Bound by Steel: Mountain Misfits MC Book 3

by Voss, Deja

  “You’re not making this better,” I whine. Still, I can’t help but laugh. “You’re sick, Esther.”

  “And you’re pregnant,” she says, shrugging.

  “I don’t think I am, but if I don’t get my period by tomorrow, I promise I’ll take a test.” It has been an overwhelming few days. Maybe now that the madness has settled down, my body is just finally also coming down from riding that crazy adrenaline high. I’m not trying to deny the possibility that I could be pregnant, but right now I don’t want to think about it.

  All I want to think about is that fluffy looking queen bed with my name all over it. Sloan grabs my bag for me and I fish out my toothbrush and mouthwash. I wrap myself in the big warm robe and brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face.

  “I think I’m ready for a cheeseburger now,” I say as I join them in the hotel room.

  “Well I got you three,” Sloan says, smiling and tossing me the take-out bag. “And fries.”

  We spend the rest of the night watching shitty reality shows and talking about nothing. It feels really good. I think I’ve earned one night of irresponsibility with my girlfriends. They get me. Not another word is brought up about my potential new development, and instead, we’re just three normal chicks hanging out and having a ladies’ night. We’re not old ladies right now. Tomorrow I need to face the reality of what the future might hold, but right now, I’m happy being ignorant.

  28

  Tank:

  “Hello?” I whisper into the phone, my voice still hoarse with sleep. I don’t know what time it is, it’s still dark outside, and I don’t know why I’m sleeping on the couch. I don’t really know what I’ve been doing the last few days besides existing.

  I do know Brooks is snoring away in Red’s room. My brothers haven’t left my side since Friday night. I think they think I’m going to kill myself. I’m suffering a fate much worse, though. Without Olive, I’m already dead. What we did to her, living with that, it’s the ultimate punishment. I don’t deserve to die. I need to live with this pain to make it up to her, even if she never speaks to me again.

  “Hey,” she says, my heart skipping a beat when I realize it’s her voice I’m hearing. “I’m sorry, I turned my phone off. I couldn’t deal with it right now.”

  “Where are you?” I ask. I need to see her. I need to make sure she’s alright. Our lawyer made us stay far away from the jail this weekend, and none of the guys would’ve let me near her, even if I tried.

  “Sloan and Esther and I got a room for the night. We’re fine. I just wasn’t ready to come home yet. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Don’t apologize ever again. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I miss you, Tank,” she says, and it sounds like she’s about to cry. I’d never admit it, but I’m about to, too. “I thought about you all weekend. I hope you know that.”

  “Trust me, Olive, I couldn’t think of anything but you this weekend. Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. I’m so exhausted I can’t sleep, hence the 3 a.m. phone call, but I’m fine.”

  “I don’t care what time you call me, Olive. Hell, if you just want to put the phone on your pillowcase, I’ll stay awake all night and listen to you snore. I’m just really happy to hear from you.”

  She’s silent for a moment, and I don’t know if she actually has dozed off or if she’s just trying to think of something to say. I don’t care either way. I’m just glad she’s speaking to me.

  “I’m sorry your friend had to go away. I know how much he means to you.”

  “He’s your friend, too, Olive. And he’s a grown man. He made some choices. He’ll be back, babe.”

  “Yeah,” she whispers.

  “Nothing has to change between you and me. Maybe things are going to be different, but the way I feel about you hasn’t changed since the day I met you. Nobody else can change that. That’s only you and me, and there’s nothing in the world you could do to make me care about you any less. Hell, I owe you my freedom right now. We all do.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “You’re a good man, Tank. I love you. Hearing your voice makes me feel so much better.”

  “Are you coming home soon?” I ask. “I need to see you.”

  “I think so,” she says. “I’ll have to see what the girls have planned, but we should be back sometime tomorrow.”

  “You ok out here, bud?” Brooks asks from the bedroom doorway. I smile at him, the first smile I think I’ve been able to muster since Friday night. “Is that Olive?”

  I nod. He throws me a thumbs-up and goes back into the bedroom.

  “Call me when you get back? I’ll give you whatever space you need, but I just have to see you in one piece.” Who am I kidding? I am going to smother this woman like a wet blanket and never let her out of my sight again. Still, I’m not going to lay all that on her right now. Right now, I just need to get her back here.

  Tonight I’m going to let her know how I feel. Tomorrow, I’m going to make sure she never wants to leave my side again.

  ***

  I’m so anxious, I can’t stop pacing around the house. I’ve vacuumed the living room floor at least three times, not because it was dirty to begin with, but because I can’t sit still. My mom is in the kitchen, making her famous chicken and dumplings, and my dad is sitting on the couch watching the baseball game, drinking a beer.

  Obviously I didn’t tell them about the events of last weekend. Sure, they love me unconditionally, but that’s asking a little too much. I did, however, come clean about Olive. I told them about the goofy pact Red and I had, and how our arrangement worked for a little while. I left out the good stuff, but I’m sure even my conservative parents probably drew a picture in their minds. What can you do?

  My dad didn’t really seem to care, and my mom slapped me across the face and called me every name in the book for not telling her sooner, especially after her awkward encounter with Olive the other day.

  “That poor girl!” she screamed. “She probably felt so horrible! She probably hates me!”

  “She doesn’t hate anyone, Mom,” I explained. I don’t think Olive is capable of hate. “And she loves your meatloaf, by the way.”

  “I hope she loves my chicken and dumplings, too, because that’s what we’re having tonight.”

  Olive called me when she got back to her place, but she said she needed a few hours to herself. I don’t blame her. I’ve only been locked up once, but it took me a few weeks to get back to right. She was not only locked up, but interrogated for the entire weekend, and even though she came out clean and innocent, it wears on you.

  U want to come over? she texts.

  “Here goes nothing,” I say to my parents. I told them she was working all day and that she was really nervous about meeting them officially. I hate putting words in her mouth, but I figured the story would work for the time being. Maybe someday we can all laugh about this fucked-up weekend, but I need to make a few things right first.

  “Well if she doesn’t want to come, you just tell her I will save her a plate. I made plenty,” my mom says. “I really hope she does, though.”

  “Me too,” my dad says. “I can’t imagine the kind of woman who you would be willing to give your first bike to. She’s gotta be something special.”

  I pull the water bottle out of the fridge and slip it into my pocket. I get on my motorcycle and drive down the road to her little trailer tucked way back in the woods.

  29

  Olive:

  My heart flutters as he pulls into the driveway. I’m feeling a lot of things right now. The desire to just see him is the most overwhelming feeling, as if I forgot what he looked like over these three short days, forgot the way his touch feels, forgot the way he looks at me with love and makes me feel like the only woman in the world.

  I’m nervous as hell to tell him about the pink lines. I don’t know how he’s going to react. On one hand, I know he’d be an awesome father. On the other, I
can’t pin that on him, not until we at least can get a test done and figure out who was the fastest swimmer of the bunch. Regardless of what happens, regardless of who the father of this baby growing inside me is, the only thing that matters is that it’s all mine, and I’m going to give him or her a life that is full of love. A life that’s worth living. My baby will never have to worry about the things that I did growing up. Perfect, pure, and innocent, even if I have to do it alone.

  I open the front door before he has time to knock. I press my lips to his the moment I can. I know I told myself I needed some space. I needed to take things slow, but his presence overwhelms me. I have never been so happy to see someone in my entire life.

  “I look like hell,” I say. Between the vomit filled ride home, and the fact that my hair is probably a giant dreadlock at this point from lack of brushing the last few days, I’m definitely not looking my best. Never mind the bruise on the side of my face or the two-day-old sweatpants that I don’t feel like changing out of. I don’t even want to get started on my missing tooth, even though it does make a pretty sweet whistling sound when I say my S’s.

  “You look beautiful,” he says. He pulls a water bottle filled with milk out of his pants pocket.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “It’s your tooth,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t know. I read something on the internet about how to save it until a dentist can fix it. I think you only have a few hours to do it though.”

  I want to laugh and cry at the same time. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” I hold up the bottle to the light, and sure as shit, there’s my tooth. “Worst-case scenario, maybe I’ll make a necklace out of it,” I giggle.

  He’s just staring at me, grinning like a goofball, and I realize that I have nothing to worry about when it comes to this man. I realize that no matter what I tell him, he’s still going to be Tank, and we’re still going to be happy, no matter what the outcome of my pregnancy is. I need to come clean.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he says, before I can even get a word in. “Come over to my house for dinner.”

  “We can just eat here if you want,” I say. “I picked up some groceries before we came back. I don’t mind cooking.”

  “Come over to my house for dinner with my parents,” he says.

  He kisses me on the forehead with such tenderness, stroking my hair. There’s no hesitation in his voice, but I have my own concerns.

  “But what about?…” I trail off, thinking about the last time I met his mother. She probably thinks I’m a crazy person. I consider myself pretty open-minded, but if I was on the outside looking in at this situation, I don’t think I’d be able to wrap my brain around it.

  “I came clean. I’m not saying they understood, but they did accept it. My mom feels terrible, you know. She was so embarrassed about the other day. She clawed the crap out of me.”

  “No way,” I laugh. I rest my head on his chest and just enjoy the feeling of him and I together again. “I can probably deal with this mess on my face with make-up, but you don’t suppose we can super glue that tooth back in, do ya?”

  “They read about the incident in the newspaper. And even if they didn’t, I feel like it’s kind of hot on you.”

  “I’m sorry, Tank, I’m not trying to look hot for your parents,” I giggle. “But I can do thissss…” I say, emphasizing my s with a loud whistle.

  “That’s mildly disturbing,” he laughs.

  “I have an appointment tomorrow.”

  “Do you want to come over or not? My mom said she would save you a plate if you’re not feeling up to it. I understand either way, Olive. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

  I’m kind of nervous. Even after the other day, I really do want his mother to like me. It’s important to me that I make a good impression on both of them. I’ve never felt this way before about a man, and I want him to be a part of my life for as long as I live. That means they are going to be a part of mine, too.

  “I want to,” I say, “but you have to let me put something a little more presentable on. I think I’m wearing more ketchup than clothing right now.”

  “You don’t have to,” he says. “They won’t mind.”

  My queasiness has subsided significantly, but Sloan warned me it could come back at any time. I feel kind of tired as I go back in the bedroom and begin to strip down, and even a little light-headed. I don’t want to tell him before dinner, so I just try to power through.

  He watches me from my bed as I pull out a pair of jeans.

  “Is your shoulder ok?” he asks, eyeing the scratches on my arm.

  “It burns a little,” I say. “It hurts more than a paper cut but less than a fresh tattoo.”

  “I hate it, you know. I hate to ever see you hurt.”

  I throw on a light purple pullover blouse that covers my arms. “You just pretend like it’s not there,” I say. “I swear, I’m ok.”

  Pretend like it’s not there. Like I’m pretending this baby isn’t in my stomach. Like I’m pretending Red never existed. Like I’m pretending that I’m not completely traumatized by the weekend I just had or that watching a man die in front of me wasn’t horrifying. I just want to pretend for a little bit. His parents give me a perfect buffer to do that. We can sort out our scars later.

  I dab some make-up on my tender face. It’s not enough to completely cover the bruise, but at least it doesn’t look quite as garish.

  “You look perfect,” he says. He hands me my jacket as I lace up my shoes. “You want to drive?” he asks, as we walk out into my driveway. His bright red Indian is parked there. I know how much time and money he has dumped into that thing. He’s really pulling out all the stops today.

  “Not today,” I say. Driving lessons need to go on hold for at least a few months. I don’t even know if I should be riding a motorcycle at all. If I was going to trust anyone with myself and this baby, though, it would definitely be Tank.

  He doesn’t say anything more, just silently hops on, and grabs my hand as I wrap my arms around his waist. It’s good. The less talking the better, at least until I can get this secret off my chest.

  His mother and father are both standing on the porch when we get to the house, as if they have been waiting for us this whole time. While his mother has his facial features and skin tone, I can definitely see where he got his build from. His father is ripped. He looks like a football player, even though his hair is gray and he has some age spots on his face. He’s a very good-looking man. His mom is so pretty too. All I can think about is how insanely gorgeous mine and Tank’s babies would be. I might have some garbage genes, but his side of the family definitely makes up for that.

  “Can I give you a hug?” his mother asks before we even get up on the porch. “I’m sorry I called you Olivia. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

  “Well, I’m sorry that I ate all your meatloaf and didn’t share it with anyone,” I giggle. She wraps her arms around me and she smells like I would imagine a mother should. Like flowers and some sort of expensive moisturizer cream. Nothing like my mother, that’s for sure.

  “This is what you’re worried about?” his father asks. “After what happened this weekend, you’re entitled to as much meatloaf as you want.”

  “I’m ok,” I assure him. “It’s just something that comes with the territory, I guess.”

  “Well, I hate that you were there all alone,” his father says. “There’s no reason for that.”

  “I’m normally not. Your son has been helping me close for years now. It was just a fluke.”

  “You’re probably exhausted,” his mother says. “Why don’t you come inside and sit down and I’ll get you a glass of wine. Tank said you like sweet red?”

  “I actually am not really thirsty for wine,” I tell her.

  “I knew it,” his dad says, smiling. “She’s a beer girl.”

  “I think I just want some water,” I say. “I’m a little dehydra
ted after the last few days. Maybe later.” It’s only half a lie, right?

  It smells amazing in the house, between the fresh baked bread and comforting smell of chicken and dumplings, plus what I think is possibly apple pie, I imagine this would be like what my home would smell like if I had a normal life, if I had a normal family. The table is set, and we all sit down together, passing around pans of food.

  “Don’t mind me,” I say sheepishly. “I eat like man.”

  “That’s ok, honey,” Tank’s mom says. “I made plenty.”

  As weird as I thought this was going to be, it’s actually one of the most normal meals I’ve ever had. Tank squeezes my knee under the table, and his parents ask me questions about my life, not in a prying manner, but with genuine curiosity.

  “This was so good, Mrs. Ellis,” I say, helping her clear the plates. “Do you think you can teach me some recipes sometime?”

  “Well, I never mind cooking for you guys,” she says. “It brings me peace. It makes me feel like I still have something to offer as a mother, even though Tank is all grown. But of course I’d love to teach you.” She watches me as I load dishes into the dishwasher, smiling the whole time. “You’re a really beautiful girl, Olive. Thurston has nothing but good things to say about you. I know how these men in the club are, and I was a little nervous about what kind of girls would be hanging around, but I have a good feeling about you.”

  “Oh trust me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “There are definitely some girls hanging around that would turn your hair white. I’m nothing special, though.”

  “I bet you two would make me some really pretty grandbabies,” she says, stroking my bruised cheek.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little soon?” I ask. I honestly want to know what she has to say. She seems like she has our best interests in mind, and she definitely knows a thing or two about raising a kid, just by how great Tank turned out.