Chapter 3
The tantalizing scent of fresh, sizzling bacon roused Ranger from a restless slumber, but for the first time in his life, it didn’t make him hop out of bed.
It was near two in the morning by the time he finally drifted off.
Having a curfew sucked donkey dick, or he would have likely gone to the club’s garage on the property that they’d modified partly into a gym to work out until he passed out.
Three days. Three days of twice-a-day meetings, therapy with Dr. Rutenberg…
and nothing else. Everywhere he turned, someone was there.
Their excuses were inventive. Ghost even had a prospect replace all the bricks lining the driveway just to ensure Ranger wasn’t left alone.
Every time Ranger turned around his mom was trying to shove food down his throat.
What had his life become that he was actually turning down his mom’s cooking?
When he’d been overseas, he’d dreamed of her cooking.
And now… He knew his mom was in the kitchen preparing a feast big enough for twenty people when it was just him, Becks, and Ghost.
He felt numb, and fucking bored out of his mind. No one would let him fucking do anything. Did they listen at all to Cross’ speech? He wasn’t fucking fragile. He could walk to the fucking clubhouse without needing an escort.
He could say something. It wasn’t like Ranger to keep his mouth shut, or to allow himself to be run over, but after everything he put his family through, how could he begrudge them their worry? Even if it was driving him insane.
Cross had warned him about boredom. How there was such a thing as too much “quiet time”, but he still suggested Ranger wait a week before he got a job.
On the way to Morgantown for their second NA meeting, Ranger had told Cross most of what had happened to him.
He didn’t know what Colby had shared, if he’d even shared anything.
But Cross was going out of his way to help Ranger, and Ranger felt he owed the man the truth of how he became an addict.
He did not share anything about Becks’ and his inheritances, his sexual assault, or the torture that he’d endured, which had somehow become the least. Four days of being stripped naked, bound to a fucking jail toilet, beaten, electrocuted, cut, starved, and dehydrated, and yet he had other things that had taken precedence over that.
Cross was sympathetic to Ranger’s history, but as Ranger already knew, it didn’t change the facts of his current circumstances.
As Dr. Sutton had put it, it didn’t matter if Ranger broke his own leg or someone else broke his leg for him.
His leg would still be broken. The same applied for his addiction.
But did it define him now? Was this the rest of his life? Not Ranger the former Army Ranger. Not Ranger the club enforcer. Not Ranger the bar owner. Just…Ranger the addict. Was this it? Was this all his life would be?
What if he survived his first year and got his one-year chip? It seemed like such a feat, but say he did it. Then what? He wasn’t cured. Look at Cross. The man had thirty-seven years sober, and he still spoke of his bad days.
He heard his bedroom door creak open. Ranger didn’t bother to close his eyes or fake being asleep. As Becks poked her head around the door, he glanced down his body at her, too numb to feign that he didn’t catch her check on him.
Becks’ cheeks flushed as she gave him a toothy grin of sisterly innocence before she slipped back out the door.
Ranger heard her say that he was still asleep, likely to their mother.
Well, at least Becks was good for something.
Really the only time his mom wasn’t hovering was when he was asleep—or at least they both could pretend she wasn’t because the door separated them.
His eyes lazily traveled back up to the ceiling, the rest of him not moving a muscle.
When Ranger had first gotten out of the Army, he’d been too preoccupied with civilian life to consider settling down.
Others in his squad had someone special waiting for them at home.
Ranger had dated, but no one that he’d been serious about.
Then he’d joined the club. For six years, they’d enjoyed life, partying and finding their rhythm.
Then the new sheriff had come to town, bringing his adult daughter with him.
And like a domino effect, Ranger had watched as one by one his brothers started falling.
Hell, even Cage who’d been the biggest man-whore of them all, had fallen, and now he was the proud father of three and an honorary ol’ lady.
Ranger hadn’t been jealous, per se. He hadn’t been looking or hoping for a girlfriend when Cameron had come into his bar.
Maybe he’d been lonely and not as fixated on getting laid every night.
Looking back on it, he truly hadn’t seen Cameron’s manipulation coming.
For the first six-ish months of their relationship, they hadn’t been exclusive.
Hadn’t defined what they were, though if asked “fuck buddies” would have described what they had.
Slowly, though, she’d started to worm her way into his life.
Attending parties with him, both of them sleeping over instead of fucking and running, calling him to watch a movie together or to grab lunch…
Calling her his girlfriend had seemed the natural next step.
And maybe she was a bit ditzy, or appeared to be anyway.
But she was fun, adventurous, and he never knew what she was going to say next.
In comparison to his club brothers’ relationships, it would have still been considered casual even a year later.
The way most of the club described meeting their woman, if it wasn’t love at first sight, it certainly was possession at first sight.
They knew she was his. Maybe the love hadn’t been there, but they knew it would come. They’d never doubt it.
Whereas it had been the opposite for Ranger. As fun as Cameron had been, he knew she wasn’t the one. So why hadn’t he broken up with her? Why had he clung onto a relationship he’d known was doomed?
Was it truly just loneliness? Better to be with her and not love her than to be alone?
If only he’d had a crystal ball that could have shown him the future.
Shown him lying on his bed, staring apathetically up at his ceiling while avoiding his mother’s home-cooked breakfast. How different his world would be now.
The bedroom door slammed open, but other than his heart starting to beat faster, Ranger did not move. Ghost came in wearing only a pair of low-riding gray sweatpants while crunching on a slice of bacon.
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, chewing on his bacon, while staring down at Ranger like he was waiting for something.
Ranger lifted an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you crawl into bed with me and we have some sort of heart-to-heart?”
Licking the grease off the fingers of one hand, Ghost ran his other hand down his tattooed, bare chest. “You wish you could get this into bed with you.”
Ranger made a face, sorry he’d made the joke. Turning his attention back to the ceiling, Ranger asked, “What do you want?”
“Becks said you were still sleeping.”
Ranger blinked. “So you planned on coming in here and watching me sleep like a pervert?”
“Stop trying to get me into bed with you. There’s only one Fremont in this house I like to get in bed with, and frankly, you’re just not as pretty.”
Ranger snorted. “What do you want, Ghost?”
“I want you to get up.”
“I’ll grab breakfast in a bit. I’m not hungry right now.” Actually, he was. He just didn’t want the audience while he ate.
“I didn’t say I wanted you to come to breakfast. I said I wanted you to get up.”
There was a cobweb hanging from one of his ceiling fan blades. He probably should get that at some point, but it wasn’t like it was harming anything.
“The fuck?!” Ranger shouted as the mattress was raised up from under him. Apparently Ghost got tired of waiting for Ranger to get up, and had instead decided to make the decision for him—by literally dumping him on the floor.
Fighting with gravity and the blankets that were now twisted around him like a fucking burrito wrap, Ranger got to his feet. “What the fuck, man!”
Plopping the mattress back down haphazardly on the box spring, Ghost pointed at Ranger with a single finger. “Get showered, get dressed, make yourself prettier, because you look like shit, and get your ass out to your hog,” he ordered before storming from the room.
“Can I take a piss, too?” Ranger shouted after him.
“Only if you can do it on your own. I ain’t touching your dick!” Ghost called behind him without turning.
“Taran Keir!” Ranger heard his mom scold from the kitchen.
Which was then followed by, “Sorry, Loretta. Rebel, baby, I’m getting in the shower. Come watch or come join me. Those are your choices.”
“Taran!”
Ranger closed his bedroom door before he heard his sister’s answer.
Ghost wasn’t being purposefully crude. From his perspective, he’d already married and gotten Becks pregnant.
At this point, a shower was harmless, but having no siblings or parents, Ghost sometimes forgot or didn’t notice that certain things just weren’t said in front of family.
But he also knew that Ghost was serious about the two of them going out, and if Ranger didn’t hurry up, Ghost would come down and threaten to watch Ranger shower to ensure it got done. Nothing like brotherly love, or whatever the fuck this was.
* * *
“What are we doing here?” Ranger asked, pulling his bike alongside Ghost’s. They were outside Angel’s tattoo studio.