Chapter Two
Cash
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Jack shouted, taking Sam’s hand in his. They were so fucking happy. Seeing them together only reminded me of what I had lost. Or at least what I thought I’d lost.
“We had a doctor’s appointment today for another ultrasound. The doctor said Sammy was measuring a little big, and they wanted to take another look.”
Murmurs went up quickly, and Jack raised his hand to quiet everyone down before he continued.
“Everything is ok. In fact, it’s fucking phenomenal.”
I was happy for my brother. I was. I just... I wanted what he and Sam had. For the past two years, I’d talked to Rachel about having kids. She kept putting me off. I guess now I knew why.
“It’s fucking twins!”
The noise in the room expanded. I wanted to celebrate with my brother, but I couldn’t.
God, I’m a bitter fucking asshole.
“Tell them what we’re having.” Sam looked at Jack with a satisfied grin.
“They’re both girls,” Jack muttered.
The room erupted in laughter at Jack’s expense. Even my own lips cracked up in the corner. Two fucking girls to add to the spitfire he already had. Couldn’t have happened to a better guy.
“I thought it was too early?” King asked.
“There is a blood test you can do, and I opted to do it. I just didn’t tell Jack.” Sam laughed.
Looking out over the room, I glared at Ryder as he hugged his wife. His hands clasped together over her own protruding belly.
Asshole.
Everything Rachel said in her letter was bullshit. She’d always put him first. My fucking old lady had decided someone else was better equipped to make the decisions regarding her life.
And she chose the one fucking person I hated the most. I never should have agreed to let him join the club.
Gunner pulled my attention from Ryder when he stalked across the room, bent over, and threw his woman over his shoulder.
“Excuse me, brothers. Takin’ my old lady upstairs for a little chat.”
“Chat implies talking, not fucking,” Shotgun called out as Gunner left the room.
I didn’t begrudge any of my brothers finding an old lady. I just hoped to God they were more loyal than mine had been.
“Need to talk to you, brother.”
I ignored King as he sat on the stool next to me.
I brought the bottle of beer to my lips, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
Everyone harped on me about my drinking.
This was a fucking MC clubhouse. We all fucking drank.
Hell, Bane barely left the bar stool he was currently sitting on, day or night.
No one was up his ass about how much he drank.
“I want you to talk to Haizley.”
My hand halted halfway to my lips as I prepared to take another drink. “What the fuck for?” I asked, glaring at my president.
“You need to deal with your shit. I can’t have my VP drunk off his ass every goddamn day.”
“I’m dealing with my shit just fine,” I said as I took another drink.
King sighed heavily next to me. “That’s a fucking order.”
Goddammit!
This was bullshit, and King knew it. Ordering me to deal with my shit. He needed to deal with his shit. I wasn’t the only one avoiding my goddamn feelings.
I left the clubhouse at the right time, as if I were going to the appointment he’d ordered me to set up with Haizley.
But that wasn’t my destination. At least not yet.
I knew I had to go. King knew I wouldn’t disregard a direct order, and I had a feeling Haizley would rat me out if I blew her off.
That didn’t mean I had to be there for the whole fucking hour.
With twenty minutes left of the appointment, I pulled into her driveway. Five minutes passed before I finally got the fucking courage to get off my bike.
Yeah, I could admit I was fucking scared. I didn’t want to talk about my old lady. I didn’t want to talk about her death, my drinking, my grief. I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about fucking Ryder.
Yet here I was. The club was important to me, and my role as VP was important to the club. I couldn’t disregard an order without repercussions. So, I made my way up the stairs and knocked on her front door.
“Hello,” she greeted, opening the door and giving me room to enter. I hesitated for a moment before I stepped inside. Haizley hung back behind me. Waiting for me to sit, I imagined.
My eyes locked onto the couch and memories hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t sitting on that fucking thing.
Never again.
Most people walked in and probably just saw a couch. A place where multiple people could sit and visit. A soft cushion after a long day. A place to take a nap, or cuddle with your partner while the two of you watched a movie. You know, normal shit.
What I saw was different.
For me, it was a reminder. A past no one knew about. Hours spent talking about my fucking feelings. About how I felt when I discovered my parents weren’t really mine.
Was I angry?
Did I feel betrayed? Abandoned?
Did I have questions?
Did I want to know who my real parents were?
I didn’t fucking feel any of that shit. I didn’t fucking care.
Only no one believed me.
Three different shrinks in three years decided how I should feel. How I should react. And when it didn’t line up with what I said and did, they told me I was broken.
I didn’t blame my parents. They just wanted something to blame for my disassociation.
The truth was, I loved my parents. That had never changed. I talked to them every few weeks. They wouldn’t be around forever. They were older when they adopted me. My mom was almost forty. My dad forty-five.
They’d tried for years to have a baby and couldn’t. Then one day Mom met a girl in the park who was too young to have a kid. Mom and Dad took her in until I was born and then adopted me through a private transaction.
She left and never came back.
I was fifteen when they told me. They thought my moodiness was because of what I had learned. The reality was, every fifteen- year-old kid was moody. Being too old to be a kid and too young to be an adult screwed with your mind.
Avoiding the couch like it might bite me, I sat in the chair. I had expected Haizley to be like every other shrink I’d seen and make a fuss about me not choosing the couch.
“Would you like a drink? Before you ask, I am not offering alcohol,” she clarified firmly.
I scoffed, sitting back in the chair, letting her know I wouldn’t move to the damn couch. She shocked the hell out of me when she didn’t say a word and just sat on the couch herself.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“Anything you would like to talk about?”
“No.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“King ordered me to.”
“What did King order you to do?”
“To make an appointment with you. He didn’t say I had to talk.”
She watched me. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “So, if he ordered you to talk, would you?”
“I’d have to.” Narrowing my eyes at her, I asked, “Are you gonna tell him I ain’t talkin’?”
“Nope. King will only know what you tell him. I won’t tell him anything unless you sign a waiver giving me permission to share. Would you like to sign one?”
“Fuck, no.” I wasn’t giving him access to anything I said while I was here. Not that I planned on talking.
“Ok, we don’t have to talk. You can come to your appointments and we can sit in silence. Do you mind if I read?”
“Why the fuck would I mind?” I asked.
“Well, you are paying for my time.”
“Club’s paying for this shit.”
“Ok.” She looked at her watch, then announced, “We have ten minutes left. For future appointments, it would be great if you could be on time. That way, we would have the full hour to not talk.”
She smiled, letting me know she was mocking my attitude.
Not that I gave a shit. I wasn’t doing this again.
No more platitudes to the shrink. I would show up because my president ordered me to, but I was a grown-ass man, for fuck’s sake.
If I didn’t want to talk about my goddamn feelings, I wasn’t going to.
I looked around the room. It was nice. Welcoming and warm. That’s how Rach would describe it. She had decorated my room at the club. The room I hadn’t been in since she died. Since I found her unconscious in our bed.
Fuck the memories. Changing the subject, I asked, “You see people in your home alone?”
“Normally, no. I am an online therapist. I have only recently started taking in-person patients.”
“You need a security system. Gunner is shit at taking care of his woman.”
I wasn’t much better. I hadn’t even known my old lady was sick.
“I am not Gunner’s woman,” she stated firmly.
I scoffed again. We sat in silence until the timer on her phone rang, letting us know our time was up.
“That is all the time we have for today. Did King say how often he wanted you to come here?”
I stood up and frowned at her. “He said it was up to you.”
“Ok, well, if we are just going to meet without talking, I think once a week is plenty. Why don’t you come back this time next week?”
I was confused. I’d only sat there for ten fucking minutes. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I thought it was an hour long?”
“It was. Starting at three p.m. You only showed up fifteen minutes ago.”
“It hasn’t been an hour,” I pushed, waiting for her to argue with my leaving. Maybe push me to say something. Anything.
“Cash, I am sure you understand how appointments work. When you show up at the right time, you get the full hour. I have other patients.”
“Do you get paid for the entire hour?”
“I do.”
“Even if I ain’t fucking here?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she sat on that damn couch. Raising one eyebrow, she confidently said, “Even if you aren’t fucking here. I get paid for my time. If an hour of my time is booked, I get paid for that hour. What you choose to do with that time is completely up to you.”
I opened my mouth to say... fuck, I didn’t know what to say. This didn’t make sense. Shrinks didn’t just let you go. They pushed and pushed until they forced you to say shit you didn’t mean.
“Let me walk you out.”
She walked ahead of me, opening the door. She stood there watching me, waiting for me to leave. I hadn’t moved from my spot. This shit didn’t make sense. I rubbed the back of my neck, then walked to the door, stopping in front of her.
“What if I wanted to meet twice a week?”
What the fuck am I doing?
“We could do that,” she assured me, her tone even.
“Ok.” I nodded. “King’s an asshole. You should get whatever you can out of him.” That was it. If he was going to force me to come here, he could fucking pay for it. Let him waste the club’s money.
“Ok. How about four days from now?” She eyed me cautiously. “Same time?”
“Yea,” I agreed and walked to my bike.
As I climbed on, I looked back at Haizley. She stood in the doorway, a smug smile on her lips as she watched me. She had fucking played me. I couldn’t stop the grin that crept up as I shook my head.
I hoped Gunner knew what he was getting into with her. She was smarter than every fucking one of us, and I had a feeling she would toss the clubhouse upside down.