by J. C. Emery
I’m back in my car and speeding to Jeremy once again. This time when I pull up, I park in the driveway and don’t bother cutting the lights until I turn the car off. The porch light flicks on, so somebody is obviously still awake. As if he sensed me coming, Jeremy opens the front door wearing only his boxers. I run out of the car and let the tears fall openly as I crash into him. He wraps his strong arms around me, holding me to his chest.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. Concern fills his voice.
“My dad, he... he wants me to go to culinary school. I don’t want to leave you. Not ever.” I sound like a whiny baby who isn’t getting her way, but I don’t care. This is Jeremy. He isn’t going to think I’m stupid.
“Don’t go,” he says lowly. It sounds so easy. To just not go and defy my dad. But then what happens to me? Where do I live? What if Dad actually makes me go? What if Jeremy gets in trouble for all of this—because of me? What if he realizes he’s not the only reason I want to stay? That aside from Mindy, my jerky father and Holly, and Grandma, I’m terrified to be so far away from the club. Up until recently, I’d always felt safe here. But regardless of what’s going on, I have to be safer here than anywhere else. San Francisco is huge, and nobody will know they’re not to mess with me. Nobody will know me, and nobody will care when they hear my last name.
“Stop worrying, baby.” He kisses my forehead and then my eyebrow and my cheek. He tilts my head back and places a final kiss on my lips.
“But what if he tries to make me go?” I need some reassurance and maybe even some muscle here. I can fight Dad to the end of the earth, but at the end of the day, he has the cash to keep me in the finer things in life—like food and electricity.
Jeremy becomes still, and his grip on my chin tightens. I’m about to say something to him, but then he opens his mouth. He’s working through something in his head, but then he speaks. And he blows me away.
“We’ll get married. Tonight. Just run away with me and fucking marry me.”
“You mean it?” I ask. “You want to marry me?”
“More than anything,” he whispers and rubs his nose against mine.
Voices sound from the other side of the open front door—one masculine and one feminine. We’ve woken up Duke and Nic, but I don’t give a damn. As long as we don’t wake up Robin, I don’t think they can be too mad. Still, the look on Nic’s face is murderous. The extra baby weight she hasn’t lost yet shows through her nightgown, emphasized by the way she folds her arms over her chest and purses her lips. Duke looks too exhausted to even swat at a fly, and I say a silent prayer for that. I’ve heard him yelling at Jeremy before, and there’s no doubt that Robin gets her set of lungs from her dad, even if Duke begs to differ.
“Knuck know you’re here?” Duke asks through a yawn.
“Yeah,” I say because he’d be stupid to think I’d go anywhere else. Duke will check with Dad, I know he will, so at least the cranky asshole won’t think I’m dead in a ditch somewhere.
“Then come in, shut the fuck up, and don’t wake up my kid,” he says slowly, losing his train of thought halfway through only to recapture it a moment later.
“I have ways to make you both wish you were fucking dead if my baby wakes up before she’s supposed to,” Nic says and drags Duke down the hallway to their bedroom.
Gulping, I look at Jeremy nervously and whisper, “How does she know when Robin is supposed to wake up?” As far as I know, babies are unpredictable little creatures.
“She doesn’t,” he whispers and takes my hand as he leads me toward his bedroom. “So I hope you like baby duty, because they’re going to find a way to get out of changing the next dirty diaper.”
“I gave you my virginity, Jeremy Whelan. The least you can do is spare me a poopy diaper,” I whisper-shout as I carefully close his bedroom door behind me.
I want Jeremy as my old man, and I want to be his old lady. I want what Duke and Nic have and what Ryan has with Alex—that deep kind of love you fight and sacrifice for. I want what Dad and Holly have and what Uncle Jim and Aunt Ruby have—the kind of love that doesn’t have to make sense and can last forever—and I’ll crawl over their destroyed Harleys to do it.
CHAPTER 21
April
12 months to Mancuso’s downfall
I flash my girl a million-dollar grin and wiggle my brows, saying, “Mrs. Whelan.”
Her smile is blinding, so fucking wide it’s practically ear to ear, and she giggles a high-pitched giggle that morphs into a squeal. It’s not quite four in the morning, and if she’s up for it, I could totally go a round before we crash. She recognizes the change in my demeanor—from playful to pervy—and her expression darkens.
“We should probably, you know, practice for our wedding night,” she says through a quiet laugh that tapers off.
I lunge for her, causing another round of squeals. I’m careful with my landing so I don’t crush her with my weight. She wiggles to the center of the bed as I swiftly brace my landing with my elbows on either side of her head and my knees propping up my lower half. She parts her legs for me, letting me slide between them. She’s completely dressed, and that just won’t do.
Just as I’m unbuttoning the top of her jeans, Robin starts wailing from Nic and Duke’s room. Her cry is so damn loud you’d think somebody was stabbing her or something. I actually used to worry that she was hurt when I’d hear her cry, because fuck if I knew what a baby’s cries are supposed to sound like. But now, after even a week, I can figure most of her noises out. She’s just hungry, or maybe she wants to be held right now. I don’t really know, but it’s getting easier to figure out that she’s not sick or something—she just makes it sound like she is.
“Crap,” Chey whispers. “We should probably just try to get some sleep. If Robin’s awake, so are Nic and Duke.”
“They’re not going—”
My bedroom door swings open. My heart spasms in surprise. In the open doorway is Duke, who is wearing only a pair of worn flannel boxers and holding a whimpering infant in his arms. His eyes are narrowed and rimmed by purple bags that appeared right around the time the little ball of chub did and haven’t gone away since. Dude looks like shit, and Nic doesn’t look much better these days.
“Woke up the baby,” he says. His expression is anything but pleased, and his voice is flat. “I should shoot you both.”
“I, uh, I’m sorry,” Cheyenne says quietly. Her eyes travel from his tired face to Robin’s small body.
Duke catches the change of focus and turns his attention back to me. A small smile forms on his lips before it’s gone and he looks at Cheyenne. His feet carry him toward us. Every foot he gets closer, I move farther away from Chey, until I’m sitting up at the other end of the bed. She scurries to sit up and pull her shirt down to cover the open top button of her jeans.
When he’s close enough, he leans forward and extends Robin out to Chey. It takes her a moment to catch on, but once she does, she carefully scoops Robin into her arms and holds her safely tucked to her chest. Duke mumbles, “You wake her, you hold her,” as he turns and leaves the room.
Cheyenne’s face is turned down toward my infant niece. She’s a cute baby as far as babies go. I mean, she doesn’t really look like a conehead anymore, and when I talk to her, she listens. Not sure her mom and dad would like the words I’m teaching her, but that’s part of what being an uncle is about—teaching the kid shit her parents won’t. Chey shushes and coos at Robin until her discontented cries become restless squawks. She turns into Chey’s chest, opening and closing her mouth in frustration.
“What is she doing?” Chey says with wide downcast eyes. Her arms are stiff, like she has no clue how to hold a baby. I’d actually be surprised if she did. As far as I know she has less experience with babies than I do. The kid’s on like day eight of life and has produced an obscene number of dirty diapers, at least half of which I’ve had the pleasure of fucking dealing with.
“She’s just hungry,” I say and
glance at Robin for just a moment. “Every time she gets around tits, she tries to eat.”
“Is she bigger than the last time I saw her?” she asks. Her voice is soft, so soft in fact that I can barely hear her words over Robin’s crying. She tilts her head to the side and gives Robin a soft smile. “Sorry, kiddo, I can’t really help you out.”
“She can tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” I say and gesture for her to hand the kid over. She’s going to be pissed until she gets fed, but at least she has baby ADHD or something and can be distracted by other shit, which shuts her up for at least one single fucking minute. Chey turns toward me but doesn’t move to hand her over. She was just as fucking awkward when she held her at the hospital. When Chey’s eyes meet mine, I instantly feel like an asshole. She looks hurt, and I’m not so stupid to think it’s not because I’m an insensitive prick.
Reaching out and taking Robin into my arms, I say, “You just need more practice. Watch me.” I cradle Robin to my chest with one arm and wrap the other around her side so she doesn’t wiggle away from me. She’s not wiggling yet, but Nic’s read that she will at some point, and fuck if I’m going to drop Duke’s kid. I’m still paying for that scratch on his bike. Keeping my arms relaxed, I put a hand under her butt to do this pat-bounce thing that gets her moving a little and calms her down. She whimpers between cries, and she even cuts out the short screams.
“Babe, you’re nervous, and she can tell,” I say and try to give her a small smile. The sad look on her face changes into something different, something hopeful.
“You’re good with her,” she says, reaching out and running the back of her pointer finger over Robin’s cheek.
“Shit,” I say and make a funny face at the baby. “You listen to those screams every few hours, and you’ll be trying anything to shut her up.” I give Robin a glare, and even though I’ve been told at least twenty times that she’s too young, I swear she’s fucking smiling through her tears. Chey won’t know she’s too young to smile, so I tip her toward Chey and say, “She’s smiling because she knows she’s a shithead.”
My girl blushes before stumbling over her words. “Do you want kids?”
I stop breathing, stop moving—even doing the pat-bounce. I don’t know what to say to that. Heard it from a couple of the brothers before. Don’t ever mention marriage to a chick unless you’re ready to have kids, because that’s all she can see in her future. Probably should have listened to that shit before opening my mouth.
“I want to be a mom,” she says.
Fuck. I still can’t move, and Robin’s starting to scream again. She’s greedy with the pat-bounce, so I force myself to make my hand move. It barely calms her.
“Not now, but someday,” she clarifies.
“Eh, why not,” I say like it’s no big deal. “I’ll be a fucking pro at this shit by the time I’m thirty.”
“Thirty is probably young enough to have kids,” she says through a yawn. And I swear, my fucking heart starts beating again, and I relax my arms around Robin. “Let me try again,” she says and reaches for her. I hand her over, hoping Chey’s better with her this time, because that crying has got to fucking go. When she cradles Robin against her chest, she moves her around a bit before settling in and doing the pat-bounce. Robin is still crying, but it’s nothing like before.
“There you go,” I say and smile at her.
“I can’t believe my mom didn’t stick around for this,” she mumbles. She doesn’t talk about her mom, but for some reason she is right now. I don’t got shit to say because my mom didn’t stick around either. It’s not like I have anything encouraging to say. “Nic’s probably going to remember every single thing about her daughter, from her favorite color to her worst nightmare.”
“Yeah, I give her shit, but Nic’s like a fucking grizzly about the kid. She’s a good mom.”
“I’m glad Robin has that,” she says.
“Me, too.”
Duke strides back into the room with a baby bottle full of pumped breast milk in one hand and the last bite of a sandwich in the other. He shoves the final bite in his mouth and chews like his life depends on it. Fucking asshole made himself a sandwich while his kid is in here having a fucking fit. He places his pointer finger over the nipple of the bottle and shakes it up a little. I always try to avoid Nic when she’s pumping. It’s just awkward. It’s not like I like to look at my sister’s tits. They’re just there, and it’s just... uncomfortable.
Duke bends in front of Chey and takes Robin in his arms and then swiftly shoves the nipple of the bottle into her eager mouth. She sucks at it vigorously, and her red face calms to her normal pink. She’s pretty for a baby.
“You made a fucking sandwich?” I can’t keep the irritation from my voice.
“Fuck you,” he says. “We’re on the same feeding schedule, and if I had to depend on your sister to feed me, I’d starve. Besides, she was in good hands.”
I go to open my mouth and argue, but I can’t. Not only is he not making excuses with the club, but he’s putting his time in at the shop, and he gets up at least once every night to feed the baby. Dad would have mad respect for him if he were here, and knowing that Duke trusts me with his most prized possession means something to me. He knows she annoys me, but I won’t let a goddamn thing hurt her.
I also don’t tell him that Nic knows how to cook but just chooses not to. He’d have a huge-ass fit, and it’s not worth how funny it would be.
“Can you tell Uncle Jeremy to wrap his shit so he doesn’t give you any cousins?” Duke says as he snuggles her in his arms. He doesn’t do that baby voice shit or anything. He just talks to her like she’s an adult, and he doesn’t even bother to censor his language.
I think I vaguely remember my mom chastising my dad for cursing in front of us when I was little, but I have so many memories I’m not certain actually happened. For years I could have sworn Mom came back to visit us one Christmas. Nic and Dad are adamant it didn’t happen, but in my heart it’s as real as anything else. The fact that I can’t distinguish fiction from reality fucks me up just enough so that I try to numb out all of my memories from when I was a kid. Something about being around someone and their mom is a big fucking reminder of all the shit I never got. I just hope Chey doesn’t feel half of what I do right now, because between Nic and Robin and Ruby and Alex, I’m all kinds of fucked up and moody.
“We, um.” Chey’s cheeks are bright red, and she’s trying to babble, but she’s so embarrassed by Duke’s comment—which I’ve heard before, mind you—that she can’t even make her tongue work well enough to babble.
“Right, of course you can’t talk,” he says flatly, his eyes completely focused on her. “You’re eating.” Like if her mouth wasn’t preoccupied she could actually talk. I don’t say shit about the fact that he has full conversations with her. It’s goofy as fuck, but it makes my sister smile, and the more she smiles, the less she bitches.
“You heard me?” he says as he lifts his head. “I’m not fucking kidding. Club’s got enough fucking drama. We don’t need you knocking up Knuck’s daughter on top of it. I change enough goddamn diapers around this house.”
Liar. Every chance he gets, he passes the dirty diapers off on me. If a crying baby isn’t a suitable reminder to wrap my dick, the nasty mudslides she creates are plenty sufficient.
“I know how to wrap my shit,” I say and nod to the baby in his arms. “Seems I should be giving you the talk about safe sex.”
Chey squirms uncomfortably beside me, but she remains silent. I wish Duke hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that we’ve had sex, but it’s not like there’s anything I can say to stop him from making this awkward, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.
“Riding your sister bare is one of life’s greatest joys.”
“Dude. Shut the fuck up. That’s nasty,” I gripe and scrub my face with my hands, ignoring the pain from the bruise that’s forming. I’m fucking tired, and the sun is going to be up soon.
Because when Duke isn’t yelling, he’s finding ways to make me consider hanging myself. Fucking prick.
“Really? Even if I had the energy to pound one out, your kid killed the mood,” I say.
He grins. He fucking grins.
“Oh my God, shut up!” Chey snaps. Her face is still beet red, but she’s giving me a look that even I know to interpret as I’m definitely not getting laid again anytime soon. Maybe not even on our wedding night—whenever that might be. I know I said tonight, but I need sleep, and maybe we can wait until tomorrow or the next day to do it. I have to figure out how to even go about doing it.
Wedding night. Shit, that makes it real.
Duke walks Robin out of the room and tells her through muffled yawns that she has to be quiet because if Nic wakes up, then nobody is going to get any peace. Word, brother. Motherfucking word. Before he makes it into the hallway, he turns back and says, “Got that job later today.”
“I remember.” Of course I fucking remember. Today’s the day I help the club right a very big fucking wrong. Thankfully Chey’s yawning, and her eyelids are dropping. She’s not paying the least bit of attention to us anymore.
Slowly, I climb off my bed, cross the room, and shut my bedroom door that Duke so rudely left open. My body drags, and my thoughts are scattered and barely make any sense.
When I turn back to Chey, she shakes her head slowly in obvious judgment and says, “I’m going to sleep.” She hogs more than her share of my twin bed and hogs my pillow.
I mutter to myself about being too tired for anything anyway. It’s only half a lie, and I feel like crashing the minute I crawl in bed beside her. My mind is racing with everything coming up tomorrow, from the job with Duke to the whole getting married thing. It takes way too long to fall asleep, and when I do, it’s not a deep sleep by any means.