“Fuck, man. Do you not know you’re one of the good ones? One of the few I believe I could stomach dealin’ with? Y’all’s bullshit hatred of an LEMC? That shit goes both fuckin’ ways, way some of these assholes act. Like Shooter. Assclown through and through, and, man, I find myself hatin’ on him.” Now Blue Line sounded frustrated, and Watcher tipped his chin down, focusing on what the man didn’t say as much as what he did. “You, Raul, Mason, Bones? I might not want you in my family because you do shit—and I know you do shit—but I wouldn’t balk at seating you at my table. Totally fucking rare in my world.”
This was indeed rare, and something Watcher would need to mull over before he could decide what it meant. Something he could also take to Mason and Bones, get their take on it. He focused on the actionable piece of Blue Line’s offer. “What do you propose I do in exchange?” It would be smart to have people riding alongside him, the more, the merrier, and with that in mind, Watcher had already made a call to his Midlands chapter. A half a dozen brothers were rolling east towards him right now. Still, wouldn’t hurt to find out what else Blue Line had in his pocket.
“Keep breathin’,” Blue Line suggested, and Watcher laughed.
***
Juanita
“Won’t.” The bed jerked underneath Juanita’s body, and she rolled away from the source of the movement and towards the edge. Silence fell in the room again. She listened intently, not hearing anything untoward in the entire house. Settling back onto the mattress, she relaxed, feeling herself begin to slide the short distance back to sleep. Another jerk dragged her eyes open again. “Fuckin’ won’t.”
Coming from the darkness behind her, Watcher’s words were thick, slurred with sleep, and she knew he was exhausted from the hard run back from Kentucky. He and Spider had left Las Cruces only five days ago and gone to eastern Kentucky and back in that time, each leg of the trip taking about thirty hours riding time. He’d gotten home, kissed her and the girls, made two calls and crawled into bed. Even Bella’s whisper-shout hadn’t woken him for supper.
When Juanita undressed for bed, she’d picked up his clothing strewn on the floor, lifting his shirt to her nose to smell the unmistakable scent of the road. A mix of oil and sweat, it always reminded her of their first trip together on the bike, when she’d forced him to take her with him to Kentucky. She smiled as she dropped the shirt and jeans into the hamper. Now, lying beside him, she caught a whiff of a different smell she also recognized. Fear.
“God.” This pain-filled word came through clenched teeth, and when she rolled to face him, she could see the quivering strain in the muscles. His head arched backwards and he sucked in a deep breath, his body relaxing as he released it. Moving on from the dream it seemed, muscles all over his form growing lax again. His breathing deepened and slowed, and she hoped he was headed into a more refreshing sleep.
Suddenly he jerked, shoulders moving involuntarily as the dream reclaimed him.
He flinched, and his lips twitched. One hand lifted to fend something off in his sleep, then rubbed clumsily against his nose and cheek, as a child would. She was about to touch him, wake him, when he spoke again.
“Tabby, my baby girl.” His voice was lighter, sweeter than she’d heard in a while, more like how he had spoken to Isabella when she was an infant. Near crooning, he whispered, his voice broken and halting, “My Tabby girl, so strong.”
After several moments of stillness, he flinched again. More violently this time, so violently she wondered if he would awaken from the movement. “Preach told me. No accident.” His voice was hoarse with pain, tears slipping from the corners of his closed eyes. “Wasn’t no accident, honey. Why, Tabby?”
Juanita’s breath froze in her lungs, eyes wide, she struggled to see Watcher’s face, horrified. Tabitha had been his baby sister, and Juanita had seen the beautiful stone marking her grave in Kentucky, knew she’d died years before Darrie. But Watcher held his history close. Or maybe you never asked? Surely he would have told her if his little sister took her own life? He knew everything about Juanita, could pull stories out of her without even a question. For her to talk to him, it only took a look or the stroke of his fingers down her face. Would he keep a secret this painful?
“Why, honey?” His chest hitched, catching on a breath, tripping over the pain in his dream. He would hate knowing I saw this. Mind made up, Juanita reached out and laid her palm on his shoulder. He was a light sleeper, had been since she’d met him. The only time she’d been able to crawl out of bed without him waking was early in their relationship. Back when she couldn’t believe he felt the way he did. When the only emotion she trusted was her fear, when most things looked hopeless, trying to escape without knowing where she would go. Where she could go. Nowhere safer than here with me, the memory of his voice echoed through her head. She found herself unsure and had to know he felt the same way.
“Watcher, you’re dreaming.” She gave him a light shake, and his body tensed, eyes flying open and she knew they unerringly found hers even in the dark. “Papi, you had a bad dream.”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The question was immediate, and he knifed up, rolling to put an elbow on the mattress next to her head. This was followed by his hand smoothing up and down her side, across her chest, lifting to carefully cup her face. “Honey, I didn’t hurt you?” He was close, so close air from each word rushed across her skin. His breath coming fast, ragged pants for air. She lifted her hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart.
“No, Papi. You had a bad dream.” At her words he fell back, lifting his hands to his face, scrubbing hard across his forehead, nails dragging down and through his beard. In recent years it had begun to turn silver, contrasting very well with his still dark hair, giving him a distinguished look. He’d been so handsome when she’d met him, the beauty of his face the first thing she’d seen in so many days, and now he was even more so.
“Thank God.” His breathing slowed dramatically, and she knew it was because he was trying to get himself under control. “Thank God.”
“Watcher, you were talking.” He had been shifting, settling back into bed and at her words froze in place.
“What’d I say, honey?” Caution in his tone and she suddenly wished the lights were on so she could clearly see his face. Could see and read what he feared. “’Nita?”
“You…you were arguing with someone at first. Whoever you were talking to, you told them you wouldn’t. I don’t know what you were unwilling to do, but you repeated it, that you wouldn’t.” He blew out a breath and shifted, one knee lifting, tenting the sheet covering them.
“People always wantin’ shit outta me. I tell a lot of folks no.” One arm rose and crossed over her. Knowing what he wanted, she lifted her head, letting him wind his arm underneath, feeling his tug pull her across the sheet and close to his side. Her hand on his chest, she used the tips of her fingers to ruffle his hair there, rolling the pad of her thumb across one nipple. He hummed appreciatively, squeezing her and then relaxing again. “That it? Like you wantin’ my sleep to be sweet, honey, but waking me up for that seems extreme.”
“How did Tabby die?” She blurted the question, and the results of her prying were immediately evident as he turned to stone beneath her cheek and palm.
His breath was carefully even when he answered her question with one of his own. “What brought up Tabitha?” She realized she’d never before heard him call his sister Tabby. Always Tabitha, as if he needed to deny the affectionate name he’d said so lovingly in his sleep.
“You were talking to her in your sleep, too. It was sweet.” She said this softly, quietly, not wanting to disturb the air. He was so tense and rigid it seemed the least provocation might force him to explode. She wasn’t afraid of him, but rather for him, unwilling to trigger bad memories by blundering into a painful corner. As if this whole thing won’t already be painful for him.
“Was a long time ago, ‘Nita.” He huffed out a hard breath. “Let’
s just go back to sleep.”
She knew if she allowed his evasion, the topic would forever be buried. She also knew he was accustomed to her doing as he suggested. Following the safe path. Not that they didn’t argue, but the kind of man he was, when he drew a line in the sand it was firm. Normally she respected this, respected those things he felt strongly about, and he gave the same back to her. Because she could hold firm, too. She lifted one hand to her neck and trailed fingertips across the ridges of the brand, edges still rough to the touch after all these years. Juanita hoped Watcher loved her enough to forgive her.
“Tell me about Tabby.” She actually heard the muscles in his jaw creak, felt the shudder that rolled through him at her words. His arm became an iron band across her back, thick fingers digging cruelly into her hip in an unintentional, bruising grip. When he didn’t reply, she repeated her request gently, “Papi, tell me about Tabby. Please.”
“Fuck.” He shifted irritably, head turning away so his next words were spoken to the wall, his tone blistering. “Cain’t I get some fuckin’ rest? I’m tired, Juanita.” Rolling his neck, he kept his face turned from her, every muscle tense. “You get that I’m tired? Really fuckin’ tired. Can you fuckin’ drop it?”
She lay there, studying the parts of his face she could see. His jaw flexed, a ripple of clenched muscle running beneath his beard. Closed off, tighter than she’d ever seen, there would be no soul-baring conversation tonight. “Yes, Papi.”
Her mistake clear, she rolled so her back was to his side, his arm crossing her breasts as she faced the edge of the bed. Silent, she lay unmoving, trying to relax, feeling his tension in the way he held her. It surprised her, how his rejection hurt, so much more than she’d expected. He wouldn’t talk to her. We’re unevenly yoked after all this time. She swallowed a sob. After a moment, he sighed and rolled with her, pulling her back against him.
“Honey,” he said, lips to the skin behind her ear. “I just wanna sleep.”
Juanita nodded, feeling his arm tighten around her, his lips drifting down her neck.
“Rode hard to get back to you. Wanted this.”
She nodded again, unable to speak because her throat had closed around her words.
“Needed you, honey. Miss you when I’m not here. Was a shit run, for an even more shit reason. Stirred up things. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
His hand moved, sliding up to rest at her waist, fingertips dragging as he drew loops and circles on her skin. His other hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face for a kiss she surrendered to, opening for him at his demand, sucking and tugging on his tongue. Giving him everything he wanted, everything she had. He loves me. She knew those words were true. Down to her soul, she knew he loved her. I love him.
The kiss slowed, and he finished it with a soft peck on the end of her nose, his whiskers tickling as they brushed softly. “Sleep, baby.”
His head settled onto the pillow behind her, but his fingers remained in contact, slowly stroking across her lips, back and forth. She had not relaxed, still unnerved by the knowledge they’d been together for so many years, but he had never shared about his sister with her. Keeping pain-filled secrets, not trusting that she would twist herself into knots to help him make it better. Not trusting her with the core which was all of him.
His voice was hesitant, quiet, when he asked, “Why you wanna know about Tabitha…Tabby?”
Juanita drew a surprised breath, twisting in his arms. He lay there staring at her, and the moonlight coming through the windows exposed pain so raw on his face she wanted to weep for him. “She’s your sister. You’ve never spoken of her, but you were dreaming about her.” She paused, then pushed onwards, “It did not sound like a good dream, Papi.”
“Fuckin’ wasn’t, not what I remember of the dream, anyway. But Tabby…she passed a long time ago, honey. Not a lot to say. Taken too young.” She pulled against his grip, and he relaxed his arms for a moment, letting her turn so they were pressed together, chest-to-chest in the bed. “Sucks when so much promise is ripped from the world. I wasn’t even there for her. I was overseas, deployed and working my ass off to make the world safer for her. For you.” His arm squeezed, and she melted into him. “She was back here, and then she was dead. Dead and gone, and nothing I did could bring her back. It’s just…hard to talk about.”
“She died in a car wreck, right?” She watched as the muscles in his jaw tensed, and his Adam's apple moved up and down as he let the silence build between them again for a moment. Then, licking his lips, he began.
“Yeah. She was not even seventeen. So fuckin’ young. Like Mela, though, if you looked in her eyes, you’d think she was older. Born an old soul, that’s what my Aunt Loretta said about her once. She was the only reason I had to keep goin’ after Daddy and Momma passed. Daddy got caught in a collapse, Momma murdered a week later. It was just Tabby and me. Darrie enlisted, wasn’t long before he was gone. So, for the longest fuckin’ time, only me and her.”
Now that the dam of his silence had been breached, Juanita lay and listened as he told her story after story about Tabby and Darrie, and growing up on the mountain. She learned of the dangers the miners faced, how his parents hadn’t wanted that life for him. He told her what had happened to his mother, how his life had changed after that. About what happened to Tabby, and this portion of the story left the pillows supporting their heads soaked with tears.
He talked about being in the military, frightening her with stories of near-miss bombs and gunfire in the night. Watcher wove his way back and forth through the years, threading the stories together so they made sense, even if in one Tabby was six and the next fifteen.
Juanita lay and listened to the proof of something she’d already known in her heart: Watcher trusted and loved her. She wasn’t something he would put aside when the novelty of her fears grew thin. Not a challenge of which he would grow tired. In giving her this piece of himself, something he’d had bottled up in his head for decades, he gave her so much more.
Soldiers and Rebels
Watcher
“No, my friend. There is nothing wrong. Just, I am worried about Mason. This woman, this Willa has him off his game.” Bones had called hella early for a Monday and left a voice mail. Watcher had been up late the night before on a run, and still stretched out in bed when he’d returned the call. Juanita was up hours ago, headed into the church with food and clothing. They’d delivered a group of refugees to the rescue mission, and she worked hand-in-hand with the pastor’s wife to manage the needs of the people they helped.
“How so?” Watcher yawned, rolling to his back and staring at the ceiling.
“Did you know she showed in Jackson’s weeks ago?” Noise from deeper in the house distracted him, angry shouting coming from the kitchen. Watcher swung his legs from the bed, reaching for his jeans with one hand.
“So? It’s the Rebels bar, man. She’s hooking up with Mason, and he showed everybody at Slate’s party that he was way into her. Why shouldn’t she be there?” The shouting resolved into two female voices he knew well, Isabella and Carmela, and from the sound of it, Carmela was pissed.
“She did not know he was there, and he remained in the back. It was…odd.” Bones tone sounded puzzled. “Then she showed up with him in Indiana. She is everywhere in his life.” A pause, and Watcher used this time to stalk up the hallway towards the still shouting girls. “It is not at all like Mica.”
Watcher had always questioned why Mason was so careful with Mica. Of course, he wondered silently because he would never voice his concerns to the big man who had been part of his entire life. He'd seen Mason frustrated, amused, enraged, and disappointed at Mica, but he'd never seen him be all of that at once, and then tender beyond belief. Not until this gal. When he was around Willa, the caring on Mason's face was clear for anyone to see.
According to the stories, since the day she had walked into a clubhouse party in Fort Wayne, Mason had protected her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
Watcher found it interesting to see him behave this way. It made him more approachable somehow, less jagged around the edges.
From what Watcher could figure out, talking to RWMC members, nobody had seen Mason so wrapped up in a woman, not for a long time, maybe not ever. Before Mica, Mason had held himself aloof from real relationships. He didn't abstain or deny himself; it was simply that he was very careful of his position as club president, not wanting to set precedence or grant power to the wrong woman. He'd fuck a club whore, hook up with a hangaround bitch, or find the occasional citizen who wanted a walk on the wild side, but they were all one-nighters. Or, if he did a repeat performance, he would make sure to be clear it was a convenience, not preference.
After Mica, Mason wasn’t just aloof, he was fucking gone.
For as long as he'd known him, Mason had always been driven. Once he patched in, he was laser-focused entirely on the Fiends. Then, after birthing the Rebels, all activity was directed to claiming and keeping the club pointed on the path he'd mapped out. Everything he did was for the club. Businesses, citizen roles, bloody negotiations between other clubs. The club was his life, end of story.
Now that was no longer true. This woman was in his life, and Watcher was amused at how he'd changed.
“Should be glad it’s not like Mica,” he told Bones, rounding the final corner and coming to a halt several feet from the entrance of the kitchen. He could see both of the girls from here. Bella’s stance was aggressive and angry, and she slammed a cabinet door shut with a loud slap.
“Stop it!” Mela screamed.
“I can’t believe you!” Bella yelled back, not turning from the cabinet. With fingers gone white with strain, she gripped the edge of the countertop, chin tilting down. “You told him I liked him!”
“No, I told him I’d cut his balls off if he hurt you. I didn’t say anything to him about you liking him.” Mela shifted, one hand going to a hip as she swept her other hand out to the side. “He’s a douche, Bella. Not what I want for you. Not what you should settle for.”
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