Unbeloved (14 page)

A long pause followed
, and then she stammered, “I should get dressed.”

“
No!” he yelled, growing increasingly frustrated with her and the fact that he couldn’t get off the damn bed to go get her himself. “Get the fuck over here!”

It was slow going, but eventually she
put one foot in front of the other. He waited with his arm outstretched as she moved toward him at a snail’s pace, trying to maintain patience when he felt anything but.

She paused at the edge
of the bed, her face still flushed and red from crying as she gripped the towel to her chest. Her gaze skittered up and down his body, then across the bed and even farther, toward the window as she looked anywhere but directly at him.

Realizing what was happening, that Dorothy was being her own worst enemy, he
released a heavy sigh and let his arm drop to the mattress.

“
Woman,” he said softly. “Stop fuckin’ thinkin’ so damn much.”

Her gaze lifted, meeting his, and they stared at
each other, her green eyes filling with tears, his body itching with the need to bring her close to feel her against him.

And also with the need to pee. Christ, he had to piss. Great fucking timing too.
He’d waited twenty years for her to admit she had feelings for him, and for almost eight just for the chance to touch her again, and he wasn’t going to let an untimely bodily function fuck this all up.

“
I thought I was going to lose you,” she whispered tearfully. “I thought I’d never get another chance.”

“
Thought you woulda figured this shit out by now,” he said. “That as long as I’m breathin’, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“
I know that you were there . . . for Christopher,” she said, her voice small, unsure.

“
For both of you,” he corrected her, dropping his gaze to the necklace. “I’ve always been there for both of you.”

With one
hand still clutching her towel, she reached up with the other and again clutched the tiny pendant that hung from her neck.

Remembering Christopher
’s attempts at trying to convince him that what she really wanted for Christmas was a new video game console, Hawk almost smiled. Almost. But knowing Dorothy, she would misconstrue his smile for something else entirely.

“
I screwed up,” she said, shaking her head. “I was scared and I made the wrong choice. I’ll never forget the way you looked at me that night . . . like I’d betrayed you.”

“
I screwed up,” he snapped, growing angry in the face of her infamous self-loathing, the one thing about her that he didn’t miss. “Me, Dorothy, get that through your thick head. I took somethin’ that wasn’t mine to take and expected . . . aw, fuck!”

H
e clenched his fists and his breathing grew heavy. “I don’t know what I expected,” he gritted out. “But none of that shit matters anymore. You said you loved me, you know I love you, so I’m not seein’ what the problem is and why you’re not gettin’ your ass over here so I can fuckin’ touch you.”

More tears,
goddamn her never-ending tears
, filled her eyes and overflowed.

“
You still love me?” she whispered.

Jesus Christ, this woman, this silly fucking
woman . . .

“
Dorothy,” he said. “Yeah, I fuckin’ love you. Didn’t think I needed to say it. Figured you already knew.”

Once again she averted her eyes
, and he knew she was doing what she did best. The wheels were spinning, she was overthinking every fucking thing, talking herself out of anything that could potentially serve to make her happy.

“
It’s been so long,” she said with a shaky sigh. “We don’t even really know each other anymore.”

He wanted to laugh at her, maybe smack her a few times, or grab her by her foot and hang her upside down and shake all that fucking self-doubt straight out of her.
Instead, he schooled his expression, maintaining the facade of calm that Dorothy had always needed from him when she was emotionally flailing.

“
What’s there to know,” he said with a carefree shrug that caused every inch of the ravaged skin and injured muscle in his arms and chest to flare with pain. “My name is James Alexander Young. I was born and raised in New York. I was—”

He stopped talking the moment she started smiling.

“But that’s not who you are,” she said softly. “Not really.”

“
Come here,” he said, crooking his finger and for once, surprising the shit out of him, she actually listened. Leaning down, using her hand to steady herself, she bent over the side of the bed. Still she was too far away, forcing him lean to the side, which caused him ungodly amounts of pain. And yet he persisted, keeping his struggle silent as he strained his body in her direction. When their heads nearly touched, he reached up and slid his hand over the smooth skin of her cheek and into her hair.

“
Luca Polachev died a long fuckin’ time ago,” he said. “I am James Young, a member of the Hell’s Horsemen, one of Deuce’s boys, and the proud father of Christopher Kelley. That is who I am now, and those are the only parts that matter.”

Pressing her cheek into his hand, she gave him one of her sweet smiles,
the same smile that had drawn her to him in the first place. It had made him want to take all that innocence, that inherent goodness that was Dorothy, and make it his own.

“
You need a bath,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose.

“
Yeah,” he whispered back. He needed a bath, a haircut, and a shave, as well as a couple dozen rounds with a toothbrush. He could probably use a new leg while he was at it, but most of all he needed to take a fucking piss.

But before any of that would happen
, before she could say another goddamn word, he leaned as far as he possibly could without screaming out in pain, and laid waste to the remaining inch between them.

“
You know what I always regretted?” he whispered. “Never puttin’ you on the back of my bike. Just me and you, out in the sun. No more fuckin’ hidin’.”

Dorothy had just enough time to suck in a small, surprised breath.

Then Hawk, despite feeling like anything he said or did could potentially break the tenuous connection between them, decided,
Fuck it
, and kissed her. Because when it came to Dorothy, he figured he didn’t have anything left to lose.

F
or the first time in almost eight long years, he kissed his woman.

She was shaking, her lips quivering, but she didn
’t turn away or try to stop him. And he didn’t waste any time, he wasn’t going to waste any more time, not in a world where there were no guarantees.

They both fumbled a little at first, unused to
each other. Then something clicked between them, and their eagerness for each other began to supersede any awkwardness. Her body instantly softened and she leaned forward, into his body and melting against him. One hand found his chest, her other reaching up into his hair, running through it before cupping the back of his neck.

And then, a
s if no time had passed, as if nothing had ever come between them, as if no tragedies had pushed them apart, she kissed him with fervor, touching him with sure hands, and he gripped her tightly, her mouth and body feeling again as natural to him as they once had.

• • •

Gently, I pulled a blanket up over Hawk’s torso, tucking it under his chin. He stirred in his sleep, mumbled something incoherent, and then was quickly snoring again. Looking him over, I grimaced. He had a lot of healing left to do. He couldn’t go more than an hour or two without needing more pain medication, and he was still unable to use the bathroom on his own.

B
ut he was home, he was safe, and he was mine.

Mine.

And this time I was determined not to screw it up.

Jase didn’t have a fucking clue how he’d ended up here.

Actually, that wasn
’t exactly true. He knew exactly
how
he’d ended up here, he just wasn’t too clear on the
why
of it.

Or how much time had passed since he
’d left the clubhouse, or even what day it was, for that matter.

Just that he was here
in Wyoming, in his hometown, parked in front of his childhood home, trying to recall the last time he’d been here. Then it dawned on him… He hadn’t been back home since Chrissy had gone to trial, and he’d been too much of a mess to take care of the girls. After that they’d bounced between Chrissy’s parents and his own for a while, until eventually he got his shit together, at least for the most part.

But by then it was too late, and he
’d failed them all.

Ashamed of himself, of the gossip that the shooting had brought down upon his parents
in their own town, and not wanting to make it worse for them, he hadn’t been home since.

A
nd now for some reason he was home, and completely at a loss for what to do next.

Did he go to the door?
Announce himself? Yeah, that would go over really well.

Hi, Mom and Dad, how was your Christmas? Bet you’re glad to see the son who disappointed the fuck out of you, and ruined your grandchildren’s lives. Hope you don’t mind the stench of vomit and booze all over me.

Or did he drive away? Go back to Montana and leave well enough alone?

Go back to what exactly? The club that pitied him? The woman who had officially said her good
-byes?

And
goddamn, did that still hurt like a bitch.

Whatever. He needed a drink,
a little something to clear his head, and then he’d sort out what the fuck he was going to do. Leaning down, he reached for the bottle of liquor that had fallen off the passenger seat and onto the floor, when a knock on the driver’s side window brought him flying back into an upright position.

Shit
.

Walter Brady had aged about as well as everyone had
expected. A cowboy through and through, his heavily muscled stature could be attributed to the prolific rodeo rider he once was, but the rotund belly he’d developed over the years was the result of blue-collar factory work after retiring from the rodeo, and his wife’s excellent cooking. The thinning gray hair on his head, the many lines on his face, and his drooping features gave the impression he hadn’t had an easy life, but anyone who knew him would know that while it might have been a struggle at times, it had been a fulfilling one. In his early twenties, at the peak of his career, Walter had married Doreen Davies—a young buckle bunny, a rodeo groupie who’d been smitten with him—and not because of an unplanned pregnancy, but because he’d loved her. After a back injury that ended his rodeo career, together they’d worked hard to make a new life for themselves, and a home they could be proud of.

They
’d filled that home with three sons and two daughters, the scent of home-cooked meals, and the sound of laughter. And for the most part, their children had made them proud—they had all eked out an honest living, were all married and filling nearby homes with children of their own.

All
but one. Him. Smack dab in the middle of the brood, Jase had failed his parents’ every expectation, and then made up a few of his own just so he could cross a couple more failures off his epic list.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled
down the window. “Dad,” he said, nodding at the man.

His father
’s frown stayed in place as he looked him over. “You make a habit of parking on people’s lawns?”

Surprised,
Jase glanced out the windshield, then to the passenger side window, noticing for the first time that he had in fact missed the driveway entirely. Thankfully, in his hometown, your closest neighbor was at least a couple of miles down the road, and no one but his parents had seen him making a fool of himself. Not that anyone would be surprised by it.

Feeling like teenager caught with his pants down, he sheepishly turned back to face his father.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I, uh, I’m sorry. The snow kinda hid it. I didn’t . . . uh—”

“
Scoot on over,” Walter said, interrupting him. “Don’t need you making a worse job of this.”

“
Maybe I should go,” he mumbled.

“
Go where,” Walter demanded. “You’re drunker then a damn skunk. You ain’t going anywhere until you get some food in you and sleep it off.”

“
I don’t want to upset Mama,” he whispered, once again feeling like an errant child.

“
Too damn late for that. Who ya think woke me up to come bring you on in?” Reaching through the open window, his father popped the lock, then wrenched the door open and climbed inside, forcing Jase to either move over or get sat upon.

“
Jesus, Jason, something die in here?” His father, his facial expression pinched with disgust, glanced around the cab of the truck, coming to a stop on Jase’s lap and the vomit covering his pants.

Jase
momentarily thought of covering the stain before his father could see, but what the fuck for? The damage was already done. Not only had he parked on his parents’ front lawn, but his dad had his number. The old man always had. Walter Brady was infamous for calling people out on their bullshit and rubbing it in their faces.

And since
Jase knew that better than most, again . . . why the fuck was he here?

Cursing
and shaking his head, his father put the truck in gear and began to back up into the street. Once the truck was parked in the driveway, tucked neatly behind his mother’s four-door sedan and beside his father’s truck, he glanced over at his father, unsure of what to do next.

“
Best git on inside the damn house before that food she’s cooking you gets cold.” His father gestured impatiently toward the house before pocketing the keys and exiting the truck. When Jase still had yet to do so, wondering again if coming here had been a mistake, his father began banging needlessly on the passenger side window.

“
Don’t make me tell you twice, son!”

With a heavy sigh,
Jase pushed open the door. Vertigo hit him hard as he tried to step down, and he would have fallen on his ass had his father not caught him around the waist and dragged him back upright. Embarrassed, he cursed and spun out of his father’s grip, sending his fist into the door of the truck. The metal dented under the impact, and too late he realized that this wasn’t his truck, but Cage’s.

“
Fuck,” he shouted, clutching his throbbing fist.

“
Hey now!” Grabbing his arms, his father yanked him backward, quickly tucking him into his side before he could stumble again. Keeping one arm looped around Jase’s waist, he started them for the door.

“
It could be worse, son,” Walter muttered as he guided him up the porch steps. “You just remember that, it could always be worse.”

“
It couldn’t,” Jase slurred, suddenly feeling a whole lot drunker than he had only moments ago. “I fucked it all up, everything, everyone. I made a holy fuckin’ mess.”

“
Don’t be blasphemous in front of your mama, now.”

The door opened just as they reached it and standing behind the screen was
Jase’s mother. Unlike Walter, Doreen had aged gracefully. Her long gray and white hair was still thick with curls, her delicate features remained intact despite the many wrinkles that had taken up residence over the years. And her eyes, his favorite feature on her kind face, were still as big and as blue as ever.

“
The prodigal son returns,” Walter announced flatly.

Her expression was a mixture of happiness and sadness, her eyes filling even as she tried to smile.
“Jason,” she said tearfully, pushing open the screen door and holding out her arms.

“
He’s covered in his own mess,” Walter grumbled.

“
I don’t care,” she snapped. “He’s my son.”

His father had to help him up the remaining step, and then he was in the house, the sm
ells of home enveloping him as his mother’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

Jase
couldn’t help it, he broke down, because apparently that was what he did now, he cried. All the damn time.

“
Shhh,” she said, hushing him while rubbing his back. “There ain’t nothing wrong that we can’t fix, you hear me? Nothing wrong that we can’t fix.”

He didn
’t believe her, but he didn’t mind the comfort either.

Guiding him to the bench in the hall
, she helped him sit before sinking to her knees and starting on his boots.

“
No, Mama,” he said, bending down only to get swatted away.

“
Gimme that vest of yours,” Walter said, already pulling it from his shoulders. “Coat too.”

About to hang
both up on the coat rack, his father turned back to him, his brow raised. “Deuce know you’re here?”

Jase
shook his head. In fact, no one knew because he had no idea where his cell phone was. Probably in his room at the club where’d he’d last seen it. Lot of good it did him there. He could only imagine Deuce’s face when he tried to call him and found his phone in his room.

“
All right then. I’ll be givin’ him a call while your mama does whatever it is she’s doin’.”

“
Don’t tell him everything,” Jase called after him.

“
I won’t,” he yelled back. “But Deuce is a smart man, pretty sure he’ll be able to fill in the blanks.”

Jase
sank back against the bench, feeling another wave of worthlessness slide through him.

“
Jason?”

“
Hmm?”

“
Jason, look at me.”

His energy
quickly waning, Jase used every last bit of it to straighten his neck and look at his mother.

“
You’re a Brady, aren’t you?”

Oh, fuck him
in the ass with a goddamned fork, it was the Brady family speech.

“
Yeah, Mama,” he muttered. “I’m a Brady.”

“
And what do Bradys do?”

“
Beer, barbeque, and rodeo?”

“
Jason . . .” His mother’s tone was that of a warning, and Jase fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“
Bradys love each other,” she snapped. “Bradys show respect for one another. Bradys work hard, Bradys are honest, and Bradys do their best.”

“
Mama,” he said. “I’ve fucked up every single one of those at one point or another, some more than once.”

“
Last one,” she continued, ignoring him. “What is it, Jason?”

Swallowing back the quickly forming lump in his throat, he looked off down the hallway to
where he could see his father talking on the old rotary phone. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he could only imagine what Deuce was telling him. The thought of them swapping stories made him cringe.

He turned back to his mother.
“Bradys forgive each other.”

Smiling, she gave him a quick pat on the knee, finished pulling his boot off
, and then went to work on the other.

“
The girls won’t forgive me,” he whispered.

His mother didn
’t even bother looking up. “They will,” she said. “They’re Bradys. And Jason?”

“
Yeah?”

“
Don’t you dare curse in my house again.”