See You Smile (Reapers MC: Pema Chapter Book 3)

by Bijou Hunter

  Sighing, Maverick rubs the back of his neck. “I get how women find him irresistible. When the twins said you went wacky over him. Their word, not mine. Anyway, I assumed it was just his looks. But at lunch the other day, you seemed possessive of him. I’ve never seen you act that way.”

  “You and I are weird, right? Like that’s what the normal dork types think. You know, because we refuse to barf our feelings on people. I guess that makes us strange. But you seem happy when it’s just you and Violet. Like, when you think no one’s watching and you can let down your guard. If you can make it work, I think I should see if I can do the same with Sam.”

  “What’s the hang-up with you two? Is it your commitment thing?”

  “No,” I grumble and then shrug. “Maybe. I thought I wasn’t the problem with Yulia, but I might be wrong about that. Anyway, the main problem is his kids.”

  “But they’re potty trained.”

  We share a smile. “Sure, but they have baggage with their mom dying and their dad being gone for so long.”

  “Yeah, and you’re not good with emotional stuff.”

  “Neither are you, but you made it work, right?”

  “Sure, but I’m sleeping with the one with emotional baggage. Your drama-barfing people aren’t the main prize. It might be different.”

  “What if Violet had a kid when you met?”

  “Why are you trying to freak me out?” he asks, frowning darkly at the suggestion.

  “I’m not. You’re as afraid of kids as I am. Very immature, Mav.”

  My brother allows a smile. “The reality is you’re the warmer person between us. I never romantically loved a woman before Violet, and I won’t love anyone if I lose her. It’s not my nature. You’re better built for love. Sam isn’t your first love, but he could be the one that sticks.”

  “Only if I can deal with his kids.”

  “Sure, but let him deal with the emotional baggage while you’re his fun girlfriend. You were relaxed around Caesar and Raimi before he was released.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t care what happened back then. If they turned into brats, I could just stop visiting their house. No pressure. Now, if they hate me, that’ll cause issues with Sam. If I hate them, he’ll stop wanting me.”

  “You’re trying to control too much.”

  “Said the guy who likely orders his bowels when to shit.”

  “But we’re not the same,” he says, cocking an eyebrow. “I know people think you’re me with tits, but we’re not the same. Like I said, you were with Yulia. You dated Alyn for an extended period. You had boyfriends that lasted more than a week. I never wanted anyone close. So, what I’m capable of handling won’t be relevant to your situation.”

  “But we’re both selfish people who like to micromanage our lives.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And you got over your shit to protect the woman you love. Why can’t I do the same?”

  “You can.”

  “But I don’t think I can,” I say, suddenly panicked. “His kids are like dark clouds pissing drama over my every thought.”

  Maverick frowns. “Maybe you can’t.”

  “No, I don’t think I can. I’m terrified of them now. And I just fucking offered to pick up Raimi from school tomorrow as if I’m Sam’s reliable girlfriend. What if that child wants me to hug her or something?”

  “Pretend she’s one of your cats and endure it.”

  “But I actually like hugging my cats.”

  “The fat one scratches.”

  “Yeah, but— No, the answer is just yeah,” I say and sigh. “Okay, so I’ll treat Sam’s kids like my bitchy cat. I’ll learn to care about them but also be wary of their every move.”

  “You’re living the dream,” he mocks, revealing the sense of humor he pretends he doesn’t own.

  “Thanks for talking to me.”

  “I only came over to find out about Sam. You sorta trapped me into your emotional garbage.”

  “It’s awful, isn’t it? I’m turning into Sylvie.”

  “You realize she’s hunting you, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Let’s hope I’m not forced to kill her and break Mom’s heart.”

  Maverick feels movement behind him and realizes Sylvie is sneaking past Violet. “I’m ditching you now.”

  “Thanks for the support, coward.”

  Maverick allows one more smile before he takes Violet away from what might be trouble.

  “I know what you’re up to,” Sylvie says before throwing a drink at me.

  The liquid splashes against my shirt, dousing my ability to keep calm. “Fuck that shit.”

  Sylvie throws an uppercut punch. I dodge it and sweep her leg. As usual, she goes down easily. But when I try to pounce, she kicks me in the gut. I don’t know why I always underestimate her scrawny legs. Once she’s back on her feet, Sylvie comes at me with lots of swinging kicks and punches. I dodge and block every single one.

  When I unleash my own attack, she deflects my moves with as much ease. We stop fighting and frown at each other.

  “I blame our parents for training us both,” I mutter.

  “They’re saints!” she screams like an insane person.

  We again attack each other. But our moves are too similar. At one point, Sylvie fakes an injury, but that’s a move I often pull.

  “Fuck this shit,” I grumble, throwing a nearby coat rack at her.

  Sylvie barely ducks out of the way. “Cheater.”

  “You were just pretending to be injured.”

  Sylvie snorts. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Why did you get me wet, you dehydrated turd?” I ask, looking at my juice-covered shirt.

  “You’re fucking with me with your nice shit.”

  “No, you blubbering troll. I’m using you to practice being nice, so I can deal with Sam’s kids.”

  Frowning, Sylvie looks around for help, but the penis parts of the Triad are missing. I’m surprised they weren’t here cheering her on with “dude” and “brah.”

  “He has kids?” she asks, sort of pouting now.

  “Yeah, dumbass. They’re twelve and eight. Alyn thought if I could be nice to you, I could handle them.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “You’re stupid,” I say, fanning out my damp shirt.

  Sylvie glares at me. “Why can’t you just be nice to me for real?”

  “Because you’re awful.”

  Sylvie shocks me by starting to cry. I honestly have zero ideas what to do in response to her tears. Stunned into statue mode, I watch her cry.

  Somehow sensing her quiet tears, Denver hurries over and says, “Dude.”

  Cavalry joins them and adds, “Brah, it’s chill, ’kay?”

  Sylvie glares at me, pouting like a five-year-old. “She’s mean.”

  “Nev’s just Nev,” Denver explains.

  “Wait, so I’m the bad guy?” I ask, horrified.

  The three of them nod in unison. I’m literally stunned into silence again. How am I the monster here? Isn’t Sylvie’s suckage a universally accepted fact in our family? Like if we did a poll, wouldn’t I win a popularity contest against the dumbass?

  Okay, she’d get votes from Denver and Cavalry. Maybe the twins, too! That’s four to my two. And I can’t be sure River wouldn’t vote for her over me. For fuck’s sake, I’m not worse than Sylvie!

  “No, you’re not worse,” Alyn says after I hide in the bathroom and call for her opinion. “And I’m not just saying that as your best friend and former lover. Or as the woman who once had a firecracker thrown at her by your fucking little sister. No, my response is based on empirical evidence. You’re clearly better. Now, go punch her in the head or something.”

  “I can’t. She’s crying.”

  “You made her cry? Good Lord, you’re evil.”

  I know Alyn’s teasing. Yet, I’m still rattled. I can’t be worse than Sylvie. She’s just terrible in every way. If I’m crappier than her, I don’t know if I can ever re
cover.

  Or worse if I’ll be capable of treating Sam’s kids how he wants. The Donners are open and loving in a way that feels like a con. But they naturally find their smiles and embrace every day.

  How the fuck can I fit in with the Donners when I’m the mean one between Sylvie and me?

  THE CHAPTER WHERE THE PAST BURNS BRIGHT

  THE CHARMER

  The women at the elementary school’s front office try stonewalling me over taking Caesar early. They’re even less helpful about adding Nev’s name to the approved pickup-person list. I clarify how Raimi needs to be informed her brother has left early, and she’ll need to get a ride from my friend. The women just stare dead-eyed as if they have more right to my kids than I do.

  Now, I could get my back up over their antics. But I’ve spent my life around Idyllwild, seeing how these uppity sorts will treat someone with less power. That’s what they figure about me, too. I’m a harmless old dog they can push around. Rather than show them my fangs, I flash them my best smile and charm the shrews into giving me what I want.

  I suspect they’ll still fuck up the thing with Raimi, so I warn Nev she might get hassled. If they do give her guff, she can call my parents for help. Fred will talk these women’s ears off until they’re begging for him to leave.

  Caesar walks into the office, holding his backpack and wearing a scowl. I don’t waste time explaining with those nosy gals eavesdropping. Gesturing for him to follow, I walk out of the office. Caesar shuffles behind me, clearly PO’d about me picking him up early.

  “Where’s Raimi?” he asks once we’re outside.

  “She’ll get picked up later. This is just you and me.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Let’s head out.”

  He frowns at my Harley. “I can’t ride that.”

  “Got you a helmet.”

  “No.”

  “Nev was riding a Harley when she was ten. Bet you’re taller and stronger than she was. Makes me think you could handle it. We can walk home if you want.”

  I don’t know if Caesar agrees out of a competitive nature or his unwillingness to walk the three miles to our house.

  Once he’s got the helmet on and his backpack is stashed in the bike’s storage, I get on. He tries to be casual doing the same, but I can feel him rigid with tension. Caesar even flinches when the engine roars to life.

  I ride slow for a few blocks, allowing him to get the hang of holding on and moving with the bike.

  “We’re gonna take a detour,” I say at a stop sign. “Hold on, alright?”

  “Where?” he asks, but I don’t answer before taking us away from home.

  Caesar goes rigid again, anxious about the faster speed and our destination. The fact is I don’t have anywhere to go. I only want a little distance from Idyllwild and even Pema.

  We ride for nearly thirty minutes before I pull over to an empty park in a Louisville suburb. We don’t know anyone around here. Our baggage is twenty miles away.

  After I climb off, he only does the same once he realizes I’m not taking a piss break. Caesar pulls off the helmet and frowns at our surroundings.

  “Why here?”

  “Sometimes, when I was a young man, I wanted to get away from the pressures at home. I’d pick a direction to ride and keep going for a while. That’s all we’ve done today.”

  “Is being home too hard for you?” he spits out.

  “Right now? A little, yeah. Freedom feels different than the joint. Having a lot more choices isn’t always easier.”

  “Then go back.”

  “Is that what you want?” I ask, moseying toward a path.

  Caesar doesn’t want to follow, but he seems nervous away from home. His routine is what keeps him steady. Now, I’ve ripped it away. He isn’t sure where we are, when we’re headed home, or why I’ve taken him on this ride. No longer the bossy know-it-all, Caesar reverts to a kid scrambling for someone to help him.

  “I want to go home,” he says after catching up to where I walk leisurely down a path through the wooded park.

  “We will. Just not right now,” I say, glancing at him and seeing the kind of anxious expression his mama would wear. “You didn’t answer if you wanted me to go back to prison.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I think you do.”

  “You left, so Brick didn’t need to. I didn’t make you leave.”

  “Brick’s boy didn’t get lucky with his mom. Do you remember how Kambree was?” Though Caesar shrugs, he’s old enough to recall the unlikable blonde. “She isn’t anything like Avery,” I say and then add, “Or like your mama. She didn’t love Jett like Teigh loved you and Raimi.”

  “Mom died, though.”

  “I know, and I wouldn’t have gone if I knew her time was so short.”

  Caesar stops and glares at me. “You’re why Mom died.”

  “How do you figure?” I ask, remaining calm despite his growing agitation.

  My boy’s talked himself into an uncomfortable corner. Since my release, he’s wanted to shout accusations. He figures he’s a man and ought to be the one to punish me. Except thinking of his mama breaks his resolve and leaves him a little boy facing a painful past.

  “She was a drug addict,” he mumbles, fighting between rage and grief. “You shouldn't have left her alone.”

  “Your mama wasn’t on drugs anymore, Caesar. You know that.”

  “People say she was a junkie.”

  “What people?”

  Shrugging, Caesar knows those assholes weren’t privy to our family’s business. They heard Teigh was a wild chick years ago and put their own spin on her death.

  “Your mama stopped drugs when she had you.”

  “She drank beer.”

  “Not when she was pregnant and only a little afterward.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “Tell me, then,” I say softly, letting him spew his poison at me. “Was your mama drunk or high when I was gone? Was she doing a bad job of taking care of you?”

  Caesar loses the fire in his gaze. “No.”

  “Are you angry at her or at me?”

  “You.”

  “Your mama was a good woman and didn’t deserve to die.”

  “I know. You left.”

  “That I did, but I’m not why she died, either. Your mama didn’t OD. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but—” he says, breathing faster and fighting the urge to cry.

  “What killed your mama wasn’t drugs or an occasional beer. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

  “You weren’t there,” he says, backing away. “You let her die.”

  “What could I have done?” I ask softly.

  Eyes filling with tears, he struggles with his words. “I didn’t know how to do CPR right. I messed up, and she died. If you weren’t selfish, you’d be there and do it right.”

  The pain in his voice sets off the heat behind my eyes. “Caesar, I read up on what killed your mama. I’m no expert, but nothing you or I or the doctors did was going to fix anything. It happened so quick. Your mama died before you found her.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “Did she talk to you when you found her?”

  “No. Raimi was screaming, and I ran fast,” he says, trembling now.

  “I know, but your mama was already gone. That’s how it works sometimes. You couldn’t save her, son.”

  “You’re just saying that, so you don’t feel guilty.”

  “I’ll always feel guilty for leaving. I made a good decision for what I knew then. I only thought it’d be for six months. The judge changed my sentence, but I made the best of it. Except I couldn't see the future. Your mama dying isn’t anyone’s fault, but you and Raimi being alone when it happened is on me.”

  “You could have saved her,” he mutters, wanting so much to be angry rather than sad.

  “No.”

  Caesar tries and fails to yell at me before finally giving in and crying. �
��I didn’t do the CPR right.”

  I hug him against me. With his body wracked with sobs, Caesar doesn’t fight the embrace. He collapses into my arms, exhausted from his guilt and grief. I let him cry. No words can calm him.

  Though my parents did their best, they’re naturally upbeat people. Every problem has a positive side. But my kids need to feel bad. They’ve bottled up all their ugly feelings, letting them fester.

  After a few minutes, Caesar quiets and seems embarrassed by his outburst. I don’t reassure him. People talk too much, even when quiet is the best solution. We walk over to a bench, where I keep him pressed against me. Caesar needs to hide his face and adjust to how he broke open all his bottled-up pain. I feel his struggle without him saying a word.

  After the silence settles, I sigh. “Pain’s a part of living. But some people get more of it than others. I grew up real easy. Never suffered much. Not like you and Raimi. Losing your mama is a kind of pain that won’t go away with happy thoughts. You have every right to feel bad.”

  Caesar shrugs, stuck between preteen know-it-all and suffering kid.

  “Words can’t fix what you’re feeling,” I say, looking out at the empty park. “But you need to understand how you didn’t do anything wrong that night with your mama, okay? She didn’t die because she messed up, either. Sometimes, bad stuff happens, and no one is to blame. I know that sounds like a cop-out or the happy stuff your pawpaw and nana say. But it’s also the truth. Good people die. Bad people live really long lives. It doesn’t feel fair.”

  “But she did drugs.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Lowering his head, he mumbles, “I heard a lady say it at the funeral.”

  “People are shit, Caesar,” I say, and he frowns at me. Shrugging, I continue, “It’s true. Some people are cruel. Others are stupid. Others are weak. Maybe that lady resented your mom or hates her own life, so she said something vicious. Or maybe she’s a moron who doesn’t understand how things work. But it’s just as likely she was scared at the thought of suddenly dying. That’s why she tried to explain away your mama’s death as the fault of the drugs. I know you’d like for people to make sense, but that won’t ever happen. We barely make sense to ourselves.”