Unbeloved

Chapter Five

My grandfather used to say that when it rained, it poured. Or in my case, when it rained, it rained like Christmas in San Francisco until eventually it flooded and pulled you under, leaving you flapping your arms and kicking your legs, gasping for a breath you already knew wouldn’t come.

After Tegen’s phone call, I’d spent the following thirty-six hours flapping and gasping under a waterfall of problems. It seemed as if the universe, Mother Nature herself, was determined to keep me away from Miles City.

First I’d needed to find a place for Christopher to stay. Not knowing what awaited me at the clubhouse, there was nothing on earth that could convince me to bring my son into what could potentially become a dangerous situation, or worse, a devastating one.

This proved to be a problem as I had very few friends in San Francisco. Due to some minor residual side effects from my brain injury and my lack of education, I hadn’t been able to find a job that would provide me with a more substantial income than my disability checks already did, which meant there were no coworkers I’d grown close with. I’d made nice with the other mothers at Christopher’s school, and I’d gone on a few dates over the years, but there was never anyone serious, and most definitely no one I’d trusted with my most precious possession.

It was Tegen who’d suggested Hayley, one of her closest friends, and I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of her sooner. Hayley and her husband were kind souls, full of happy energy, who had a young child of their own.

Hayley had readily agreed; it was Christopher I’d had to convince. More time was spent explaining to him why his mother had to leave him, and on Christmas Day no less. I ended up lying to him, something I had promised myself to never do, and told him his grandfather was sick.

Being that I’d had no contact with my family since I’d divorced Tegen’s father, something Christopher was aware of, I could tell he was skeptical, as well as feeling put out that I was leaving him behind. But what choice did I have? I couldn’t very well tell him his father was in danger or worse. In the end he took it in stride, further proving how very much like Hawk he truly was, and only serving to make me feel even worse for lying to him.

Once Christopher was settled at Hayley’s, I ran into a whole other slew of problems. Due to a winter storm that was bearing down on the entire Midwest and spilling into the surrounding states, flights to Montana were being either canceled or delayed indefinitely.

I waited at the airport for hours, my anxiety worsening each time another flight was canceled, until I eventually gave up on the airlines altogether and ended up renting a car.

The next twenty-four hours were spent on the road, only four of which I’d allowed myself a quick nap in a rest area off the interstate.

By the time I reached the state of Montana, I was well into the center of the storm, unable to see more than a few feet in front of me, and unable to drive more than thirty miles per hour. It was slow going for a while; my only reprieve was that the roads were virtually empty, and I was determined to make it to my destination.

Now I was parked just beyond the clubhouse’s razor-wire-topped gates. Releasing my death grip on the steering wheel, I released a large breath of pent-up air and looked up at the building before me.

The whitewashed warehouse was massive, the Hell’s Horsemen logo painted on the front, huge and intimidating. Nothing about the appearance was warm or inviting, something I’m sure Deuce did purposely.

I’d been here a thousand times before, even after my move to California, but something felt different this time.

I felt as though I were standing on a precipice composed of quickly unraveling thread, and once I passed through those gates, my quiet life, my now peaceful existence and everything I had rebuilt from the ground up, all of it was going to disintegrate and send me free-falling back into the never-ending abyss of the unknown.

That thought, the fear it caused within me, was nearly enough to make me turn the car around and go back to California.

But this wasn’t about me. This was about Hawk and the little boy I’d left behind.

Taking a deep breath, I swallowed my fears and pulled the vehicle forward. Rolling down my window, I reached out into the blistering cold and pressed the call button on the intercom.

The intercom buzzed to life and a gravelly voice crackled through the speaker. “Was wondering how long you were gonna sit out there.”

I instantly recognized the voice as Worm’s, a longtime brother of the club, and despite my nervousness felt a smile slip past my thinly pressed lips.

“Just mentally preparing myself for those roaming hands of yours,” I quipped.

“Welcome home, little D,” he said, chuckling.

After an entire day spent driving and worrying, his answering laughter, raspy due to many years of chain-smoking, was a welcome sound.

The latch clicked and as the gate began to slowly swing open, I could barely make out through the heavy veil of falling snow the front door of the clubhouse opening. Like a beacon in the midst of the surrounding gloom, a warm glow of light poured forth, spilling out into the darkness.

As I drove forward, a figure appeared in the doorway, imposing in size, taking up nearly the entire entrance. Despite the absence of the sun and the falling snow impeding my vision, I would know those shoulders anywhere. Those were shoulders that usually bore the weight of world upon them, yet somehow never fell.

After parking and with my luggage in tow, I began the trek through the snow-laden parking lot, battling both the biting cold and whipping wind until I reached the front door, a mass of quivering skin and chattering teeth.

Deuce took my suitcase from me. As if it weighed next to nothing, he easily hefted it up and over his shoulder and quickly ushered me inside. Once the door was closed behind us, he pulled me into an awkward one-armed hug. I stood there, momentarily frozen in shock by the uncommonly kind gesture. Deuce didn’t hug people, at least not if he could help it; hugs were reserved for his wife and children.

“Welcome home, Dorothy,” he said gruffly, giving me a hearty pat on the back that if it hadn’t been for his large body in the way, would have sent me flying across the room.

Through the snowflakes still clinging to my eyelashes, I looked up his leather-clad body, taking it all in—the tattooed dragons on his bare forearms, the president patch on his cut, the scent of cigarettes and liquor that always seemed to cling to him, before stopping at his icy blue eyes.

His smile wasn’t friendly; it never had been. Deuce had always snarled more than he’d smiled. But his eyes were soft and kind. Inviting, even. He’d aged a little more since I’d last seen him; he had to be around sixty now and it was starting to show. His long blond hair and beard had heavily grayed, the lines on his forehead and bracketing his eyes had grown longer, were etched in a little deeper.

Pulling off my knit ski hat, I shook out my damp hair and smiled. “I see my daughter has given you a few more gray hairs.”

His smile grew, causing several dimples to appear, and just like that, the changes in his appearance seemed to vanish. He stood before me the same fearfully handsome young man I remembered from my youth. Elusive and frightening, yet intriguing, he’d taken over his father’s motorcycle club and in turn changed the lives of so many.

“Your daughter and that mouth of hers is gonna give me another fuckin’ heart attack,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Her and my own fuckin’ daughters, my sons, my granddaughter, and . . . Jesus Christ, Cox, that motherfucker . . .” He trailed off, grimacing.

“Mm-hmm,” I murmured, glancing around the quiet club. Aside from Worm, who was standing behind the bar pouring himself a liquid snack, there was no one else in sight. As I brought my gaze back to Deuce, I found him watching me, all traces of humor gone, and my smile fell away.

“This shit with Hawk, it ain’t good, D,” he said. “And usually I wouldn’t be tellin’ any of my boys’ old ladies this kinda shit until I had more information, but I’m makin’ an exception here. One, ’cause it’s Hawk and there’s some shit you need to fuckin’ know, and two, ’cause it’s you and you’re family now.

“Let’s go to my office,” he continued, turning away, “and I’ll tell you what I know.”

For a moment I only stood there, watching as he walked off, still holding up my suitcase with those pillars of strength he called shoulders.

Family. He’d called me family. True, our children had married each other, would probably someday have children of their own, but still I’d never thought of myself as part of Deuce’s family.

Not only that, but he’d referred to me as an old lady.

Hawk’s old lady. It made sense, being that I was the mother of his child, and resided in the only other place aside from this clubhouse that he’d put down any sort of roots.

But still . . . I’d never realized . . .

A warm tear slipped out from the corner of my eye and slid down my cold cheek.

Home.