Chapter 4
Haze
Four Weeks Later
I ’m pacing back and forth outside Anna’s room at the rehab center when Franny walks up to me. She’s wearing mint green scrubs and a stethoscope hanging around her neck.
“Hey, I thought you left,” she says lightly.
“I was going to, but I wanted to wait and find out what her doctor recommends in terms of discharge.”
Franny steps closer. “I heard he’s going to discharge her soon, maybe even today. Her labs are all fine, she eating and voiding regularly and ambulating successfully.”
I stop in front of her and ask, “Are you sure it’s not too soon?”
Franny is our sergeant-at-arms’ wife. Although she obviously can’t wear a property cut at work, my mind automatically puts one on her anyway. Today, she gives me an indulgent smile. “You’re a real worrywart for someone so young. You know that, right?”
Gesturing towards Anna’s room with one hand, I lower my voice to make sure we can’t be overheard. “I just want her to have professional care for as long as necessary, so she makes a good recovery.”
She brings one hand up to press against her chest. “I get that. I really do. The thing is, we can’t keep everyone until their most protective relative is comfortable taking them home. Not to put too fine a point on it, we honestly need that bed for a new admission.”
I rake my hand through my hair, frustrated by this latest turn of events. “I don’t know, Fran. It seems too soon.”
“Anna was in the hospital for twenty days and has been in this rehab unit for another four weeks. Forty-eight days a relatively long time, even given the extent of her injuries. She’s doing better than anyone anticipated. She’s been working tirelessly to get back on her feet. And you know she’s going stir-crazy sitting in that room all day.”
“Yeah, I know that. But being bored seems like the lesser of two evils, when compared to something bad happening to her if she’s released too early. They said four to six weeks of rehab.”
“Four to six weeks was the estimate, it all depends on how quickly the patient heals. Jesus, the hospital staff were not joking when they said you are a helicopter boyfriend. I know you’re not really her boyfriend and that was just to make sure someone advocated for her, but word on the grapevine is you spend your time flirting your ass off with her. Sounds like make-believe has turned into something else?”
She’s not wrong about the flirting, in the weeks she’s been in hospital I’ve really enjoyed Anna’s company, but there’s nothing between us. I avoid Fran’s question and instead say, “Alright, I’m hearing what you’re laying down. If she gets discharged, we’ll follow the plan.”
Fran looks a bit bewildered by my reluctance to take Anna home with me. “If you’re rethinking having her at your shop, I can ask Rider to make room for her at the clubhouse. You don’t have to keep taking all this responsibility onto yourself.”
I go ramrod straight, shocked that I’m giving her the impression I don’t want Anna at my place. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I’m becoming obsessed with this beautiful woman. Some small, dark part of my brain thinks that because I rescued her from certain death along the side of the road the day of our shootout with the Diggers MC, that makes her mine. Mine to protect, I correct my errant thoughts.
“I don’t mind having her at my shop,” I stammer.
“You have that whole little apartment in the back with two tiny bedrooms. I remember when you and your brother used to live there when you first started working at Tank’s tattoo parlor. Surely one small woman can fit in there?”
I can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s teasing me. “Yeah, she’ll fit quite nicely. The thing is, it’s a bit rough around the edges. We started the reno, but we’ve had so much on our plate with the Diggers, that it’s still not finished. I’ve been living there myself since Vapor got married, but I don’t mind the chaos.”
She flashes me another smile. “Us women aren’t as fragile as you think. It’s clean and tidy, that’s the main thing. So what if the walls need painting? Did you think about buying a new condo? Living in your tattoo parlor can’t provide a very good work-life balance for you.”
I shrug, Vapor and I used to share a condo, but when he was looking for a place for him and Trix, we sold it. Rather than find somewhere of my own, I figured I could live at the shop. We’d just renovated it and had sorted out the back area which used to be a storeroom-cum-crash pad, into a proper two-roomed small apartment. For a single guy like me it was perfect. Plus, it made the commute into work a breeze. “Yeah, maybe if I ever decide I want to settle down, but right now it does me fine.”
Fran gives me a knowing smile, though it’s more like a smirk, “You know what your club brothers always say about settling down, it comes when you least expect it.”
Standing there staring at her hopeful expression I don’t have the heart to tell her that I’m a free agent, I have no intention on settling down any time soon, the old ladies love to play matchmaker, but they can go and fix another brother’s life.
The occupational therapist sticks her head out the door and calls my name. I excuse myself and quickly join the conversation taking place in Anna’s room. Anna hits me with a bright, happy smile because she’s always thrilled to see me, I won’t lie, it’s mutual. I’ve gotten used to my daily visits with her since she was discharged from the hospital to the rehab facility.
The minute her doctor sets eyes on me, his lips press into a thin line. I already know the old buzzard doesn’t like the cut of my jib. At first, I wondered if it was because I was a biker, but Fran explained it was more my overbearing personality he objected to. I wasn’t too surprised to hear that, because he was one of the docs who wanted to put her in a medically induced coma.
I jerk my chin at him. “Morning, Doc. Did you want to talk to me?”
He replies sharply, “Not particularly, Mr. Ventimiglia. Unfortunately, you’re critical to my patient’s discharge planning, so I need to.”
I give him a withering look and shake my head. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have an amazing bedside manner?” I keep my voice as polite as possible but a little offhand, driving home the fact that I think he’s a deplorable prick.
“My bedside manner is reserved for my patients, not their boyfriends,” he flings back. This man has got to be seventy if he’s a day. Clearly, he’s one of those pompous old school physicians used to saying any damn thing that pops into his mind. It’s hilarious that he thinks I’m the arrogant and overbearing one.
“I’m her fiancé, not her boyfriend,” I make sure to drag out the words and speak loudly, like he’s slow-witted and hard of hearing.
The implication is not lost on him. He frowns at me before launching into his little discharge speech, I tune out because I know he’s already gone through all this with Anna, but like the fossil he is, he’s also the type who think women can’t hold too much information in their pretty little heads.
When he’s finished, he slaps her discharge paperwork against my chest and states, “My medical assistant typed all that out for you. If you can’t remember the instructions, just ask Miss Bryan to read it back to you.”
This old man is insinuating that I’m illiterate. I’m not really offended. Maybe, I even grudgingly respect him a little more for answering my disparaging comments in kind. Before I can respond, Anna speaks up.
“Does this mean I’m discharged?” The hopeful tone of her voice makes me ashamed that I was reluctant to take her home with me. I’ve been visiting the poor woman nearly every day, doing what I can to distract her from the endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy and keep her entertained with my cunning wit.
Franny had me dead to rights about the flirting. Something about spending time with Anna brought out the best in me. I liked being around such a sweet woman. Of course, she allowed it. Why not, since I was about the only entertainment she had. Heck there were several times that she even flirted back.
“Yes Miss Bryan, you’re discharged, but the nurse has to take you down in a wheelchair.”
She frowns at the doctor. “What’s the use of working so hard to get strong again if I can’t walk out of here on my own two legs?”
His voice holds a note of exasperation when he answers her question, “The reason for that has more to do with the facility protecting itself from allegations of negligence if you were to have an accidental fall on the way out of the building.”
She smiles up at him. “I didn’t really think of it from that angle. That’s really smart thinking on the hospital’s part.”
The older man gives her an indulgent smile because even if he thinks I’m a jackass, he’s not holding it against his patient. “Yeah, our center has a team dedicated to risk management and they do a good job.” Switching gears, he states reassuringly, “Your injuries are healing nicely. As long as you follow your discharge instructions carefully in terms of no lifting with that injured arm, there is no reason to suspect you’ll experience any complications.”
“Thank you, doctor. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” Anna is so sugar sweet that no man alive would be able to stay angry with her.
Her physician states mildly, “Well, it was a group effort. I was just one member of a dedicated team of professionals.” I can tell this is his pat response to expressions of gratitude by his patients.
When a nurse brings in a wheelchair and the doctor finally steps out of the room, I smile down into Anna’s pretty face. “You ready to blow this joint, princess?”
She seems giddy at the thought of being discharged at long last. “Absolutely. Make it so!”
“Aye Captain, engaging engines to warp!” I say with a laugh. We both discovered we had a shared love of Star Trek, so we’ve been watching episodes on her tablet during my visits. I wheel her down the corridor fast, much to the disapproval of the nurse who’s accompanying us, and one of the bags resting on her lap goes flying.
“I’ve got more stuff than I realized, thanks to your generous club members and their wives.”
Anna is not wrong about that. I’d helped her pack up earlier. Trix brought her a suitcase and clothing when she was first admitted to rehab. By the time we added all the gifts that my club brothers and their old ladies have dropped off over the last four weeks, her suitcase was stuffed, and there were two carrier bags of books and other items.
When I hand her the bag and wheel her towards the elevator—this time at a slower speed—she asks timidly, “Are you sure about giving me a place to stay?”
“Yeah, the room is just sitting empty. If you need a temporary landing pad, it makes sense for you to stay there.”
“I just don’t want to interrupt your business in any way,” she responds with no small amount of worry in her voice.
I can’t help the grin that jumps onto my face. “I own a tattoo shop. Ain’t nobody gonna give two shits if you’re living there. My customers are mostly regulars and they’re more preoccupied with the ink we drop than anything going on in the back of my shop.”
“If you’re absolutely sure,” she responds with a hopeful eagerness that hits me right in the feels.”
“Of course, I’m sure. If anything, your beautiful face will just brighten our otherwise dull shop.”
I can tell my words alleviate her anxiety because the worried expression lifts and is replaced by a relieved smile. “I’ll be on my way as soon as possible.”
“It’s all good, stay as long as you need.” I say as we reach the elevator.
Her brow crinkles, “Did you bring your bike or a car? I only ask because I don’t see my suitcase fitting on the back of your motorcycle.”
“Like most of my club brothers, I own a cage, they might not be as cool as a Harley, but sometimes a bike won’t do. Mine doesn’t have a roof though, so there’s that.”
Her voice turns excited. “You drive a convertible? That sounds amazing. I’m going to enjoy the wind blowing through my hair after being cooped up in this room for the last month.”
“You went on walks in the courtyard,” I say.
“Yeah, but it’s nowhere near as exciting as riding with the top down.”
I’m tickled this beautiful woman is excited about my ride. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into restoring it, and if she likes convertibles, she is going to love my seventy-four Stingray Corvette.
I’m pleased to see her happy and excited about getting discharged. Truth be told her injuries were horrific and watching her suffer these last few weeks has been eating away at me.
***
Once she’s safely inside my car and buckled up, we head to my tattoo parlor in town. She’s quiet on the way to my place. I can tell she’s enjoying the ride because she finger-combs her hair with her good hand as it blows in the wind. Anna sure is a beautiful woman. I like her long red hair and how she lifts up her arm at one point and closes her eyes like riding in my convertible is the best experience in the whole world.
A tightness builds in my chest, it’s a strange feeling of fondness that doubles and triples as my tires eat up the road. I’m used to spending time with club girls who are easy to figure out and always angling for my property cut. This woman only accepted my offer of a place to stay out of need. Inviting her was supposed to be an altruistic move on my part. That should mean hitting on her is out of the question, but I know myself all too well. If she seems open to fooling around, I’m not gonna say no. We’ve been getting along well while she’s been in rehab, but maybe once she’s back in the big wide world, she’ll not want to hang around with a rough ass biker.
When we pull into the parking lot, I park as close to the door as possible and help her out of the car. She was hyped-up at the start of the journey, but I can tell she’s tired, it seems like the excitement of finally getting discharged has worn her out.
As we walk through the door, I see customers sitting on the sofas in the waiting area and my brother, Vapor, hard at work. I glance around, trying to see my tattoo shop through her eyes. It’s a neat little eclectic space with three chairs. It has a retro barber shop vibe, though when Vapor and I did the refit last year we got some cool lights to hang over the sofas to give it a relaxed, calm feel. The club brother we bought the shop from, still occasionally drops ink here. Tank has got a small but dedicated following who would be really disappointed if he dropped them after years of faithful service. I’m pretty sure he’d miss tattooing as well, since it has always been one of his favorite pastimes.
My brother jerks his chin at me and gives Anna the once over before getting on with his tatt.
Before I can even get our new guest to the apartment in the back, the bell on the door jingles and someone comes stomping into the shop. I glance over my shoulder to find Brittany frowning at me.
“You were banned from club property by Siege weeks ago, Britt. What are you doing here?”
She smirks at me. “This isn’t club property. It’s a private business.”
I try to shove down my irritation as I don’t want Anna to think I’m an asshole. “I’m really busy today. What do you want?”
“I want a tattoo, of course,” she states matter-of-factly.
I gesture to the sofas at the far side of the shop where two customers are waiting, one, a barely legal teen, is eyeing up Brittany with interest. “As you can see, we’re fully booked so no time for a walk-in. But you’re welcome to take a seat and see if Vapor can fit you in.”
She literally stamps her foot and flings her long blonde hair back over her shoulder, “I didn’t come for your brother. I came for you.”
Since she’s causing such a spectacle, Vapor interjects, “I put her on your schedule. We’re a business and her money’s green, just like everyone else’s.”
“Great, thanks for that, bro.” This is vintage Vapor thinking. He prides himself on being able to tattoo literally anyone with money. He knows Brittany has been a chronic pain in my backside for months. Standing there staring him in the face, an understanding passes between us that he should have asked before booking her in.
Finally, Anna speaks, “Just point me in the direction to the apartment. I really need to get off my feet for a few minutes.”
“What the fuck, Haze? You have an apartment here?” Brittany says, her voice was shrill and angry, like she was my keeper or something. Gesturing to Anna, she asks angrily, “And who the hell is this?”
“It’s none of your fucking business who she is. Need I remind you that we are not, nor have we ever been dating. That means you don’t get to pry into my personal life. This is your last warning about whatever possessive shit you have running through your head.”
“I wasn’t trying to be rude. You’re always blowing hot and cold when it comes to me.”
“It’s because you like aggravating the hell out of me. Why can’t you just be normal?”
Brittany opens her mouth to say something and then clearly thinks better of it. She turns on her heel, stalking over to the waiting area and flings herself back onto one of the sofas, then picks up the book of flash designs on the coffee table.
I hurried to get Anna settled in before Brittany could pop off again. She at least has the good sense not to ask a bunch of questions. Poor Anna looked exhausted, once I hauled her belongings in and put them in her room, I asked her if she needed anything, but she said all she wanted to do was rest her eyes. So, I left her with instructions to just yell if she needed anything and I headed out to catch up on the work my brother lined up for me.
“She can take my slot, I don’t mind waiting,” the teen says with a leer, clearly wanting a chance to ogle Brittany getting inked.
I was about to tell him no, that she could wait, when I realize I could get rid of her quicker.
The last thing I need is the stress of her sitting there glaring at me or worse, starting another unpleasant conflict. I can tell by the way her face lights up, that she thinks me taking her first means I like her. Yeah, that was a big mistake.
She shows me the little heart tattoo she wants and begins telling me how she wants in on her mound, right above her slit. I shoot my brother another irritated look, before telling her that tatts on private areas are scheduled after hours for privacy reasons because all our seats are out in the open.
She doesn’t seem to care, since she probably only scheduled this appointment to get face time with me anyway. She decides she wants the little heart shaped tattoo on her chest right beneath her collar bones with a mock chain around each side to make it look like a necklace. I love slinging ink so much that I get lost in the artistry of creating it while she babbles on and on about how much she missing being at the clubhouse, how she’s appealing to Siege to overturn his ban, and how she misses sex with me most of all.
It takes me around an hour to finish her tattoo. I spend the time politely ignoring her ramblings. She couldn’t decide on the colors, so I just did the outlining. Unfortunately, that means another appointment to finish the design, but at least she’s outta my hair for today. She leaves happy, having gotten her Haze fix. Me? I just feel irritated, dirty, and wish I’d been more discriminate about who I stuck my dick in over the last couple of years. Club girls were either a blessing or a curse. Brittany definitely fell into the latter category.