Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Saber
My steps are lighter than they have been for years. It didn’t take long for us to get through the line seeing as I went on the computer last night and scheduled us for a time to come and get the license. I was on my way to her dorm to get her when she came strolling out. Was it underhanded to do it without her input? Probably. But in the long run, it worked out and we didn’t end up in an argument over it which I count as a win considering everything lately has led up to a confrontation.
“Look at us adulting and shit,” I laugh.
“Did you ever think the day would come?” she asks in a teasing manner. It feels good to banter with her and laugh. I haven’t allowed myself to think about the fact that I’ve terribly missed her and the easy way we have always been around each other. The anger overruled the good times we had. She became my enemy instead of my best friend and lover.
“Not sure that I can say I did,” I state.
“It’s good to hear you laugh, Weston,” she murmurs.
“It feels good to laugh, Foxy.” I’m not sure where this lighthearted feeling is coming from, but when I woke up this morning, I didn’t hate her quite as much as I did when I went to sleep the night before.
“Can I admit something to you, Saber, without you judging me?”
The worry in her voice has me stopping dead center in the middle of the court’s hallway. “We may not be close anymore, Foxy, but I’m going to be your husband in the next few days, you can tell me anything without any recourse.”
“I think I need a psych evaluation,” she quietly says so her voice doesn’t carry.
“Why do you say that?” I ask, suddenly concerned.
“I’m hearing things,” she confesses.
“What sort of things, Foxy?”
“Wrecker’s voice floating through my mind,” she whispers.
“That son of a bitch,” I growl, hanging my head and counting to ten—then when that doesn’t work I add to it until I reach one hundred while attempting to maintain some sort of control over myself. “What was he saying, Roxy?”
“Random things,” she discloses. “Things that made my mind settle. Does this make any sense to you?”
“Unfortunately, it fucking does,” I seethe. If what we were doing wasn’t so important, I’d leave and then go have a ‘discussion’ with that fucker. One that involves my fists. After that, I might use my words.
“I know there’s something going on that you’re not sharing, Weston. And that’s okay, I understand keeping things to yourself when it protects somebody you care about. But I need to know if I’m going crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy,” I promise her. “But you’re right, there are a few things you don’t know and I can’t swear that someday you will. They’re not only my secrets, and I won’t betray my brothers.”
“I won’t fault you for that either,” she vows. “As long as Canyon, Egypt, and I are safe, that’s all that matters to me.
“You are,” I assert. “All three of you are. I’ll never allow anything that has to do with the club touch you. If you believe anything, believe that.”
“I will and I do. So, when is this shindig supposed to happen and where are we doing it?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Several of the brothers have gotten ordained online so we’ll have our pick as to who is going to marry us, the where and when will happen once we hash out those details,” I convey. “I’m thinking of the clubhouse and the sooner the better considering we’re under a time constraint.”
“I know it looks better on paper if we’re already married before trying for custody of the kids, Saber, but shouldn’t we get to know them first? Make sure that we want to do this before following through with it? What if they don’t want to come and live with us?”
“I don’t want to give them a choice, especially our son,” I reply. “Hopefully, they’ll understand that it would be better for them to be with us so they can stay together than in a foster home where they possibly can be separated. You and I both know what that’s like and I know there are good ones out there, but why should they have to be put into one if we’re willing to take them in?”
“He’s probably going to be angry that we didn’t keep him,” she murmurs, almost as if she’s talking to herself. “I don’t know if he’s going to understand.”
I shrug because I still don’t really grasp why she thought it was the best thing for us to do. I’ve harbored so much anger, resentment, and ill-will toward her ever since it happened, especially when I found out that I really didn’t have a lot of say-so when it came down to it. I was in school, didn’t have a good support system to help me with a baby, and as such, I wasn’t a viable option. The crushing blow that was to my psyche just compounded my rage over the situation. Because I know I would’ve been able to take care of him. It wouldn’t have been easy, not by a longshot, but I’d have done whatever it took to make it happen. Instead, I was denied that chance. Now, however, we have the ability to comfortably take care of our son and his little sister, and I won’t back down from taking hold of that proverbial brass ring, even if it means having to marry Roxy.
You wanted that years ago, remember? my conscience whispers.
And don’t get me started on the law back then. The best thing men did was band together and begin working on father’s rights. I sent them funds whenever I had any to spare to help their cause. I also wrote a letter to their administration sharing my story. Several men were in the same shoes as I was in regard to their situation with their child’s birth mother. We commiserated through written communication, and eventually, some of those men became friends. They’re who I went to when I needed to vent since I didn’t feel as if my brothers would understand where I was coming from. Back in the days when we were the Midnight Riders, they lived the wild and free lifestyle, not wanting anything to tie them down and force them to put down any roots. I wanted the exact opposite only that had been stolen from me so I rode at their sides and tried to push back any longing I had for Canyon and my Foxy Roxy.
“Did you notice when you were looking through Canyon’s file what they gave him for his middle name?” Roxy asks, breaking me out of my reverie.
“I did,” I say, pride inflating my chest. “Did you mention to the social worker at the time what name I provided him with?”
“I did,” she replies, a reminiscing smile spread across her face. “However, I didn’t know that she shared that with the McAllisters.”
“I’m glad she did,” I admit. “Canyon Draco has a nice ring to it and it honored my wishes for him. They must’ve been good people.”
“They were. I handpicked them for him. It was a closed adoption, but at least I got the chance to have some say-so as to where he went,” she tells me.
Hearing that information settles something deep inside. At least she had some knowledge about who our son was going to be placed with, instead of him blindly going to just any old family. I don’t know why it makes a lick of difference or why it makes me feel better either, but it’s something to think about when I’m alone.
“That eases some of the tension I’ve had for all of these years, Roxy.”
“Okay, we need to talk about that,” she says, pointing her finger in the direction of my lips.
“Talk about what?” I inquire, unsure of what has her ire suddenly coming about.
“Can you figure out if I’m Foxy or Roxy?” she harrumphs. “The way you switch back and forth has my head spinning. And it’s rude to use Foxy when you’re not upset with me and spitting out Roxy when you are.”
“I didn’t realize I was doing that,” I divulge. “I’ll try to pay closer attention.”
“I know at the club you’re Saber, but when we’re alone, do you prefer me to call you Weston or stick to using your road name? While we’re on the topic, I’d like for us to clarify that.”
“At home and in front of our kids, I’d like you to call me Weston. It has a friendlier annotation to it and it makes us feel more like a family and that’s what they need.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do,” she advises.
We finally get called to get the printed license and as we move out from the corridor where we were talking and toward the counter, I take her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together much like we used to walk when we were younger. It’s instinctual, a long-standing habit, that has me doing this, but it’s something I don’t want to examine too closely right now. Because it feels right, even though I’m still filled with anger. The warring and contradictory feelings within me are giving me a headache.
I thank the lady behind the counter when she hands me over the printed sheet of paper and guide Roxy out of the building. I still have a lot of work ahead of me when it comes to how I feel in regard to her, but I’m hoping this is a step in the right direction.