by Emma James
Phoenix takes the train of my gown I’ve draped over my right arm then moves into position behind me. I want to protest I can carry my train to the Hummer, but I know she’s taking her duties as maid of honor, seriously.
I link my left arm with Presley’s, and the three of us head towards the sidewalk as the gate slides shut behind us. Torque would have hit the remote button. “Buddy, can you do Daddy and me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Can you keep an eye on your sister today? I know you always do, but I’m going to be a little distracted. Torque and the other men will always be watching out, but...” I trail off when I see Presley’s gray eyes swirling at me dramatically.
“Mom, I’ve got you covered. Dad’s already talked to me, man-to-man. I’ve always got Harper covered, and so does Bowie, when he’s around. She’s clumsy, we both know that. She’s also a bit prickly about us always bringing up she can trip over air. It’s okay the first time she does it, but the more it happens, the more defensive she gets.”
“You are so much wiser than your years, my darling boy.” It’s true. Harper hates she’s so clumsy and the more it’s pointed out, the more she will get moody about it.
“Dad says I’m intuitive. I gather that’s a good thing.”
“Yes, it’s a good thing.” I smile down at him.
Presley looks around. “Speaking of Bowie, where is he?”
“Maybe we should wait until he gets back here. He shouldn’t be much longer,” I wonder out loud.
“Do you want me to stay and wait for him?” Phoenix says from behind me, always ready to assist. “You and Presley can go wait in the Hummer if you like?”
“Um...” And then something occurs to me, making me pause with Phoenix having to sidestep around me, avoiding running into the back of me. “Phoenix my bouq—”
“I’ll get it for you. Where do you think you left it?” Harper may be clumsy, but I can be forgetful sometimes.
“Dining room table?” I think. Trust me to leave my flower bouquet back inside the house.
“Has Torque got the house keys on him?”
I nod. “I made sure he had them in his pocket earlier for safekeeping, but—”
“Torque!” she hollers loud enough for him to swiftly turn his mane of blond hair in our direction from where he is checking his phone.
The president of the Lion’s Den MC, El Paso, is suited up and patiently waiting propped up against the hood of the stretch Hummer limousine, parked on a steeper decline in the cul-de-sac about thirty yards from my house because of its length.
Phoenix holds up her free hand to me. “It’s not a problem, Whisper. I’m on it!”
“But—”
“You don’t need to get the bouquet. I got you. Maid of honor, here.”
Torque’s arms and legs uncross as he gets vertical, looking straight at Presley and me and then to Phoenix.
“Yo... Phoenix, what’s up?” Torque takes a few steps closer.
“Throw me the house keys. I’ve gotta pop back inside to get the bouquet,” Phoenix says as she places the train gently back over my right arm. “Be back in a minute, Whisper.”
With that announcement, he lobs the keys across the road with her catching them one-handed. He’s already hit the remote for the sliding gate.
And she’s gone.
“You know the door isn’t locked?” Torque smirks from across the cul-de-sac. He’s come a long way from the cold, broody biker who didn’t quite know what to make of me when we first met. The man was one tough cookie to break, always putting on a tough front around me until I won him over.
“I did try to explain it.”
“She’s just looking after you, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, she is, and I love her for it.”
Torque is our limo driver to the ceremony, but unofficially our bodyguard.
My past has made Edge more protective than he probably needs to be, and his MC brothers are all very protective of all my friends and family whenever they are around.
I honestly wouldn’t put it past Torque to be packing a concealed weapon—or three—under his tailored suit, which looks fantastic on him. I did point this fact out to him earlier on and received a grunt in reply, but I did catch the twinkle of amusement in the corner of his eyes, which was satisfaction enough for me. I thought mentioning his well-groomed appearance, his clean-shaven face and trimmed ash-blond hair (slightly above his shoulders), was going to be pushing it. The man is all alpha, and mentioning how nice he scrubs up is a big no-no.
Torque’s phone pings. He raises one eyebrow knowingly at me before quickly reading his message.
“The men down at Masson and Schenk?” I query.
“Yup... they’re just checking up on what’s going on.”
Boxer pokes his head out of the Hummer door. “Everything okay, Torque?”
“All good, my man,” he says, swinging around to Boxer. “We’ll be leaving once the forgotten bouquet arrives.”
“Come on, Mom, Dad’s waiting for you.” Presley tugs on my arm and starts pulling me towards the Hummer when my phone pings.
Presley unlinks his arm from mine when I stop walking so I can get the phone out of my clutch purse.
“Is it Dad?”
I smile down at my son. “Yes, it is.”
I realize I must have gotten distracted and didn’t end up hitting send on the message with the courtyard edited image. I’ll rectify that shortly.
“You two really love each other. You can’t even get from the house to the ceremony without talking to each other.” He laughs.
“One day you will understand true love for the man or woman of your heart,” I tell him.
“Just give me a sec, baby, while I read your dad’s message.”
While I concentrate on my phone, I hear Presley mutter, “It will definitely be a girl who wins my heart.”
I turn my body away from him, hiding a smile and walk several paces onto the road away from Presley for privacy. Then I’m getting all too distracted (read: wet panties) by the long, detailed super sexy response (not safe for work) to the steamy image I sent earlier to my husband-to-be.
Now is not the time for sexting.
And that’s when everything goes downhill—pun intended.
I didn’t even notice the clacking noise of the rapidly approaching skateboard while I was on my phone until it was nearly too late.
My son comes at me attempting to pull me toward him, mixed with my attempt to pull him out of harm’s way having us playing a confusing display of push-me-pull-you; wasting valuable seconds.
Bowie’s foot continually pushes against the road, encouraging the skateboard to go faster, barreling toward us, picking up too much speed and he’s not even looking forward. His concentration is on the stretch Hummer. Why the hell is he even on a skateboard?
My eyes widen.
Oh, shit!
It all happens so quickly.
“Presley, let go and get back!” I cry out with authority, shoving my phone into his hand, breaking the hold he has on my arm because we can’t come to an agreement on which way we are going.
Bowie is going to strike us if we don’t break away from each other.
I see Phoenix out of my peripheral vision drop the bouquet and race forward to get to Presley. She knows to look after my child first.
I attempt to run out of the path of the speeding skateboard, but no such luck with five-inch heels and a dress my feet get easily tangled up in, restraining my vertical forward momentum and replacing it with losing my balance.
An unexpected power hits me.
My hands splay forward in a messy attempt to protect myself from the force that feels like I am given a hard shove, but I know nobody is behind me. My ass reaches for the sky on a cry and a hiss as I connect messily with the road. The heels of both palms grate their way over the surface leaving skin in their wake. My train slips from my right arm when I tip over onto my left arm on a grunt of pain, trying to save my dress f
rom getting damaged.
From my awkward position I keep watch on Bowie.
Both feet are now on the board as I wait for him to do that thing skateboarders do to dismount.
But he doesn’t.
“Torque! Help Whisper!” Boxer hollers close by before taking off after Bowie at a mad run.
I tear my eyes away from Bowie for a split-second. “I’m all right, help Bowie,” I scream at Torque who pauses long enough to strip his suit jacket off, throwing it near my hands before swiftly changing direction, charging after Boxer. He doesn’t need to be told twice by me.
I keep watching, ignoring the jacket, frozen in my awkward position.
“Come on, kid, save yourself!” I pray out loud.
“Mom, Bowie doesn’t know how to use a skateboard.” Presley’s beside me, sounding very anxious for his friend. What the hell?
“Bowie! Jump off!” I yell out as I watch in horror as the board gathers dangerous speed heading in the direction of the intersection below.
“I CAN’T,” he screams out in terror.
Oh, shit, he can’t stop, and he won’t jump.
Torque is fast; he’s catching up to Boxer.
I can only watch in horror as his skateboard wobbles dangerously as his little body sways, arms flailing as he attempts to stay on. “Oh, God,” I whisper. He really doesn’t know how to save himself. I should have let him plow into me; at least he would have stopped. I had no idea he couldn’t use the thing properly.
“Whisper?” Phoenix tries to get my attention.
“I’m good.” I fob off her concern, waving one hand at her, my eyes not able to turn away from Bowie.
All I can do is keep praying he doesn’t get hurt as I watch the skateboard now change direction at a diagonal toward the curb on the opposite side of the road, slowing it down just a touch and then it is again changing direction back down the slope.
It is a race to who is going to get to Bowie first. Torque and Boxer are now neck and neck as their arms pump. They sprint with all they have in them.
My anxiety for the little kid is off-the-charts. Bowie is heading toward the T junction with no ability to save himself from possibly careening into traffic.
My right hand flings up to my mouth as I watch Bowie now heading for the back of a parked pickup with two longboard surfboards sticking out of the bed of the truck. I feel so helpless. If Bowie hits that truck—
I watch Boxer takes a heroic stuntman dive, snatching Bowie off the skateboard, sharply turning his whole body mid-air to endure the punishing impact that is sure to follow as he also escapes slamming into the back of the pickup.
Torque has calculated Boxer’s trajectory and goes flying forward, angling his own body at the last second.
The men hit the hard road, skidding along with Bowie cocooned safely between them. The skateboard continues into the intersection, getting crushed under the wheels of a van.
I wait for a sign that they are all okay.
Finally, Boxer’s arm raises, and the universal thumbs-up sign gets shown and I let out the breath I am holding onto.
“Fuck! That was too close,” Phoenix mutters what I’m unable to put into words. “And just for the record, I’m not throwing any money into the swear jar,” she announces.
I feel a crazy laugh wanting to bubble out of me at that last comment of hers, which has her attention all on me. I think she thinks I’ve lost it a little.
“Where do you hurt, Whisper?” Phoenix crouches down looking me over where I remain resting uncomfortably on my left elbow, frozen in place.
I throw a fake smile her way. “Honestly, I’m good.” I make a move to push off my elbow, masking my face against the sting, to get into a better position.
“Wait! Your dress”—Phoenix snatches up Torques jacket—”lift yourself, and I can at least assist with saving your dress from getting dirty.”
I do as she says, trying not to wince when I get myself into a seated position on top of Torque’s jacket. “Please, can you first check on the three of them?” I point down the road. As if I would be talking about anybody else.
“Yes, of course. If you stay put?” Phoenix looks at me sternly, her ash-blonde dreadlocks neatly piled up on her head, wrapped in shiny white fabric.
I nod, knowing she will get there quicker if I pretend to comply. I’m beginning to feel the sting of the road rash damage to my palms and left elbow. I keep them hidden from Phoenix’s observant eyes.
Satisfied I’ll listen she strips off her heels, then takes off at a medium-paced jog in her bridesmaid dress hiked up around her thighs as she runs barefoot along the grassed bits she can find near the sidewalk.
“Mom, are you sure you’re okay?” Presley’s face comes into view. He crouches down looking me straight in the eyes. So like his dad.
“Honestly, darling, I’m good.”
I wrap one arm around his shoulder, and the other one across his chest, pulling him in for an awkward, sideways, reassuring hug. I try not to react to the burn I’m feeling. I’m not game enough to look at my hands just yet.
“I think it’s time Mommy gets herself up off the ground.” I release Presley and go to get up to prove my point.
I carefully roll over and awkwardly make my way to my feet by hoisting my ass into the air, and at the same time, putting pressure back on my hands. Kind of like I’m doing a downward dog and walk them partly over Torque’s jacket toward me until I can straighten up, gritting my teeth against the pain.
Practicing yoga daily has its rewarding moments.
Pumping my arms with as much determination as a T-1000 Terminator (1991), I catch up to Bowie. Without a second thought, I launch myself at the kid, snatching him off the rogue skateboard, exhibiting a mid-air twist while hoping for the best outcome as we sail through the air.
“Oof!” Torque decides to take part in the inevitable asphalt-body-surfing challenge, colliding mid-air with me and my passenger on a joint groan.
What goes sideways must come down.
This is gonna bloody well hurt.
Head. Thud! Meet ground. Bounce to the beat.
Part of Torque’s body lands underneath me and we skid across the not-so-soft road surface in a group hug in an attempt to see who can get the better road rash.
Christ! Torque’s solid.
I’ve got the kid secure in my hold, while the Laws of Physics calculate how long it’s going to take our joined mass to stop road surfing.
“I’m getting too old for this shi—stuff!” I groan out when we come to a painful stop, remembering to clean up my vocabulary in front of the kid.
Snug-as-a-bug, I have a grown man curled against my side, one leg wrapped over my lower body, cocooning Bowie.
I raise my head to find Torque’s face concealed by his shoulder-length hair, looking like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family—minus the glasses and hat. Not that I’d tell Torque that, not after he’s buffered the kid’s body from hitting the hard ground, keeping me from rolling onto Bowie and causing the kid any road rash.
I watch Torque for a few beats, breathing heavily. I’m panting as well. Note to self: I need to sprint more often as part of my exercise regime.
Torque tosses his hair back with one hand and then starts assessing Evel Knievel who is safely tucked against my chest in a firm hold.
Once he’s confident Bowie’s little body hasn’t made contact with the road’s surface, Torque grunts his approval, then unfurls his lean, muscular frame and flops down on his back beside me. “Mother-effing-fire-truck”—Torque swipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand—”I think this shirt’s fu—stuffed.”
I let out an agreeable choked laugh. “Don’t sweat it. Evelyn’s probably factored extra clothing into the Edge-and-Whisper-wedding-day plan. You know, just in case a kid decides to lose control of his skateboard, and we gotta chase him down.” I’m trying to see the funny side of my woman’s need to be thoroughly organized for such an occasion as this one.
“You
got yourself a smart woman, Boxer.”
“Don’t I fu—flamin’ know it.”
Silence settles between the three of us, but for the sound of our breathing, as it returns to a less hectic pace. I then signal the women that we all appear to be okay—being up to interpretation.
I’m flat on my back looking up at the heavens, taking a minute to admire the brilliant blue canvas as I silently assess my body. I have accumulated a few boo-boos. I’m no doubt missing skin off the back of my head. My suit is without a doubt going to be no longer in pristine condition, but it’s a small price to pay for saving the boy from being hurt.
I find amusement in the thought that brides always worry about the weather on their big day. There’s never any fear about the crazy shit that can come out of left-field.
A shadow gets cast over our gathering, as Phoenix comes into view looking down at the three of us—barefoot in her pretty dress—as though nothing surprises her anymore. “Hey there, guys.” She wiggles her fingers in a comical wave.
“Hey!” Torque and I both say in deadpan unison.
Phoenix’s eyes roam over Bowie and then the two of us, doing a mental stock-take of body parts. “Everybody okay here?”
“We will survive,” Torque responds sounding a tad grumpy.
Phoenix murmurs, “I don’t doubt that for a second, but I also doubt your both gonna walk away unscathed.” Regardless she holds a thumbs-up sign in the air for Whisper and Evelyn; I would hazard a guess. “I’ll watch for traffic that might want to come up this road while you three take a bit to get vertical.” She doesn’t wait around for a reply to take up a post farther down the road.
Phoenix is equal parts woman as much as she’s as tough as one of the guys. She’s no shrinking violet. Not that any of the women are, but she’s a warrior and Slade’s damn proud of that.
Bowie starts trembling in my arms, bringing me back from my random thoughts. The penny has dropped how badly this could have ended for him.
“You all right, Bowie?” I loosen my arms, giving his body a little jiggle. “It’s over now.”
“Yeeeah,” he sighs the word slowly. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Scott. I lost control.”