“Did you still want to go shopping this weekend with the girls?” I ask.
Rosalie shakes her head. “They can’t go this weekend, but they said next weekend they were going for sure. Riley has some friends she’s meeting there,” she explains.
“And she wants you with her, with her friends?” I ask.
I don’t know any eighteen-year-old that wants their little sister and even younger friend tagging along with their friends.
Rosalie nods and gives me a half smile. “Yeah, Riley’s friends are cool, Mom.”
I run my hand through her soft hair and smile. “Okay, you can go next weekend. The reason I came in is, there’s a friend of dad’s hanging out on the couch for the night. I didn’t want you to get scared or anything,” I explain, much like I explained to the boys.
Her eyes narrow. “Where’s Dad?” she asks accusingly.
Shaking my head, I don’t give her an answer she’s going to like. “Where Dad is, is between him and me, Rosalie. There’s nothing for you to worry about, unless we bring it to you, okay?”
“Bailey said he overheard his mom and dad talking about Daddy. He wouldn’t tell me what they said, but he gave me a hug. I figure it wasn’t anything good,” she sniffles.
I close my eyes as my heart breaks all over again. As if West breaking my heart wasn’t enough, now he’s broken his daughter’s. I wrap my arm around Rosalie’s shoulder and give her a squeeze as my lips graze the top of her head. “Honey, please don’t worry about me and Dad. We’ll get everything sorted.”
“Okay, Mom,” she whispers.
Looking down at her I give her a grin. “Bailey hugged you, huh? How’d that feel?”
I watch as her face turns five shades of red before she whispers. “He smelled so good, Mom. Oh my gawd. It was absolutely perfect. Now, if I could only get him to kiss me,” she smiles.
“I’m going to pretend that you want him to kiss you on the cheek,” I laugh.
“Moooom,” she giggles.
I give her one last hug. “Get some sleep, Rosalie. Please don’t worry about your daddy and me. We’ve been married for a long time, sweetie. We got this.”
I lie.
I boldface lie to my child.
Her face breaks out in a smile and she believes me. Closing her bedroom door, I look toward my own room, but against my better judgment, I make my way back into the living room. I need a drink.
“Thought you were headed to bed?” Derek calls out as soon as I enter the room.
Giving him a smile I shake my head. “I needed a drink? Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
Walking over to the fridge, I grab two beers and a bottle opener, popping the tops before I lift my chin toward the backyard. Derek stands from the couch and together we walk into the cool night and sit down on the deck furniture. I hand him his beer before taking a pull of my own.
“Can you tell me why I need protection?” I ask as I look up at the star-filled sky.
Derek sighs. “All I know is that there’s a possible threat and they don’t know exactly who is making it, or why, or who it affects.”
Thinking about his words, I can’t help but wonder if it has to do with that young kid who approached me at the gym. I debate telling him, but then I decide that I should probably tell West, or maybe my brother, Barry. Bringing my feet into the seat of my chair I rest my cheek on my knees and just breathe.
“I’ll keep you safe, Ivy. You and your kids,” he murmurs.
“How old are you?” I ask, changing the subject.
He lets out a chuckle and leans back in his chair, stretching his long lean legs out in front of him. “I’m thirty,” he shrugs.
“Pretty old to prospect for an MC, aren’t you?” I ask.
His eyes cut to mine and he gives me a serious look which just makes me giggle. “I did ten years in the military. Medically retired, and then spent a couple months drowning in booze and getting into fistfights at Bullseye,” he states. “Ran into some old friends of mine, they were partying at the clubhouse, and they talked me into hanging out. Brought me around the club a few times and I showed an interest in prospecting. Rest is history, I guess,” he shrugs.
“How’d you get hurt?”
He clears his throat for a moment, then he speaks. He tells me about his last tour to Afghanistan, about the bomb that killed his friend. He tells me that the same bomb shattered his hip when he was thrown into the air and landed hard on his side. His story is gut wrenching and I reach out to wrap my hand around his forearm as he’s telling it, to not only show him support but to brace myself as well.
“You need to get to bed, Ivy,” he rasps.
I tip my lips in a smile and shake my head. “You already told me that once,” I whisper.
“I’m telling you that so that you don’t make a mistake.”
My brows tug together in confusion. “Mistake?”
He lifts his chin with a sad smile. “Yeah, babe. You’re sweet, too sweet, and right now, I want a taste. You need to get your ass upstairs. All that you are, he’s not going to just let that go, he’ll fight to the death for it.”
I stand, shaking my head. “No, he won’t Derek, but that’s sweet,” I smile.
Without letting him respond, I do as he suggested. I take my ass upstairs. I change into my pajamas and I slide between my sheets.
Closing my eyes, and for the first time ever, I imagine what it would be like to have another man smiling at me rather than my husband.
I imagine what this other man’s touch would feel like. I feel shameful and slutty, but the whole scenario also makes me feel sad.
I miss West, the West that I remember, the man I fell in love with and loved for the past fifteen years—I miss him.
Chapter Eight
IVY
My phone alerts with a new notification and I glance down, rolling my eyes when I see who the new text is from. If he thinks I’m responding to a text message after he didn’t come home last night, again, he’s got another thing coming. I shove my phone in my back pocket before returning to mop the kitchen floor.
I feel like a cleaning maniac, and I probably am. I usually am when I’m pissed off—and right now I’m downright fucking pissed.
I’m thankful that the boys ran down to my mother-in-law’s house for lunch and that Rosalie has cheerleading practice at school.
Otherwise, they would be a party to my bad mood. It’s bad enough that poor Derek is being subjected to my temperament. He left the house about ten minutes ago to hang out on the front porch and I do not blame him one bit.
My hands are deep in the soapy water as I swish the mop pad around, wringing it out and imagining that it’s instead West’s neck. Something heavy lands on my shoulder and I spin around to find Derek standing right behind me.
“Called your name, babe. You were on another planet,” he murmurs.
I lift my chin and try to keep from crying as I look into his warm eyes. He shakes his head once and squeezes my shoulder. He opens his mouth to say something but the front door slams and causes me to jump back. Derek pulls his gun out of the holster at his side and raises it as he walks toward my front door.
Standing in the kitchen, I toss the wet mop cloth into the sink and hold my breath. What feels like an hour later I hear male voices murmuring and then West and Derek walk in from around the corner. I narrow my eyes on West but keep my mouth closed. I understand enough about the club life to know that you never start shit with your man in front of a brother, especially a prospect.
“You can go ahead and take off for the weekend. Be back at six Monday morning,” West grunts.
Derek’s concerned gaze meets mine for just a second before he confirms West’s order and then walks out of the house. We stay completely silent, staring at each other until we hear the front door click closed.
“Why’d you even bother coming back here? I thought it was your weekend to work at Humboldt?” I ask, sounding just as bitter and angry as I feel.
/> “Traded schedules,” he murmurs.
West’s brows tug together and he lets out an exhaled breath. I watch as his fingers run through his overly long, dark hair as he looks down at his boots. This is it. We’re over. This fight is just not worth it to me anymore—not when I’m the only one fighting.
“Nothing happened.”
I don’t think. I’m too irrational to think. Quickly, I close the distance between us and I pound against his chest with my fists. West wraps his hands around my wrists, gently but firmly, to stop me. “Ivy,” he whispers.
“I’m sick of it, West,” I announce. My tears have all dried up, I have none left to cry. “I’m sick and tired of you announcing that nothing is happening. Not when you’re down there and where you should be is at home with your family. Not watching some whores fuck your friends.”
West’s fingers tighten around my wrists and he gives me a shake, causing my neck to snap. Glaring up at him, I try to push away from his body, but he won’t let me. “Watch yourself,” he growls.
“Not me who should be watching myself, West,” I state. “I’m home every night, taking care of our children. Running them around to and from school, to sports and everything else. What are you doing? Getting your rocks off?”
I know when he’s had enough of my mouth. He releases me and takes a step back, his hand firmly planted on his hips as he glares at me. “You would have none of this shit if it wasn’t for me, Ivy. None of it. What I do, my position in the club, it pays for everything around here.”
“Oh, give me a fucking break. I didn’t say shit about your club. I’m talking about you, West. The man who used to be present for everything his children did. You’re not that man anymore. You haven’t been to one of the boy’s baseball practices or games this season. You haven’t been to one cheer competition of Rosalie’s. Why are you even pretending you want to be married? You’ve made it abundantly clear you don’t want to be with me anymore.”
West reaches behind him and grabs the only thing on the counter, a bottle of olive oil, and throws it as hard as he can. It misses me by only inches before it lands against the wall with a thudding crash. “You’re making this shit too fucking hard, Ivy.”
“What am I making too hard? Fatherhood? Sorry, asshole, you’re the fucking father. Stop being a baby and act like a man,” I hiss.
West charges toward me and my fight or flight kicks in as I stumble backward and crash into the wall that the oil landed on. I can feel the glass cutting my bare feet from the broken bottle, but I’m too afraid to look down.
“You weren’t saying I wasn’t a man when you were coming on my cock the other night,” he rasps, lowering his head.
Lifting my hands, I press them against his chest and push against him. He, of course, doesn’t budge. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, trying to take a cleansing breath before I reopen them.
“This isn’t about sex for me, West. It may be for you but it isn’t for me. This is about you being present as a husband and a father. You’re focusing on what you’ve decided I will and won’t do when it comes to sex. You’re not communicating and you’re not being here for your kids. That’s my biggest problem. All the dirty desires and whatever else you have going on in your head doesn’t really mean much to me right now.”
He blinks and I swear I see a glimmer of hope as the wheels turn in his head. We cannot move on together in this marriage if he hides away from me and away from his children.
It won’t work at all.
I don’t even want to think about the kinky stuff he wants, and right now, I don’t care. My only concern is our family, the other shit can wait until that part is healed and fixed.
“I start work on Monday, and I won’t be off until six in the evening. If you feel like being an active participant in their lives, I think being there to pick them up from school would be a good start.”
West shakes his head. “You act like I’m some kind of deadbeat dad, Ivy. You act like I don’t love them and I don’t care for them.”
I can tell that this conversation is hurting him, and that sucks, but it’s also too bad. I’ve let this go on for far too long without saying something. I can’t do it anymore. It needs to end.
“You were a great father for a lot of years, West. You were here when they were sick, when they met their milestones, on the first day of school, and then you just slowly drifted away,” I whisper sucking in a breath. “They want their daddy back, and to be honest, I want my husband back.”
He nods once, then takes a step back from me before he speaks. “I’ve shirked my responsibilities as a father, I can admit that. I’ve been inside of my own head so much that I’ve been neglecting that part of my life. I’ll be there to pick them up after school.”
Waiting for him to mention something about me having my husband back, I watch him. He looks tired, and his eyes look a little dead. It makes my heart ache. “I want my husband back, West,” I whisper.
His gaze connects to mine and he holds me hostage. He doesn’t speak, he just stares at me. If I had any more tears left to cry, I’d cry them. I’m pretty much past that point right now, and to the point where I’m just fed up. A woman can only take so much, and I’m afraid I’ve reached that limit.
“I’ll be staying the nights at the clubhouse this week. I need to get my head together. Next week we can sit down when we both have cooler heads.”
I have never hated my husband. I’ve never even thought the words. Not even when I thought he was calling me a fat mess to Tinker. However, in this moment—I hate him. “Yeah, that sounds like a great plan, West,” I spit.
“Ivy…”
Shaking my head, I put my hand up. “I’m tired of this argument. I’m tired of begging you, and I’m tired of you pushing me away only to come to my bed when you’re horny. I’m just fucking tired. You need a week by yourself doing whatever it is that you’re so hot to do, then take it. But come next weekend we’re talking and making a mutual decision. All of this shit between us, ends then. One way or another, it will be finished.”
West nods as he closes his eyes then reopens them. “I’m still staying home this weekend. Where are the kids?” he asks.
He acts as though we didn’t just have a whole damn conversation, and the way he can flip a switch like that, makes me even madder. I sigh and step over the broken glass, hissing at the pain in the bottoms of my feet when I do.
“The boys are at your mom’s, and Rosalie is at cheer practice,” I announce.
Sitting down I decide to pick some of the glass out of my feet. Before my ass even hits the tile floor, West picks me up in his arms. “I’m sorry I hurt you, baby,” he murmurs.
I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me upstairs and doesn’t stop until we’re in our bathroom. He sets me down on the vanity and then crouches down at my feet. “Fuck, Ivy, I’m sorry,” he repeats.
I could tell him that it’s okay, that I’m okay, but I don’t. Choosing to stay quiet, I watch as he cleans my feet, removing pieces of glass before putting hydrogen peroxide on my wounds then patching them up with Band-Aids. He picks me up and carries me to our bed, laying me down, and I’m surprised when he doesn’t join me.
“Take a nap. I’ll clean up the kitchen and shit,” he murmurs.
This time I try to open my mouth to speak, but he’s shocked me completely speechless. He stands and walks out of our bedroom, all the while I lie there staring at the empty doorway he just walked through and wonder what the hell just happened? Did what I say to him truly penetrate? I can only hope and pray.
CAMO
It takes me longer than it probably should to clean up the mess from the oil bottle I threw across the room. I was fucking heated and I snapped. The thing is, I didn’t have a reason to get mad, at least not at Ivy.
She wasn’t wrong, not in the slightest. She was actually completely on target. I’ve been a shit dad, and I’ve been getting progressively worse. I’ve been so inside of my own head that I haven’t just a
bandoned my wife, I’ve abandoned my whole family.
Sometimes I feel like I’m a little slow on the uptake, and for whatever reason, it all just clicked today. I need to take care of my home—my kids. Then, I can worry about the rest.
So, starting this week, I’m going to focus on them. They’ve noticed a change in me, especially Rosalie and I need her to know that I’m still her dad, and I’ll always be here for her.
I don’t know if it was a mistake or not, deciding not to stay at the house, but instead choosing to sleep at the clubhouse. I feel like me and Ivy need a little more distance. I need to think about what I want.
I’ve been so worried about not hurting her, about hiding what I want, that I need to figure out how to tell her exactly what I want from her. I haven’t really communicated it well enough, and I don’t know that I ever will be able to.
“Dad?” Rosalie’s voice calls out. I stand, shifting the dustpan into a different hand and dumping the glass in the garbage can. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your clubhouse?” she asks snottily.
I should put her in her teenage girl place, but I don’t. I deserve a little sass from her. “Can you write down the pickup times for you and your brothers and stuff for the week?” I ask, ignoring her snarky attitude.
“Why?”
Letting out a puff of air, I scratch my bearded chin. “Your mom’s new job starts Monday and I told her I’d help with pickups and stuff.”
“I thought Grandma was helping,” she shrugs as she walks over to the counter and pulls open a drawer.
I’m surprised to see that it has paper and pencils inside. Looking around, I honestly can’t remember the last time that I opened any cabinet in the kitchen, other than the one that houses the drinking glasses.
“Not this week,” I state.
Rosalie looks up from her writing and narrows her eyes at me. “Is this like, you spending time with us before you leave for good?” she bluntly asks.
Notorious Devils MC Complete Collection: BoxSet Page 180