Chapter Thirty—Meggie
Sitting in the window seat in her hospital room, Meggie stared out at the gray day. Definitely a match for her current mood. Regret, disbelief, sadness, fear, anger, a stew of emotions that didn’t help her physical pain. All of which she needed to ignore for her family’s sake.
Over the years, she’d learned how fast life spun out of control.
Examples from years ago ran through her mind, but she only needed to look to less than a month ago on Valentine’s Day, when Rebel anticipated her first date and Christopher’s dismissal crushed Meggie before he’d swooped in and given her one of the most romantic days in their years together.
One she’d cherish forever. That night, in his arms, on the back of his bike, it seemed as if their world had rebalanced itself and their months-long tilted axis flattened into a smooth plane.
Days later, not only did the axis tilt, but their world exploded.
Christopher was upset, with her especially. All Meggie wanted was him to work through his anger. As painful as it was, she had to give him room to do it at his own pace.
Last night he’d come to the room even later than he had the night before, but she hadn’t been able to rest until she saw him. Ten minutes after their conversation ended, her eyes were drooping closed.
Suddenly, he’d stood at the side of her bed, leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “Sweet dreams, baby,” he’d whispered.
She’d smiled, her last thought before sinking into sleep was he was thawing toward her.
If Christopher would’ve just talked to her, she’d admit she worried she’d never forgive herself.
Rule had needed her and she’d found every reason to ignore his cry for help.
In her head, the date Rebel wanted so bad took precedence.
She didn’t want Rebel to end up hurt—either with a repeat of the Billy and Eric situation, where she might not be found in time or because she latched onto Diesel and he ignored morals, decency, and common sense.
Meggie winced. Hopefully, she had him pegged wrong. Hopefully—
The door opened and Meggie glanced in that direction, expecting to see Rebel returning from her testing. Instead, Johnnie sauntered in.
“Would you please just go away?” she asked crossly, in no mood for his stupidity. “If Diesel has beaten up another one of Tabitha’s friends, talk to Christopher and Mortician.”
Johnnie ignored her and walked to her, looming next to her like a cartoon villain. He raised his bandaged hand and met her gaze as if he wanted a reaction.
She already knew. Mortician had clued her in that Christopher shot Johnnie, although he hadn’t gone into the reasons why. She hadn’t cared about his injury the day after it happened and she didn’t care now.
“What? What, Johnnie?” Grabbing her IV pole, she stood and glared at him. “Christopher would’ve done me a great favor if he’d shot away your tongue.” She started past him.
“You little bitch,” he snarled, yanking her arm with his good hand and almost tripping her, since her foot cast had her so unsteady.
She had crutches, but it was such a short distance between her bed and the window seat, she’d ignored them.
“If you don’t care about my injuries, maybe this will matter to you. Your husband wants to fuck my wife.”
Scowling, Meggie jerked away, limped to her bed and tucked herself in. Her wrist was nicely healing, but her sprained ankle continued plaguing her. “You’re an idiot.”
“Am I?” Johnnie stalked to her and narrowed his silver eyes. “Last week, I found them at the club drinking together. I looked at the footage and do you fucking know what Kendall asked him?”
“What possessed her to marry you?” Meggie asked sweetly.
“You’ve turned into a first-class cunt.”
“Lovely. I’ve finally joined you, since you’ve been one.”
Rage contorting his face, he swept her with a chilling look. “I fucking hate you so fucking much.”
“So you’ve said.” The first time Johnnie told her that, long before his actions backed up his words, it crushed her. “That’s old news and it bores me. Say what you came to tell me and then get out.”
“Kendall, my wife, asked the man you’ve put all your trust in, what kind of couple they would’ve made.”
Meggie blinked, waiting for Johnnie to continue. “And?” she pressed at his silence.
“And? What the fuck do you mean and? They were at the table, cozied fucking up like long-lost friends.”
“Kendall and Christopher aren’t having an affair, moron. They’re acting like family, and it’s long overdue.”
“I disagree.”
“Of course you do. When are you ever agreeable?”
For the briefest moment, Johnnie dropped his guard, and vulnerability blanketed his face.
Once, Meggie would’ve sought a way to help him.
Be his friend. Talk to Christopher or Mortician or both on his behalf.
But Johnnie’s moods swung as fiercely as branches in a storm.
They, like him, broke, leaving mere remnants of their former majesty.
“They aren’t sleeping with each other, Johnnie,” she repeated. “They are having the relationship you always wanted Kendall to have with Christopher.”
He swallowed and glanced away. Meggie thought he’d accept the truth.
Instead, he turned to her again, a smirk replacing his defenselessness. “How does it feel, Megan?”
Shoving aside her moment of nostalgia, Meggie hoped she didn’t regret falling for his bait. Obviously, her guards allowed him in, so they didn’t think he was much of a threat. “How does what feel?”
“How does it feel to be such a fucking failure? Everyone thought my children would be fucked up because of Kendall.” Malice gleamed in his eyes. “But it’s your pack of brats with mental issues, anger issues, insecurities, and a lack of respect for you.”
Meggie longed for the days when her kids weren’t on the cusp of adulthood or, in Diesel’s case, already an adult.
Back when Axel was first born, and family was family.
Back when her husband truly listened to her and took her into consideration.
The only thing she’d change was her treatment of Kendall.
Meggie could’ve handled situations differently and offered a little more understanding.
Yet, she’d learned nothing about mental illness, if her son was any indication.
When her kids were small, things were so much simpler.
She’d felt safe and secure. Cherished. She wouldn’t admit to how her boys’ changed view of her felt like a festering open wound.
Self-pity wouldn’t help anyone. And it truly wasn’t their fault that the dismissive way the club members treated women rubbed off on them.
Yet Johnnie didn’t get to disparage her sons.
“You have a problem with Christopher? Talk to him. Problem with me?” Meggie laughed without humor, pretending Johnnie hadn’t hit a nerve.
“Excuse me. Another problem with me? I’m listening.
But I’ll see you tossed from the roof of a fifty-story building before I allow you to call my children out of their names. ”
The promise of murder gleamed in his eyes. “You’re a pathetic little cunt. You’re a homemaker? Guess what? Your fucking job is to look after your kids, Miss My-Children-Are-Always-First. You little liar. You’ve a slave to Christopher’s tongue and cock, so he comes above everyone.”
Meggie didn’t have the energy to call someone to remove Johnnie. It was why she hadn’t gone with Rebel. She’d intended to rest. But the horror of it all, the guilt at failing Rule, had sent her to the window seat so she could stew in misery the moment an aide wheeled her daughter away.
“If you would’ve listened to me and told everyone your baby belonged to me, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“You would’ve still been in the club,” she responded, her voice thick with emotion. For weeks, she’d felt nothing for Johnnie. Now, she hated him, most especially for walking in on one of her darkest moments when her misery left her vulnerable to his viciousness.
“CJ should’ve been mine,” he finally whispered, hate reflected in his eyes. “I loved you so fucking much, Megan. I. Loved. You. Did that mean anything to you? Obviously, it didn’t, doesn’t. You’ve turned your wretched back on me. You don’t care if I die. If I’m killed. Fuck you.”
Clenching her jaw, she forced herself to glare at him.
“Did you ever love me? Did how I once felt about you even move you?”
She wouldn’t respond, since she’d told him so many times before.
“Answer me, goddamn it!”
“No! Ask me again on my deathbed, jerk. It’s the only way I won’t have to suffer this song and dance with you every few months.”
“CJ should’ve been mine,” he repeated. “Whether I made him or claimed him, he should’ve belonged to me. Rebel.”
“You have a beautiful wife and gorgeous children, Johnnie. You’re showing them more disrespect than whatever you believed you saw between Christopher and Kendall.”
“How can you be so fucking blind?”
“I’m not blind. I trust Kendall. But, more importantly, I trust my husband.”
“How many times did he suck your cunt to convince you of his fidelity?”
“You’re disgusting.”
He bent down and brushed his lips over her forehead, before resting his hand at her throat. “Do you remember when I finger-fucked you?” he whispered against her ear.
Memories of Johnnie strangling her rose in Meggie’s head.
He’d been drugged but still saw Meggie as an instrument of revenge.
This time, he was lucid, but no less frightening.
She prayed Rebel returned. Or Mattie, who’d left to go to the cafeteria when Rebel went for her test. Or CJ.
Diesel. Mortician. Because she knew it wouldn’t be Christopher.
“You jerked off my cock.”
She was at a supreme disadvantage. He blocked her from reaching the call button or her cell phone.
“Kendall and Christopher know what we did,” Johnnie snarled. “Do you honestly think they won’t take revenge against me?”
She could proclaim her belief in Christopher and Kendall’s innocence for the rest of her life. Johnnie wouldn’t believe it.