Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
brONWYN
From the moment I first saw it, I fell in love with this, admittedly, small house. Short said he’d bought it to flip, and it was easy to see its potential. But even as it is, I’m happy to call it home for the moment.
It’s tired and dated, but it feels like somewhere people had lived happy lives.
My parents’ place? Sure, many might envy the opulence of the decorations and furniture, but there’s no soul to be found.
It’s bland, almost antiseptic, and doesn’t reflect the emotions of the people who live there.
It could be a show home, one designed by professionals and not meant to be actually lived in.
This house? It’s a blank canvas I’d love to put my own stamp on. Or better still, work on it with Short.
What the hell am I thinking about living in this house with this biker?
Working alongside him, modernising this place?
I don’t understand this attraction I feel toward him, especially as, if he even hinted he had reciprocal thoughts about me, I’d go running in the other direction.
Just the thought of being intimate with a man sends me straight into panic mode.
He offered to be my friend. That’s the only reason he’s here.
And a friend he has been. He’s already done more for me than anyone else ever has.
And now he’s given me a place to stay, hell, even bought furniture – albeit worn and second-hand – so Trip and I have a place to regroup and sort ourselves out.
What I’m feeling is grateful, nothing more, maybe a little hero worship. I certainly don’t know how I’ll ever repay him.
I’ve eaten pizza before, but for Trip it’s a complete novelty. It could have gone one of two ways, but instead of refusing to touch the strange combination on his plate, maybe it was hunger that drove him to experiment, but Trip ate more than I ever expected him to.
By the time we’ve demolished the better part of three pizzas between us – Short eating one and a half himself – Trip’s eyes are growing heavy, and I take him to bed.
He’s had no meltdowns today. If anything else cements that I was right to get him away from our father, that would do it all by itself.
He also seems to find this strange house as calming as I do.
After he’s gotten ready for bed, he settles in and closes his eyes without complaint.
He’s asleep before I can finish the first page of the book I’m reading to him.
I pause for a while watching him, smoothing my hand over his head in a way I couldn’t risk while he’s awake, and just enjoy the sight of him being so relaxed and at peace. Then, knowing once he’s asleep, little can wake him, without qualms, I leave him.
Short’s eyes are upon me as I enter the lounge. He jerks his head upward. “Boy’s been good today.”
“People underestimate him,” I say, taking a seat on the lumpy sofa and sitting down. “He might not talk, but there’s a lot he understands.”
Short nods, acknowledging my words. “Fuck of a moniker, he has. Why the fuck did your parents call him that?”
“Trip?” I stretch my legs out. For some reason here, I’m able to relax far more than I ever did at home.
Today has been easier than I expected. Vaguely, I wonder whether I’ll still feel as at ease later, when Short returns to the clubhouse and leaves me and Trip alone.
A yawn I can’t suppress comes out of my mouth.
I’m exhausted, tired with all the physical work I’ve done today and the mental anguish.
I’ll probably fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.
Belatedly, I realise Short’s still waiting for me to answer. Without thinking too hard, my response slips out before I consider that I should reword it. I shrug. “It’s because we tripped up.”
Short’s not as tired. Suddenly, I have his eyes zeroing in on me.
They narrow. His hand clenches around the bottle of beer he’s holding.
He shakes his head like a dog in the rain, then snarls, “We?” He spits out the word.
His mouth works, but no words come out, as if he’s doing the math in his head.
“We?” he repeats, then leans forward. “Are you fuckin’ telling me, Trip is your son? ”
Oh hell no. What have I done? One little word he latched onto, and which means so much.
I try to ignore it. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” But as I stand, he pushes me back into my seat.
“Is. Trip. Your. Son?” His voice is low, but just as menacing as if he’d been shouting.
Despite the room that had felt cosy before, chills go through me. His action and words demand an answer, and it’s clear he won’t walk away without one.
It’s been literally beaten into me to deny, deny, and deny again. To keep the truth buried, to never let anyone know my shameful secret. Never to admit my mother didn’t give birth to Trip, that that was all me. I open my mouth to repeat the lie my parents would want me to tell him.
But I just can’t do it. Though I’m going to disappoint the man who’s staring at me with a combination of hope and devastation in his eyes, I can’t lie to the only person who’s ever been a real friend to me.
“Trip’s my son,” I confirm. And that’s where I hope he’ll leave it.
Tears start to leak from my eyes as the enormity of my admission hits me, knowing nothing will ever be the same again, now that the dreadful truth is out in the open.
Completely devastated and drained, and unable to answer any other questions he's bound to ask, I ask again, “Can I go to bed now?” Alone, I’d be able to start to consider the ramifications of what I’ve exposed.
The expression on his face frightens me. The only comparison I have is the one on my dad’s face before he hits me. Flinching, I push my back into the sofa, automatically trying to get away from him.
It’s a moment before he answers. “Fuck, yeah, you’re going to bed.
In the main bedroom, where I’ll be fuckin’ joining you as you’re obviously no Miss Innocent.
” Short spits out the words, as angry as I’ve ever seen anyone.
“You come around the clubhouse looking like butter never melts in your mouth, you’ve got all of my brothers – and me – pandering to you, protecting you from the harsher side of life, while you’re pretending to be a fuckin’ virgin.
Yet all the time you’ve been screwing around.
” He clenches his hands together as though to prevent letting his rage take a physical turn.
I shudder, unable to cope with his anger I don’t understand.
“Do you even know who the kid’s father is?
Or could it be one of many?” As I try to stand, he leaps out of his recliner and forcefully pushes me back down.
“I’m not finished talking.” He waits to make sure I’m staying where he put me, then continues to hurt me worse with his words than he ever could with his hands.
“No wonder Doc doesn’t show empathy to Trip.
He’s not his fuckin’ son, he’s his grandchild.
And you’re taking advantage of your parents, taking on your child.
While you saunter around like you’re a fuckin’ princess we should all bend a knee to.
Like you’re better than us, when you’re far worse.
” He towers over me. “My prez, my VP, they all wanted me to stay away from the sweet innocent virgin you portray. But there’s no need to keep my distance, is there?
I’d be far from the first. I might as well treat you like the worthless whore you obviously are, and have you in my bed under me.
It’s not like it’s nothing you’ve not known before, and sweetheart…
” He snarls the endearment, mocking his use of it, then his gaze turns calculating.
“You never know, you might even enjoy yourself.”
He palms a cock that doesn’t look aroused to me, but I know that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t take much to get a man hard.
Terrified at the threat he’ll join me in the bedroom, and all that implies, I open my mouth to do all I can to dissuade him, but Short’s already standing, throwing his beer bottle against the wall where it shatters.
Then he shouts, “Fuck it! Now you’re mine for the taking, guess what?
I don’t want another whore warming my bed.
Fuck, Bron, with you, I almost let myself believe I had the real thing.
That I could have something like Saint and Pippa.
I was starting to think it would even be worth the beating the club would give me.
” He punches himself in the head. “I’ve been so fuckin’ stupid.
” His volume has been steadily increasing to the point where for the last few minutes, he’s been yelling at the top of his voice.
“You can stay here tonight, but tomorrow you and Trip are out of here. I don’t give a fuck where you go.
And, after this revelation, I know my brothers won’t lift a hand to help you.
You’ve fooled all of us. Christ, bet you’ve been laughing about having us wrapped around your little finger. ”
Tears roll down my face. He’s not giving me a chance to defend myself. To explain. To try and sift through the awful truth and offer him something that might give him pause and make him a little more lenient. “Short,” I sob out. “Let me tell you—”
His hand slashes through the air. “Keep your fuckin’ excuses. I don’t want to hear them.”
He’s not going to listen to me. Though in the state he’s in, he’d refuse to believe the truth even if I had the guts to tell it to him. I’m crying steadily, my hopes of a fresh start smashed into smithereens. All the strength has seeped out of me. How will I be able to protect Trip now?