Cassie

by deMora, MariaLisa

  “Baby.” He pushed to his feet and she saw his hand reach out, his boot moved a step forwards. She took a matching step backwards, keeping the distance between them. “Cassie, look at me.”

  Denying his request with a quick shake of her head, she told him again, “Please go.”

  “Baby, look at me.” His voice quaked but not as much as hers would if she answered him aloud.

  Eyes firmly on the toes of his boots, she tried to draw in the smallest of breaths. Her aim was at tiny, but it still wasn’t enough and her heart started to race, pounding against the insides of her ribs.

  “Cassie.”

  Head shaking constantly, she took a step to the side, then another. There was a cavern between them now, a chasm of hurt and pain. Another step, faltering because her breath had clogged entirely. You’re not dying, she reminded herself. Even if it feels like you are. Chest hitching painfully, she made it to the stairs. Her foot hovered over the bottom one for the amount of time it took her to not pull in her next breath, and she made the decision, abandoning Hoss and their conversation for the safety of her bedroom.

  She didn’t turn, didn’t look at him.

  Didn’t hear the door close behind him.

  She did hear the rumbling of his bike at it idled at the curb. It stayed there for a long time, until she’d gotten a semblance of control back, the engine and exhaust a constant comfort of sound she could feel in her chest, in her bones, breaking the cycle of fear slowly. One slow breath at a time, hour after hour. As if he were connected to her in ways that couldn’t be seen, Hoss stayed with her until she could breathe again. He’d left when she told him to, but he didn’t go far. Not as long as she needed him.

  Start with hello

  Hoss

  “Dammit.” Hoss rummaged through his sidebag again. He’d taken everything out and laid it in order on the pavement of the parking lot. They had been stopped for gas near the Little Rock clubhouse when he’d reached for his phone, only to find it gone from his pocket. The column would be spending the night at the small compound and he’d already flagged one of the rooms for his use, taking the stairs two at a time to drop his bag on the bed and start looking. Now, even though there was no real reason to assume his phone would have been in anything other than the pocket of his jeans where he always kept it, he was down at the bikes again, systematically going through the rest of his belongings. “Fuck.”

  “Lose something?” Mason’s tone held laughter, and Hoss angled his head back so he could glare up at his friend.

  “Fuck. You.” He’d gotten to the bottom of the bag without finding the phone and began to reassemble the contents, placing each item back into position one by one.

  “What’d you lose, Hoss?” Mason hunkered down on the other side of the bike, thumbing the locks on the bag there.

  “I already checked that side.” Hoss finished storing everything and dusted his palms on his thighs before pushing upright. “My goddamned phone. I lost my goddamned phone.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? It’s a club phone, right?” Hoss nodded and Mason scanned the parking area, giving out a piercing whistle before he shouted, “Myron, to me.”

  “Dammit. If I wanted everyone to know I lost it, I would have told everyone.”

  “I’m not everyone,” Myron said from behind him, then asked, “What’d you lose?” He stepped to where Hoss could see him and grinned. “I’m good at finding things.”

  “He lost his phone.” Mason closed the flap on the bag he’d been toying with and stood. “Do your techie woo-woo shit and find it.”

  “It’s not woo-woo.” Myron’s complaint seemed half-hearted, because it was said under his breath, his attention already focused on the small tablet he pulled from a bag slung around his shoulders. “It’s science.”

  “Well science your way to tellin’ Hossman where his shit is.” Mason laughed, rounded the bike and gave Myron’s neck a shake. “Make with the woo-woo.”

  “Mason.” Hoss looked up at the shout and studied Chismoso as he stalked across the parking lot towards their little knot of bikes and people. The man had done well in Little Rock, holding the chapter together against all odds after they’d been devastated by losses in the war against the Diamante. It had seemed counterintuitive at first, placing an ex-Diamante officer in charge of Little Rock, but damned if it didn’t work. First as a special assignment, and then as chapter president, Chismoso seemed to have a knack for pulling the right people into place at the right time. A lot like Mason. Also like Mason, Chismoso’s initiation into the biker’s life and world had been behind a madman’s hand at the helm, and they’d both come out the other end with a deep understanding of what they didn’t want in a club or a brother.

  “Chismoso, brother.” Mason met him halfway and gripped his wrist in a warrior’s clasp, then pulled the big man in for a one-armed clinch. “Good to see you, man.”

  “And you. You don’t get down this way often enough for me, Mason.” Chismoso pulled back and looked around Mason, flashing a quick grin at Hoss. “Good to see you, too.”

  “It’s in Fort Wayne. That’s the best I can tell. It’s off right now, maybe a dead battery, but not an hour ago it flashed off a couple of towers in the area.” Myron kept his head bent, studying the screen of his tablet. “Hey, Chismoso. How’s it hangin’?”

  “It’s all good here, Myron.” Chismoso looped an arm around Mason’s shoulders as he turned. “We’ve a hell of a party planned tonight.” He glanced around the lot. “Where’re the old ladies? I heard you had a convoy headed my way.”

  “They’re at a hotel.” Mason rolled his eyes. “With a spa.” He chuckled. “I’m not quite sure what my old lady expects from this trip, if she’s not willin’ to be where I am. But if it makes her happy?” He shrugged and Chismoso laughed.

  “Happy wife, happy life.”

  “Amen,” Hoss said. “Was it moving when it pinged stuff, Myron?” Myron shook his head. “Do you know where it was in the city at least?”

  “Northeast side, best I can do until it gets turned back on.” Myron tapped the screen and then put the tablet away. “I’ve set an alert so if it comes online, I’ll capture the location. You need another phone while we’re out?”

  Hoss shook his head. “No, I’ll just…figure something else out. Thanks for checking. Good to know it didn’t fall on the side of the road somewhere.”

  “Don’t you have to call your woman and check in?” Mason tipped his head to the side. “Or is she one of those special kind that don’t require it?” He grinned. “Or, is she completely made up and you’re just not yet willing to admit it?”

  “She’s flesh and bone, brother. And if she were speaking to me, she’d probably want me to check in.” He shrugged and winced as he saw the smile fall away from Mason’s face. “But since she’s not on speaking terms with me right now, then I’d say I’m safe to not call. Probably best, actually.”

  “What happened? You were headed there last night.” Mason stepped away from Chismoso and Hoss watched as the other two men closed ranks, pulling their little circle small, their actions protective in a way that told him they’d have his back no matter what.

  This is brotherhood. “She took offense to not being invited to the party.” He rolled his eyes at the identical stunned expressions facing him. “I know, stupid move on my part.”

  “Uh, yeah. That’s way stupid.” Myron huffed out an annoyed breath of air. “Nobody, be they man or woman, wants to feel like the outsider.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve heard about Cassie, right? She’s got anxiety problems, and I didn’t want her to feel pressured to come to the clubhouse. She wouldn’t have enjoyed herself, and it would have made her even more nervous to feel like she was letting me down if she either couldn’t come at all, or came and then had to leave.” He lifted his hands palm out. “And before you tell me that’s a stupid way to think, I already know that, too.”

  “Fucked up, brother.” Chismoso pursed his lips. “Groveling is pro
bably your best route from here.”

  “Yeah, but I’m here and not there. Makes it kinda hard to grovel.” He glanced at Mason. “Not askin’ for an easy out, boss.”

  “I know you aren’t,” Mason said. “But Chismoso’s right, you’ve fucked up. What’d she tell you last night?”

  “That I’d taken the choice away from her. And by not giving her a chance, I’d made it clear I felt she was weak.” He snorted. “Which is bullshit. Can you imagine fighting demons in your own head just to be able to walk outside? That’s strength. She’s got this routine when she wakes up, like she’s got to rev herself up just to get out of bed. If you knew what she’d lived through, you’d see it too. Strongest woman I know.”

  “That old saying that women are the weaker sex?” Mason shook his head. “Lies.”

  “You speak truth, brother,” Chismoso chimed in. “How are you gonna fix it if you aren’t even going to be there for a couple of weeks? You can’t let her just sit and stew, brother.”

  “I don’t know,” Hoss admitted. “But I’ve got to fix it.” He dropped his gaze, and then told them the truth. “I love her.”

  ***

  Sammy

  “Son?” Fear from the late-night call spiraled into relief as he recognized his father’s voice wasn’t tense or upset. “Did I wake you?”

  Sammy sat up in bed, groggy as he punched a pillow to stuff behind his back. “It’s okay. What’s up?”

  They trawled through the normal routine of questions about Faynez, then he knew his dad was circling to the real reason behind the call when he asked, “You heard from Cassie?”

  “Uh, Pops, I know you know I don’t really know her.” Sammy grinned at the circular makeup of his answer. “Sorry, I’ve been hanging with Faynez too much.” His dad laughed and he grinned at the sound. “You sound good, Dad. Everything okay in Texas?”

  “Yeah.” A long sigh sounded through the phone and Sammy frowned slightly. “And naw. Everything here is good. Good meetings with the locals, had a barbecue last night and didn’t have to bleed anyone.” Sammy snorted, but knew his dad wasn’t exaggerating. The club life might not have been something he’d picked for himself, but he understood how things were. Through the years he’d spent more than one night waiting for his dad, hoping he would walk through the doorway of the house with all his parts intact. Things had settled down a lot over the last bit, but that didn’t lay his memories to rest.

  “Sounds like a good party, then. You know when you’ll head home?” Sammy didn’t mind staying with Faynez when he could, but there was a stretch of away games coming up in a few days. Gilda would be here, but she wasn’t that much older than Faynez, and he worried what the girls would get up to in his absence.

  “No earlier than originally planned. Hey, I had a question for you.” His dad paused, and when he continued, Sammy felt the quaver in his voice like a stab in his gut. “I fucked up with Cassie. We had a fight and I rolled out the next morning.”

  “But you talked to her since, right? There’re these things called phones and some even have cameras so you can talk as if you’re right there.” He shook with laughter until he realized his dad hadn’t joined him. “You talked to her, right?”

  “No, son. I haven’t. I lost my phone and I—” Silence for a moment, then Hoss admitted, “I just wanted to protect her, you know? But in doing so, I did her wrong. She needed to know I had her back, and I didn’t show her that. I do, I swear to God, I do, but I wasn’t quite on the right path.” Raw and painful, Hoss choked on a laugh. “I wondered if you could go by her place. Make sure she’s…okay. Make sure she’s there. Talk to Tug, he’ll help you understand. I can’t do it, because it kills me to think about. Sammy, I love you, and I know this is a lot to ask, but can you help me out, son?”

  “Anything for you, Dad.” Sammy kept his voice low and firm, the tone he used when talking to rookies who were on the edge of panic about their choice in teams. “You can do anything, and you’ve taught me the same. That means together, there’s nothing we can’t tackle. I’ll talk to Uncle Tug. Then I’ll go see about this Cassie everyone’s talking about. I already like her, because she makes you happy, but it’ll be good to officially meet her.”

  ***

  Cassie

  “Sucks, what happened to you.”

  The man’s voice surprised her, coming from the darkness alongside her back porch. She jerked to her feet and took the two running steps to her back door, standing open in the warm spring night. Slamming and locking it behind her, she turned and peered out the glass as she pulled her phone from her pocket.

  “Cassie.” She heard the word, but it wasn’t a voice she knew, and the face when it appeared wasn’t one she instantly recognized either. “Hi there. My name is Sammy Rogers. You met me, kinda. You know my dad.”

  That gave her pause, and she waited, finger hovering over the connect button. Seeing he had her attention, he continued talking, his voice pitched to carry.

  “Your seats are behind the bench, right behind us. You probably don’t recognize me because—” He gestured towards his head. “—the helmet. I talked to you once, a while ago.”

  She did recognize him. Samuel Rogers, a defenseman for Fort Wayne. Sammy. Sam. Hoss’ son. She nodded.

  “Gonna let me in?” Even before she finished shaking her head, he was laughing. “Deserve that, scaring a pretty lady like I did.” He smiled. “Can you hear me okay?”

  She nodded, her chest so tight with fear, rigid with it, she couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to.

  “Okay. So here’s the deal. Dad’s a really good guy. Like...really good. Sucked for him that my mom died like she did. They were just starting their lives and she was gone. Sucked bad, but he didn’t let that stop him being a great dad. Infant daughter, traumatized just-adopted son, wife dead—would have been easy for him to check out. Let the willing aunts and uncles in there to help him deal. But he didn’t. He did what needed doing, even as it sucked.”

  He took a breath. “Sucked so bad sometimes, can’t tell you. Just no words. But he just did whatever was needed. Helping and healing all of us along the way. I love him so much.” He paused, then said, “You getting this?” She nodded again.

  “You’re dating Dad, and you’ve made him happy. First time in a long time. Do you know why?” At his question, she shook her head vehemently and he nodded. “Didn’t expect you to. Not really. But I overheard Dad talking to Uncle Tugboat a while ago. Then I talked to Tug. And I see from your face that’s unwelcome news. I thought you needed to know how he is. What it means to him that you’ve let him in, you know?” She knew she had paled, felt the first wave of dizziness break over her. No, not now.

  “He shared with Uncle Tug what happened to you. Tugboat knew it had to be bad. With what you’d already told him and the way you acted, skittish and frightened in a way that told its own story? He knew it would have to be bad. And Dad shared just how bad.” He paused again and she saw him openly struggling with his emotions, mouth twisting to the side as he tried to keep control. “You sure I can’t come in?”

  As if in a dream, she saw her hand reach out and unlock the door. Cassie took three quick steps backwards, until her shoulders hit the opposite wall. She watched in horrified fascination as the doorknob turned, and the door inched open, with first a foot entering her kitchen, followed by the big, wide-shouldered body of a professional athlete. “Thanks,” he said softly, twisting to shut the door. He faced her and settled his shoulders against the surface, hands tucked behind his back, staying across the room. Voice quiet, he told her, “I’ll stand here, by the door.” She nodded and directed her gaze to the center of his broad chest.

  “Did you know I was taken from my mom when I was little? My...the sperm donor who tried to kill me before I was born came and kidnapped me, took me all the way to Alabama before I was rescued.”

  Still unable to speak, she shook her head, but her eyes inched upward until her gaze met his. There was a warmth in his blue eyes
that told her a lot of things. This man felt things deeply, and he was concerned. His eyes held so much concern she knew it was more than his dad, more than a memory of things that happened to him when he was small. He was concerned for her. A woman he probably didn’t even remember meeting all those years ago.

  “Mama about lost her mind. And, Daddy? He did lose his until I was safe, and by safe I don’t mean out of that bastard’s hands. But until the bruises faded, until the woman I talked to for three years said it no longer dealt me any blows. I dealt with it because he took it on, protected me from the bullshit. Held me when my mom died. Held me while I held Faynez, told me without speaking that he had me. He. Had. Me. Without me asking, he did that. Because he cared, because he loves me.” He took a breath and she felt her lungs expand along with his, as if she’d held herself tight against what she knew was coming.

  “He wants to be that for you. He knows he can’t fix it, although God knows he wants to. That’s gonna bleed from him every time he looks at you. Bleed. But, he can’t fix it, so he’ll settle for being there and holding on. Holding on so you don’t have to spend that energy, he’ll hold on for both of you.” He shook his head. “You might think you need to do all this on your own. That’s not true, you know? You can give some of it to him and he’ll take it. He’s strong enough to hold on, and he will. He’ll hold on because he needs you, and he’ll take you just as you are. Thought he wanted to fix you, which he would, because that’s just the kind of man he is. But you forgot he fell in love”—when he said this, her eyes closed, shutting out the pain in this boy’s eyes—“with the woman who freaked out. With the complex, frustrating, unbelievably strong and brave woman you are. His words.” He paused and she blinked, clearing the tears from her eyes so she could see him. “Cassie, he’s started painting again. He’s started living in ways that thrill the shit out of me and my sister. Because he needs beauty in his life and you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever held in his hands. His words to Uncle Tug. He needs you.”