Christmas Wish

by Wilder, Chiah

  “Fuck!” Ryder hit the side of his head with the heel of his palm. Recollections of Savannah’s soft, comforting words pulling him out of the war filled his mind. She must’ve heard me screaming. That’s why she came to my bed. Dammit! He’d been trying so fucking hard to control the demons that lurked inside him, never wanting her to see the times they clawed their way out. Since Savannah and Timmy had come to stay with him, Ryder had been so careful to thwart any triggers that would threaten to expose how fucked up he was, but he’d failed. I probably scared the shit outta her. Then he remembered her soft hands on his face and the way she held him until he fell asleep.

  Brutus barked at the back door, and Ryder hopped over to let him in. He grabbed the towel off the hook, then sank down on the bench and dried the dog off before heading back to the kitchen to fill Brutus’s bowl with dried food. The room echoed with the dog’s teeth crunching noisily as dread wove around his ragged nerves. What if she pities me after last night’s fucking display? The one thing he hated was pity, and if he saw that look in Savannah’s eyes, it would crush him for sure. Why the hell did I have to lose it last night?

  The landline rang, stopping his thoughts as he hopped over to the wall and picked up the receiver.

  “Hey, dude. Rags and me are gonna come by and dig you out,” Throttle said.

  “It’s about fucking time,” Ryder replied, plopping down on the chair.

  Throttle laughed. “Did you run outta whiskey?”

  “Believe it or not, I didn’t.”

  “What the fuck, bro?”

  “Been busy with stuff. What time are you guys coming by?”

  “In an hour or so. We’ll use two of our big-ass snowplows, so you should be able to take your four-wheeler out after we’re done. Hawk and Animal are gonna come by and help out with the shoveling. Should we bring some Jack?”

  “Yeah. I only have moonshine whiskey.”

  “Tom’s?”

  “Yep. It’s all right in a pinch, but I miss the good stuff. I’ll feed you fuckers. Chili okay?”

  “Hell, yeah. Besides Jax’s old lady, you make the best fuckin’ chili.”

  “I heard Cherri’s is kickass. I’ll have to try it sometime,” Ryder said.

  “You gotta get in on poker nights when Jax hosts. That’s when she makes it, and she always serves it with homemade cornbread. Fuck, it’s good,” Throttle replied.

  Ryder heard a woman talking in the background, and he shook his head. It was still surreal for him to picture Throttle with an old lady. The man was a confirmed bachelor and loved the perks of hooking up with his choice of the many wild women who were so much a part of the outlaw biker lifestyle. If he’d taken bets on which of the Insurgents’ brothers would never be tied down to one woman, Hawk and Throttle would’ve come to mind right off the bat, and Ryder would’ve lost the bet big time. His two brothers were both married, and Hawk even had a couple of kids. All at once, loneliness and a deep longing for something he couldn’t articulate seized him, and he sputtered and coughed from the intensity of it.

  “You okay?” Concern laced Throttle’s voice.

  “Yeah. Just swallowed funny. Is that your old lady talking to you?”

  Throttle chuckled. “Yep. Kimber has a habit of talking to me when I’m on the fuckin’ phone. Let me hang up and see what she wants. I’ll see you in a bit, bro.”

  Ryder held the receiver in his hand for several minutes before placing it back in its cradle. For the last few years he’d relished his solitude, but since Savannah and her son had entered his life, feelings and thoughts he hadn’t had for a very long time started poking at him, and he didn’t like it. Having them around dredged up bad memories he’d long since quashed, or so he thought.

  Brutus barked and Ryder jerked his head up to glance in the direction at which the dog was looking. Timmy’s pajama-clad body hugged the doorway, and his messy mop of dark hair and sprinkle of freckles across his nose and cheeks reminded Ryder of Colt when he’d been about Timmy’s age. Ryder’s heart squeezed in his chest as he pushed himself up. “Where’s your leg?” Timmy asked in a low voice, his eyes bulging.

  “Lost it.” Ryder went over to the island and reclined against it.

  “Can’t you find it?”

  Ryder chuckled. “Nope. It’s gone. The doc cut it off.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Sure did, but not so much anymore.”

  “Oh.” He scrunched up his face while staring at Ryder. “Did the doctor cut it last night?”

  Ryder’s face crinkled in laughter. “Nope. It happened several years ago. I have a fake leg.”

  “You do?”

  “I’ll show it to you sometime.” Ryder was ready to ask Timmy if he wanted to come to his room to see, but then he remembered that Savannah was in his bed. “You hungry?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ryder handed a banana to the boy. “Eat this for now, and I’ll be back in a bit. Do you like pancakes?”

  “They’re my favorite. Mommy always makes a smiley face on them.”

  Damn, this kid is killing me. “I don’t do that, but you’re gonna like them anyway.” He looked at Brutus. “Stay with Timmy, boy.”

  When Ryder entered the bedroom, Savannah wasn’t there. He glanced at the open bathroom door and wondered if he’d imagined that she’d been in his bed. It wouldn’t surprise him if he did since she’s been on his mind so damn fucking much for the past week. He sighed and locked the bedroom door, not wanting her to see him without his leg. He sat at the edge of the bed and massaged lotion on his skin. A limb, especially an above-knee cut, took time to shape back into the fit of the prosthetic.

  After almost an hour, Ryder was dressed and ready to make Timmy a stack of his killer pancakes. He snapped his fingers then remembered that Brutus was with the boy. Shaking his head, Ryder chuckled; the German shepherd had really taken a liking to the boy.

  The scent of dark-roasted coffee beans wafted around him as he made his way to the kitchen. When he entered the room, Ryder found Timmy sitting at the table coloring a picture, and Savannah washing dishes by the sink. He sucked in a sharp breath and ambled over to the pantry.

  “Morning,” he said gruffly without even a sideways glance at her. He couldn’t bear it if she had “the look” on her face: sad smile, eyes filled with pain, and sympathetic creases across the forehead.

  “Good morning,” she replied cheerfully. “I just made a pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?”

  “Yeah.” He scanned the shelves looking for the baking powder and flour.

  “Black, right?”

  “Yeah.” He grabbed several items.

  “Timmy tells me you’re making pancakes. He loves them.” A small laugh floated in the air. “I have to admit, I do too.”

  She’s trying so fucking hard to be perky. He slammed the ingredients he needed on the counter. “I’m not much for small talk.”

  A soft hiss of breath. “Oh … I’m sorry,” she said.

  For the next half hour, Ryder flipped flapjacks while Timmy watched in fascination and Savannah read the cereal box on the table for the tenth time.

  The only one chatting and laughing during breakfast was Timmy, and he seemed unaware of the strained tension between Ryder and Savannah.

  “I ate too much,” Timmy said, putting his hands on his belly.

  “Means you liked it,” Ryder said, as he stood up.

  “I’ll wash the dishes since you made breakfast.” Savannah started to collect the plates.

  “Sit down. I’ll do it. I got friends coming by to dig us out.”

  “That’s good, but what does that have to do with me helping with the cleanup?” Savannah gathered the dishes and brought them over to the sink.

  “I told you to sit the fuck down, woman.” He looked at her and met her glare. It was the first time since he’d walked into the kitchen that he looked directly at her. He grunted and turned away.

  “Can I leave the table, Mommy?”

  “Yes, sw
eetie. Do you want to play Chutes and Ladders?”

  “No. Maybe Qwirkle. Do you wanna play with us, Ryder? It’s really fun.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Another time. I gotta make some chow for my friends.”

  “Why don’t you get the game out, and you and I can play it in your room?” Savannah said.

  “Can we play here?”

  “I think Ryder wants to be alone. We can set the board up on the floor in your room.”

  Savannah’s soft and understanding voice grated on his nerves like sandpaper. “I don’t give a fuck if you want to play here,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Timmy set the game up in your room, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Ryder heard the chair scrape against the floor then the soft thud of retreating footsteps. He opened the dishwasher and put the breakfast plates in.

  “It’s okay to be mad at me, but don’t take it out on Timmy. I also don’t appreciate you using bad language around him.”

  Ryder froze—the utensils in his hand—as licks of fury blazed through him. Pushing down his ire, he turned around to face her. Savannah glared at him, her cheeks flushing.

  “Why’re you so mad at me? Is it because of the kiss?”

  Staring at her clenched fists, Ryder drew in a deep breath which didn’t abate his anger one bit but gave the illusion of calm. “No—I’ve forgotten all about it.” He felt some sort of perverse pleasure when she flinched.

  “Then what’s your problem?”

  “I don’t like being told what the fuck I can say in my own goddamn house.” He watched her swallow, watched that beautiful mouth strain as she tried to form the words. Ryder didn’t want to remember the feel of her in his arms or her soft lips on his. He scratched his unshaven face and huffed; he hated wanting her.

  “Once your friends clear the area, Timmy and I will go to a hotel in town. I’m sorry we’ve been such an intrusion into your life,” she said.

  Bitter regret rushed through him, and he was furious with himself, with Savannah, with everyone. He watched her walk away but stood rooted to the floor as pride mixed with anger stopped him from calling out to her. Long after she’d left, he stayed there staring until something inside him twisted like barbwire.

  The loud roar of snow plows cut through the crushing silence, and Ryder realized that he hadn’t even started making the chili yet. As he chopped onions, garlic, and hot peppers, he realized that he was pissed at Savannah because she’d witnessed his PTSD episode the night before. Shame flooded through him at the thought of her seeing him at one of his most vulnerable moments. He hated the fact that he was helpless at times … that he was weak. Her damn cheeriness that morning, pretending that he wasn’t a fucking mess of a man the night before infuriated him. Anger was the fire; vulnerability was the fuel.

  “Fuck it!” He threw the knife across the cutting board. “If she wants to go, that’s fine. I don’t need any woman feeling sorry for me.” Then Dana’s face popped into his head, and he staggered over to the kitchen table and crumpled onto the chair. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as memories flooded his mind. Ryder forced out painful thoughts and focused on the conversation he’d had with Dana while recovering at the hospital after the surgery.

  “I’m not coming,” Dana said sternly.

  “This is the second time you’ve canceled. I need to see you, baby. I fucking miss you.”

  A too-long pause; uneasiness began to claw at him.

  “What’s going on?” Ryder held his breath.

  “I can’t handle this.”

  “This?”

  “The loss of your leg. Thinking of you like that turns my stomach. I can’t do it.”

  Her words were arrows to his heart.

  Ryder cleared his throat. “I’m the same person. I need you to help me get through this. I need you and Colt.”

  “I’m sorry, but deformities … amputations, all that kind of stuff has always creeped me out. I know it makes me sound like a horrible person, but I can’t help it. You have your family to get you through this.”

  “It’s not the fucking same. You and I are going to be married for fuck’s sake.” His mouth felt like the Sahara Desert; he reached over and grabbed the glass and took a deep drink of water. “I need to see and hold Colt.”

  “I can’t marry you. I’m sorry … I really am.”

  “Fuck you! You don’t have to see me, but you’re not going to deny me my son. I’ll send two tickets. Your ass will come to the hospital, and the nurse will bring him in to see me.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay. Send the tickets, but I won’t change my mind about visiting you. It’s over. Again … I’m sorry.”

  “You never fucking came,” Ryder said out loud. “You took my son and left. I never got to say goodbye to him.”

  Brutus erupted in a barking fit when a loud bang on the window dragged Ryder from the past. He looked over and saw Hawk’s grinning face. Ryder lifted his chin at him. I gotta get a fucking grip on things. I’m blaming Savannah for Dana hurting me. But truthfully, he was scared to death that Savannah now saw him as less of a man just like Dana had. Dammit to hell!

  “Open the fuckin’ door. It’s cold as shit out here,” Hawk said.

  Brutus ran to the door barking as Ryder rose to his feet. “Brutus, calm the fuck down!” he yelled, turning the doorknob.

  “How’re you doing, buddy?” Hawk stomped his feet then shrugged off his jacket and gloves before kicking off his boots. Animal, one step behind Hawk, followed suit.

  “Not bad. Thanks for helping out,” Ryder replied.

  “No worries.” Hawk smacked him on the back. “Throttle said you’re making chili. Why the fuck don’t I smell anything?”

  “Yeah,” Animal added. “I was thinking about it as I shoveled.”

  “Just starting it now. Have a seat in the family room, and I’ll join you guys in a bit.”

  Hawk and Animal put four bottles of Jack on the counter. “We need three glasses, bro,” Animal said.

  Hawk went over to the cupboard and took them down. “Throttle and Rags should be done in a few.” He handed the tumbler to Ryder, and the three men clinked glasses together before throwing back the shot.

  “Fuck, that’s good,” Ryder said, pouring more of the amber liquid in their glasses. “Jack’s one of my best friends.” The men laughed.

  “I’m pretty sure we can all say that.” Animal raised his arm. “Here’s to Jack.”

  Taking two of the whiskey bottles with them, the two Insurgents sauntered into the family room and sank down on the couch while Ryder hurriedly browned the meat, spices, and onion mixture.

  An hour later, a pungent, smoky aroma wafted through the air as the men sat in front of the fire, popping nuts and pretzels in their mouths and talking about motorcycles as the chili simmered on the stove.

  “Do you have any bottled water, bro?” Animal asked, standing up.

  “In the fridge,” Ryder replied. Having his brothers around him was the best medicine for busting up his earlier self-pity party. I couldn’t have been any more pathetic.

  “Bring me one,” Throttle said.

  “Me too,” Rags added.

  Animal grumbled something under his breath, and the guys chortled.

  “How’s your dad doing?” Ryder asked as Animal handed him the water bottle.

  “He’s got his good and bad days. I ran by there earlier today, and he seemed in good spirits, but he’s also good at faking it.” Animal unscrewed the bottle and took a big gulp.

  “Tell him I said hi.” Ryder stared at the fire and a comfortable silence fell over the group. Animal’s dad had it way worse than Ryder did—two of his legs had gotten blown to smithereens in Iraq.

  “Who the hell’s that?” Rags muttered.

  Ryder looked up and saw his brothers staring over his shoulder. He craned his neck and his gaze fell on Savannah. She’d changed into a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of snug blue jeans. Her gol
den hair fell loosely over her shoulders in waves, and he wanted to reach out and bury his fingers in its silkiness.

  “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice a nearly silent rasp.

  Savannah turned her head and looked at him. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her face; her eyes were a little puffy and red, and he could tell she’d been crying. At that moment, he loathed himself for doing that to her.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said softly. Their gazes locked for a few seconds, then she looked away.

  Ryder pivoted in his seat to look right at her. “You’re not.” He pointed at Hawk. “This is Hawk.” Then he introduced the others, ending with, “and this is Savannah.”

  The men’s eyes darted from Savannah to Ryder then back to Savannah.

  “It’s good meeting a … friend of Ryder’s,” Hawk said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

  “Yeah. We don’t get to meet many of his wo—I mean friends.” Rags grinned.

  “Did you get my juice, Mommy?” Timmy said, stopping behind Savannah and peeking out at the bikers behind his mother’s shapely legs.

  “Who do we have here?” Hawk asked.

  Timmy hid behind his mother.

  “You gonna come over here and give us five?” Throttle asked.

  “What’s that?” Timmy whispered.

  Hawk held out his hand. “Go ahead and hit it with yours.”

  “These are my friends,” Ryder said. “It’s cool.”

  Timmy shuffled slowly over and tapped his hand against Hawk’s palm then he stepped back, his eyes wide.

  “That a boy. How old are you?” Hawk leaned back against the chair’s cushion.

  “Six.”

  “My boy’s five and our president’s son is six. Maybe you can all play together sometime,” Hawk said.

  Timmy looked up at his mother. “Can I, Mommy?”

  “We’ll see. Let’s go in the kitchen to get you some juice. I’m sure Ryder and his friends are busy visiting.” She gripped his hand. “It was nice meeting you,” she said before disappearing to the other room.