Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SHORT
As I pull up to the house, I see Pippa’s car reversing out of my driveway, and I return the wave she offers to me.
Thankful Bronwyn’s not been left all alone to brood, I paddle-walk my bike in front of the garage, then open it and wheel the bike in to hide the view of it from the road.
I’m taking no risks and won’t give any indication that I live here.
I empty my overstuffed saddlebags, grab the contents, and try not to drop them as I make my way to the door. I have to juggle my burden to get the key in the lock, but I finally manage it and get inside with everything intact.
“Bron? I’m home.” It’s crazy how satisfying that simple statement is to me.
She appears in the lounge doorway, her eyes widening as she sees what I’m carrying. “What on earth have you got there?”
“Shit for Trip,” I reply with a grin. “Freak suggested he might need things to entertain him. Where is he anyway?”
As she motions to the room behind her, I move forward, causing her to turn sideways to let me and the surprises I’ve purchased through.
“Hey, Trip.” Now used to the way he doesn’t respond to his name like a regular kid, I make my way toward him.
Seeing his focus is on some cartoon playing on the television, I drop to the floor just to the side of it, and gracefully let the boxes I’ve wrestled in fall to the ground.
I’m gratified when his eyes flick toward me, before turning back to the program he’s watching.
First, I unwrap the toy garage I’d purchased, along with a selection of cars.
Ignoring Trip, I slowly take all the vehicles out of their boxes and place them around.
The cars I’ve chosen are the pull-back and let-go type, so soon I’m shooting them all around the room.
Forgetting whatever dignity I ever had, on hands and knees, I retrieve them, then do it again.
“Vroom, vroom,” I murmur each time, losing more of my self-respect. But I repeat my actions over and over as I realise my antics have got the boy’s attention.
I don’t know how many times I have to crawl on the floor, gathering up the cars that go everywhere, including under the couch. But again, I ignore what I look like as I have to reach for it with my ass in the air, but finally, Trip slides off the couch.
At first, he just watches what I’m doing, but when I slide a car toward him, he gingerly picks it up.
Demonstrating how pulling it back gets the wheels spinning, I release another few cars, and then, finally, exactly what I hoped for but had no real expectation of, he joins in.
Reaching out, he picks up a car and tries to get it moving.
It’s a feeble attempt, and it doesn’t go far.
His little brow creases, then he tries another, this time putting more effort in, and it moves the length of the couch. Studiously, he picks up another, and this time it hits the opposite wall.
Hearing Bronwyn’s gasp from behind me, I turn to see her watching with tears in her eyes. Shuffling over to make space for her, I instruct, “Come join in the fun, Little Momma.”
After only a brief hesitation, she folds herself to her knees and occupies the space I’ve made for her. I hand her a car while also taking one for myself. As she sets hers going, I aim mine straight for it. The two cars crash and upend themselves.
“You did that on purpose.”
Her offended accusation makes me chuckle, so I do the same on her second attempt.
It’s then a croaky sound startles both of us, and looking up, we can see Trip’s lips curving. He’d tried to laugh.
Bronwyn looks at me in stunned amazement, then takes hold of another car. This time, I let mine go first, and she purposefully crashes hers into it. Then Trip sends a car directly into the accident we’ve just caused, and that rusty sound comes again.
“Trip, do you want to see what else I’ve bought you?”
This time, I’m awarded with his attention directly, and I delve into the pile of toys next to me. I pull out a soft, fluffy teddy bear and pretend to cuddle it, and for my pains see Trip hesitantly reaching his hands out to me. I give him the toy, and he snuggles it immediately.
“Has he not had a teddy before?” I ask Bronwyn quietly.
“I don’t know if he did when he was young,” she admits heavily. “But I’ve never seen him with one recently.”
Of course, when I saw the remote-controlled toy motorbike, I had to buy it.
Trip’s eyes literally light up when he sees it.
After making sure I’ve got the batteries in right, I turn it on, start it moving, and try to steer it.
But it’s not like a car. Having only two wheels makes it unstable, and it moves just a foot before toppling over.
Trip crawls and retrieves it. Thinking maybe it needs more room to get up to a good stabilising speed, I put down the remote, then notice Trip’s reaction.
He’s holding it and studying it with a look of bliss on his face.
Kid after my own heart.
The next items I place in front of him are a selection of books. I didn’t know what on earth to get him, but I chose a few early readers and some comics that would be closer to his actual age.
These he ignores in preference to the teddy he’s still cuddling tight, and the motorbike he's cradling in his other hand.
Bronwyn’s soft sobbing beside me makes me realise she’s not witnessed this kind of behaviour before, and I have to subdue the rage rising within me.
Kid’s been neglected for sure. Not her fault, though, but her fucking family.
While Trip’s obviously got developmental problems, it makes me wonder whether they all stem from the incest through which he was conceived, or whether it’s neglect and constant punishment that’s made him turn inward.
But that’s not a conversation to be had with Bronwyn now.
Trip’s stomach growls loudly. I’m also hungry. “What do you say about us ordering some pizza in?”
Bronwyn’s eyes light up. “We can’t live on pizza.” She grins, then declares, “I made Spaghetti Bolognese. Well, Pippa did really, but I did help. I’ve just got to go prepare the pasta and get the garlic bread into the oven.”
Leaving Trip playing with his new toys, I follow her into the kitchen. There’s not much I can do to help, but I get the plates and silverware out and lay the table. It doesn’t take long before she’s ready to plate up.
Neither of us bothers to tell Trip off for having his bear and bike at the table.
It’s just remarkable he’s showing an interest. His new toys don’t affect his appetite, and his plate is soon clean, just like mine.
When I compliment Bron on the tasty meal she’s provided for us, she blushes, telling me Pippa deserves the credit.
Whatever, I’ve enjoyed the food, the homey feel she’s brought to my house, and the ease that had settled between us as we’d eaten together.
Once dinner is finished and cleared up, we spend more time playing with Trip until the kid can’t stop yawning and is ready for bed. But as Bronwyn ushers him upstairs, I chuckle when I see he’s taking both the teddy and motorbike with him.
By the time Bronwyn’s settled him, I’m kicking back on the recliner with a beer in my hand, and have poured a glass of wine for her.
Bron’s face is serious as she enters the room, taking her seat on the sofa. Instead of settling back, she sits forward, her elbows on her knees. “You spoil us.”
“I’m treating you properly,” I retort. Then I take a breath and dive straight into it. “And that’s my role, as your old man, and Trip’s adoptive father.” Her eyes open wide as I grin and inform her, “Club voted on it. I’ve officially claimed both you and Trip.”
She grimaces. I shrug. I’d told her what I’d intended, and when I say I’ll do something, I follow through. Though, in this case, the outcome had depended on my brothers.
“It’s for your protection,” I emphasise, using the words I’d used to persuade her, hating to hide as far as I’m concerned, it’s only too real.
Then I grow serious, wondering how much I should tell her.
Using the control, I lower the recliner and sit up straight so I can face her.
This woman should have been destroyed by what her family did to her, but she’s holding her own, carving out a career, and that takes mettle.
I need to treat her as a partner, not as a child, and certainly not as someone beneath me, as her dad had.
So, taking a deep breath, I fill her in on our suppositions and our thoughts about the real reason why Doc was proposing to drug his son the night she fled.
Her face pales, and she covers her mouth with her hand as if she’s going to vomit.
But I don’t let up. How can you protect someone who doesn’t know they’re in danger?
I continue to explain that we believe Doc doesn’t want her back, and that it’s more than possible he wants her permanently out of the picture.
This makes her sink back onto the sofa, as if neither her bones nor muscles can support her.
She takes in a deep breath, then, on the exhalation, states, “Because I’m the only one who knows Trip exists.
” After a few seconds, a rasping sob comes out of her.
But while I expect her to dissolve into tears, after rapidly wiping away any leakage from her eyes, she pulls herself together and sits up taller.
“What’s the plan to keep him from getting hold of Trip? ”
Proud that she hasn’t given in to negative thoughts, I start to give her the positives. “The club’s going to protect both you and him.”
“Because you’ve claimed me.” She exhales as if the strength’s gone out of her.
I could be a bastard, let her believe that’s the only reason. But if I really want the chance to make things real with her, I can’t let her believe a lie or mislead her. I might not know much about women, but I know things held back can return and bite you at the worst of times.
So, I admit to her, “No.” Immediately, her quizzical eyes land on me.
“Looks like a rival, hell, an enemy club of the Kings is involved. We’ve already got a beef with them.
” Giving a twisted grin, I explain, “It was them who caused the accident where Winchester, Paint, and I were injured. Despite what we led you to believe, I didn’t actually shoot or stab myself. ” I offer a wry grin.
Her eyeroll is up there with the best of them. “As if I thought you were that accident-prone. It was obvious from the start, Short.” Then she thinks for a moment, and it’s impossible to read her expression as she asks, “So the club would protect us out of your hatred for this rival club?”
“The Mojave Devils,” I fill her in.
“Does that mean I wouldn’t have to actually become your ol’ lady?”
Fuck! The thought that I can hear relief in her voice hits me right in the balls. The intensity of the pain coursing through my body makes me realise how much she’s already come to mean to me, and how I wouldn’t want the responsibility for her protection to be left to anyone else but me.
Fuck it. However much it pains me to admit, she’s probably right.
To strike a blow at the MDMC, whether she’s really mine or not, probably wouldn’t matter, as that would be our primary objective.
And, especially as Trip is involved, many of the Kings would throw down for her.
Rattler admitted it himself. You got me at the Mojave Devils.
Gritting my teeth, I force a reply out of my mouth. “Yeah, if you don’t want to be my ol’ lady, then you’ll probably still be safe.”
“So, you’re off the hook.” She sighs softly.
Harshly, I admit, “Don’t fuckin’ want to be off any fuckin’ hook, darlin’.” I tell her the complete truth. “Want you to be mine, and,” I add, softening my voice, “Trip too. Both of you have gotten to me.”
“You’ve done more with Trip today than my parents or I have in eight years,” she observes.
“Which isn’t your fault,” I reply smartly.
“Your parents took advantage of you being too young to take responsibility for a child, and hell, from what we suspect now, there was a reason your dad kept you from getting too close to him. Trip, at first, was a liability, a final nail in his coffin if he ever wanted to regain respectability, and more recently, a financial investment. You can’t blame yourself for not being allowed to be a mom to your boy. Your parents made sure you couldn’t.”
She nods slowly. “Pippa said something similar when she came to visit today.” She breathes in deeply, her body tightening as she adds, “She suggested therapy for both me and Trip.”
Fuck, now I owe Saint more than one beer. I owe him the whole fucking barrel. “I think that’s a good idea,” I tell her gently.
“Short?” Suddenly she’s looking at me straight in the eyes, then, chickening out, lowers her gaze and mumbles her next words to the floor.
But I still manage to hear them clearly.
“Would you wait for me while I get myself sorted out? I don’t see how talking out my problems will help, but I think I’m willing to try.
And Trip, well, I could use some pointers on what’s really wrong with my child.
Tonight, the cars, the bear… I obviously don’t know what’s actually wrong inside his head, or how much my parents' treatment and neglect have damaged him.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
I chuckle softly. “Yes, I’m willing to wait until you get therapy.
I’ll wait however long you might need. I’ll even accompany you if that’s what you want.
Bronwyn, I never wanted an ol’ lady until you came along, but for some reason you’ve embedded yourself here.
” Breaking off, I place a hand over my heart.
“I know Trip comes as a package deal. And hell, his reaction to the toys tonight? Well, that gave me a buzz so high, it rivals what I feel when riding my bike.” She probably doesn’t understand what a compliment that is.
“The fact you even want to try is making my stomach turn somersaults.” I chuckle softly.
“You have no idea how much I want to take you in my arms and hug you right now.”
Shyly, she raises her eyes. “And you don’t know how much I wish I were brave enough to let you.”
She wants to. For now, that’s enough. I can be a patient man when what I want is worth waiting for. I’m only too well aware I’m a big fucker, and it would be all too easy to scare her. Doc controlled her with the power he held over her. I could easily crush her with my size.