Chapter Fifteen—Meggie
Suspecting Christopher hadn’t told the boys about Rebel’s collapsed lung and unable to rest after speaking to Rule, Meggie wanted more pain meds. The stab wound hurt. Her ribs and hand throbbed. And all her cuts and abrasions burned, but she couldn’t give in until she saw to her family.
For awhile after Christopher’s departure, she sat in the rocking chair situated between the door and Rebel’s bed and talked to her daughter, sang lullabies, read two fairytales from her phone, resumed talking, and prayed to anyone she thought might be listening.
A couple of times, she swore Rebel’s eyelids fluttered, but then she’d stop moving again. Meggie pressed her lips together to keep from ordering the nurse not to administer the next dose of drugs to Rebel. However, Meggie didn’t want her baby girl in pain, and she trusted Christopher’s judgment.
Rebel wouldn’t awaken soon, so Meggie instructed one nurse to wheel her to the nursery to visit Jo.
Her baby looked strong and healthy. She wanted to sit with Jo in her arms and rock her, but because of her extensive injuries, she could only stroke her soft downy hair, sing her a lullaby, and then return to her room, hoping Christopher and their boys had finally gotten back.
But no. Not even Bishop, Ryder, and Ransom were back from wherever they’d gone to eat.
Meggie suspected her husband took CJ home and he’d gone to the club.
Talking over the phone to Rule devastated her.
She could only imagine what seeing him did to Christopher and CJ. They’d need a moment to unwind.
Despite how much she needed Christopher’s physical presence and moral support, she understood he required space to work through his anger toward Rule and helplessness at the entire situation.
Alone in her room with just the unnerving sound of Rebel’s machines as company, Meggie called Kendall, then Roxy, then Zoann, then Gypsy, and finally Bailey.
Each conversation ended quickly. Meggie understood they didn’t want to tax her, although Bailey’s cool cordiality suggested something else. They were all dealing with the fallout of Rule’s break, so she let them have their space.
On second thought, Gypsy was probably dealing with Derby’s foolishness.
Meggie empathized with her friend, though she wished Gypsy stuck to one decision.
The back-and-forth drove Meggie insane. She never knew the status of Gypsy and Derby’s relationship.
Even when her friend seemed firmly on the side of divorce and no chance of reconciliation, she caved and went back to Derby.
Meggie understood. In her head, only death could ever come between her and Christopher. He was volatile, but not abusive. He was charismatic, but not a cheater. He loved her, above everyone, but he was still an excellent father.
Derby’s positive had nothing to do with Gypsy. He was loyal to Christopher.
Studying her phone, she thought about calling Gypsy again and probing for more detail.
Her friend was probably lonely and needed an ear to list Derby’s latest transgressions.
A time or two, Meggie suggested Gypsy try to move on with another man.
Derby liked eighteen-year-old girls at his big age?
Then, Gypsy should find an eighteen-year-old guy to spend time with.
Meggie giggled, until she remembered Gypsy telling Meggie she’d slept with Diesel several years ago.
The news grossed her out and creeped her out.
Christopher hadn’t cared. She doubted he’d even talked to Diesel.
She certainly hadn’t, although she’d wanted to punch her son.
Sure, in his oversexed brain, sleeping with his mother’s best friend, lured him in.
Yet, they’d crossed boundaries that should have been too solid to breach.
As unfair as it was, Meggie laid most of the blame at Gypsy’s feet since she was older–fifty or fifty-one at the time. True, Diesel would’ve been twenty-five or twenty-six, but she’d propositioned him. Gypsy swore she’d only slept with Diesel twice.
“You broke it off with him?”
“No. He stopped it, Meggie. He said he felt as if he was betraying you by sleeping with one of your good friends behind your back.”
“You’ve known Diesel since he was almost sixteen, Gypsy. How could you sleep with him?”
“He’s a grown man now and a good fuck.”
“Look at my son again and he will be your last fuck,” Meggie spat, and nodded to the door. “Now get out.”
They’d reconciled within a month. Mainly because Meggie knew Diesel shared half of the blame. Besides, he hadn’t been underage when Gypsy slept with him.
If her goal had been to make Derby jealous, the plan failed. For that to have happened, Gypsy would’ve have to expose Diesel. As much as she liked Gypsy and wished Derby treated her better, Meggie wouldn’t allow her to use her beloved son as a pawn.
Derby was an idiot and Gypsy was misguided, so distressed and despondent that her husband was once again sleeping with much younger women. So Meggie threw it out there that Gypsy needed to find a hot young guy to make her feel special and wanted.
“As long as you stay away from Diesel. And Grant,” she remembered to add.
“There’s always CJ,” Gypsy chortled.
Unamused, Meggie lifted her brow and folded her arms.
“I’m fucking with you, Meggie,” she said, laughing harder. “He’s turning into a fine young stud.”
Meggie frowned.
“You’re going to have to reconcile the fact that he will use his cock to stick in ass, pussy, and mouth–”
“Enough! If he hasn’t already had sex…why am I discussing my potato like he’s a piece of meat? What CJ does privately isn’t your concern.”
Had that conversation really happened a week ago?
Sighing, Meggie closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to stop jumping from one dislikable subject to the next before she lost her mind.
Huffing, Meggie called Narci, so he could wheel her back to the nursery. Just as before, she waved to the bikers in the space outside the doors, not stopping for conversation.
As before, she used her good hand to steer her IV pole. Unfortunately, Jo was asleep.
“I’d like to sit with her anyway,” she told the duty nurse. “Just for a little while.”
The woman glanced at Narci, standing at Meggie’s side like a warrior lord, then nodded at Meggie. “Of course, Mrs. Caldwell.”
Narci wheeled her closer to the rocking chair, then put the brakes on the wheelchair and lifted the footrests. “Do you need any help?”
“No.” Transferring herself to the rocker, Meggie held in her grunt and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Call me when you’re ready to return to your room, Meggie,” he said, then hesitated. “Uh, do you need anything else? Food?” He brushed his hair aside and pointed to his earbuds. “I can lend, uh, give these to you if you’d like to listen to music. Do you need a dance partner?”
She looked pointedly at her casts, and he paled.
“Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. No insult was meant. I swear.” He gulped. “Do you need anything? Anything at all. Whatever it is.”
Him not acting like an idiot would work wonders. “For the pain to go away,” she said instead, “so I can better take care of my family.”
Unease flickered over Narci’s face, and he glanced over his shoulder before kneeling down and grabbing her hands. “You’ll tell Prez you wanted to come in here, won’t you?” he asked in a panicked tone. “I-I mean I-I didn’t want to deny you—”
Squinting, Meggie cocked her head to the side. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” Narci said quickly, too quickly. Standing, he dusted his jeans. “Not a thing. Everything’s brilliant.”
“Umkay,” she said, not believing him. She’d discover the truth eventually. “And, yes, I’ll be sure to tell Christopher you didn’t kidnap me and force me to visit Jo.”
His laughter resembled a nervous donkey’s. “Good one, Meggie. I never knew you to be so hilarious.”
“Ummmmhmmmm.” Meggie pasted a smile on her lips and beckoned the biker closer.
He bent.
“Who did Christopher kill?” she whispered.
“What? K-k-k-kill? Why do you think…? Is it because of the way I’m acting? I’ve been so overwhelmed with worry for you. To see you awake and walking, uh, wheeling, being wheeled, uh, warms my heart.”
Meggie narrowed her eyes. “Who was it?”
Narci gulped. “I don’t know what you mean, Meggie. Mrs. Caldwell. M-ma’am.”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she snapped, then waved her hand, indicating he stand. “You’re acting like a jackass,” she whisper-yelled. “Which isn’t your normal behavior.”
Shifting his weight, he winced. “Can I ask you to let Outlaw tell you?”
“Did he say not to tell me?”
“No,” Narci admitted, and shifted. “I’d just prefer to let him handle it.”
“Whatever,” she grumbled.
“Megan?”
At the sound of Johnnie’s voice, Meggie tipped her head back and released an irritated sigh.
“Oh god,” she said dramatically. Well, she’d wanted a diversion.
Glancing toward the door, she saw Johnnie leaning in and beckoning her.
She considered refusing Johnnie. He wouldn’t seek her out for pleasantries, but the sooner she spoke to him, the sooner he’d leave. “Narci, wheel me into the hallway.”
His shoulders sagged and a relieved smile curved his mouth. “You got it, er, uh…what should I call you?”
“By my name, moron. Have I told you not to call me Meggie?”
“No, no, no. Don’t get upset with me–”
“Shut up. Tell me what’s wrong or stop how you’re behaving this minute.”
Not answering, Narci wheeled her into the hallway, halting her in front of her brother-in-law.
“What, Johnnie?” she demanded.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I need to talk to you,” he said with hard-to-miss urgency.
“Does it have anything to do with Narci acting like an idiot?”
Johnnie exchanged a perplexed glance with Narci, then shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with him. This is something different. Please, Megan. It’s life-or-death.”
“Yours?” she grouched.
He reached out a hand to touch her, but she leaned away, glaring at him.
“Just hear me out. Please? I’m begging you.”