Jase

Jase

Rebel Wayfarers MC
Book #4

MariaLisa deMora

Edited by Hot Tree Editing

Melissa Gill @ MGBookcovers and Designs

Shannon Williams Photography

Copyright © 2015 MariaLisa deMora

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

First Printing 2015

ISBN 13:
978-0-9904473-7-5

DEDICATION

You miss 100% of the shots you never take
. – Wayne Gretzky

For my Rebels: This is the beginning of anything you want.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book feels like the perfect marriage of so many things I love: music, hockey, hot men, justice, and good friends. From the first word written about him in
Mica
, book #1 of the Rebel Wayfarers MC, I believed my favorite comedian/athlete needed his own book. Of course, that was back when Jase was supposed to be book #2. Then Mason would have been book #3, more hockey guys for #4, and finally Daniel’s brothers for book #5. Best laid plans, right?

As these stories began to play out—when I finally put them onto the page as words, strung together into constructs of sentences and paragraphs—I knew I needed to develop the world of the Rebels more before bringing Jase into the mix. It is important that readers be able to understand how attractive the life could be for someone like our much-loved hockey guy. How seductive finding a sometimes elusive sense of belonging would become. So, here we are, book #4, and it is the perfect spot for Jase to tell you his story.

A big thank you goes out to both Elliot Weber, the beautiful man you see on the cover, and Shannon Williams, a super talented photographer. From the instant I saw Elliot rocking out onstage as the front guy for
Letters From The Fire
, a brilliant rock band, I knew he was my Jase. Cutely cocky without being at all obnoxious, he’s hilarious and smart, totally good looking and immensely cool, and Elliot patiently submitted to the questions from this bizarre and weird lady while still happily signing CDs and posters for fans at the merch table. A couple months later, we found a possible slot in his tour schedule and booked with Shannon in Columbus. Elliot gamely came to the studio for the shoot, which was wedged in between load-in and going onstage for their show in town that night. He even busted out pushups to foster the look I wanted. And me? Well, I could not be happier with the outcome. Did you see the cover? Seriously? Close the book and look at it again…go ahead, I’ll wait. Come on! Shannon Williams is a freakin’ genius, and the discerning eye behind the lens for that stunning image.

From the beginning of this series, I’ve found friendships in odd and wonderful places. Musicians, authors, readers, athletes, bouncers, bartenders, bikers, photographers, graphic artists, business people, editors, exotic dancers, military veterans—no matter the walk of life, the most important thing you have in common is your willingness to give of yourselves, and I appreciate every stolen moment you’ve provided, along with your insight and expertise.

Within the professional hockey world, there have been a number of athletes who provided input on the mindset for Jase and the other players in my books. They helped guide my interpretation of pre- and post-game rituals and the process of training, transferring teams, preparing for games, pranking, dealing with nerves, and losing the game. Not just
a
game, but
the
game, which in many cases has defined their lives from childhood to adulthood. Whether that loss comes from injury, age, upward pressure, downward pressure—it matters to them that it be presented in a realistic way, and I truly hope I’ve done that. Thank you to Mike, Pavel, Bobby, Marko, Danny, and Lajii for helping me understand. Any mistakes are my own, because they tried extremely hard to educate me!

Thanks to Doc Matt for helping me understand that pure research is never a substitute to interviewing someone who has the hands-on experience of explaining bad news to professional athletes.

My friends and family, thank you. You have been tolerant and supportive, answering questions and providing feedback in an extremely patient way.

My wonderful critique partners—Hollie, Kristen, Kay, LeeAnn, and Brittney—each of you helped make this story better, and I thank you.

To my favorite guys in the world, the men of the Texas, Indiana and Ohio MC clubs who have encouraged and ridiculed me by equal measures—thank you. Keeps my feet firmly on the ground to be called a stupid bitch at least once a week by someone in the life! For my pet VOL, Ditzy—babe, this is my promise that you and your old man will always be welcome in my home.

The loudest and proudest thank you, as always, is reserved for you, holding this book or reading on your device.
Yeah, you.
Every book you purchase, every post you read, every review or comment you leave, it all matters. Thank you and
enjoy!

~ML

“Is this Mrs. Moser? Mrs. Martin Moser?” The voice on the phone was unfamiliar and the number
unknown
, not in her contacts. Understanding there was always the potential for threat through her husband’s association with a motorcycle club, DeeDee chose her words with care.

“
May I ask who’s calling?” was her response, and she waited
for the caller
to continue speaking.

“This is Officer Hardwick, with the Indiana State Police, badge number nine eight four—”

She interrupted him, realizing something had to be wrong. “Yes, this is DeeDee Moser.”
This
is bad.

“Mrs. Moser, there’s been an accident involving Martin and
Lockee
Moser. Documentation in the vehicle identifies you as the emergency contact. Martin and
Lockee
Moser
are
currently being prepared for transport to Lutheran Hospital. Ma’am, you’re going to want to come down as soon as you can. May I arrange a ride for you? Is there someone I can call for you, to meet you there?” Officer Friendly
—no, his name was Hardwick
—sounded firmly helpful, but hadn’t given her any real information.

“Are they okay? Are my husband and daughter okay?” She held her breath, her stomach rolling as she waited
for
his answer.

“Mrs. Moser, you’re going to need to get to Lutheran as soon as you can. Would you like me to send a car to pick you up, ma’am? Is there anyone I can call for you?” Still calmly helpful, she found his insistence on getting support in place while avoiding the key question particularly alarming.

Trying to match his composed tone, she said, “No, I’ll leave now. I’m about twenty minutes out. Can you tell me what
’s happened
? Please, are they okay?” She shoved her sock feet into her boots then bent
over at the waist
to lace them up, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear.

“Their
vehicle was
involved in a two-car accident on I-69, Mrs.
Moser.
” With his
answer,
s
he stopped moving, frozen in place as she thought,
Can this be for real?
Over the
phone,
she heard a noise grow dramatically in volume then rapidly subside, and realized it was a helicopter. “The medical flight just left the
scene;
they should be at Lutheran hospital within a few minutes.” He was carefully not saying how hurt they were, but to have a LifeFlight pick them up, it had to be bad.

“I’m on my way.” She forced herself into motion again and didn’t give him a chance to say anything else, hanging up the phone to grab her jacket and snap her ‘possibles’ bag with her wallet and identification onto her belt. Picking up her helmet, she slid her phone in her jeans pocket and walked out of the house, straddling her bike and starting it less than three minutes after the phone had first rung.

Pulling into the hospital parking lot, she looked around at the number of motorcycles, shocked.
There are bikes
everywhere
,
she thought, guessing there must be seventy or eighty bikes in the lot. She recognized a few of
them,
and that only increased her nervousness; this did not feel
right
.
The combination of the call, LifeFlight, and seeing so many motorcycles at the hospital brought the sick feeling from earlier back in full force, making her hands shake.

Quickly parking the bike, she carried her helmet into the hospital with her, following the arrows and signs towards the emergency room. Rounding a corner, she entered a long corridor and halted abruptly, recognizing the man standing at the far end. All of a sudden, there was no air in
the space
surrounding her; her lungs could find zero oxygen…there was absolutely nothing to breathe. The man was joined by others, and as a
group,
they moved quickly towards her. Dimly, she heard a
clatter,
and she glanced down to see her helmet roll to one side, bumping into the wall as it tottered to a stop. Her knees unhinged and she was falling to the floor, when several sets of strong arms wrapped around her, lifting and supporting her.

***

Hoss stepped up beside Bingo just as DeeDee rounded a corner at the other end of the hallway, and he saw her come to a staggering halt, looking up at them with wide, frightened eyes.
As Hoss, Bingo, and a dozen other brothers walked towards her, the helmet in her hands dropped to the floor, and she looked down to see it roll across the linoleum, coming to rest against one wall.

He picked up his pace as he saw the color leave her face in a wave. Watching her sway in place, he moved even faster, hearing the shuffling of leather soles behind him receding as he outpaced his brothers. Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around DeeDee tenderly, holding her upright just as Bingo and Gypsy did the same.

He pulled her out of their arms, pressing her into his chest, cupping the back of her head in one large hand. Feeling her go slack, he knew she couldn’t hear him, but he still whispered, “I got you,
pretty
lady. I got you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said into the phone, “I’ll be there, one o’clock. Count me in.” Jason Spencer threw the phone onto the couch beside him, retrieving the game controller. He glanced at the clock on the front of the DVR, checking the time. It was only ten; he had a couple hours before he had to get ready to go. Settling his headset back into place, he yelled into the microphone, “Invite me back to the game. I’m back. No longer AFK, so
it’s time to
kick some ass! Woohoooo!”

His phone rang again, and he looked at the clock, realizing he had gotten lost in the video game. It was now several hours past when he was supposed to have been at the gym.
Scowling, he threw his head back and shouted, “
Fuck
,” as he tore off the headset. Throwing the controller onto the couch, he reached over to punch the off button on the game console and picked up the phone.

“Jase,” he heard when he answered. “Where the hell were you?
Today’s
workout was not optional. What are you up to, man? What excuse is it this time?” The words
weren’t shouted,
but said in a much more ominous, even tone, and he closed his eyes.

“Daniel…Cap’n,” he groaned, running a tense hand through his dark hair. “I fucked up. I lost track of time. I’m sorry.”