Chapter 21
21
Heaven – One Week Later
I sigh as I eye the wedding ring on my finger.
I’m not sure when he put it back on, well, obviously, I wouldn’t know as I was in a coma for a month, but when I woke alone in a hospital room all confused, there it was, staring back at me, and everything came back.
My husband cheated.
We’re doing couples therapy after ten years.
I was falling in love with the man he became while still holding onto the love of the man he was before he cheated.
A guy clutching his chest drove toward me, and I pushed Micha out of the way.
I lost our baby….
I slowly rub my thumb underneath my ring, the metal feeling weird after ten years of not wearing it, my gaze on the hospital room window.
I didn’t even know he still had the ring, yet here it is, back on my finger, and I feel so confused and conflicted.
I love my husband, and I know we were working on things, but am I ready to wear the ring again?
I sigh, I’m currently in a wheelchair, waiting for Travis to get here. I’m not sure if he knows I’m being discharged, but honestly, I couldn’t stay in that bed any longer, anyway.
My muscles ache, and my legs are sore, and not just because of the accident but because I’ve been still for the past month. You’d think I’d be fit as a fiddle after weeks of sleeping, but nope. I have no energy, but at least my cast is off my hand; I'm now only wearing a small brace.
I hear rustling near my door and look just as it opens. Of course, my pulse spikes, knowing exactly who it is, and my skin tingles like it does every time he is near.
Is it any wonder why I could never move on with another man?
My husband is wearing a tight black shirt, my name in full view on his forearm, his cut, and a pair of jeans, with his biker boots. He looks handsome as ever, even with some of the bruises still lingering on his face.
“Your face looks better,” I say as Travis walks into the room, causing his head to snap up. His brows furrow, seeing that I’m in a wheelchair.
According to Steal, who has come to see me every day since I woke to ensure I don’t leave my husband again, Travis has been letting men kick the crap outta him at The Fight.
Safe to say, I was pissed, and still am, I just haven’t got the energy to have it out with him yet, though it is funny to keep bringing it up and watching him try and dodge the questions.
“Why are you in a wheelchair?” he asks, ignoring my remarks regarding his face yet again.
“Why have you been fighting?” I retort, knowing full well that I need him to open up to me again, but instead, he scowls my way.
“The chair, Heaven?” he snaps.
“Oh, so we have VP Anchor today,” I chirp back, hoping to snap him out of his funk.
The man has been the biggest grouch since I woke up, but instead smiling or smirking, he growls, anger flowing off him—but just for a second, I see it before it disappears again.
Fear.
Dammit.
“I can go home, Travis, that is why I’m in this chair waiting for you,” I say softly, and his whole body deflates until he tenses again when I demand, “The bruises, Travis.”
He shakes his head and mutters, “Not now,” before going to the bed and grabbing my bags. He is not willing to wait another second before he hangs them on the chair and kisses the top of my head.
“Let’s get you home, Angel,” he mumbles and pushes me out of the room toward the nurse’s desk for my discharge papers, all while I feel out of sorts, not knowing how to get through to my husband.
“He’s drowning, Heaven, and I-I know I was bitch to you, and I know I shouldn’t be here asking this of you, but please, don’t leave him….”
His mother’s words from yesterday, when she came to see me out of the blue, echo in my mind. For years, she’s treated me with disdain for not giving her son a chance, bad-mouthing me, so her showing up was a bit of a shock, to say the least.
I didn’t say anything to her, not knowing what to say, to be honest, but I did nod to acknowledge that I heard her pleas, before she gently tucked me in, kissed my head, and then left.
I sigh as Travis wheels me outside, my mind going to the man who hit me, visions of him holding his chest before my body hit the windshield.
“I need to get that guy’s number, the one who crashed into me,” I mumble as Travis helps me into his truck, and his head shoots up, his eyes hard, and I furrow my brows in confusion.
“You won’t be contacting him, Heaven!” he snaps, and I raise a brow at the jackass, but he sticks to his words and shakes his head at me, stating, “You’ll never fucking speak to that man, ever. He’s dead.”
My eyes widen, but Travis ignores my reaction and clicks me in.
“Travis,” I try, but he doesn’t answer me. Instead, he kisses my forehead and shuts the door. “What on earth?” Full of confusion, I mumble as I watch him round the hood before climbing into the driver’s seat. He slams the door and grips the wheel.
“Travis, it was an accident,” I try again, but he scoffs, looking ahead. “He was clutching his chest,” I state, hoping to calm him down. But it doesn’t work. Instead, he looks at me, his emotions shut off, making me flinch back, not understanding what his problem is.
My eyes soon widen when he sneers, “That fucker was drunk, Heaven, he was drunk , and while, yes, he had a heart attack, he decided to climb into that car after assaulting a stripper at Jimmy’s, the same fucking strip joint you work at. That fucker nearly killed you, could have killed our son, and did kill our baby. Six feet under is where he belongs.”
My mouth parts in shock.
He killed him—he doesn’t have to say the words, but I can see it; it’s why he’s shut his emotions off.
He killed the man who nearly killed his wife.
“And if it was just an accident?” I ask, and he glares at me, but I put my hand up and continue, “If he did just have a heart attack, would you have still killed him?”
Travis scoffs and looks out the windshield, and I have my answer. He wouldn’t have killed him, punched him, yes, killed, no.
Shaking his head, Travis starts the truck, then pulls away, before he places his hand in between my legging-covered thighs, his grip firm, like I’m about to disappear, and a small part of me relaxes a little.
For ten years, he’s fought for me, but right now, I’m starting to see if I want this marriage, if I want him after the past, then I may have to fight for him this time ‘round, because this man is closed off from me, and I just don’t know why.
I swallow the lump in my throat and look out the window, wondering if he’s sleeping with her again, and if he is, then there will be no coming back for us.
Half an hour later, I don’t question him as he pulls up before the club gate. I’m not stupid; I know he’s probably moved all my stuff into his place here, but what he doesn’t understand is that I won’t be staying for long, just long enough to get better.
He doesn’t get to dictate my life just because I was run over. If I decide to move in with him, it will be my decision, and if anything, it’ll be him moving to our home, the one I’ve brought Micha up in.
As Travis pulls up outside the clubhouse, I frown in confusion and look at him as he switches off the ignition.
“I’ve got church, so you’ll sit in the common room until I’m done, then I’ll take you to our son. Surprisingly, your mother is with him,” he says.
I ignore the ‘mother’ comment because I swear someone has taken over her body and I don’t want to look into it just yet. I raise a brow and dare, “You did not just tell me that I’ve got to wait for you in there.”
He sighs, removes the keys from the ignition, and snaps, “We’re not arguing about this, Heaven. I’ve got church, and I’m already running late.”
I scoff, my anger taking over. “So, yet again, your wife’s feelings come second to the club?”
Travis grips the wheel, anger radiating from him, and he growls, “What fucking feelings, Heaven? All I’m saying is to wait for me for an hour!”
I shake my head at his audacity, and I say as calmly as I can, “I’ve just been discharged from the hospital,” his body deflates, “I smell like shit, I ache, and instead of taking me to my own home, you’ve brought me to the club, but I kept quiet, and now you’re demanding I wait for you in there?”
He huffs, “Heaven, it’s just an hour. The brothers want to get to know my wife, and you can get to know them. Dad will sit with you.”
I look down at the ring he put back on my finger, the urge to throw it building inside me. I look his way, making eye contact with his closed-off eyes. I ask, “And tell me, Anchor….” He scowls, but I ignore it and demand, “Is she in there right now?”
His eyes widen, his mouth parts and understanding shines off him, and I nod.
“Of course,” I say before I open the door and slowly climb out of the truck.
“Heaven!” he snaps, but I ignore him and hobble back toward the gate, where the prospect is furrowing his brows. “Heaven!” he shouts again, but again, I ignore him and give the confused prospect a smile.
“Hi,” I say, and he gives me a small wave in confusion, but his mouth soon opens when I say, “I’m sorry about this, but it seems that ass hasn’t learned his lesson in ten years.” Then I slam my mouth against the poor guy’s mouth, hard, his lips feeling unnatural to me but I preserve, especially when the guy kisses me back.
“What the fuck?” I hear Travis roar out in anger, and I break the kiss and stand in front of the guy I know will lose his life if I don’t.
I tilt my head. “Now, you look ready to kill, right Anchor?” He flares his nostrils, but I ignore his anger. I say, “Maybe I should allow him to fuck me from behind, and you can watch, and then I’ll gladly go into that building where the woman you cheated on me with is, yeah?”
“Heaven,” he breathes, but I point at him and snap, “No! Yet again, all you are thinking about is yourself, the same old Travis, meaning weeks of therapy, all of your promises, were fucking lies!”
He drops his head, puts his hands on his hips, and says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think, I just?—”
I cut him off, “There is no ‘I’m sorry’ here, Anchor.” His head shoots up in anger. “You’ve just proved everything you told me was coming out of your ass. You expected me to sit in that room for a whole fucking hour, after being discharged from the hospital after a month of being in a fucking coma, with a woman who can get into my head and explain how great your dick felt!”
I curl my lips at him before spinning on my heels, trying to ignore the thumping in my head and the weak feeling in my legs as I march out of the gate.
“Fuck’s sake, Heaven, where are you going?” he says loudly.
I lift my bad hand and reply, “I’m going home where I expect to find all my stuff and my son within the next twenty-four hours, or I’m pressing charges!”
“Uh, brother, what's going on?” I hear someone ask, but I don’t stop.
My head hurts, my legs feel wobbly, and all I want is a bubble bath while dreaming of throwing darts at my na?ve, stupid husband’s head!