Chapter 8
ROSIE
After the disastrous shit show of the night before, I spent most of Sunday morning with the kids and Tristan.
My friend had stayed over so we could sit up late and put the world to rights, which consisted mainly of us bitching about men, namely Donovan O’Shea, and Cruise, the biker that Tris had been seeing from the Kings of Anarchy MC.
There must have been something in the water because getting screwed around by asshole men wasn’t exclusive to me and my situation. From what Tristan told me, it seemed to be a trend among the men of Southern Wyoming, so at least I was in good company.
Once I talked it through, I felt better.
It wasn’t that I was hurt—though admittedly it stung—it was the humiliation.
For Donovan to force me into such a vulnerable position in front of my kids was unforgivable, especially when all he needed to do was pick up the phone and cancel.
I would have been disappointed, but it was better than subjecting me to the bone-deep embarrassment and disrespect that my kids had to witness.
Asshole.
Anyhoo, onward and upward.
After I made brunch for everyone, DJ went off to the clubhouse to do some work for my brother, and Gabby arranged to meet Kady and Sunny at the coffee shop.
I decided to go to the Speed Demons’ clubhouse and ask Atlas about the bookkeeping work we discussed. I needed to start bringing money in, mainly because my son ate through my pantry like he hadn’t been fed in years, and eggs weren’t cheap.
I made up my face first, and threw on a light grey off-the-shoulder, slouchy sweater that hit me mid-thigh, slouchy knee-high boots, and a baseball cap. Then I made my way downstairs to get my bag together.
Tristan looked up from his cell as I strutted into the kitchen and gave me a low whistle. “Anyone else would look like a bag lady in that outfit, but, girl, you style it out.”
I blew him a kiss.
“Who the fuck wears a sweater three sizes too big as a dress?” he muttered.
I laughed softly. “That would be me.”
“Seriously,” he continued. “You look fucking hot.”
“Well, thank you.” I grinned. “I aim to please.”
“Hope you run into Donovan ‘The Invisible Man’ O’Shea,” he muttered. “The no-show asshole would kick his own ass if he saw you right now.”
“Well, he won’t,” I stated. “I’m going to the clubhouse to see my brother. I need to stop giving headspace to immature manbabies and start concentrating on being a boss bitch and kicking ass.” I transferred my perfume into my tote bag. “What are you up to today?”
He winced slightly. “I’m going to Maureen’s for a Sunday roast.”
I froze
“I suspect Donovan will be there,” Tristan went on. “He doesn’t often pass up his mam’s Yorkshire puddings.”
My eyes darted to Tristan’s. “He asked me and the kids to go with him next weekend. I guess that’s canceled now.”
“You should go if you get the chance,” Tris argued gently. “Maureen’s a great cook.” He put his phone down on the countertop and studied me. “Donovan may have a good explanation for what happened.”
I ignored the pang of regret that shot through my belly. “Maybe, but he could have called.”
“I know,” Tristan agreed. “And I get it, but hear him out, Rosie.”
“That may be difficult.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Fool me once, shame on you. That’s where it stops because no fucker’s gonna fool me twice. That’s why I blocked his number.”
“Ro—” Tristan began, but I held up my hand to cut him off.
“I took off my rose-colored glasses a long time ago, honey. I always saw people for who I wanted them to be instead of who they really were. It was the reason I married a man-ho and why I’ve since repeated the same pattern over and over.
I don’t hate Donovan, and I’m not gonna hold onto anger because the only person that’ll hurt is me.
I like Donovan, but when the red flags wave at me, I have to take notice. ”
He gave me a tight smile. “I get it.”
“I know you do,” I whispered. “I’ve accepted that Donovan’s not what I need, and I’m too old and far too jaded to tolerate bullshit. I’d rather be on my own.”
“You won’t be on your own forever,” Tristan muttered, his gaze sweeping down my outfit. A rueful smile spread across his mouth, and he shook his head. “If I were straight, I’d snap you up.”
“If you were straight, some lucky girl would have marched you down the aisle years ago, honey. Cruise must be crazy to let you go.”
Tristan gave me a meh face. “Cruisie likes boys and girls; I knew it from day one, and he never lied to me. I can’t be everything he needs simply because I haven’t got a vajayjay, so it’s better to accept that fact and let it go. He’ll meet his and I’ll meet mine, but it won’t be each other.”
I took his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
He laced our fingers together. “Don’t be. A wise lady once told me that she was too old and too jaded to tolerate bullshit, and I kinda get where she’s coming from.”
—————
An hour later, I drove into the Speed Demons’ parking lot and was met with total bedlam.
I stared through the windshield, open-mouthed as I studied the burned-out car butted up to the caved-in structure of one of the small outhouses the club used for storage.
My brother Dan, John Stone, Bowie, and Reno surrounded the smoking vehicle, using hand-held fire extinguishers to put out the remnants of the fire.
After parking my car, I threw the door open, got out, and strutted toward the crowd of people while slipping my sunglasses over my eyes. It was a warm morning, but most of the blistering heat on my skin came directly from the charred remains of the burning vehicle.
Cara was up in Cash’s face, screaming at him. She gripped Wilder’s shoulders so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. A wall of ol’ ladies stood behind her with their hips popped and their arms folded across their chests.
Wilder was looking up at his mom sheepishly while she screeched, “It’s not funny!”
“No, it’s not,” Cash agreed. “It’s fuckin’ hilarious.”
“He could have killed himself!” she shrieked.
Cash glanced up at the heavens, then lowered his stare and nodded down to his son.
“That kid won’t ever die. He’ll blow up every fucker around him, but he’ll end up living until he’s a hundred and three.
” He swept a hand around the room. “I think we all know that Wilder Stone’s got nine lives.
Actually, correction, the little shit’s probably got ninety goddamned lives. ”
“He’s right,” Atlas called from the burning car.
“You know that scene in Man on Fire when John Creasy plants the bomb up Victor Fuentez’s ass, then it detonates, taking Fuentez and the entire fuckin’ car with it?
Creasy just casually strolls away surrounded by flames, right?
Well, that’ll be Wilder one day. He’ll plant C4 up the bad guys’ asses using a goddamned suppository ‘cause he’s a fucking lunatic, then when it goes kaboom, he’ll walk away, unharmed, not a bead of sweat on his crazy-assed face. ”
Cara’s hands went from Wilder’s shoulders to cover his ears. “Don’t give him ideas,” she yelled. “Jesus, like I haven’t got enough to cope with.”
Snickers sounded from the direction of the doors where a crowd of brothers had gathered to watch the show.
“It’s not funny!” Cara screamed, turning her glare on them. “He could have died. He blew a car up for God’s sake.”
Cash waved a nonchalant hand. “The engine was fucked anyway.”
“Oh my God!” Cara wailed. “It doesn’t matter. He stole a fucking car, then crashed it into a building so fast that it caught on fire. You need to get him in hand.”
“He was wearing his seat belt,” Cash reasoned.
“We’re lucky he’s still alive!” she shrieked.
Kennedy broke ranks from the women and sidled closer, looking at me with her eyes bugging out. “Wilder’s in trouble,” she murmured. “And he’s really gone and done it this time.”
“So I see,” I replied, nodding toward the burned-out wreck. “How did the kid steal a car? He can’t even reach the pedals.”
Kennedy grinned down at her designer boots. “That’s the funny part.”
My attention veered back to Cara when she got up in Cash’s face and bellowed, “And what about poor Lucie’s leg?”
My head reared back.
Huh?
Lucie, the prospect, stood ten feet away from the burning vehicle, holding onto Abe’s shoulder while balancing on one foot. His hand covered his mouth like he was trying to disguise his laughter.
“We’ll get him another one,” Cash assured her, his neck swiveling toward the prospect and calling out, “The club will cover it, Prospect. You’ve got a spare one for now, right?
” He turned back to Cara. “We’ll see Lucie right.
He had nothin’ but trouble with the last one anyway.
Wilder blowin’ it up will be a blessin’ in disguise for him. ”
“What the hell are they talking about?” I asked out the side of my mouth.
“Lucie lost a leg in the military,” Kennedy explained in a hushed tone. “He was on a mission that went wrong, and his lower leg got crushed. They had to amputate below the knee.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my heart going out to the poor guy. “I couldn’t even tell.”
She waved my words off. “He doesn’t let it slow him down.
Lucie’s the fittest guy in the place. He copes really well with his prosthetic usually, but he got a new one fitted a few weeks ago, and he’s never settled with it.
He was talking about changing it, but he has to go through assessments and have the condition of his limb tested, so he’s been putting it off.
He’s not in a position financially to just wake up and decide he needs a new prosthetic. ”
“Won’t the club help?” I asked her.
“He won’t let them. You know these men and their pride.”
My eyes slid to her, and I knew they were full of confusion because I had no idea what was going on. “That’s all very well, but what’s Lucie’s prosthetic got to do with Wilder blowing up a car?”
Kennedy’s lips twitched. “Wilder stole Lucie’s fake leg and used it to reach the pedals.”
My eyes bugged out, and I breathed, “Jesus.”