He blew the smoke upward as he waited for it to close.
For fuck’s sake, Jemma was about to shut the door all right.
On being Dyna’s mother.
On being with him.
She was going to leave them both.
He closed his eyes and tried to push away the sour memory of the day Bebe left. Watching his mother pack, then running outside to see she was gone without even saying goodbye.
Jemma would say goodbye.
But what good was a fucking goodbye for him or Dyna? It wouldn’t ease the loss. Or the disappointment.
He turned his head to watch her slowly take the three steps down to the trampled-to-death grass, two beers in hand. She offered him one in passing and settled with a sigh next to him in the other plastic chair.
He stared at her as she picked at the corner of the bottle’s label with her fingernail, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
He reached over and cracked the top off for her, then opened his own, letting the brew slide down his throat to cool the burn in his gut. He took another long swig and put it down before taking another hit of the pot in his pursuit to become numb.
Totally pain free.
When he was done, he held the pipe out to her.
She shook her head and took a sip of beer instead. “I might get drug tested on Monday. I can’t risk it.”
Don’t fuckin’ ask.
He did anyway. “What’s Monday?” He knew. He fucking knew.
He wanted to rage at her, to scream that it wasn’t fair. She couldn’t leave them. Not now.
Not ever.
Instead, his hand shook as he lifted the bowl again and took another long hit, waiting for her answer.
The answer he didn’t want to hear.
“The interview went extremely well. I start my new job on Monday. They’re short-handed, so they want me to start right away.”
“In Williamsport,” he forced out.
“That’s where the regional offices are located. But I’ll be working in patient’s homes. The same as what Lottie did with Walt. She brought in a nurse so he could die at home. They sent me the contract a few hours ago and I read through it. The salary’s great, the benefits are good. The opportunity couldn’t be more perfect.”
Perfect for her.
As if she could read his mind, she continued, “This was what I was meant to do, Chris. You knew that. You knew this was only temporary. I was upfront about it.”
He wanted to rail at her and ask her how she could just give them up and walk away. Not just from him but Dyna.
A fire now burned in his belly and soon those flames would become uncontrollable. Neither pot nor beer would douse them. He was afraid they’d grow to the point he would explode and say things he’d regret. So, he fought to remain silent.
“You know my memories here aren’t good. In my profession, I can get hired anywhere. Since leaving Manning Grove, I’ve moved place to place because I didn’t want to settle. For me, coming home is settling for the life my parents made. I don’t want to live that life. I don’t want to turn into Trixie. I don’t want any man of mine to turn into Ox. I don’t ever want to see a man use his child, or any child, as a shield. Not ever.”
Fuck. They’d done that only yesterday. Used Shirley children as shields. But Dyna might not be home with them, or possibly even alive, if they hadn’t.
They’d had no choice.
He couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “You’ll never be Trixie, Jem. Not ever.” That was the goddamn truth. He didn’t understand why she couldn’t see it. Maybe she just didn’t want to.
“When Dyna was taken, I could’ve told that cop what happened and got the police involved. A normal person would’ve been screaming at the top of her lungs that her baby had been kidnapped. I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut so the club could handle it. That’s something Trixie would’ve done. Any of the ol’ ladies, past and present. Afterward, that fact hit me harder than I ever thought it would. I could’ve put Dyna in danger by simply not letting the cops handle it right away. If something would’ve happened to your daughter, it would’ve been my fault, Chris. Mine.”
“Nothin’ happened to her. She’s fine. She’s home. And she’s happy.”
“This time. What about the next time?”
He gritted his teeth. “Ain’t gonna be a next time.” They’d make sure of it. Soon.
“There will always be a next time. This is what living this lifestyle entails. Constant threats. From law enforcement. From other clubs. Hell, from crazy fucking clans.” She shook her head. “Don’t you want better for her?”
“She’s got the best right here. This ain’t the Originals’ club. This is our club. We haven’t gone lookin’ for trouble once. Not once. But we ain’t gonna sit back and let someone fuckin’ threaten or hurt our family. And that’s what this is, Jem. The Fury is our family. Not just mine and Dyna’s. Yours, too. Why can’t you fuckin’ see that?”
“That’s not what I saw yesterday.” Her voice was soft and filled with sadness. “Yesterday brought it all back. Reminded me of what I didn’t want. And it did it in a way I couldn’t ignore. We could’ve lost Dyna yesterday, Chris.”
He slammed the now half-empty beer bottle on the plastic arm of the chair. “You hear yourself? We. You’ve raised her since she was just a few days old, Jem. She doesn’t know any other mother but you. If you don’t want to stay for me, stay for her. Don’t desert her.” His voice cracked on his last few words and he didn’t fucking care.
“Don’t you lay that guilt on me, Chris. Just don’t. It’s low. Jesus Christ, it’s lower than low.”
She couldn’t abandon Dyna.
Not like Sarah did with his daughter.
Not like Bebe did with her sons.
He surged to his feet, his blood screaming in his ears. “You, Jemma, you are her mother! Not Sarah. You. You can’t leave!” he shouted.
She needed to see the truth, knock down the barrier of her past.
“I’m not her mother!” she yelled back, quickly getting to her feet, too. “I’m not. I...” She spun away, one hand clamped to her forehead, the other on her hip. She took two strides away from him before spinning back with her chest heaving.
Cage didn’t like the expression on her face. It twisted his gut and caused a wider crack in his own chest.
Her voice shook as she shouted, “You want me to raise her? Be her mother? Let me take her with me. Let me keep her safe. I’ll raise her and love her as my own.”
“What?” tore from his throat on a raw whisper. His heart seized and he stared at her, the blood draining from his face and pooling like bubbling lava in his gut. “What the fuck, Jemma? I’ll keep her fuckin’ safe. I’m her goddamn father!” He couldn’t stop the last part from becoming a roar.
He could feel himself breaking apart. He kept trying to gather the pieces and keep himself whole. Losing it wouldn’t help.
“You didn’t, though.”
That accusation came so softly, so deadly, that Cage cringed as that fucking sharp knife of hers plunged deep into his chest. It caused him to strike out in defense. “Neither did you.”
Fuck! He regretted those words the goddamn second they burst from him.
The wounded look on her face twisted the fucking blade stuck in his heart, turning it into mincemeat.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” she said in a choked whisper, the pain evident.
“It was always coming to this, Jemma, always. You always had one fuckin’ foot out the door. Ready to escape. ‘Cause you refuse to face your past. To move past it. You know damn well you could raise her here. With me. You just don’t want to.”
She said nothing. Her silence was killing him just as much as her words had.
“Bottom line is, you ain’t takin’ my fuckin’ daughter. She’s mine. And you know what? You’re mine, too, Jemma. Take off your goddamn blinders and see what’s right the fuck in front of you.”
More fucking silence.
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Her face had turned ghost white and she held one hand clamped over her mouth, probably to keep from verbally striking out at him. Either that or she realized what he said was true.
She was his.
She was his the second they kissed in the rain. That very goddamn second.
He knew none of this was temporary for him. That moment proved they were meant to be.
That they were meant to be a family.
That Jemma was supposed to be his ol’ lady. To wear his cut. To stand by his side.
To raise his children.
To be the queen of his kingdom. Even if that kingdom consisted of a fucking single-wide trailer.
Even so, that trailer would contain two people who loved her.
Her daughter and her ol’ man.
He had changed his life for them both.
But she wasn’t willing to change her life for them.
So, fuck her.
Fuck Jemma for making him and his daughter fall in love with her.
Fuck her.
He’d been deserted before and survived. He’d survive it again.
“Fuck you, Jemma. You don’t wanna be here, then go. Ain’t stoppin’ you. But I ain’t leavin’ my club, my family, and you ain’t takin’ my fuckin’ daughter. You walk away from me, you walk away from her. This is a package fuckin’ deal.”
He grabbed his beer bottle and, instead of drinking from it, he threw it as hard as he could. It shattered—just like his life—when it struck the nearby metal shed.
This was Bebe all over again.
His daughter was going to lose her mother.
Because the club was too much for Jemma.
This life was too much for her to deal with.
But it was a life he wasn’t willing to give up. No matter what Jemma thought, this life would be good for Dyna, he’d make sure of it. Even if Jemma didn’t want to be a part of it.
“You have until Sunday night to get things in order for Dyna,” she said flatly.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his clenched fingers pressed to his outer thighs and he said the hardest thing he’d ever said in his life. Every fucking word cracked off another piece of his crumbling heart.
“If you’re goin’, you go tonight. Pack your fuckin’ shit and leave.” He didn’t look at her when he said, “I’ll be back in thirty. Be gone in twenty-five.”
He took long strides toward The Barn, not looking back once.
Not fucking once.
He’d known beer wouldn’t be strong enough. He needed a shot or two—or, hell, a bottle—of fucking whiskey. But he doubted that would help, either.
Dutch raised him and Rook on his own. Cage could raise Dyna on his own, too.
Like father, like son.
Fuck Jemma and the goddamn Volvo she drove in on.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jemma talked to Lottie on the phone once a week to check in, but she hadn’t gone home.
She texted Judge a couple times a week, but she hadn’t called. She was afraid if she did, she’d ask.
And he’d tell her they were doing great without her.
She had no idea if that was true.
She hoped it was. She hoped it wasn’t.
Selfish, but true.
No matter what, if Dyna didn’t need her, her patients did.
One took her last breath this morning, then faded away peacefully with her husband and her adult children at her side.
That was what her patient, Susan, wanted in the end. The love and support of her family. She wanted to spend every coherent moment with them. To share memories and stories, even if it caused tears and heartache. But they were memories Susan wanted them not to forget. Remembrances of happier times. Of healthier times.
Everyone died. The only difference was how and when. And, of course, where.
Susan chose to die in a house she built to be a home, where she raised her family with her husband.
Jemma was there to help ease her pain, ease Susan into the next chapter of her life, whatever it was.
Now, she sat on the tiny balcony off her tiny apartment above a garage on the outskirts of Williamsport. Her rental was smaller than the single-wide temporary trailer she’d lived in with Cage and Dyna.
She lifted the stemless wine glass to her lips and sipped at the semi-sweet red she’d filled to the very brim.
Honestly, after the day she had, she could use a hit off Cage’s bowl.
A few hits, actually.
A week after she gathered her things and drove away from the farm, the trailer, the MC life, as well as Cage and Dyna, she got a text. From Reese of all people.
The text simply said, I get it.
A few minutes later Deacon’s woman—it was difficult to think of Reese as an ol’ lady—sent another. We’re here for you if you need us. Just call or text. Deacon and Judge love you no matter what. We all do.
That text made her cry when she didn’t think she had any tears left.
Cassie sent a text the next day. Don’t worry about Dyna, we have it figured out until Cage does.
That text made her cry, too. She had to hide her tears behind an unsteady smile because she had been in the middle of dealing with a patient.
Stella sent one two days after Cassie’s. Along with a picture of what looked like half of a modular home on an eighteen-wheeler’s trailer, came the words: The club’s starting a new business. Renting out these homes on a corner of the farm. It’s a really exclusive neighborhood. ;)
Jemma could guess how “exclusive” it was. Somehow, Trip knew how to make shit shine. Anything to help his brothers, but still help the club’s coffers, he jumped on the opportunity.
The man was smart. He also had good people around him to help with his goals.
A few times a week, the Fury sisterhood would check in with her. The messages were short and she saw right through it all.
What they were doing and why they were doing it.
The ones that didn’t make her cry made her smile. Even sometimes both.
Like a distant photo of Cage, wearing his cut and carrying Dyna.
Another picture of Cage propping up Dyna on the seat of his sled. Even with his disheveled hair falling in his face, she could see the wide smile he wore as he pretended the baby was riding his ’75 Shovelhead. Her baby tee said Ride or Cry. Of course, accompanied with a little motorcycle graphic.
Next came a sixty-second video of Judge and Cassie’s Daisy pushing Dyna’s stroller as the six-year-old chattered a mile a minute. Jemma watched it over and over late one night until she fell asleep.
In all those texts no one judged her for leaving.
No one told her she was stupid to do so.
No one asked her to come home.
They only kept the connection going, kept open the avenues of communication.
Though, a two word text from her brother cracked open her heart and made it bleed all over again. It simply said: Sorry, sis.
That apology could be for so many different things.
Sorry for asking her to come home to help? For stirring up the memories?
Sorry for what happened to Dyna with the Shirleys?
Sorry she was so stupid to fall in love with a man and his daughter who lived a life she swore she never would?
Sorry.
She closed her eyes and simply breathed in the still very warm, early September air.
She was sorry, too.
For Cage not wanting to give up that life, even for Dyna.
For Jemma not wanting to live that life, even for Dyna.
Neither would give a fucking inch.
Because that was who they were...
Born from stubborn Fury blood. Built from unbreakable Fury bones.
Both stubborn as fuck and neither willing to compromise.
Each believed what they wanted was for the best.
In truth, that was what a solid relationship was. Full of compromise.
She had stayed for six weeks.
&n
bsp; Now, she’d been gone for six weeks.
She had probably missed so much.
She didn’t realize how badly she’d miss the photos and videos the ladies had sent her, Jemma was pretty sure without Cage knowing.
Didn’t realize how badly she’d miss them. Not just Dyna, but Cage, too.
Didn’t realize how much she’d miss snuggling with the baby or sleeping wrapped around Dyna’s father. Simply hearing his voice.
Seeing his face.
Waiting for him to walk in the door at the end of his workday.
Watching him interact with his baby, one unplanned and unexpected.
But he did it.
To look at him, one wouldn’t think he’d be the best father in the world. But he was. In the beginning by accident, now by determination.
Even raising her in an MC, he was.
“She’s got the best right here. This ain’t the Originals’ club. This is our club... The Fury is our family, Jem. Not just mine and Dyna’s. Yours, too. Why can’t you fuckin’ see that?”
He was right. The Blood Fury wasn’t the same club as the Originals. They were a family. They had each other’s back, they didn’t stab each other in them.
The women weren’t catty, they supported each other.
Even so...
It was new. Things could change.
Worse, the Shirleys still existed. Even if they didn’t, something or someone else could come along to wreak havoc. To try to tear the club apart.
Who would be in the crossfire then?
Dyna, Daisy, the ol’ ladies, future children.
The businesses they’d built. The homes they’ve made. The families they were creating.
All of it was at risk. Why?
The simple answer was because they were a motorcycle club.
No matter how clean the club remained, from the outside they were still looked upon the same. As a “gang” of rough, dirty bikers who broke the law, did drugs and were violent.
While some was still true, the Blood Fury Trip resurrected was not the same as their parents’ club.
She shouldn’t judge them like others did. She’d lived with them for six weeks, she knew the truth. The good, the bad, and even the ugly.
But she still worried...
She picked up her phone and scrolled through the latest texts.
Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC Book 5) Page 31