The Possibility of Trey (A Hellion MC Novel)

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  I shoved my hands in my back pockets and took a step back as the bike roared to life. Realizing I hadn't answered him, I nodded. He gave me a chin lift and then pulled away.

  I lifted a hand from my pocket and kept it up until he turned the corner and was out of view. Then I did a whole lot of dancing all the way up the walk, over the steps and back into the house.

  Some steps which even included fist pumps and some serious ass wiggles.

  Chapter Ten

  "Motherfucker," Trey groaned as soon as his eyes opened, caught in the same state he'd gone to sleep in. His grip, holding his morning wood, was in such a way he knew he'd been working it even before he'd even fucking woke up. Before he even remembered his very vivid dream of a wet and naked Dallas sweetly whispering, 'with you, yeah'.

  And he hoped the selfie he knew he'd be doing in the shower would help tame the beast before he went to work because the two he'd had to do the night before in order to get to sleep hadn't done shit.

  Although he didn't understand why.

  Not with only the memory of the feel of her in his arms and of her mouth under his. It had been cock-teasing of the worst sort. Something so perfect and so goddamn right, so innocently shared that he hadn't wanted to quit. Hadn't wanted to fucking let her go but to drag her some place, any place with a modicum of privacy and explore whatever sang between them again and again.

  After his shower, he pulled out a pair of jeans, still swiping the towel around the dripping ends of his hair.

  Christ, it couldn't have been that good, could it?

  A kiss of such magnitude that he felt it the next morning wasn't possible.

  Or was it?

  Shit, he'd better get a grip on whatever held him captive or he'd be sporting blue balls by lunch.

  His attitude wasn't much better when he parked his bike in the forecourt, his eyes automatically searching for her maroon truck in a sea of SUV's, trucks and beaters. But it wasn't in its normal spot. In fact, it wasn't anywhere his eyes lit on as he moved to the heavy glass doors of Hellion Construction. Offering a quick good morning to Rita, he stomped past his office and down to where Silo held court.

  "Where's Sheridan?" he growled, stepping right up to Silo's junkyard of a desk.

  "Called in at 5.35 saying she had something she had to take care of," Silo shot back with one hand on the phone as the other one searched through the stacks of shit littering the expanse of the massive desktop.

  "Who'd you send?" At Silo's blank look, Trey's voice took on an edge of menace. "Sheridan, remember? Who'd you fucking send?"

  "Christ, Trey. Shit, it didn't even occur to me…" But Trey was already running for the door and was on his bike before Silo could even complete the sentence.

  The ten minute ride felt like an hour as the different 'what if' scenarios flew through Trey's mind, each one more ugly than the last as it unfolded. He was up and off his bike, banging on the front door almost before the engine died.

  Someone had taken out the large front window, the one that had provided the romantic glow when he'd sat with her on the porch just hours ago. Now it was covered with an ugly piece of plywood that had been brutally screwed into the frame.

  He heard the snicks and clicks of the locks before her mother's trembling voice asked, "Mr. Jackson?" Not wanting to scare the delicate older woman, Trey had no choice but to use a hand on her thin shoulder to gently push her back inside before closing and re-locking the door.

  "Trey?" he heard yelled from deep in the bowels of the house before Dallas came barreling down the hall. When he met her at the mouth of the hallway, she stopped dead in her tracks, her nickel-colored eyes wide and holding a look that hit him at his knees. "Trey?" she said again, but this time it was on a whisper.

  Without a thought, the large man yanked her to him so relieved, so fucking overjoyed that she looked healthy and whole in spite of the fear he'd seen so clearly beaming from her eyes. He wrapped her in his arms and held on as if she was trying to get away even though she was clinging to the edges of his t-shirt beneath his cut. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes," he heard from a place somewhere around his nipples. "We're fine. Shaken but fine."

  He glanced up and saw her father making his way down the hall looking ten years older than the last time he'd seen him. "Fuckers did their fucking shit without anyone seeing them. Brick through the window. Scared the shit out of all of us. Police already took our goddamn statements and Dallas gave them the fucking brick with the note. Neighbor helped us put up the wood."

  Trey liked how the old man reported. It was short, succinct and to the point. "Note?" He asked, peeling his girl from his chest and looking down at her flushed face.

  "B-blabbing b-bitches g-get b-broken," Mrs. Sheridan stuttered from behind him. Trey moved Dallas and himself out of the way so her dad could get to his obviously overwrought wife.

  "Now, Mary. You were supposed to be resting, honey," Mr. Sheridan said, wrapping his wife in his one arm and leading her to the sofa. "Everything's good. We're all safe and Mr. Jackson's here."

  "Is there someplace we can talk, Tex? Uninterrupted?" Trey asked softly.

  "My room," she said and turned to lead him to the door just past Drake's. Glancing as he passed, he saw the boy's room had been cleaned to within a inch of its life with the bed made and everything dusted to a high shine.

  Dallas's personal space was a surprise. First was the twin bed one he was sure she'd probably slept on ever since she'd been a young girl. But it was the complete and total whiteness of her room that made him stop in the doorway. White walls, curtains and braided rug matched the chest, bed and chair. There were frames on the walls, lacquered a bright white but that only seemed to contain some kind of writing in them.

  "Have a thing against color?" He asked with a grin when she sat at the foot of the bed, leaving the chair for him to sit on. He saw an answering grin that she aimed at her socks while he closed the door.

  "It looks clean and isn't something you have to fuss with," she offered by way of explanation.

  "Okay. I know you already told the cops but run it by me again," he started as he settled himself in the creaky chair.

  "I heard the crash about ten minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I knew it came from the front of the house so I grabbed Slugger and inched my way down the hall. I could feel air, like the front door was open or something so I assumed someone had tried to break in."

  "Slugger?"

  She reached under the bed and brought out a very large and very solid baseball bat. "My version of home protection."

  "And can you protect with it?"

  "Women's All-Star Softball. Our team made regional three years running," she explained, sliding it back into place.

  "Impressive. Continue."

  "I saw the glass all over the floor first then the brick. I stepped out just enough to see the window and then went to check on my folks." Her voice was holding steady in spite of her chin tremor and Trey knew repeating what happened was costing her. He moved and sat next to her on the bed, his weight taking his ass almost down to the box springs.

  "And the fucking note?" He draped his arm around her shoulders and felt her melt into his side.

  "It was affixed with that clear tape, like you use for shipping," she explained. "The cops took it with them after I was able to convince them none of us had touched it."

  "Dallas!" It was her dad's voice but yelled at such a level the bedroom door shook. His girl was up and out of the room like a shot. "Call 911!"

  By the time Trey completed her demand and made it into the front room, the older woman was in dire circumstance. Mr. Sheridan was trying to help position an oxygen mask over her face while Dallas ran back to one of the bedrooms. He shifted to the older man's side and took over, carefully getting both the plastic cup and the stretchy holder in place before reaching for the crank of the oxygen tank.

  "How you holding up, beautiful?" he asked and pressed his middle finger against the pulse point o
n Mrs. Sheridan's wrist as he watched her struggle for breath.

  Her breathing was thready even with the mask and her pulse was doing a weird, fast rhythm much like his dad's had during the attacks Trey had been privy to.

  "Ambulance is coming and your Lally is rounding up your meds," he advised keeping his voice calm and steady. "Mr. Sheridan? If you're going to the hospital with her you might want to get your jacket and shoes as well as some for her."

  Dallas was shrugging into her own coat and stomping into her boots while juggling two large plastic zippered bags of pills and a huge file folder. She shoved a fucking monstrosity of a key ring at him. "I'll go in the ambulance with her, if they let me. Can you take my dad in the truck?"

  Trey stood to open the door for the paramedics that were heard but not yet seen as the other two crowded close to his girl's mom. Christ, this was so fucked up he didn't know what to do or where to start. Though he knew he was going to be there for whatever the little family needed.

  After the older woman was loaded into the ambulance, Trey ensured the house was locked and helped the old man into Dallas's truck which was just as clean as her room had been.

  "Seems we're going awful slow, son," the older man protested, his one hand in a choke hold on the neck of his jacket.

  "They have the right to go fast and run lights. We don't," Trey answered equally as impatient with both traffic and his lack of speed. But figuring Mr. Sheridan's complaint was due to worry more than anything else, the biker decided a different sort of conversation might be in order. "So how long have you and Mrs. Sheridan been married?"

  "You can call us Mary and Miller," the old man conceded, his face pointed towards the window he couldn't look out of. "Seems fitting with all you're doing for me and mine."

  "Thank you, Miller. You can call me Trey," the younger man said in reply.

  "Twenty-nine years next month. Met my woman while on leave in Butte. I wasn't the youngest buck to be chasing her but I was seasoned enough to know a good one when I met her."

  "Lucky man to be living with two beautiful women," Trey responded, taking note of the pride that had crept into the man's voice.

  "Yep. Smart, warm, beautiful and they can cook! You don't have to tell me I hit the jackpot, son." Trey couldn't help his smile even in light of the drama of the morning.

  "How's the little asshole doing?" Trey felt a tension creep up between them at Miller's question.

  "Better, sir. We've, ah, changed direction and things seem to be improving." Trey had been shocked by the new reports of Drake's behavior with only the fucking promise of a shared dinner and a PG-13 movie in the company of the curvaceous Carmi, whom he'd learned was only nineteen and not attached to any one specific brother.

  "Threw some pussy his way, huh?"

  Trey felt his eyebrows lift at how astute the old man was.

  "Yeah, if beat-downs don't work, hit 'em with a bodacious rack and they'll fucking fall all over themselves," the old man drawled with a smirk. "Works every time with the mouthy shits."

  Trey was out and out laughing by the time he parked Dallas's truck in the hospital parking lot. "You're pretty smart for a one-armed, blind guy."

  "And you're pretty mellow for a wild-ass biker," Miller barked back as Trey helped him from the cab. "Making out with my daughter on my front porch on a week night?"

  Trey could feel his cheeks take on some heat as they entered the emergency room through the automated doors. Luckily the hustle and bustle of the busy area prevented him from answering.

  Christ! When was the last time he'd had to answer to a girl's dad about something he'd done?

  *.*.*.*.*

  By the time they had my mom stabilized, wired to every machine known to man and ensconced in a room in CCU, it was four o'clock. I'd typically be helping the boys pack up and stow our gear, wrapping the pipes still stacked in their tarps and in general getting ready to end our day.

  I missed it and it almost went without saying that I'd rather have spent a day knee deep in muddy trenches than to have had the day we'd gone through. But, Trey never left our sides except to fetch coffee, lunch or to take/make phone calls.

  How was he able to spend so much time with you?, my brain wondered.

  Bite me, my heart replied.

  We'd talked with the doctors and were assured that my mom was resting as comfortably as they could make her. The nurses had advised that only one of us were going to be able to stay overnight with her, so it made sense in the whole scheme of things that it'd be my dad. Especially with what had shown itself between them over the last few days.

  "You about ready, Tex?" Trey said as he'd lowered himself into the chair next to me in the small waiting room.

  "Yeah. I'm wiped, if you want to know the truth," I admitted, feeling his hand move my hair aside to capture the back of my neck.

  "Long day?"

  "You can say that again." He gave a small chuckle and reached for one of my hands.

  "Home it is, then. Are they gonna need anything from the house before you're able to sleep?" My heart caught on his thoughtfulness and the concern in his voice.

  "Don't think so. Dad'll be okay until tomorrow when I come by." I found myself talking in the same 'short-speak' as he did due to my exhaustion.

  I stumbled a bit as I followed him to my truck. "I'll drive," he offered and I let him without even a quibble. Normally no one drove my truck but me but for some reason, I had no trouble with Trey behind the wheel of my baby.

  I was nodding off when I heard him start to talk. "I don't want you in that house alone. So you grab a bag of whatever you and your folks will need tomorrow. "

  "Where am I going to go?" Suddenly I was fully awake and alert at his words.

  His eyes hit mine and held until the stoplight turned green.

  "My place."

  My stomach did a tummy tumble that was in the 9.5 to 10.0 range at just those two syllables.

  Chapter Eleven

  Trey had spent most of the day on the phone, rearranging his schedule and hooking up the people who didn't want to catch a rain-check on their meetings. He'd also taken ten minutes to chew Silo a new asshole for his lack of attention regarding the Sheridan situation that the tall bald man had originally pointed out would need looking after. But mostly Trey spent the day doing whatever he could to make things easy for Dallas and her family.

  And now he was leading his girl to his place. A place that, outside of his sister, his mother and the housekeeper hadn't had a woman in it in years.

  He was, he admitted to himself, on edge.

  It was a house similar to the one she lived in: a sprawling ranch in a neighborhood which at one time had been one of the up-and-coming ones in their city. But whereas the wear was showing on hers, his had been updated, often being the test for new hires of the different crews at Hellion Construction. He had a kick-ass kitchen and a full bath for every bedroom. His heating and a/c were top of the line and both the exterior and interior were repainted every two years. His mom and sister had helped him decorate, finding a sort of a cross between comfort and style that projected masculinity at the same time.

  He hoped Dallas liked it and wondered for the thousandth time why her opinion meant shit-all to him.

  Trey pulled his bike around to the back and watched as she parked in his driveway. Her truck looked perfect there.

  "How 'bout we have dinner delivered?" he offered as she met him on the back stairs. Gaining a nod in response, he led her into the kitchen watching as her eyes took it all in. Where her place had individual rooms for the living and kitchen areas, he'd opened up the space until it was one flowing piece. "Let me show you to the guest room. What would you like to eat?"

  "Food," he heard her breathe from behind him as he led her down the hall and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Her eyes were wide as her head swiveled from one side to the other roaming over each room as they passed. "I can and have been known to eat anything."

  Even after a day from hell, she wa
s still able to keep things light.

  "Mexican okay?"

  "Whatever, Trey. If I don't eat soon though, your wood furniture may be in trouble," she said, stopping next to the door he'd halted in front of. "Can I get a shower in before we eat?"

  He flipped on the light in the guest room and stood back so she could enter. She threw the two carrier bags on the bed and looked around. Trey wanted to be next to her and found with only two steps he was. "You can have whatever you want, Dallas."

  He hadn't deliberately wanted it to sound like a come-on but that's how the words had come out, said deeply and with a rumble. He tried to cover it by adding, "There are clean towels in the bathroom cupboard and shit underneath the sink. Help yourself."

  But they must've been on the same page because his sweet, exhausted girl wound her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. "Thank you," he heard her whisper. "Thank you for helping and, well, just being there today."

  Trey ran his hands over the back of her top and bent his head until his cheek rested against her hair. "It was my pleasure, Tex." She shifted and dipped her head way back in order to capture his eyes. But it was her hand, the one that snaked up to his shoulders and threaded through his hair, that gave him the approval to kiss her again.

  And just like the one of the night before, their kiss took on a life of its own almost as soon as they'd both settled into it. Hot and sexily sweet, he lost himself in the taste and feel of her. So much so he didn't realize his hands had moved to cup the sides of her head as he plundered her mouth.

  It was a kiss that was not long enough by half in his opinion. And, as soon as it was done, he couldn't help his harshly whispered words. "Fucking hell, Dallas!"

  She brought a shaky hand to her mouth as her eyes sought his. "What is that, Trey?"

  "I don't know, pretty girl. But I need another one."

  As their mouths fused again, Trey couldn't help how his hands roamed over her. Their tongue dance accompanied by her soft noises had him achingly erect and he slid his hands to her ass. It felt as perfect as it looked and he couldn't help his grip as he pulled her against the throbbing beast behind his zipper.