Cease (Bayonet Scars Book 7) (14 page)

"Happy birthday, son."

"No shit?" Ryan's curse earns a slap on the back of his head from Ruby. I have to fight off a laugh.

"No shit," I say and give Ryan and Ian a push toward the playground. "Go. Have fun!"

They don't wait for further instruction. The three boys dart off toward the playground. Ian goes for the slide while Ryan heads to the monkey bars. Josh, as predicted, slides up beside my mom and starts sniffing the air while eyeing the food. The kid won't stop growing, so it's no wonder he's hungry all the time.

"You did this," Ruby whispers. She moves to stand in front of me and stands on her tiptoes to place a kiss on my cheek. It's not exactly the kind of kiss I prefer, but I'll take it.

"Little boys deserve big parties."

She nods her head and blinks away the tears that are threatening to fall. In an attempt to stop that shit before it gets out of hand, I pull her against me and walk us to the playground. She's reluctant at first, her eyes still wet, but eventually catches on and pulls it together.

We're barely at the decorated trees before Sheryl meets us with baby Jeremy in her arms. She grins at my woman and bounces on her feet. "Surprise!"

"You knew?" Ruby asks in shock.

Sheryl laughs a little too loud and scares the baby, but she bounces him in her arms to calm him down.

"Of course I knew," Sheryl says. "We
all
knew."

One look at Ruby and her eyes are watering again. Oh for fuck's sake. I gesture to Sheryl to hand the baby over, and when she does, I peer down at the kid and smile. His eye color isn't fully developed yet, but they're already a striking blue.

"Babe," I say and hand him to Ruby, "You want something to cry over. Hold this little asshole."

"God, he gets cuter every time I see him," she says.

As Sheryl and Ruby lose themselves in small talk about the baby that turns into shit talk about Layla using while pregnant, I silently make a break for it. Another minute talking about Layla and the women will be demanding I do something about it, and since I don't know what the fuck to do, or if there's anything I can do, I opt out of the situation entirely. Today's been a good day. I don't want to ruin it by thinking about things I can't change.

So instead of worrying about all the fucking bad that looms over us, I go meet my sons on the playground and see if I can fit my ass down that slide Ian's obsessed with.

CHAPTER 13

Ruby

Jim's standing across the main room in the clubhouse. Maybe thirty feet at most, but it's too far. I just want him closer. After waking up today, convinced the entire day was going to suck, only for him to turn it around for me . . . I need him here. Like now.

"Seems my boy can do more than just fuck things up," Sylvia says from beside me. She purses her lips and then takes a long draw from her bottle of beer. My eyes linger on her pale features and thinning hairline for too long. She shrinks back from me and focuses on the wall behind the bar.

"I can't believe he did all that," I say. It's the truth. Even Mike didn't do shit like that for my boy. Sure, he'd bring him by a toy the week of his birthday, but beyond that, it was like the kid didn't exist. I'd just kind of accepted the fact that Ian's birthday would always be a kind of solemn day. We've always celebrated it, just the two of us, with a private little party at home. One year he got cookies, the next he got cupcakes. One year he got a single cupcake--it was all I could afford at the time--but he acted like that lone cupcake was made of gold with the way he thanked me for it. And that's not normal or right. Kids should take cupcakes for granted.

"Of course he did," Sylvia says. "Ian's his boy, too."

My eyes fall closed at her words. Ian isn't really Jim's. As much as I appreciate the club wanting him to feel like he's part of the family, I can't let this continue. Ian is
my
son. I carried him in my body and safely delivered him in a hospital in Tampa. I fought to get him to latch on, and I'm the one who diapered him. I taught him to read and write. I've fed and clothed him since the day he was born. I put that boy through hell and then pulled him back out of it. That's on me. I've been the only parent, only fucking constant in this kid's life since even before he was born. It might take a village to raise a kid, but history's shown me that people leave. My heart is going to break when Jim decides we're too much trouble, and that's fine, but I won't let my boy feel like he's lost one more thing. So no, fuck that. Ian is
mine
.

"I know that look," Sylvia says. Her tone is of defeat rather than irritation. I hear a lot of that from her these days. She always sounds so tired and fed up, not even frustrated, just doing her best to keep on living.

"My boy finally has something stable. I don't want to take that from him by letting Jim play daddy. When this ends, it's only going to hurt Ian."

"And if it ends, you won't be hurt?"

"That's not what I meant," I say.

"No, I don't suppose it is," she says. Finally, she turns in her seat to face me. I do the same and when I meet her eyes, I find an exhaustion there that surprises me. I see the woman almost every day. She's become a surrogate mother to me, treats Ian like he's her own. Sylvia Stone is family, and if we ever have to leave, it's going to break both our hearts.

"And what if it doesn't end?"

"That's the fairy tale, right? Nobody goes into anything wanting it to end, but shit happens. Jim thinks he can handle my baggage now, but it will get too much for him."

"The Mancuso thing?" She's smiling all coy and knowing, as if she didn't just drop a huge bomb on me. For the first time in months, she looks healthy. A confusing mix of gratitude and fear overtakes me. It's overwhelming.

"Didn't know you knew about that."

"They might not get along that well, but Jim is his father's son. His loyalty to Forsaken is unwavering."

"He told them," I whisper. There's a brief panic that spikes before it settles. I just sit there, soaking it in. The club knows. Jim fucking told his brothers about my history. It's no small detail for anyone to drop on the club, much less the VP.

"I don't know what to say."

"You want my opinion?"

"Not really," I admit.

Sylvia shakes her head in response, her smile growing with every passing moment. Her lips part and a laugh escapes. She's a good woman, and I think I forget how much I rely on her to keep me sane. I haven't had a mother in years, much less a good mother. I can't imagine living without her now that I have her.

"I think you need to trust in a man who puts his cut on the line for you."

"But I don't want him to put his cut on the line for me. That's not right."

"Sweetheart, it's the most right thing he's ever done," she says.

I give her a resigned smile and push away from the bar. Sylvia and I can talk more later, if we must. For now, there's something I need to do. And he's standing across the room with a beer in his hand and a large, totally chill smile on his face.

And I love him.

Holy hell, do I love him.

I don't even care if this turns around to bite me in the ass later. Right now, I just need him. I need to touch him and be held by him. The sun has already set, and the boys are passed out in the chapel, surrounded by a pile of empty Pixy Stix wrappers. I don't need to play mommy for the time being. Right now, I'm just Ruby. I'm a woman who's in love with a man and desperately needs to be with him.

Jim's focus is on a conversation he's having with Grady. They're talking business, so I don't interrupt. Instead, I just slide up beside my man and cozy into his side when he wraps an arm around my shoulders. The guys don't talk business out in the open if they want to keep it from us, but it's still not our place to chime in, so I don't. The conversation lasts a few more minutes, with Grady bringing up what I think are some solid points about switching up transport routes. Jim agrees on principle but is hesitant for the club to take any action now. It's a whole lot of mumbo jumbo that I try not to understand. The less I know about the details of their business, the happier I am. When Layla starts calling for Grady, the guys wrap it up and end with Jim agreeing to bring up Grady's ideas to Rage.

"What do you think?"

"He's a good guy," I say, figuring that's what Jim means. It's an odd question, but my head is buzzing with anticipation, and I'm not thinking clearly.

"Fuck that prick," Jim says with a grumble as he pulls me closer. "I meant about his ideas."

"I'm sure you'll take them to Rage and the two of you will weigh your options."

Diplomacy has never been my strong suit, but the longer I'm around Sylvia the better I'm getting. Jim asks what I think of the club's potential for changing up their transport options, and I know damn well that he's not asking me to give him my opinion. Those kinds of questions are for old ladies and not possible girlfriends, buddies, whatever the hell we are.

Jim gives me a hard look I don't expect. It's almost a warning, but for what I don't know. Bringing the beer bottle to his lips, he tilts his head back and takes a long pull, finishing it off, then leaves the bottle on a nearby table. Without another word, Jim removes his arm from around my shoulders, and before I can object to the loss of contact, he grabs my hand in his and pulls me to him.

"I asked for your opinion." His voice is stern but not angry.

"And I don't want to give it," I say. His eyes narrow incrementally in response, but I don't let it deter me. He might think he wants my opinion on club business, but I'm certain he'd much rather wait in favor of what I have in mind.

Stepping up on my tiptoes, I pull Jim closer to me and breathe him in. He smells of soap and cigarettes, a perfect combination. My lips press against his stubbled chin, and I soak in the lingering taste of chocolate and strawberries from Ian's cake. I didn't realize until today exactly how much Jim loves his sweets. It's the little things like this that remind me of who he is. Flawed, yes, but he's also a good man. A good man who tries his best even when his best isn't quite good enough. A man who throws a birthday party for a little boy he doesn't have to care for but does anyway. This is the man I've fallen in love with.

"What'cha doing, Momma?"

"Showing my appreciation." The words are whispered against his rough jawline. He stills a moment before moving in, and then his lips are on mine. I breathe him in, reveling in having him this close to me, touching me, kissing me. I suck in his bottom lip and relish in the moan he gives me. My arms are around his neck, legs around his waist, and I'm hanging on for dear life. We're a tangled mess of limbs and sounds that are better suited for a private space.

When Jim pulls away, he's breathing heavily, barely able to form the words as he says, "Fuck."

Before I know it, we're on the move toward the hallway. I bounce in his arms, holding so tight that I hope I leave a mark so that everybody knows who Jim was with tonight. I might not have him forever, but I can leave a lasting impression.

There are hoots and hollers from the people around us as Jim carries me down the hallway to his room. The closer we get to being alone, the more my hands shake. My belly does flips, and my entire body is buzzing with excitement. I want this. I want it so bad that I can practically taste my own desperation. When he kicks the door open, I practically jump. I want nothing more than to be with Jim, but I can't control my nerves.

"Don't," he says, setting me down on my feet and stepping away. He stands in the doorway, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He leans in, placing his hands on either side of the door frame, and practically snarls at me. I blink.

"Don't think you have to do this because of today," he says. I open my mouth to respond, but he doesn't let me. "Just don't."

"Why did you do that? Today? Why did you do that?" My voice is firm, demanding even. I just can't let something that started so good end so badly before it even begins.

"You're seriously asking me that fucking question?" Jim's jaw ticks as he spits the words out at me. He pushes off the door frame, leans down, and breathes heavily in my face. It's always like this with us--hot tempers, angry words, and unspoken confessions. But not tonight.

"Tell me why."

"I fuck up a lot, okay? I fuck up and do shit I can't make right. But this? I figured I could at least give Ian a fucking party."

"But why did you want to?" Gently, I place my hands on his chest and slide them underneath his cut. He huffs as I slide his cut off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Isn't it obvious?" he says. His hands toy at the hem of my shirt. With his eyes boring into mine, he stills. I nod, giving him the okay, and before I know it, my shirt is being pulled over my head.

We move quickly now, not waiting or thinking about what we're doing. He only stops long enough to kick the door shut behind us and make sure it's locked. I have my fingers pulling at the button of my jeans, but he stops me and finishes the job himself. His hands slip between the fabric of my pants and my skin, parting the two and sliding the jeans down over my hips. He sinks to his knees as he goes, never taking his eyes off mine.