HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter

by Cummings, Bink

  A pregnant silence settles over the room as we sit and stare at each other, exchanging gazes from one person to the next. Not that there’s much to take in. Kade is, of course, upset. ‘Cause, like his dad and brother, his scowling tells an animated story of how unhappy he truly is. If that wasn’t indication enough, the blade in his hand, and the eye twitch is a dead giveaway. Bear, though, is a big gooey ball of sadness. It seeps from his pores, perfuming the air in melancholy. I’m depressed just from looking at him. Poor guy.

  To keep things upbeat, and stave off any further self-flagellation, I take the high road and do what I do best—focus on the positives. I am an optimist after all. Except where the behemoth Asshole is concerned.

  “Okay, guys, no more of this sullen crap. It’s Thanksgiving. Don’t you do anything special for the holiday?” My goal was to be at my hotel by now. I had zero plans to spend Thanksgiving anywhere, especially here. Yes. I know I could have flown home today and spent a late Turkey Day with my kids. But I didn’t want to fly in one day and fly out again less than twelve hours later. My pregnant body can’t handle that. The water retention I have is real, and flying only makes it worse—much worse. I haven’t scoped them out yet, but I’m willing to bet my ankles look like honey glazed hams. Oh, the wonderful joys of motherhood.

  “Some of the old ladies are cookin’,” Kade explains, flipping his knife shut and stowing it back inside his vest. I’m happy to see it disappear.

  “That sounds great.” I go for cheerful to draw the attention away from the sour fog that’s descended upon the room, and is growing denser by the minute.

  “You’re too fuckin’ nice,” Bear mumbles. “You should be yellin’ at me and sayin’ I can never see my grandbabies for the shit I’ve put ya through.”

  “You didn’t put me through anything,” I argue gently.

  “Sure I did.” More of that negativity imbues the air. Soon, we’re going to be choking on it. It’s got to stop. It’s Thanksgiving, for cryin’ out loud.

  “How? By takin’ my dad in for the poor choices he made, or giving Bre—Ryker an ultimatum when you thought it was in his best interest? I’m a mom. As parents, we don’t always make the right choices, but we do our best. And I’m old enough to know not to direct my anger toward someone undeserving. Ryker made his choice, as you said. So did my dad. And I’m not going to punish you, or Kade, for their piss poor decisions.”

  “Pops, I told ya she wasn’t gonna act like a crazy bitch,” Kade interjects, grinning proudly in my direction. It’s so warm that I want to puff my chest up at the compliment, but I’ve got to pee so badly all of a sudden that I can’t see straight.

  I wiggle in my spot, ready to burst. “Um … guys … can I use the restroom? I’ve got an iron bladder, but bein’ pregnant kinda interferes with my self-proclaimed bladder awesomeness.”

  They both chuckle as Kade saunters across the room and pushes open a door. “It’s all yours.” Suavely, he sweeps his hand toward the darkened interior like Vanna White.

  Raising my arm, I remind him of my IV. Nodding, Kade walks over to my bedside. Turning off the machine, he grabs some white gauze and tape from the bedside drawer, then, bingo-bango, the IV comes out, and I’m all patched up. Not a drop of blood spilled. Something tells me he’s done this plenty of times before.

  Shoving the sheet down my legs, I voice a quick thanks and make haste to the bathroom while securing the hem of the t-shirt. Luckily, it almost reaches my knees. I don’t need to give these men a nudie show. The bedroom walls can provide them with enough flesh entertainment for one evening.

  Flicking the light on, the stark white-on-white bathroom is cleaner than I suspected since it’s used by a man. Most of the fellas I know are slobs. Cologne and other manly items are neatly laid out on the counter as a blue towel hangs on a bar a few feet from the toilet.

  I shut the door.

  Voices in the other room draw my attention as I lift my shirt to use the facilities.

  “She doesn’t hate us, Pop,” Kade states.

  “She should. She came here under false pretenses. Now Ryker’s gonna wanna talk to her, and Ghost is gonna kill him.”

  “Do ya blame him?”

  Leaning forward a little, elbows perched on my knees, I strain to listen.

  “No. If I were Ghost, I’d hate him, too, for leavin’ that poor woman, and her two daughters,” Bear remarks.

  “Yeah. But that’s a choice he made. You did what any good prez would do. Made him choose—club or woman. He showed his loyalty to the club just like you would’ve done. What’d ya expect him to do? We were raised in this life. It ain’t like we’re gonna pass it up for some chick. That’s disloyal to the patch.”

  It’s sad how much conviction Kade places into his words. Pass it up for some chick. That’s a bit harsh, don’t ya think? I’m not just some woman.

  “Ghost doesn’t see it that way. He was taken away from his daughter because of his foolish shit. He wasn’t brought up like y’all. Big did right by him. By helpin’ him out. But the man wasn’t raised an outlaw. He just served us from the outside. That girl is all that’s ever mattered to him.” Bear speaks with reason, and I nod along, agreeing with him the entire way. Not that I’m defending my dad. But when I was a kid, I was his priority. His pride and joy. I knew that then, and I know that even more so now.

  “That’s why you’ve kept tabs on her like you promised ya would. So he’d keep the heat off the club. You did all that was expected,” Kade defends his father’s honor. It’s kinda sweet.

  Finished, I remain on the toilet to eavesdrop more than I probably should. Hey, you gotta do what ya gotta do. And you’re joinin’ me, so what does that say about you?

  “Can you tell me why she’s wearin’ one of your shirts, son?” There’s a smile in Bear’s voice.

  Lifting the shirt edge to my nose, I inhale deeply and nearly groan at the subtle masculine scent that clings to the cotton. The spicy smell of man is one of my biggest weaknesses. Not that I have many. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, Kade smells amazing. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a looker, too.

  Damn it. I can’t be ogling my ex’s brother—the uncle to my kids. That’s low, even for me—the born again virgin. Okay, so I’m not a born-again anything. I’ve just been celibate for so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be touched down there. And I’m sure you’re wondering … Don’t ya have a dildo or vibrator, Kat? The answer would be no. Not anymore. When Roxie was about three, she snuck into my bedside drawer and decided to play with my pink vibrator like it was a neck massager. I then threw out all sexual paraphernalia from my home just to be on the safe side. At their ages now, they’d recognize what those things are.

  It’s sad that kids know more about sex at age nine than I did. Aren’t they still supposed to be playing Barbies and dressing up like princesses? Where does the time go? Am I right? Now all they want to do is play games on their tablets, cruise YouTube, and dance. At least I’ve convinced them to take part in one extracurricular activity that doesn’t involve the internet, or, more specifically, Facebook. Which is another thing they’ve been begging me for—a Facebook page. Which is not gonna happen until they’re a hundred and five years old. Mama has to put her foot down on that one.

  “Those fuckers got blood on her during their fight. What was I supposed to do?” Kade growls defensively.

  “Not undress her,” Bear clips as I flush the toilet and thoroughly wash my hands in the sink to buy them more time to talk.

  Giving myself a once over in the mirror makes me feel grimy. So I refuse to let my gaze linger any longer than is necessary on my unfortunate state—that’s complete with messy hair and bags under my eyes. Upon further inspection, I notice that my ankles are, indeed, basking in all of their plump, hoggish-glory while my toes and feet have decided to party right along with them. Oh, joy. It’s going to be interesting to see if I can fit my feet into one of the two pairs of flats that I brought. I pro
bably should have planned better and packed my slippers. They would’ve fit for sure.

  “I’ve been trained to handle this kinda stuff, Pops. Remember?” I hear Kade argue as I open the bathroom door and make my way back to the bed, sliding under the covers.

  The men stop talking, and their eyes train on me as if I have something important to say. I don’t. There’s not much to say. I’m honestly not sure where to go from here. Shock would be an appropriate term at this juncture. What can I really do? I’m at their mercy unless I want to leave. And I don’t want to. I have so much more I’d like to find out. Plus, speak to my dad if I can.

  Now that sounds strange to me. Speak to my dad. As if that was something I could do outside of my head. Like when I used to pray, night after night, that he would hear the stories I whispered to him about the girls, missing him and our family. Stories that now make me sound like a lunatic since nobody was listening.

  “Dinner should be done ‘round seven,” Bear finally speaks, now standing by the door as Kade retakes his seat on the opposite side of the bed. His hand wraps around the knob. “I’d like it if you’d join us.”

  My eyes snap down to my shirt and back again. “What am I gonna wear?”

  Bear’s attention sweeps to Kade as he inclines his head in his son’s direction. “He’s the one who’ll look after ya, and get ya what ya need.”

  “Am I going to be allowed to go to my hotel tonight?”

  “No. We’ve already canceled your stay. Kade’s room is the safest place for ya.”

  “Am I in danger?” I sincerely hope not.

  Bear shakes his head, scratching at his beard. “Not danger. But you’re new ‘round here. People know you’re Ghost’s daughter. And unless you wanna have a run-in with Vanessa or Ryker unaccompanied, then I suggest ya stay put and listen to Kade. You can trust him. He’s a good man. Won’t let anyone give ya any shit.”

  I look to Kade, and he proudly lifts his chin, confirming what his dad said is true. “Okay. So am I a … prisoner?”

  “No!” they blurt in unison as if I offended them.

  “Am I gonna be able to leave tomorrow to go back home?”

  Apparently, I’m full of questions.

  “With an escort ya can,” Bear explains.

  Not wanting to think about why I have to have an escort, I nod my head in acquiesce. Not like I have much of a choice. Do I? As long as I get home safe and sound, that’s all that matters.

  Bear exits, but not before he bows his head in goodbye, leaving me alone with Kade once more.

  Shifting on the mattress, I face him. “I’ll need my clothes and phone.”

  “I can’t give ya your phone.”

  Oh. That’s not gonna fly.

  “Care to tell me why?”

  I remain calm, even if my temper is starting to rise. I’m going to give him one more chance to make the right choice, or the mouthy part of me will be unleashed. This time, I don’t care one bit. Those are my daughters, and I’ll be damned if anyone keeps me from talking to them. Especially on a national holiday.

  “Can’t risk it. Your line’s not secure,” he clarifies, his attention focused my way, casually lounging in the chair. At least his knife isn’t out.

  My arms do their thing, tucking over my chest like I’m preparing for a fight. Cocking my head to the side, my lips thin with agitation. “Then I suggest you find me a phone that is, because I am going to call my daughters whether you like it or not.”

  That seems to perk him right up.

  “You’re gonna call Scarlett and Roxie?”

  “Yes. Genius. Those are my daughters,” I tease, releasing my arms from their tense state so I can rub my belly instead. It’s starting to growl. I’m starving. Low blood sugar curbed or not, I haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. My body is starting to punish me for it.

  Kade smirks and pulls a phone from his back pocket. Dangling it from his fingertips over the edge of the bed, he delivers his ultimatum. “I’ll let ya call them from my cell. The number is untraceable. But ya gotta put it on speaker phone.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “So I can hear what my nieces sound like.”

  Awe. Now that’s just too damn sweet. Who could say no to that? Not me. Particularly not when his face is lax and adorable. Lips soft. Eyes gentle. Everything about him is open, waiting, and hoping. Telling him ‘no’ would be like kicking a puppy; although, he’d probably take the kick with grace and still let me use his phone. He’s just that kinda guy. Or seems to be.

  “Okay,” I agree. He doesn’t waste any time to dial my mother’s number, which he shouldn’t know, before laying the ringing phone on the bed, speaker on.

  “Hello?” she answers.

  “Hey, Mom. It’s me.”

  “Kat? Why are you calling me from a restricted number?” Her voice jumps a few octaves.

  The first lie I can muster drops effortlessly from my lips. “No signal out here in the boonies. I’m using one of the members’ phones.”

  See, not a total untruth.

  “Are you being safe?”

  There she goes trying to act motherly. When she never cared about that before when I was young enough to actually need mothering. It gets under my skin more than it should. I know this. But I can’t lie and say I don’t still hold some animosity toward her because of my childhood. The past few years have significantly lessened some of the resentment. Even though it’s still very much intact. Friendship with her is something that I can do. Having her act like a concerned mother … not so much. It’s all in her tone. Shelly’s friend tone is chill and approachable. Her mom tone is snappy, borderline demanding. It’s never pleasant, and, thankfully, it rarely comes out. She means well regardless. I’m trying to see that. Still, it’s hard when you’ve pictured her one way for more than half your life. As much of an optimist as I am, that doesn’t change the baggage that I carry. It’s heavy and weighed down by a weathered past. Unfortunately, my mom has to bear the brunt of that sometimes. I’m getting better. Repressing feelings works wonders for me. I tuck them into tiny compartmentalized boxes and pretend they don’t exist. That way, I don’t have to work them out. It’s a magical method, even if it’s not the healthiest. What can I say? You don’t get the luxury of ironing all of your emotional crap when you’re a mom. Kids come first.

  “I’m fine. Are the girls around?” I look up to see Kade staring at the phone like it’s a precious gem. He’s hunched over, elbows on knees, less than a foot from it. His breath puffs sharp enough that it fogs the edge of the screen.

  Mom grumbles into the receiver, apparently not fond of my response. “Yes. Hold on. They’re out back playing.”

  There’s some yelling and rustling on the other line as I hear Mom calling to the girls, telling them I’m waiting to talk. Roxie is the first to snatch the phone. She’s the more eager of the two. “Mommy!” She takes a long pause to pant for breath. It abrades the speaker with noise. “Hi, Mommy! Are you having fun in Texas?”

  Another glance toward Kade, and I swear my ovaries explode. He’s smiling hugely at the phone, not even noticing me watching him. He’s too enraptured with the little girl on the line that he’s oblivious to everything else. It’s so damn cute. I almost “awe” aloud, but swallow the sound at the last second, not wanting to draw his attention away.

  “Mommy!” Roxie screeches, transporting me back to the present.

  “Hey, Rox. Texas is great. A lot warmer here than back home.” I always keep my tone light with my kids to keep them from worrying about me.

  “We got snow. Grandma is letting us play in it while she cooks.”

  “That sounds fun. Are you wearing your new gloves?”

  “Yessss, Mom,” she whines playfully, a giggle lingering under breath. I adore this little girl so damn much my heart could almost burst.

  Delicately, I touch my chest, grinning like a proud mama. “Happy Thanksgiving, babes. Have fun. I won’t keep ya. Can I talk to Scarlett?”
/>   “Sure. Love you!” Her enthusiasm ricochets off the bedroom walls.

  “Love you, too, sweetie.”

  The phone is passed to Scarlett, and the same conversation ensues like it always does. We say our love yous, and they hang up before my mom can return to the phone. I’m better for it since I know she’ll want to ask another fifty questions. Today’s not the day for me to answer them.

  Returning his phone to his pocket, a hardy slice of silence descends upon us, as our eyes awkwardly roam each other and the room, never stopping on any one thing for too long.

  A few minutes pass before I can’t take the quiet any longer. It’s making my skin crawl. “So how many live in this place?” I inquire because I can’t think of anything else to ask that wouldn’t be intrusive. Like, how long has your brother been married? Not that I really care. Is my dad seeing anyone? Does he have any other kids? How does your wife feel about me staying in your room? Not that I need or want to know that either. Ya know, for anything more than polite conversation, and so I don’t have to worry about some jealous woman wanting to try to kick my pregnant ass. Not that I’ve had many of those to deal with in my life, because I haven’t.

  Kade appears deep in thought for a beat, scratching his prickly chin—like father, like son. “Ten to twelve of us. Dependin’ on the week.”

  “Does it bother you that I’m here, and you’re playin’ babysitter?”

  This is something I need to know. Being a burden to anyone bothers me. Even when it pertains to my mother. I’ve always been independent. I haven’t had much of a choice with the life I’ve had. Dads can only do so much when they have to work. I was left home alone, a lot. Then, when I moved to Vegas with my mom, she was rarely present. It was always work or her boyfriend that took precedence. Sure, the first few months after my father's alleged death she tried to be a doting mother. That lasted all of two seconds before our distant relationship reemerged. I spent most of my time reading. Hence, the reason I’m a librarian. Though, if I had it my way, I’d be a copy editor or something more fantastical like an actual author. Not that I have the ability to write anything more than a shopping list as creativity isn’t exactly my forte.