Chapter Twenty-Two
A s if sensing his wrath, Amelia didn’t answer her phone, which was a first. She’d always been quick to answer, usually because he’d be calling to tell her to get her ass to the clubhouse for fucking. Now, though, since Liz’s attack and his subsequent change from horny dog to doting father, he’d pushed any thoughts of Amelia from his mind. Until she did shit like confront his woman and talk shit about his daughter.
She’d been part of the club for four years, so she was part of the fabric of the club. Before she’d become Trouble’s regular piece of ass, she’d been a favorite among the brothers, a sort of head bitch over the other clubwhores, and a regular at all club events. Now, though, Trouble saw that her being his regular, the favorite, and the head bitch had gone to her head. She’d ignored his warnings—not just as a brother, but as the motherfucking club VP—and she needed to be knocked down a peg or twenty.
Cursing, he sent a quick text to AFK, telling him to track her down, then send Slick to “escort” her back to the clubhouse, and monitor her.
When Trouble got to the table, he was happy to see his girls just digging in. He slid into the seat beside Liz, across from Erika, and helped himself to two heaping scoops of casserole. This tater tot mess was the shit.
Shoving a bite into his mouth, he groaned. “This is still as good as I remember, Skizzy,” he complimented, turning to look at Liz. She glared at him through her blush, and he grinned at her, flashing his dimples.
“You had it before, Trouble?” Erika asked, her head cocked as she looked between him and her mom.
Liz tensed beside him.
Trouble cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah. Your mom used to make it for me a long time ago.”
She scrunched up her nose, looking all kinds of adorable, and then made his stomach drop into his feet in the next second.
“You’re my dad, aren’t you?”
Beside him, Liz exploded into a coughing fit, probably food going down the wrong pipe. She slammed her palm against her chest and stared across the table at Erika, who’d jammed her chin into her chest and was looking up at her mom fearfully, like she’d said something wrong.
His stomach still in his big toe, it took him a minute to speak.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice all high and shit, like his balls hadn’t dropped yet.
Tearing her gaze from her mom who was now gulping down water, Erika rolled her eyes.
Annnnd…that was her mother, too.
“I mean that I’m almost ten, I’m not a dumb baby. I can see that I look like you, and mom said that my dad was trouble—I just didn’t know it was, like, your name. And…some of the stuff you say…you and mom knew each other a long time ago. Before I was born.” She shrugged, another of her mother’s traits. “Not to mention the name you call her—Skizzy. No one else calls her that.” Well, shit. “I figured it out, is all,” she finished, her voice quiet. She bit her lip, flicked her gaze between him and Liz again, and then murmured, “Why didn’t you tell me? And where have you been for ten years?”
Like a sledgehammer to the chest, Trouble fell backward in the chair with a thud. His mind reeling, his heart tripping as it raced, and his mouth dry as desert sand. Not knowing what to say, he turned to Liz who was looking at Erika, her eyes wide and watery, her face pale, and her proud shoulders slumped. She looked like he felt—flummoxed. He had no idea what to say to Erika. It hadn’t been his idea to keep the truth from her…but it was his fault that she had to ask where he’d been.
He’d been right there, in Las Vegas, but he could have been on fucking Mars with how far apart they’d been. So close he could have seen her every day, yet so far because he’d fucked everything up, and lost what meant the most to him—his woman and time with his daughter.
Gathering his thoughts, he knew he couldn’t tell her the whole truth; there were just some things she didn’t need to know about. But he could tell her the simple things.
“You’re right,” he admitted, his heart squeezing at the sight of his little girl’s eyes growing wet. Shooting from his seat, he moved around the table, then fell to his knees beside her chair. He took her tiny, trembling hands in his, and stared up into eyes that stole his heart and soul. “I am your dad, baby girl, and I am so sorry I didn’t get to meet you until now.”
“Why?” she cried. “Where were you?”
Trouble heard a nearly silent sob from behind him, and he knew Liz was crying. Shit, both his ladies were upset. He didn’t like the way that twisted his guts.
“Your mom and I…we were together for over a year. We were happy…but then….” Shit, fuck. This was going to hurt. “Then I did something really bad that hurt your mama…and she left. I didn’t know about you, baby girl, but if I had, I would have been there from the very beginning. I never would have let you go a single day without knowing how much I love you.”
For hours after that, Trouble gave his full attention to his hurting little girl. He picked her up from her chair, held her in his arms as he walked to the couch, then he sat her on his lap and just let her cry…. His heart fucking broke, listening to her sobs, feeling the wetness and heat of her tears on his neck and chest. Her arms around his neck, her fingers knotted into his hair, her little breaths against his collarbone…there was no place in the world he’d rather be than there, holding her in his arms.
She cried for almost an hour, and when her tears finally dried up, the questions began.
Where were you?
What have you been doing?
Do I have grandparents?
Where are you from?
What happens now?
For an almost ten-year-old, she had serious questions that gave him pause. It was obvious that Erika was smart and wise beyond her years, and he knew that was all Liz’s doing. Erika asked questions he had no problem answering, and some he’d rather ignore until he died. The easy ones were about where he’d been— right there in Vegas , what he’d been going— working and being the Savage Raiders MC VP , and where he was from— Skimmer, Texas . But the questions about his parents…and what would happen next…. He didn’t know what the fuck to say. He didn’t want to talk about Selia and Karl Skaarsen. As far as he was concerned, they were dust, and in the dust they would remain, but whether he liked it or not, they were a part of him…and Erika was a part of him, too. In all the months he and Liz were together, he hadn’t said a thing about his life before the Army. She’d let him have his secrets, because she hadn’t been big on sharing too much about what she’d experienced in foster care after her parents died. But now….
“What did you do to hurt Mama?” Erika asked after a particularly awkward brush off of her previous questions.
During Erika’s crying jag and then questions, Liz had come into the living room and sat on the floor next to the coffee table. She’d been there, watching the scene before her, her own tears sliding down her face. He knew that she wanted to be the one holding Erika, but he really fucking appreciated the fact that she gave that to him. She gave him that moment with his little girl, and he couldn’t be more grateful to Liz for that.
At Erika’s question, Liz nearly gave herself whiplash at the speed in which her gaze flew from Erika to him, her eyes wide as hell, her mouth working to form words. He would have laughed at her expression if the moment wasn’t so tense.
Trouble had no fucking idea how to answer that question—how did you tell your daughter that you threw her mom away like trash?
Liz spoke, breaking through his mounting panic.
“Baby girl, there are things you don’t need to know, and that is one of them,” she answered, her voice the one that said, “I’m not changing my mind, so don’t push me.”
Erika stared at her mom, then turned her brilliant green, puffy red eyes to him.
“It was something bad, wasn’t it?” she asked, her voice small.
He swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah, little one, it was. But I’m doing everything I can now to make up for it, to prove to your mama and you that I am not that bad man anymore. I want to make you both happy. I want you both to know just how much you mean to me. And if that means spending every day with you—”
“Trouble,” Liz hissed, her eyes sparking angry fire. She was up on her knees, her good hand on her hip and her casted hand carefully placed on the coffee table.
He ignored her and kept his attention on Erika.
“Then that’s what I’ll do,” he finished, grinning down at her. He kissed her nose, then her chin, loving that he could adore her like he wanted.
At that, she grinned back, her dimple flashing on her beautiful face.
Fuck, he loved this little girl—and her mama, who looked about ready to tear his head clean off—loved her, too, which was why she didn’t do what her eyes were saying they wanted to do.
He pointed his grin at her, loving the way Erika giggled at him.
Liz grumbled something under her breath, then got to her feet.
“Come on, baby girl, it’s time for bed.”
Erika wanted to argue, but Liz cut her off.
“You’ve had a lot happen tonight, love. You need rest…and Trouble and I need to talk.”
Oooo…he didn’t miss the way she shot him the look of “wear your brown pants and red shirt” she sent him over Erika’s head. But he didn’t give a fuck. They did need to talk, because Erika’s question—what happens now?—was one he needed to clarify with the woman who was hell-bent on keeping him on the sidelines of her life. Yeah, he was all in with being Erika’s dad, and he could see Liz understood that and accepted it, but when it came to making things clear about where he stood with Liz…she was about as thick as a rhino’s hide.
Planting a long kiss on Erika’s head, Trouble dragged the scent of bubble gum into his lungs. Tightening his arms around her in a hug, Trouble murmured, “Sleep tight, little one. We can talk more tomorrow—we’ll grab ice cream after school, then I’ll take you to Fae’s place.” Erika gasped, her eyes wide. She loved Fae; the woman was a tiny pixie of love and light, the total opposite of her man, Hawk. “She’s finishing up her home studio, and she wants to show you.”
Fae was an online folk singing sensation; her online persona, Aoibheal, sang in Gaelic, and played all her own instruments. She had a rabid following, and her popularity was growing. Being Aoibheal was how she met and enchanted Hawk, who was a closet Aoibheal fan.
Erika grinned, her eyes bright with joy instead of tears. “Awesome!”
She threw herself to her feet, and Liz draped her arm over Erika’s shoulder. “Come on. Quick shower, then bed.”
Erika huffed, pressed a kiss to Trouble’s cheek, then allowed her mom to lead her down the hallway to the bathroom. Watching his girls walk away…it struck him so hard he lost his breath. They were in his home, safe. That was all that mattered for the moment. Tomorrow, the hard work of making up for lost time with his daughter would ramp up. She knew he was her father now, and that made things that much more significant—because he wasn’t just her mom’s friend and the guy in whose house she was staying; he was her father.
Nearly ten years late, but I’m fucking trying….
After clearing the table, washing the casserole dish, and loading the dishwasher, Trouble sighed heavily, and stretched out the tension from his muscles. It had been a week since he’d been in the gym at the clubhouse last, and he knew he needed to get back in there, but some things were more important.
Tossing the dish towel on the counter, he switched off the kitchen light, and headed down the hallway toward the bedrooms, hoping to catch Erika still awake so he could give her a kiss goodnight. Since she’d moved in, his favorite part of the day was when she snuggled up against him—freshly washed and smelling clean and sweet—and he read her a bedtime story. In those moments, he wasn’t the Savage Raiders MC VP, he wasn’t an Army vet with a shitload of bad memories, he wasn’t the asshole who betrayed, and then abandoned the woman he loved. In those moments, he was just a man in love with a little girl who meant the fucking world to him. In those moments, he was just a father filling his lungs with his daughter’s scent, memorizing the weight of her little body against his chest, and recording, in his heart, the sound of her voice and the waft of her breaths against his cheek.
Coming to a stop just outside of Erika’s room, Trouble saw that the overhead light was off, and only the light of the unicorn shaped night light he’d bought her was illuminating the room. Erika lay curled up under her vibrant comforter, sleeping. Damn, she definitely needed the rest after all those tears she’d shed. His Henley was still moist from where she’d been sobbing against him, but he didn’t mind.
Blowing her a kiss from the doorway, not wanting to wake her, he slowly closed the door until there was only a crack, then he turned and stopped, staring at the woman leaning against the doorjamb across from him. He’d known she was there…he always knew she was there.
Liz had changed into sleep shorts and thin camisole, and he could tell she was bra-less.
And his commando cock appreciated the view, twitching in his pants at the sight of her hard nipples, the dark pink areolas showing through the fabric.
Liz’s gaze flicked to the door behind him, her expression softening.
“You’re good with her,” she said, her voice quiet.
He smirked. “You sound surprised.”
She shrugged. “Can you blame me?”
Trouble didn’t need to think to answer, “No. I can’t.” He shook his head, sighing. “But I’m trying. I want to be her dad, Liz.”
She pursed her lips, then crossed her good arm over her chest to grasp her other arm, her thumb brushing up against her cast.
“Being her dad will take more than what you’re doing right now. What happens when you’ve dealt with Oblek? She’s here, now, because of the circumstances. Erika is in your house, in your space, you have easy access to her. Once the circumstances are no longer an issue, and access to her is no longer easy….” She shrugged, and anger blistered his insides—at her words and her easy dismissal of his efforts so far.
He bit back a curse, grabbed her good arm, and pulled her behind him toward his room.
“Trouble, what the fuck—”
“We are havin’ this conversation where there’s no chance of our daughter accidentally hearin’ me tear a hole in your hide,” he rumbled, making Liz gasp and tug her arm, trying to free it from his tight grasp.
He slammed his hand against the door to his bedroom, dragged her inside, then kicked the door shut behind them. He left her pull her hand free, then he turned to glare at her, his breaths heaving—whether because of the anger or because of the fact she was standing, barely clothed, in his bedroom for the first time in ten years, he couldn’t say.
Liz growled, as he leaned back against the door, blocking her only escape route. He’d be damned if she left the room before he finally had his say, before he finally got everything off his chest. She needed to hear it, understand it. It needed to be clear as a motherfucking bell.
Because he was done pussy-footin’ around the truth, letting Liz use the lies of the past as a buffer.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, her eyes glittering, her cheeks bright pink. Immediately, his cock thickened at the sight—she was a goddamn goddess when she was angry. Her peaked nipples, those flushed cheeks, those sparking eyes—it was how she looked when she was getting fucked.
Now’s not the time , the voice of reason effused. No, it wasn’t the time, but he was going to get a taste of her before the night was over. He’d make damn sure of that.
He crossed his arms over his chest, and met her glare with one of his own.
“What I’m doin’ is makin’ sure you listen to what I’ve got to say,” he drawled, enjoying watching the way her breath caught as her gaze looked him over. She couldn’t miss the way his cock was making a scene in his cotton pants, and since he wasn’t wearing underwear, his impressive inches were there for her viewing enjoyment.
Drawing her shoulders back, she lifted her chin in defiance, making a crooked grin curl his lips.
“And what is it you think I need to hear that you haven’t already said?” she asked, her Dr. Liz voice making him grind his back teeth.
He pushed away from the door, a stalked toward her until he was only a foot away. She hadn’t moved, but he could tell she was weighing retreat against standing her ground; relenting and showing weakness, or staying put and making herself vulnerable.
He raised his hand slowly, giving her a chance to make her decision, and when his fingers slid down her silky cheek to her chin, her full body shudder and the way she dropped her gaze revealed something to him: she was turned on and trying to hide it.
Not the time!
Fuck.
Dropping his hand, he waited until she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze once more, and once he was caught in those blue pools, he said, “That night at Tipped,” he began, and she stiffened. “It wasn’t—”
“Mama!”