Chapter Twenty-Five
MARY-ANNE
It’s been four days since I’ve laid eyes on Maxfield. I try not to think about the way he acted only moments after he opened his eyes. I try, but I fail—miserably.
I saw the blank expressionless face he aimed at me. I knew he didn’t want me around anymore, so I left with zero fight. I could tell that there was no point to it, not by the blank look in his eyes. Then he asked for Fury, so I just walked away.
I’m tired of fighting, so damn tired.
“Mary-Anne, you up?” I hear Bates’ voice bellow down the hallway.
I smooth down my dress and look at myself in the mirror. My face is makeup free, my hair long and straight, and my dress is a simple, short-sleeved cotton, navy blue sundress that hits right above my knees.
I look back at the bed and see an open suitcase, my clothes spilling out of it, ready to be closed up for the twelve-hour drive back to Idaho.
My fight is gone.
The push and pull of Max, the way he completely owns me, the way he makes me feel only to turn away from me when I need him the most.
The way he talked me into having a baby, the way he made what was scary and almost unrealistic to me become a dream, only to practically scream that he didn’t want me anymore?
No, he didn’t say the words, but he made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want me. And now, I’m having his baby and I’m going to have to do it alone.
“You sure this is what you want?” Bates asks, standing against the doorframe.
“I’m not sure I have a choice,” I whisper as I close my bag and begin to zip it up.
“You haven’t even talked to him,” he mentions.
“I think he made things perfectly clear,” I snort.
“Mary-Anne,” Bates sighs. I turn to him.
My brother looks worried. I’m not used to that with him. He’s always been so strong, never showing his emotions, but now he’s a husband and a father.
Though still the strongest man I know, he now has a softer, gentler side that I’ve never truly been exposed to before. It looks good on him, too.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Have you told him?” he asks, looking at my belly.
“Have you?” I counter, arching a brow.
I don’t miss the wince. He has told him, and it didn’t go well. I’m not sure I even want to know what happened, what was said. No, I know that I don’t want to know.
Maxfield will just be this memory to me; this one time I completely and totally followed my heart and didn’t think about any consequences.
I knew going into it that what we had would eventually blow up in my face. As the weeks went on, I had hoped that what we had was real, that his words weren’t just empty promises, and that we would last, but life isn’t like that. It doesn’t always work out the way you hope for it to.
“I’ll be fine, Bates. I’ll have this baby, and my brother and sister-in-law, nieces and nephews, and the baby’s big brother. You will all be around him or her. So much love and family, not including all of the aunts and uncles that wear the Notorious Devils patch. Everything will be just fine,” I smile brightly.
Bates doesn’t say anything. Instead, he walks over to the bed and grabs my suitcase before he walks out of the room and down the stairs. We’re leaving in an hour.
Now that Max is safe, most of the guys are headed back to Idaho. Fury and Kentlee are going to stay and help Max get settled, make sure that he’s healthy enough to live alone, and just take care of him in general. My heart aches, because I want to take care of him. It’s almost a need more than a want.
I walk into the kitchen and grab a glass, filling it with orange juice before I make myself a piece of toast. Breakfast isn’t normally something I really eat, but with the baby, I figure I need to actually consume something before lunch.
I haven’t had any morning sickness yet, but Brentlee told me that hers came around six weeks and lasted for just as long. I really hope I’m not sick for six whole weeks. That would be awful.
“I’m gonna start loading the car up,” Bates announces as I take my last bite of toast.
I clean up the kitchen, putting everything back in its place, and then look around. I’m going to miss it. I’m going to miss everything that I picked out with the girls. I’m going to miss the girls, even bitchy Genny.
I let out a heavy sigh before I turn off the light and walk out of the room and into the living room.
My breath hitches when my eyes clash with the blue eyes of Maxfield, who is standing in the middle of the room.
“You’re leaving,” he announces.
I nod, unsure of what to say, but unable to speak at the same time. He looks tired, so fucking tired, and older because of it. He needs some rest, and I can tell by the way he’s holding his body that it hurts for him to stand there. I’m sure that Fury and Kentlee are outside, giving us some privacy, but I only have eyes for, Max.
“Good,” he whispers.
My eyes widen and my lips tremble before I press them together. I know he notices, because he stares at them for a beat before he focuses on my eyes again.
“Good?” I finally ask.
“Yeah. It’ll be good for you to raise that kid around what family it has left,” he grunts.
My eyes widen at his implications. I don’t miss that fact that he doesn’t believe he’s part of this baby’s family—that he is not the father. The fucking jackass.
I don’t realize we have an audience when I walk up to him and reach back, slapping him across the face with all of my strength. The people watching suck in breaths, or gasp, but I’m too busy staring at the man I love with hatred and disgust.
“Fuck you,” I whisper. “Our baby will be raised with a beautiful family—everybody in its family except for its piece of shit father, which is you, by the way, you jackass,” I say as I skirt to the side and walk away.
“I’m ready to go,” I say, looking up to my brother, who is standing at the doorway with an emotion akin to pride plastered on his face.
He nods at me once, and looks up to Fury before he nods again. Then we walk out to their SUV. The kids are already loaded up, along with all of our luggage.
I don’t look back, not once, not even when everything is screaming inside of me to take one more look at the little white house—my little white house, painted and remodeled just for me, just so I would be comfortable inside of it.
I close my eyes and lie down in the third seat of the car, thankful to be in the back, away from everybody else. I just need to be alone for a while.
I just need to sleep.
I just need to try and hold myself together. Later, when I’m alone, I can break completely apart—I can shatter.
MADDOG
I watch her go.
Like a fucking fool and a coward, I watch her go.
Pregnant with my baby, I watch my family walk out of my house, and I don’t say a goddamn word about it.
I turn around after the SUV is out of view and look into the disappointed and angry eyes of my son and daughter-in-law.
I wait for Kentlee to call me a dick again, to scream and yell, but she doesn’t. She turns around and walks into the house, leaving me on the front porch with my son.
“Here I thought that I was the biggest fuckup between the two of us, spending three years in prison, avoiding my woman,” he says with a humorless chuckle.
I don’t reply. I don’t know what to say. I just fucked up in a way that I don’t know how I’ll ever fix.
“You need to get your head on straight, Pops. It was you who told me to get my shit together with Kent all those years ago. It was you who told me what a good woman I had, a woman who could be at my side. It was you who told me how you regretted things in your past. Mary-Anne is your Kentlee; she’s your other half. I know you loved mom, but there’s something bigger at play when you’re with Mary.”
I nod in agreement. Mary-Anne is special. I’ve never felt the wa
y I feel about her with another woman, not even Eleanora. And that, that makes me feel fucking guilty as shit.
“Mom would want you to be happy,” my son murmurs.
“Not as happy as Mary makes me. Not happier than I was with her,” I grunt.
“Fuck that. You know she would.”
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. Then I take out the picture that Mary found a couple weeks ago, and I unfold it to look at it.
Eleanora and me, when we were fucking kids, not even eighteen years old, with Pierce in her belly. I should have been blissfully happy, but I can see the fear in my eyes—the uncertainty.
“I was such a fuckin’ punk asshole back then,” I chuckle.
“What’s changed?” Pierce asks, taking the photograph from me.
“Nothing much, apparently,” I grunt.
“I know you loved mom, but it was different. You were different. It would be like me finding someone at eighteen. That relationship would be so fuckin’ different than what I have with Kentlee. We’ve lived a whole life without these women; we’ve experienced things—and fuck, Pops, we’ve done crazy shit. But I learned how to be a man from you, and I learned how to love a good woman from you,” he sighs before he tips his head back to look at the sky, effectively making me feel like a shit. “Get your shit together.”
He walks inside of the house, but I stay exactly where I am on the front porch, leaning heavily against the railing, praying to fuck it doesn’t break under my body, sending me flying forward and busting all of my stitches wide open.
I need to get my shit together, and I need to do it quickly. Mary-Anne is gone, but she’s safe. I need to heal, and I need to really think about her, about us, and figure out if I can live with the fact that I put her in the danger that I did.
Fuck.
I already miss her.
I am such a goddamn fuck up.
I’m too old for this shit.
MARY-ANNE
I sigh as I roll over in bed. I’m surrounded by pink and purple sparkles, and I’m just about completely over it. It’s been three weeks since I walked away from Maxfield, and I miss him. I really, really miss him.
I look down at my stomach. It’s still fairly flat, just a little bloated looking; but inside, it’s rolling and I know as soon as I sit up, I’m going to have to spring to the bathroom.
Hopefully I only have three more weeks of this sick business, then I can feel semi-human again. But part of that will be moving out of my niece’s room and getting something on my own.
I can’t stay here much longer.
I also can’t hear my brother fucking his wife for another night. It has to stop.
I slowly get out of bed, making it to the bathroom just in time, then I brush my teeth and wash my face before I make my way downstairs. Brentlee is standing at the stove making breakfast when she turns to me with a big lazy grin on her face. Gross.
“Morning,” she practically sings.
“Hey,” I grumble, flopping down on the chair next to Stella, who is happily eating some eggs and toast.
“Has he called?” she asks, like she’s asked every single day for the past three weeks. I shake my head, taking the plate of food from her outstretched hand.
Brentlee has turned into Suzie homemaker. Seriously, I never imagined it in a million years that she would be such a fantastic mother and wife, but here she is, being absolutely awesome.
I love that for my nieces, but I also adore that for Bates. This house is everything ours wasn’t growing up. It’s warm, it’s safe, and it’s full of love.
“He’ll call,” she says with a little less hope than she had the day before.
“He won’t,” I shrug.
I eat in silence before I excuse myself to shower and get ready for the day. I’ve pouted for three weeks, it’s now time to get it together.
Today, I’m going apartment hunting.
MADDOG
I suck back another shot and look around the clubhouse. I probably shouldn’t be drinking yet, but fuck it. Whores are naked and doing their thing, the new girl, Serina, is fucking gorgeous, and the bitch loves taking it in the ass. My guys are all too happy to oblige.
Torch slides up next to me, the demons still fucking bright in his eyes, and I wonder if he’s been working on what he came here to work on—or if he’s being a pussy, like me.
“It’s been three weeks,” he points out.
“You fix your shit here, yet?” I ask.
“Workin’ on it,” he grunts before he stands up and looks down at me. “You stood up to her brother, your brother; you claimed her, you knocked her up, and then you let her walk away. Not the kinda man I thought you were, Pres. That’s the kinda shit we pull when we’re still punk ass kids, not men.”
Torch walks away from me, effectively punching me in the gut without even touching me.
I take my phone out and look down at it, unlocking it before I click on the photo icon. The last picture I took was of Mary-Anne. She’s smiling at me, her hair long and her face makeup free. She looks fuckin’ gorgeous.
I close my eyes before I pour myself another shot.
Then I stumble upstairs and pass out in my bed, alone.
The next day, I wake up and look around. I’m hungover as fuck, but one thing is the same as it was yesterday, and the day before—I miss her. My feelings for her, they haven’t wavered, not in the slightest.
I love her, more than I’ve ever loved another woman. I was stupid to try and talk myself out of it, trying to do that by accusing her of carrying another man’s kid, talking myself into that shit all on my own.
Fuck, I’m a dick.
I stand up, walking over to my closet. I haven’t been back at my house since Fury and Kentlee left, after they decided I was good to be alone again—that I wasn’t feeble and weak anymore.
I left the house immediately after their car was out of sight and I came down to the club. I couldn’t be alone in the house without Mary, without my sweetness. I take some clothes out and stuff them into a small bag before I make my way downstairs.
Grease is lying on the couch, a naked Serina passed out on top of his large frame. I kick his leg and he startles awake, almost dropping the skinny bitch on her ass.
“I’m heading out of town for a few days,” I grunt.
“Get your woman and bring her ass back,” he chuckles.
“On it.”
I walk away from my club and make my way to my bike, alone. I can’t remember the last time I traveled alone, but I have to, for her—for us.
I’m going to have to crawl on my knees and beg her to come back to me. I’m going to have to grovel, and no way in fuck can my men see that shit.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MARY-ANNE
I turn my nose up at the shitty apartment. It smells, and I think there’s a dead rat in the corner, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to go check it out for confirmation. I look over at the real estate agent and thank her.
I’m done.
Everything she’s showing me is shit, and I’m assuming it’s because the minuscule town of Bonners Ferry, Idaho doesn’t have a lot to choose from.
I technically have another two weeks left on my apartment in San Diego. I could go back there and live like nothing’s happened. But Mr. Clark is there.
Blind and broken dick aside, he still scares me. He’s still in the hospital in northern California, and under arrest, but he’s obviously crazy.
I really don’t want to live completely alone in a city anywhere near him anytime soon.
I drive to the clubhouse, knowing that this is where Bates wanted me to drop his car off. He has to pick up Stella from school later today, and he won’t do that with his bike.
He’s all about safety with his girls, and that is another reason I love my big brother and the way his life has turned out to be—it’s perfect for him.
I don’t pay attention to the parking lot, my surroundings, or anything really as I make
my way inside the club. I see Grizz sitting outside smoking, and I wave in his direction. He lifts his chin in his own manly greeting, and I continue on inside.
I don’t realize what I’m looking at, it doesn’t register right away, but my body completely freezes at the sight. Standing in the middle of the room is Max.
Well, the profile of him, and Kisha wrapped around him like a fucking octopus. Her arms are around his neck, her legs around his waist—in a skirt—so her most likely non-panty covered pussy is rubbing against his shirt.
Something angry and primal comes over me, and I take Bates’ keys, rearing my arm back and throwing them as hard as I can at the bitch’s head.
It feels extremely satisfying when she lets out a screech, Max’s head swings to me, and I watch as he not only drops his hands from around her waist, but also pushes her off of him, causing her to land on the floor—hard.
“Mary,” Max says as he takes a step toward me.
“Oh, fuck no,” I scream before I turn around and start to run.
I don’t know where I’m going, but fuck this bastard. I take off in a sprint, as fast as my sandaled feet can take me, and I run toward the gate. The prospect standing guard looks at me, then looks past me to where I assume Max is.
“Open the gate,” I yell.
“Open that gate and I’ll fuckin’ shoot you,” he growls from behind me.
He’s closer than he should be. I’m thirty years younger than him, no way in hell should he be able to catch me.
I feel my breath leave my lungs in a whoosh when he wraps an arm around my ribs, and another around the front of my chest, gently pulling me to the ground, taking on the impact with his own body. I struggle to get out of his hold, but his arms tighten around me.
“Go,” he barks above me.
I hear booted feet scurry away before I break free.
I’m not free for long, though. Max is above me, his knees holding my legs closed tightly and his hands wrapped around my wrists, holding them against the ground.
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