Dream & Dare (25 page)

Fucking hell.

The chickens scattered when he and Tuck arrived, but they didn’t go far. Tucker squatted and put his hand on a furry black haunch, shaking gently. The body moved stiffly.

“Wake up, Sly?” It was a question instead of an instruction, and Hoosier wondered if maybe the sensitive four-year-old sensed the truth.

Hoosier made his way to his knees and checked for himself. Sly’s body was cold and stiff. Jesus. This old guy meant the world to Faith and Demon. And to the little guy squatting at his side right now.

“Aw, Tuck. Buddy, Sly’s not…not…gonna wake up.”

He turned worried blue eyes up. “Why not? Is he sleepin’ like you did? You woke up, Gramps.”

“Yeah…I did. Sly’s…different.” Damn, it was hard to find the words. “He went to…kitty heaven.”

He knew Tucker’s parents weren’t religious and weren’t teaching their kids about God, but Hoosier didn’t know what else to say. He himself had been raised Catholic, and though it had been many long years since he’d knelt in prayer, he still believed, he guessed. But this wasn’t about any kind of religious belief. He was just trying, in his broken, halting way, to tell a little boy a story that wouldn’t seem so sad.

“But he’s right here.” Tucker stroked the black fur.

Fuck. Even if his words had worked perfectly, he still wouldn’t have known how to do this. They’d never gotten Connor a pet. First, he’d been too much of a handful on his own, and then they’d all been too busy for a dog. And Hoosier was allergic to cats—he was taking shots to be able to stay here now.

Vulture had been the first death he’d ever had to talk to Connor about.

Faith would have to do the talking, because he just didn’t have the words. Needing to get up off his knees, he used his cane to lever himself back to his feet. “You’re right… …I…don’t…have words to… …explain. Mommy will. Come.” He held out his hand, and Tucker regarded it for a moment, and then turned back to the cat.

“He’s cold. He needs a blanket.” Standing, he ran off, and Hoosier stood and watched as he climbed onto the picnic table so he could reach to pull a dish towel off the clothesline. He brought it back and covered Sly with a towel patterned with daisies, and he tucked it all around his body, leaving his head uncovered.

Then he came and took Hoosier’s hand. As they walked back to the house, he asked, “Gramps, did Sly die?”

Hoosier stopped walking and looked down at the boy. “Yeah…Tuck. He did. He lived…a long time.”

“As long as you?”

“He was…an old man…like me.”

“What happens in kitty heaven? Are there kittens? Sly likes kittens.”

“In heaven…you get what makes you…happy.”

“Kittens make Sly happy. And baby chicks and baby goats, too.” He started walking again, now leading Hoosier toward the house. “Why he is under the bush, if he went to kitty heaven?”

Jesus. This conversation was exhausting, and heartbreaking, and terrifying. Hoosier could think of dozens of ways he could screw this up, and he was also thinking about how Faith would take this news. “He…got a new…body. A young one that doesn’t…hurt.”

“With good eyes? Pa said his eyes didn’t work much anymore. Do they work now?”

“They do.”

“Can he see us?”

“I…think so.” He opened the door and let Tucker go in first. Faith stood in the kitchen, her hair wet and twisted into a braid over her shoulder. Virgil was drinking from his water bowl; he came up and gave Tucker a drippy kiss and then wandered back toward the bedrooms, keeping guard over the sleeping toddler.

Faith smiled as Hoosier closed the door. “Hey, guys. You went outside, huh? Taking a walk?” She gave Hoosier a curious, pleased look.

“No,” Tucker said, climbing onto his chair at the table and pulling over the paper and crayons he’d been using earlier. “Sly went to kitty heaven and got a new body. I covered his old body up with a blanket because he’s cold. Gramps said he can see me with good eyes, so I’m gonna make him a picture.”

Faith stared dumbly at her son for a moment and then turned back to Hoosier, her eyes wide with shock and incipient sorrow. “Sly?”

He crossed the room and took her hand. “I’m…sorry, baby girl.”

“Sly?”

Tucker looked up, and a crease of concern tightened his little brow. “It’s okay, Mommy. Gramps said he’s happy and has lots of kittens in heaven.”

Hoosier’s heart hurt watching Faith struggle to be strong for her boy. She blinked and swallowed hard, and then she worked a smile back onto her face. “That’s right, honey. You color with Gramps, okay? I’m gonna go say goodbye.”

“You don’t have to go. He can see you here.”

“I know, Tuck. But…” She faltered, and Hoosier squeezed her hand.

“Let Mommy say…goodbye…her way. Like you did.”

Tuck thought about that a moment and then nodded. “You can put a blanket on him, too.”

“I’ll do that,” she said, too brightly.

Before he let her go, Hoosier pulled her close. “Call…Demon. Don’t…do it on your own.”

“Michael’s on a run, Hooj. Won’t be home until tomorrow.”

Fuck, he’d forgotten. He was still so far out of the loop with club business he might as well have given up his kutte. They tried to keep him involved, but his short-term memory hadn’t yet rebounded enough for him to keep everything that was going on straight.

He’d been out of the Center for a couple of weeks, and he was still making good progress. He was walking well, using the cane only when he first got up in the morning, or when he was outside. His lungs were stronger, and though he needed oxygen while he slept, he didn’t need it during the day, at least not while he was around the house. He was starting to read, and picking up the words quickly. His speech still sucked, but apparently that was better, too. Even his short-term memory was sharpening.

Just not fast enough. None of it was fast enough. “Let me…take care of it.”

This time her sad smile was sincere. “No, Hooj. I want to do it. But thank you. It seems like you said all the right things to help him.” She nodded toward Tucker, whose concentration was now fully on his art. “And that’s pretty wonderful.”

He kissed her cheek. “Okay. I’m here.”

“I know. Thank you. Where is he?”

“Creosote bush. Chicken…coop.” The word ‘creosote’ had sprung to his lips without effort. ‘Coop,’ on the other hand, he’d had to search for. What a pain in the ass.

She nodded and went out the back, and Hoosier walked to the window and watched her. When she got to the body of her cat, she dropped to her knees. He saw her back shaking, and he looked away.

That goddamn old ornery cuss of a cat
was
Faith and Demon. He was some kind of symbol, practically a talisman, for them both. Hoosier didn’t know all of the story, but he knew that Sly had been Demon’s first gift to Faith—back in the time when they’d all been blind to what had been going on between two stupid kids getting in way over their heads.

And oh, the mess they’d all made.

~oOo~

“There more there than you can handle here?”

Doc Dandridge shook his head as he finished a row of stitches along Demon’s hairline. “No question a hospital would be better, and it’s too early to know for sure. But there’s nothing broken that could be set in a cast. Keep a close eye on him. Big bleeds I’d know about by now. But if there’s any kind of small bleed in his brain or lungs, it could be trouble. I can’t know that just by looking.”

He dropped a suturing needle in a plastic bowl and looked up at Nancy, the sweetbutt at his side. “Thanks, sweetheart. We’re done now. Take all this and go on and wash up.” He pulled off latex gloves and dropped them onto the dresser.

Nancy gathered up the bloody supplies and leavings from the dresser and left the room. The doctor stood and crossed his arms, looking down over his unconscious patient. Demon had woken a few times while he’d been patched up, but pain had driven him back under. Now, he was well medicated.

Hoosier loved that broken boy. Loved him like a son. How the fuck had he let all this go on under his nose and let two kids he loved get so fucked up?

Demon had started hanging around the club when he was around eighteen, nineteen years old. Something about him had caught Hoosier’s notice right away. He was hyperaware of his surroundings and skittish at first, and he’d seemed innocent in a way not often seen around an MC. Innocent and weary. It was a strange combination.

He’d been hanging around regularly for a couple of months when Bibi, in her inimitable way, sussed out that he was homeless. And just like that, they’d had another kid living in their house. Connor had moved into the clubhouse when he’d started prospecting, and Hoosier guessed his old lady had been lonely in her empty nest—which was hardly ever empty, in fact. There were always patches and club girls and kids popping up at his table. Muse’s little sister was a regular guest, too. His house was like some kind of hostel half the time.

With Demon living with them, they’d learned that the kid was seriously fucked up. He didn’t talk about it—ever—but he didn’t have to. He was a sweet, quiet kid, but his temper was short and explosive, and he carried a heavy load of shame. He wore it over his shoulders like a hair shirt.

None of it made either Hoosier or Bibi love him any less. Quite the contrary.

Doc Dandridge turned to Hoosier and Fat Jack. “Keep an eye on him around the clock for at least twenty-four hours. Let him sleep as much as he can, but check his eyes every hour or so. I don’t want to see a blown pupil. And make sure he doesn’t choke on blood or anything else. He’s a mess, Hoosier. I’m not gonna ask why, but the kid’s a mess.”

“He’s gonna be okay, though.” Hoosier stared until the doctor eyes came around to him.

“Yeah. He’s young and strong. He’ll be pissing blood for a couple of days, and those ribs are gonna cause him trouble for weeks. But if he clears tomorrow without trouble, then he’ll heal fine.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Fat Jack cut in. “Why don’t you belly up to the bar awhile. Maybe pick out a girl.” Hoosier’s VP hooked a heavy arm around the doctor and lead him to the door.

When Dandridge was headed out toward the main room, Jack turned and closed the door again. “I’ll sit with him first. Poor stupid shithead.”

Hoosier sighed. “Damn, I don’t know how I missed this.”

“Are you shittin’ me, Hooj? I told you this was a problem. More’n once I said to look out for these two. They been making eyes at each other since Deme signed on to prospect. And I will tell you somethin’ else—this dumb bastard didn’t stand a chance. Faith put herself in his way every chance she got.”

“I didn’t think he’d face off with Blue over her. And put the club on the line. Deme needs a home. I never known anybody to need one more. I didn’t think he’d be so fuckin’ stupid to throw it out the window over a girl. I never thought he’d risk his kutte over a girl. Even one like Faith.”

Jack laughed. “
You
did. You gave up your kutte over your woman once.”

“That was different, and you damn well know it. And I wasn’t a twenty-two-year-old kid. I knew what I was doin’.”

“You’re right. But to a twenty-two-year-old kid, I don’t think it’s different at all.”

“Guess not. Christ on a crutch, this is a mess.”

“It was. Now it’s done. Now we move forward. You call Zed?”

Zed was the president of the Nomad charter. LA had voted Demon out, but hadn’t excommunicated him. Hoosier had made arrangements to send him to the Nomads. “Yeah. Worked it out so Muse’ll take him in hand.” He sighed again. “You got him?”