I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol Book 3)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  Then he was walking down the pathway to his cruiser.

  That was when I saw a truck behind the cruiser that must’ve been Trance’s.

  “Fuckin’ hate that prick,” Trance muttered as he walked up to me. “Will you hold on to these for a while? I was going to drop them off at Oakley’s place since that’s their home away from home for now, but they’re mischievous and won’t leave her dog alone. I don’t want them to fight.”

  I jerked my head inside. “Sure thing. Just bring them into the house for me.”

  Trance grinned. “I’d hold on to that lasagna, too, kid. It’s good shit, right?”

  “Killian Red Spurlock, don’t call my food shit!” Viddy yelled from the truck.

  I snickered at Viddy’s use of Trance’s full name.

  “Killian Red?” I asked when he was once again hauling ass down the driveway.

  “Yeah,” Oakley rolled her eyes. “My grandparents named them after beer. Killian Red, Miller Genuine, and Foster Lager.”

  My lips twitched. “I like it, actually.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You would.”

  Then she went back to eating, nary a care in the world.

  Sadly, as I watched the puppies play on the rug in my living room, I didn’t have the same carefree attitude. I knew that Jackson wasn’t going to let this go. Even more, I knew that I wasn’t going to be seeing the end of him.

  Even if I was in a different department.

  Chapter 8

  I have a good heart, but I hold a grudge. If it’s fuck you today, it’s fuck you in fifty years. Just sayin’.

  -Oakley’s secret thoughts

  Oakley

  One week later

  I stared at my phone, wondering what the hell I was doing.

  But before I could stop myself, I pulled it off the counter, opened it up, and pulled up the text thread between Pace and me.

  My eyes landed on the photo I’d cyberstalked him to find, and I paused, studying it.

  It was a photo of him in the hospital bed. But not when he’d given me his kidney. When he’d lost his legs.

  He was lying in bed, banged up as all get out.

  He had bruises on his face, arms, neck, and torso, along with cuts and scrapes from shrapnel. I took a moment to study his body tattoo free.

  It was different.

  Way different.

  Not bad different, but just different.

  I knew the Pace now, and the Pace then definitely didn’t make my eyes as pleased as the Pace now.

  Then there were the abdominals.

  He still had the same abs. The same happy trail that ran along his navel. The same V that accentuated his lower belly in such an aesthetically pleasing way.

  And he still had the same smile.

  Even hurt, broken, and missing two legs, he was smiling.

  But, according to the picture and the comments, that wasn’t unusual for Pace Vineyard. He always made sure to have a smile on his face, no matter what.

  Which was something I was quickly becoming more than aware of.

  I bit my lip and started typing, then deleted the message and started all over again.

  I was two sentences in to my fourth re-write when I got a text from the man of the hour.

  I blinked in confusion at the words.

  Pace: Just say it already. It’s exhausting watching those bubbles blink.

  My lips twitched when I finally understood what was going on.

  He’d been looking at the text thread—had to be—if he knew that I was typing to him.

  Grinning like a dumbass, I typed out my new reply after deleting the old one.

  Oakley: How do you know that I was going to say something? Maybe I just wanted to write myself a reminder or something, and your text thread was the first thing that pulled up.

  Pace: Huge eye roll. You could’ve pulled up notes for that. And if you were going to pull up the first text thread you saw, you would’ve pulled up your mother’s. Ask me how I know that she’s going to be your first text thread.

  I was almost afraid to ask.

  Oakley: How?

  Pace: Because she’s called me every single day since she left for home. She’s also texted me at least four times a day. Though, those are funny memes, so I’m not complaining. Looks like I’m in the rotation on her ‘check on the kids’ list.

  I shook my head in exasperation.

  Oakley: You’ll know you really made it when she adds you to the group chat. Be afraid of that one. It’s never ending, and my mom and I talk a lot.

  And, as if on cue, my mother sent out a text to the group chat. Only, this one wasn’t our usual thread. It was a brand new one. This one including all her boys—even Pace.

  Viddy: How is everyone doing?

  Pace wasn’t long in replying.

  Pace: Who is this?

  Ford: My mother. Welcome to hell.

  Banner: Double hell.

  Trance: Hell on steroids.

  Oakley: Hey, Ford. Will you bring your lawnmower over…and your machete? I’m pretty sure you’re going to have to cut the grass with a machete at this point. But you could try the lawnmower first.

  Ford: How did you know that I’m free and coming?

  Oakley: I have powers of observation. Plus, I’ve seen you drive by my house twice this week. I also know that you saw my lawn and how long it’s gotten.

  Trance: Mow your sister’s lawn.

  Ford: Only if she gives me something in return. I don’t do things for free.

  Pace: I’ll mow your lawn for you, Oakley.

  Viddy: Such a sweet boy. Ford Bryce Spurlock. You will mow her lawn. You will also make sure it’s done in a timely manner so Pace doesn’t consider doing it himself. You have a day and a half. Otherwise I won’t bring you Lulu.

  Lulu was my brother’s dog. One of the puppies from a litter of puppies that my father’s dog had. Lulu had been under training just like the other puppies my father had brought with him last month, but like my Jagger, she just wasn’t cut out for police work.

  Lulu was now officially eight weeks old and would be able to survive away from her mom.

  Dad had told me when he’d left that he was going to pull Lulu off of training, but I hadn’t realized that Ford had asked for her. Nor had I realized that Ford was…

  Oakley: Does you getting a dog mean that you’re **done** with the military?

  The idea of him no longer putting himself in danger was a great one.

  I didn’t like him over there on the other side of the world, risking his life.

  He was my baby brother. I loved him.

  What I did not love was the idea of him having to deal with roadside bombings and sniper bullets.

  Ford: Resigned my commission before your surgery.

  I felt joy in my heart.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like the military…I just liked my brother.

  Secretly, of course.

  Oakley: and you didn’t tell me?

  Ford: you had other things on your mind…how are you feeling by the way? Both of you.

  Oakley: Why don’t you come over and ask?

  Ford: Been busy.

  Oakley: Doing what?

  Ford: Nothing.

  Pace: Applying for KPD. He starts with the SWAT team in a couple weeks. He has to go through police academy first.

  Ford: Thanks for that.

  Viddy: What?!!???!?!

  I grinned at that.

  Switching back to the text between Pace and me only, I said four words.

  Oakley: I told you so.

  Pace: How about you told me so after dinner. See you in five. Don’t dress up.

  I rolled my eyes.

  I hadn’t dressed up for anything ever.

  And, honestly, I wasn’t even sure that I could wear my jeans yet seeing as I was still pretty skinny due to my weight loss before the surgery.

  I didn’t argue
with him, though. Nor did I reply.

  Instead, I got up off of the couch I’d made myself comfortable on and started into the bedroom.

  The click-click of Jagger’s nails sounded behind me, and I knew that he was hot on my heels.

  He paid quite a bit of attention to me now that I was back home.

  I wasn’t sure if Jagger knew what had happened—or almost happened—to me. But ever since I’d gotten home from the hospital. he’d been extremely watchful.

  I ignored the incessant buzzing in my pocket from the group chat and stripped out of my clothes, throwing them down on the floor.

  Even my panties went, because those were so boring.

  Black and boring.

  I needed to look into a new wardrobe.

  I’d have to make a trip to the mall when I felt good enough.

  Even now, after a twenty-yard walk from the living room into my room, I was tired.

  Even worse, things started to ache all over again.

  Today had been a doctor appointment day. I’d had to walk way farther than I’d wanted to, and I was aching.

  I probably should’ve said no to Pace when he’d said ‘dinner,’ but I didn’t want to. More so, I just wanted to spend some time with him, and I didn’t care if I had to be in pain to do it.

  I studied my post-surgery body.

  I was skinny.

  Nauseatingly so.

  I could see every single one of my ribs, and the only thing that looked like they had some heft to them were my boobs—which hadn’t lost any weight during the kidney failing process.

  My eyes moved down the length of my abdomen and I studied the new scar.

  Without any drains in the way, or gauze pads covering it, the scar looked gnarly.

  It was wicked and curved, starting from my hip bone and arcing up to stop right around my belly button.

  I touched the top of the scar with morbid fascination and winced when it shot pain all the way down my scar, and shooting deeper into my belly.

  Sighing in discomfort, I realized that the sports bra was going to have to stay.

  I didn’t have enough energy to get it off.

  Pace: here. Open up.

  I looked at my naked state in the mirror and quickly reached for a pair of yoga pants. After slipping them on, I grabbed the first t-shirt I saw, which happened to be Pace’s—the one I’d worn home from his house last week—and headed to the door.

  I was slow as molasses and hadn’t even managed to get my t-shirt all the way on when I was pulling open the door.

  “Come in,” I said as I tried to disentangle the t-shirt from my bun.

  Two big hands stilled my backup, and then Pace had my hair uncaught, and my shirt once again settling over my body.

  “Nice shirt,” he teased, his eyes meeting mine.

  I smiled. “You told me to dress comfortably.”

  Pace nodded. “I did.” He paused as he was looking at me oddly. “Can I see your scar?”

  Without a second thought, I lifted up my shirt and showed him the scar, and he winced.

  “That looks bad,” he said.

  “I got the drains out today,” I said.

  “Me, too,” he confirmed. “Should’ve ridden in together. I didn’t even think they’d be doing both of ours on the same day.”

  I was saddened that I hadn’t thought to ask that. That would’ve been a perfect excuse to spend some time with him.

  “What does yours look like?” I asked.

  He lifted up his shirt and showed me, causing me to gasp.

  “That looks awful!”

  And it did.

  Before, I’d thought that the jagged, almost botched scar was due to how puffy and swollen he’d been. Then again, it’d been covered up with a gauze pad taped down over the incision, so I’d just had the shape of that to guide me.

  But holy shit, it looked nothing like my scar.

  “They had to deal with scar tissue,” he said. “Looks worse than it is, I promise.”

  I followed the almost curved, kind of zig-zagged pattern on his belly and bit my lip.

  Oh, boy, he looked really bad.

  “That’s going to be an ugly scar,” I admitted.

  He shrugged as if he truly didn’t care.

  And that was when I realized that he really didn’t. Truly, he did not give one single shit about any scar. Especially not this one.

  “You like your scars,” I found myself saying. “You decorated the scars on your arms because you like them, not because you disliked them.”

  He held out his arms to inspect. In fact, he studied them so long that I honestly thought he wasn’t going to answer me.

  Except, finally he did.

  And what he said was so profound that my heart leaped.

  “That day,” he said. “Your brother, Cherry Bomb, Rico, Nas, and Taps were all sitting in a Humvee doing recon. I was standing outside of the Vee.”

  I nodded. That part I knew.

  “Your brother had brought the package that you sent him, and everybody but me had stayed in the Humvee to look. Your package days were a big deal because they liked that Ford shared all the goodies that you sent.”

  Warmth spread through me at his words. It was more than obvious that Pace had been just as interested in those packages as well.

  “Ford had just literally handed that bunny to me when my foot hit a rock and kicked it across the road. Right where we were headed next. The world exploded, and ultimately, I was injured. One of the guys in our unit died instantly – his name was Cherry Bomb. My legs were mangled because I was standing in front of the open door and my lower half didn’t have the Humvee to protect me from the flying debris.”

  My breath caught in my throat at that news.

  “Wow,” I breathed.

  “Anyway,” he said as he pointed at a scar on his wrist. “Broke my wrist when I was twelve. Had to have emergency surgery on it.”

  I frowned. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I broke my wrist by saving my aunt from a carjacking.”

  I swallowed hard. “Holy shit.”

  “I guess what I’m getting at is that I have these scars so that someone else could live.” He paused. “I’m proud of them.”

  A single tear slipped down my cheek as I stared at the man that was quickly beginning to steal every single piece of my heart. One slow second at a time.

  “Will you go to my mom’s for Mother’s Day with me?” I asked softly. “I really want to go, but I don’t think I can hack the drive all by myself just yet.”

  “When is Mother’s Day?” he questioned.

  “This weekend,” I answered. “Four days away.”

  “When would you want to leave?” he asked.

  “Friday. Ford is going…but I don’t want to ask for a ride, because then he won’t be able to ride his motorcycle. He really hates being in cars now.”

  My lips twitched. “He was trapped in that Humvee for hours. Twisted metal holding you down while your friend dies outside and you’re unable to reach him? That’ll do it to you.”

  I was sad at that.

  I knew there was a reason that my brother had such a sudden and intense aversion to riding in cars, but I didn’t realize that it was because of that.

  Though I probably should have.

  “Can we take my vehicle, though?” he asked. “I’m pretty particular about my shit.”

  I laughed. “Anything that you want. Anything.”

  Chapter 9

  Sound the alarm. I’m up and drinking coffee without snoozing my alarm fifteen times.

  -Text from Oakley to Pace

  Pace

  “Turn right there where it says ‘Notting Hill,’” she said. “The driveway directly behind the sign. It’s not the winery, though. Just my parents’ driveway. People mistake it for the winery all the time, nonetheless.”

  I did as she asked and turned down the driveway
, the first thing I noticed was the almost quarter mile of white concrete that I could see before it disappeared around a bend of trees.

  “Wow,” I said as I pulled along the drive. “That’s a lot of concrete.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “It took them almost a week to pour the entire thing.”

  I could imagine.

  I’d watched them pour the concrete driveway for my house, and it’d taken them a couple of hours. Then again, it was only about thirty feet of driveway. This was…hundreds and hundreds.

  “It’s pretty,” I said as I drove. “I’d love to have something like this one day.”

  Something in the country where I could spread all my shit out. Something that was far off the road and that an intruder would think twice about coming down since it was just so far to walk to.

  “Me, too,” she agreed. “But for now, I’m renting. Also, it’s mostly because I can’t afford to be buying a house right now. Not that I need to or anything.”

  I looked over at her. “Now that you’re no longer sick, are you going to move back home?”

  She thought about it for a short moment, then shook her head. “No. I like it where I’m at.”

  When she didn’t expound, I didn’t push her.

  Secretly I wanted her reason to not want to move home to be me, but I knew it was likely more that her doctor, as well as her brother, were here. I was a fairly new addition to her life, but I would be making sure that I was there as much as I could be. Or as much as she would let me.

  I started to wind my way around the trees that the driveway looked like it disappeared behind, but came to a sudden halt when another car met me halfway.

  Oakley hissed in a breath, then got out of the vehicle before I could stop her.

  Frowning, I was about to get out myself when Oakley pointed for the car to get off the road.

  The car did, pulling off the concrete driveway near a low spot.

  I winced when I heard the car scrape along the concrete before it fell completely off the drive, allowing us to move forward.

  When Oakley returned to the truck and slammed the door, I looked over at her in concern.

  “You know them?” I wondered.

  She shook her head. “No. But since they’re turning around, I assumed that they’re looking for the vineyard and not the Mother’s Day celebration that my mother just had to have. The sign that tells them to turn is right before our driveway, and nine times out of ten they’re going to take the driveway over the road.”