Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
brONWYN
My bruises fade after a few days, and it’s come to the end of the week off work that Dad had bought me with yet another of his lies.
I’m partly dreading going back to the hospital, but mostly looking forward to getting back to normal.
Well, normal as it can be with the proposed plan that a prospect should follow me to work, wait outside while I’m there, and bring me home again.
The thought that I could really be in danger chills me.
The only threat I’d previously considered was my father would find me and drag me home.
But that first talk, the night Short bought Trip toys, and subsequent conversations have lifted the veil from my eyes.
It’s not a stretch to believe there’s a benefit to Dad getting me out of the way permanently – all because I’m the only witness to there ever having been a child in that house.
Except for my mom, of course, but she’d keep quiet, being just as guilty of concealing Trip’s birth as Dad had been.
My hands clench the edge of the kitchen sink as I try to come to terms with the future Dad had planned for Trip.
It had taken a while to convince me of the peril Trip is in.
As a nurse, I’m not blind to the evil that exists in this world, and, of course, I’ve already had a taste of it courtesy of my dad.
But for a child to be removed from his family, sold into depravity, well, bile rises into my throat each time I think of it.
Trip’s made progress these last few days we’ve lived with Short, and I can’t take the credit for that.
Too used to a boy who exists, but doesn’t communicate or interact, it’s hard to reverse the low expectations I have of my son.
To my chagrin, I’d initially thought all he needed was the same attention he got from my mom, which basically amounted to only being fed and clothed.
Short, though, hadn’t got the same memo.
From that evening, when he’d brought all the toys home, he’s spent time playing with him, and encouraging me to join in.
And to my surprise, there’s been more interaction daily.
Trip now claps his hands when he’s happy about something, and has even gained some confidence to ask, in his own way, for something he needs.
He’ll now approach me, with one of his cars in his hands, if he wants me to play with him.
I’m becoming more and more convinced his condition was made worse by the way my parents treated him.
Apart from the first night, he’s not had a meltdown.
At the top of my to-do list when I get a free moment at work is to see if there’s a reputable therapist my colleagues can recommend. One who can deal with childhood trauma, which would probably work for both of us.
“You ready for this?” Short comes up behind me, hovering close.
He always uses his voice so as not to startle me when he approaches.
I’m becoming used to having Short sharing my space, but so far, he hasn’t touched me, nor I him.
Though increasingly I’m starting to wonder what it would feel like if I were brave enough to seek comfort in his arms.
Pippa and Saint had come around together the other night, and their obvious intimacy had intrigued me.
While I’d always known the VP as a scary, unapproachable man, fair, yes, but one who gave off vibes if you ever crossed him, you’d regret it, Pippa obviously regards him differently.
She teases him, touches him, kisses him without a care who’s looking.
And the loving looks they exchange would melt even the hardest heart.
Saint was constantly placing his hand on her stomach, clearly relishing the growing child inside her.
I couldn’t help but compare to my own pregnancy, which, once it was discovered, was ignored, hidden, not to be talked about, and attracted none of the soft glances exchanged by this pair, but outright animosity that I’d put my parents in that position.
What would it be like to have a baby that was wanted from the very start?
“Cat got your tongue?” I can hear the smile in Short’s voice.
Belatedly, I remember the question he’d asked, and gather my thoughts to answer him seriously. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. But, Short, so much has changed. Am I the same person?”
“You’re still the same person, perhaps a little stronger, and you have control of your life now, not your fuckin’ dad.
You always had secrets you kept hidden.” His voice is low, patient.
“All that’s different is that it’s up to you to disclose them.
No one’s going to know anything you don’t want them to.
Unless you want, or need, to come clean. ”
I spin around to face him. “Nothing will make me spill those secrets, Short.”
His hand comes up, hovers in the air, then he lets it sink down when I know he was going to cup my cheek. I almost wish he had touched me, but maybe not today, when I’ve got enough to deal with.
“I’m gonna say something you won’t want to hear, but, Bron, listen to me.
Sooner or later, you’ll have to reveal the truth about your relationship with Trip.
” I open my mouth, but he places a finger to my lips.
“Not today, but when you're ready to deal with publicly claiming him. Unless something forces your hand.”
Again, I try to interject that there’s nothing on this earth that will persuade me, but he continues speaking over me.
“The prospect will be there, but he’ll be outside.
The plan is that he’ll spot your dad if he comes to the hospital and intercept him.
But if he evades the prospect and gets in, well, I want you to threaten to expose everything, publicly if need be.
You scream about the abuse he put you through, the existence of Trip, how he’s your son – something DNA won’t deny.
I promise you, he’ll back off fast. Don’t be afraid to use every weapon in your arsenal.
And remember, it’s not you who’s got anything to be ashamed about. ”
While I’m loath to let the truth come out, Short’s right. It would hurt my father more than me. And to achieve my goal of being a real mother to Trip, my secret has to come out sooner or later.
But that’s the last resort at the moment, my weapon to be used only if Dad confronts me. Otherwise, Short’s advised I should keep my powder dry and let the Kings of Anarchy sort out the timing for me. It’s best that no one suspects I know anything about my son's whereabouts.
“You sure he’s going to be okay at the clubhouse?” That’s one thing I’m nervous about. Bikers and club girls are the very last babysitters I should ever think of for my child. Bad mom from the start, and it seems like that’s continuing.
“I told you, I’ll keep him with me.” Short chuckles. “He’ll be fine, don’t worry. Pippa will be there and is willing to help out and…” He shakes his head as if amused. “Even Freak has offered his help. I think Ace has been digging through some of his old toys.”
Accepting it is what it is, and without his help, I wouldn’t be able to return to work, I try to lighten the mood. “Little biker in training.”
But Short takes me seriously and shrugs. “If that’s what he wants to be.”
The thought of Trip all grown up, straddling one of their monster bikes, causes dual emotions in me. The first, surely, I should want better for my son. The second, if he grows to achieve such goals, well, that would be a freaking miracle.
See? That’s the difference between Short and me.
I’ve lived with Trip’s issues for so long, I can’t see a future without care twenty-four seven.
Short though? He thinks with the right help, treatment, and support, Trip will surprise us all.
I’d love to be optimistic, but the realism that’s been drummed into me is difficult to shake off.
“Knight’s here,” Short announces, checking through the window as one of the club’s trucks draws up. “You get your stuff together, I’ll just go have a word with him.”
Suspecting he’ll be re-emphasising the importance of protecting me, I give them a few moments as I gather my phone and purse. Then, saying “goodbye” to Trip, even if he doesn’t notice me, I walk out the door, ready to take up at least some of the reins of my old life.
The trip to the hospital is taken in silence.
I’m too wound up, and I admit, too shy to make conversation with the prospect as I haven’t been formally introduced to him.
I’ve obviously seen him around the clubhouse before, and remember him delivering furniture to the house, but that had hardly been one of the best days of my life.
There seems to be no basis for small talk, and he doesn’t engage with me.
Until we arrive, then he assures me, “I’ll be right here.
Short gave you my number?” When I nod yes, he continues, “If anything seems off, use your phone.” His eyes narrow.
“Your father may not come to you himself, but if any other asshole approaches you and tries to get you to go somewhere with him, or even if something just feels off, fuckin’ call me. ”
Again, I nod. It’s a scenario Short and I have discussed.
“Thank you, Knight. I, er, I know how boring waiting out here will be.”
He chuckles softly. “Lady, I want to earn my patch, which means doing anything the club asks. And please, I’d rather you overreact and call me in, even if it turns out to be nothing, than be too cautious and have things go south.
‘Cause fuck knows I’ll never become a King if anything happens to you on my watch. ”
Unsurprised to learn he’s got an ulterior motive for keeping me safe, one which benefits us both, I reassure him, “I will. I’ll especially be on the lookout for any biker types who look out of place.
” I doubt the Mojave Devils will confront me wearing their cuts, but bikers carry themselves with a confidence and swagger, and dress in certain ways that should give me a warning.
After my conversation with Knight, I know he’s serious, he’d rather I call on his help for a false alarm, than let the benefit of the doubt dissuade me.
“Have a good day,” he says, as I get out of the truck.
“You too,” I offer, automatically.
I’m a competent nurse, one who takes pride in her job, always ready to assist when I’m asked.
But I’m also quiet and shy, and I tend to stay in the background unless I’m needed professionally.
My family situation and the secrets I carry aren’t conducive to making friends.
So, I’m surprised when I enter the hospital and go to the ward to which I’m currently assigned, to be asked multiple times if I’m fully recovered.
I get so many checks on my health, my head spins.
And it’s not only the nursing staff, but also the janitors, and a couple of the doctors.
And here I was thinking I wouldn’t be missed.
The fact that I was, puts a smile on my face.
Thrown in the thick of it, I monitor patients as they go into surgery, placing catheters, and putting IV lines in, and having to reassure them about the competency of the medical staff and the safety of the procedure as they’re given their anaesthetic.
The surgeon, Dr. Robson, even offers me the chance to observe an appendectomy, an opportunity I can’t turn down, and I end up assisting, even if it’s only to pass swabs and basic medical necessities.
At the end of the operation, I take advantage of the fact that Dr. Robson is washing his hands at the sink next to me.
He’s always been pleasant, not standoffish as some of the other surgeons can be when interacting with a nurse.
He’s also probably one of the most approachable, and he gives me the confidence to talk to him.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He gives a sideways glance toward me. “Sure, do you need any information about the procedure we just performed?”
“No, it’s something different.” The quiver in my voice betrays my nervousness.
Now it’s a stern look he’s giving me. “I don’t fraternise with trainees,” he warns.
My face blushes red. “I wasn’t going to ask you out. I’d never…” When he raises an eyebrow, I fall over my words. “I mean, you’re good-looking and all that, but I’m not in the market—”
“I was messing with you,” he cuts in, with a grin on his face. “Go on. What do you want to know?”
Think of Trip. That thought makes me pull myself together. “I’ve got a friend who has a child with developmental problems. She needs a therapist for him. I was just wondering if you knew of someone you’d recommend?”
His eyes narrow as he dries his hands on a paper towel. “Let me think. Oh, yeah, Dr. Amelia Hancock, that’s right up her alley.”
I can hardly believe he’s given me a name. It seems too easy. “Does she work here?”
“No, she’s in private practice, but she’s here in town. She’s good, helped out with a colleague’s kid. Want her number?”
“Yes, please.” There’s a kernel of excitement growing in me. I’d much rather take Trip to see someone who’s not connected to my workplace. It adds an extra level of security.
Taking a pen out of his pocket, he scribbles down a number and hands it to me.
On my lunch break, I waste no time calling the woman he’d recommended. As it happens, she has an open appointment at the end of the day due to a cancellation. Quickly, I work out that if Short brings Trip here to meet me, we can make the time she’s suggested.
Almost bouncing on my feet, I ring Short and explain the opportunity. He’s just as enthusiastic as I am, and quickly agrees. It’s only then that I realise there’s no way I’ll be able to afford her fee.
“Short…” My bright tone disappears.
“What is it?” I’m surprised how quickly he’s able to read me.
“How will I pay her?”
I don’t expect him to chuckle. “Are you, or are you not my ol’ lady?”
Blushing, I respond, “Well, not really—”
“Bron,” he says sharply. “You are to me. Which means I cover all of yours and Trip’s expenses when you can’t. Won’t hurt me none, I assure you. I can afford it. This is an opportunity we can’t pass up.”