Chapter 4
FOUR
JADE
I never minded that Irish had a room at the clubhouse. All the guys did, and my husband was no exception.
In the earlier years, it was convenient after a night of partying.
But after we started having kids, I didn’t let loose all that much, and the nights I spent here were more about safety.
I kept a drawer for myself, and one for the kids.
They were mostly filled with the necessities, a couple of outfits, some underwear, and of course pajamas.
I was big on pajamas, tops and bottoms always had to match, even if they wound up rolled into a ball on the floor. Same for bras and panties.
There were some toys in the closet too, and a crib in the corner from when Raiden was a baby.
I wanted them to feel comfortable and have everything they needed when things got rough around here, and everything felt uncertain.
Irish was happy to oblige, but as much as we tried to shield them, and make these lockdowns as normal as possible, things changed as Legend got older.
I don’t know if he could sense the tension or what, but he stopped buying our lies about the lockdowns being big slumber parties.
It’s true what they say—the kids succumbed to this lifestyle grow up faster than the kids whose parents make honest livings.
I pull the blanket up over both the boys, pressing my lips gently to Legend’s forehead first, then I do the same to Raiden. They look so peaceful and innocent,
Pure.
Smoothing a hand down my silk maternity pajamas, my hand pauses on my bump as I head for the door, pausing to glance over my shoulder at my boys one more time before I exit the room and make my way to the common area.
I excused myself a couple of hours ago, after the brothers did a shot in honor of Irish.
Faking pleasantries and taking the condolences offered by people I didn’t know was exhausting.
I just wanted to crawl into bed with my boys, and revel in the scent of Irish’s cologne that still lingered on the sheets.
The boys struggled to fall asleep, which was surprising because it was such a long day. But they didn’t have their daddy there to make an adventure of bedtime like he often did when we had to spend nights here, and I was a poor replacement.
I don’t know how to be their mother and their father, but I do know I am not going to figure it out here, surrounded by the men who wear the same patch as he did.
The patch that stole him from us.
We need to be home, in our own house, finding a way to grieve while gathering the courage to move on.
I step out of the shadows, immediately spotting Biggie and Shotgun.
A few other members loiter around the room, but they’re the only ones at the bar.
Drawing in a deep breath, I make my way over to them.
I know better to interrupt, especially when they seem to be in deep conversation, so I pace myself.
Shotgun’s voice grows louder, though, and it’s impossible for me to ignore his words.
“…I know everyone here wants to avenge Irish’s death, and play their part, but I draw the last breath out of the three men who tortured us, and Fatmir is mine, and mine alone.”
I don’t catch Biggie’s reply. I’m too stuck on the name he dropped, wondering if that’s who killed my husband.
“Jade, sweetheart,” Biggie calls.
Startled, I blink at him wordlessly for a moment. Shotgun turns in his stool, but he just stares at me, his expression blank. “You need something? The boys—”
I tear my eyes away from Shotgun and meet Biggie’s gaze. “We’re leaving. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and Legend has school. We need to get back to our routines.”
“Honey,” he sighs. “It isn’t safe.”
“I understand the concern, so I will tolerate a prospect. You can have him tail me or stand guard at the house. Whatever you decide, I won’t try to interfere, but I can’t stay here. I will lose my mind, Biggie, and my kids can’t afford to lose another parent. I’m asking for your grace.”
My voice quivers at that last part. I’m not opposed to begging if that’s what it takes.
He turns his attention to Shotgun which results in me doing the same. I can tell by the tight set of his jaw he doesn’t like the idea.
“It can’t be Skid,” he says firmly, his eyes cutting to Biggie. “The kid can’t even tie his fucking shoelaces.” He turns back to me. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t like this.”
That comes as no surprise to me. The man forced a brother to take his shirt off at my husband’s funeral so I wouldn’t stand barefoot in the dirt.
It’s also no surprise that my oldest has been clinging to him since he learned his dad died.
Legend has always favored his Uncle Shotty, and I know he’s going to need him, probably about as much as Shotgun is going to need Legend to feel close to Irish.
I’m not looking to take that away from either of them. I just need time.
“I didn’t think you would.” I tilt my head and study him, noting he looks as exhausted as I feel. “The boys will expect you to visit, especially Legend.”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. “Just say when and I’m there.”
Typical of him to leave it up to me. I always thought he’d be the friend that camps out on the couch after Irish and I got married, but Shotgun never showed up without an invitation.
He’s like the family member that never wants to overstay his welcome, always keeping his distance until someone tells him it’s okay to be an active participant in the family.
“Where’s Dad, today?” The sonogram technician asks as she squirts the gel onto my belly. “When I saw your name on the schedule, I got excited. He always brings the office pastries from Alba. Tell him he owes me a cannoli next month.”
Getting the kids out of the house this morning was brutal.
Irish always made sure to take Legend to school, giving me a little extra time to get myself ready before I dropped Raiden at his preschool program.
Of course I misjudged time, so everyone was late.
After I left Raiden’s school, I sat in my truck and cried for ten minutes.
I’m realizing now, those precious minutes would’ve been better spent preparing for my first sonogram appointment without my husband.
When I don’t respond, the technician turns to face me, and her eyes go wide when they see the tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Oh my God. Did I say something wrong?”
Boy, did she ever.
I wipe away my tears. “My husband passed away unexpectedly.”
That sounds a lot better than saying my husband was killed by a guy named Fatmir. It didn’t make the news because the guy who brought you cannolis was a one percenter in a motorcycle club and they’re masterminds of keeping untimely murders under wraps.
A gasp flies past her lips, and she quickly lifts her hand to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Callahan. Please forgive me.”
Shotgun: How’d it go at the doctor?
I stare at the text for a few moments, hating that it’s him texting me.
My anger isn’t even rational. I mean it’s not like Irish ever texted me after a sonogram appointment.
There was never a need, he was always there.
He was also always the first to take the sonogram photos we got at the visit and add them to the previous ones on the side of the fridge.
That reminds me I didn’t add the new photo. Setting my phone on the counter, I walk into the living room and grab my oversized Louis Vuitton purse. The strip of photos is right on top of my wallet, and I feel a faint smile touch my lips when I see my unborn son.
“Eight more weeks,” I whisper, pressing my hand to my belly. He isn’t very active today, but that doesn’t alarm me. All my boys like to kick when I’m lying down. They’re generous like that.
I head back into the kitchen, tacking the sonogram photos on the fridge with the others, before doing another sweep around the room.
All the dishes are done. Legend’s lunchbox is clean and ready for the next day.
I didn’t take out the garbage, or separate the recycling, but I’ll do it tomorrow.
There are three baskets of laundry waiting for me upstairs.
Swiping my phone from the counter, I close the lights in the kitchen and head for the stairs, but I pause at the door, making sure I set the alarm.
Through the glass panels on the front door, I spot Fuckface.
I wasn’t paying attention to notice if he followed me from errand to errand, but I heard the distinct sound of his bike when I was cooking dinner.
Come to think of it now, I probably should’ve sent him out a burger.
If he’s still there in the morning, I’ll bring him out a cup of coffee.
I climb the stairs, phone still in my hand and another text from Shotgun comes through.
Shotgun: ?
Reaching the top of the landing, I swipe my thumbs over the screen and start to reply to his text.
It was horrible. The technician asked where Irish was, and I burst into tears.
Instead of sending all that, I delete every word.
Me: Everything looked good. Baby is right on track.
“You have to eat, Irene,” I say gently to my mother-in-law.
I’m not going to lie, I am not in the running to win any awards for best daughter-in-law.
In fact, this might be my first visit to her since Irish and I found out I was pregnant.
About three years ago, her MS really started to progress, and her mobility became almost non-existent.
That’s when we made the hard decision to put her in a home with round-the-clock care.
It was a temporary fix. The plan was always to make the side apartment in our house wheelchair accessible for her and hire a private nurse.
Life just kept getting in the way. But Irish always carved out time to visit her twice a week.