Harley would make it possible to ride. It meant participating in runs to meet with Komoon MC about the chopped bikes. He could do his job as the son of Chief.
He bent down to untangle the cable. It meant Sydney would never sit her ass on his brother's motorcycle again.
Chief worked two hours on Jett's motorcycle. Sometime, during the quietness, Jett had let the alcohol in his body wear off. He handed his dad tools and oversaw the making of the bump stock. He forgot about being pissed off at the world because he was useless without his right hand and became watchful, learning from Chief.
"Two days ago, the new leader of Sparrows went missing," said Chief out of the blue.
"Jersey?" Jett's body hardened. "You're only now telling me?"
"You're not the president yet." Chief rolled the welder over. "Grab that shield there and hold it up in front of the gas tank on the Harley and let me tack weld this."
He grabbed the piece of steel and stood on the other side of the Harley. Chief flipped the helmet over his face, and Jett turned his eyes away from the flash.
As soon as his dad was done, he removed the sheet, and said, "Was Brikken involved?"
Taking out the man in control of the street gang involved in the threats against him would change the gang's motive. They'd be too disorganized to worry about initiating a war against Brikken.
Chief took off the helmet, put the welder away and returned to the motorcycle. "Only one Brikken member, son."
Chief.
His chest tightened. His father had a family of his own, two young girls, and yet he'd gone against the gun and removed the threat against Jett. And, he'd shared that bit of information as if he was commenting that he'd heard it might rain tomorrow.
Chief went over, picked up the whiskey bottle, and drank. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he looked at Jett. "Want some advice, son?"
With progress on his Harley, breathing room with Sparrows, and the first hint that he was free, he said, "Shoot."
"I've had some time to get to know Sydney better and Johanna has told me a bit more about her." Chief tilted his head. "When you met Sydney, the foster system had already failed her. She never received a home where she had a relationship with a mother or father. I suspect, when she met you, she came with you willingly, because when someone of authority stepped in, she was used to doing what she was told."
Her willingness to be with him was what attracted him to her. He rested his hand against his chest. After six months of dealing with Victor Craig and surviving on her own, she'd thrived at the clubhouse despite her always trying to run away.
"Sydney's a woman now. She grew up in the four years she waited for you to get out of prison." Chief paused and tapped his forehead. "But, in her head, she's still the young girl you lost when she got picked up by social services. And, she stayed that insecure girl because she stayed faithful to you. You made sure to keep her in that headspace, refusing to let her grow."
He had refused to give her the freedom to spread her wings. What was his, belonged to him. Her commitment proved her loyalty to him, to Brikken.
"What the fuck are you saying?" he asked, growing frustrated.
Chief lived his life never asking anyone's permission or taking their advice. He'd taught Jett the same way of living. Yet, he listened to his father.
Chief stepped forward, clamped Jett's shoulder with his hand, and said, "Your need to hide your love for Sydney only hurts her, son. It's not protecting her from others, it'll only push her away and make you weaker because your head will be all over the place. Learn from my mistakes. I gave Johanna freedom to grow up, and if I could do it over again, I never would've turned her away when she hit sixteen years old and wanted to use me for all the feelings that were coming awake inside of her. To go back, I would've broken every fucking law and put her in my bed and gone with what I knew she needed. You're home now, you've got the club around you, let yourself build that strength with Sydney, and let her finally grow up and experiment with you."
Jett reflected on what was shared with him. The ache in his hand intensified. He'd hurt Sydney in his desperate need to protect her. Angry at himself for compromising his ability to defend her and keep her safe, he'd taken that rage out on her and everyone who tried to help him.
"Well, I better get out of here. Johanna's probably done with the women's meeting at the clubhouse." Chief rubbed his hands off on his jeans and walked toward the opening of the garage. "I'll grab those two parts we need and swing by tomorrow. It won't take long to change things out on the bike, and you'll be good to go."
Jett walked out to the driveway, following his dad. He appreciated Chief's time and the advice.
Chief started his motorcycle. Jett raised his hand and watched his father ride away. From as far back as he could remember, Chief had been bigger than life. Daunting, strong, wise—a real leader.
He looked down at his injured hand, aware of the two fingers that barely moved. For him to step up to fill his father's footsteps, the one's Rollo planted, he'd need to find ways around his weakness.
Turning around, he headed back in the house to wait for Sydney. His world a little lighter.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Sydney dropped the helmet to the floor by the front door. "Jett?"
She walked toward the kitchen and finding the room empty, went down the hallway and peeked into their room. "Jett?"
"Maybe he went for a walk," said Kylie behind her.
"At one o'clock in the morning?" Sydney exhaled in exasperation. "I don't know what to do."
"Don't freak out yet. He's probably around here somewhere, or maybe one of the Brikken members came and picked him up." Kylie yawned. "The guys were probably looking for something to do while their women met at the clubhouse."
"Yeah, you're probably right." Disappointment filled her. She'd just got him back, and he wanted her to go to the clubhouse after Johanna told her to take time off and now he was gone. "Go ahead and go to bed. I'm going to stay up a little longer and wait for him."
"All right. See you in the morning." Kylie opened her bedroom door. "Love you, sis."
"Love you, too." She walked down the hallway and into the kitchen.
Getting a water bottle from the fridge, she cracked the top and drank, putting it back on the shelf to keep it cold. Mentally beat after dealing with the babies while worried about Jett, she couldn't think about going to bed until her body unwound from all the tension.
She removed the phone from her pocket and put the cell on the counter. Jett never mentioned if he was carrying a phone since he'd come home. There was no point in her having one in her pocket or purse to lug around anymore. He wasn't in prison, and she wasn't waiting for a call. Tomorrow, if it were okay with Jett, she'd see if Kylie wanted the phone. Her sister could call Milo if she wanted or if she got another boyfriend it would make it easier for her to be able to communicate with him.
Removing the hairband holding her messy bun, she shook out her hair, running her fingers through the strands. Her scalp tingled in relief. It seemed like she was always counting the minutes until she could be with Jett. Her obsession with him went out of control when separated from him. All she wanted was normalcy and feel good about what she was doing.
She sighed.
He might never ride again. What would that do to a man who'd lived his whole life knowing he would become president of a motorcycle club someday?
The sliding door behind her opened. She gasped and pivoted, relaxing as Jett stepped inside.
"Scare you?" he asked.
"A little." She leaned against the island. "I thought you were gone."
He frowned, his gaze intensifying. She looked down at her phone. Now that he was in front of her, talking about what to do with the cell seemed trivial.
"Syd?"
She raised her gaze. "Yeah?"
"Come out and sit with me on the deck
. It's a nice night."
"Morning," she whispered. "It's after one o'clock."
He shifted in the doorway, looked outside, and then back at her. "Please."
Jett was not a man who ever said please. Not with her. Not with anyone.
She walked around the island and to him. He remained standing inside, blocking the door.
"Give me your lips." He lowered his head.
She kissed him and pulled back.
He never moved. "Syd."
She raised to her tiptoes again and kissed him longer until she opened her mouth because it was wonderful to have him back, demanding her lips, and making her give him everything.
Falling back on her heels, she touched her mouth. His gaze warmed. "That's what I want every time you come home, or we've been apart."
She nodded, her stomach fluttering. Afraid to say anything in case his better mood disappeared, she followed him outside.
He sat in a lawn chair and patted his leg. Careful of his injured hand, she sat sideways on his lap. Jett pulled her onto his chest, and she snuggled against his shoulder.
His heart raced against her. She put her hand on his chest, feeling the proof that he was here with her, holding her, wanting her.
A breeze kicked up. She shivered.
He put his injured hand in her lap. Holding still, she tilted her head, trying to see him in the dark.
"I don't have use of my middle and pointer finger. In time, my thumb, pinky, and ring finger will get stronger, but the other two are damaged. The second surgery was my only hope the cartilages could be repaired, but the joints were shattered. The scar tissue too much because of the wait for surgery, there was nothing to rebuild." He inhaled deeply.
It made her sick to her stomach that he'd suffered and the injury would be with him his whole life. "Is it painful?"
"Nothing I can't handle." He looked down at her lap. "A bit," he mumbled.
"How long does the doctor say it'll be until you don't have any pain?"
He chuckled, and there was nothing humorous about the sound. "Prison doctors...they don't say much. Their treatment is another way to punish the prisoner."