26. Honoria
Chapter Twenty-Six
Honoria
Wombat looked like he’d been through Hell.
He took three steps into my entry hallway and stopped cold.
His eyes were vacant, and his hands were open, but they flexed like they wanted to hold on to something that kept slipping away.
He didn’t even acknowledge me. Instead, he stared at the artistic vase and matching lamp which rested on my polished mid-century wooden table.
I didn’t ask what was wrong. Everything was wrong.
Instead I asked, “What are you thinking?”
“How quickly it went to shit.”
I ached to hold him, but he looked brittle. So I reached for the closest of those empty hands and tried to lift it.
He pulled it away. “Where’s DA?”
The dogs had worn themselves out reuniting and playing outside.
DA was unusually lethargic. I didn’t know if that was because of his recent brush with death, and Lemon wasn’t here to explain.
“They’re in the rumpus room.” I pointed down the hall to the lowest room attached to the patio. Wombat looked down at his clothing.
“I should have changed before coming. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Of course you weren’t. It’s okay.”
His eyes lifted, and the pain was right there.
Damn the soot and who gave a shit if he was muddy. I stepped in to give him a hug.
“Hey, you’re going to get—”
I wrapped my arms around him before he could finish. “Dirty? I don’t care. You need this.”
“Honor.” His voice broke.
“I’m here.”
Molly padded up the short stairs and leaned against us both. Soon the heavier clicks of DA’s paws joined, and we had two dogs propping us up.
Wombat reached down to scratch DA’s ears.
“I am really glad you were at Lemon’s, you stupid shit.”
“He would have run in after you.”
“Yeah. He would have.” He heaved in a breath. “We need to talk.”
My heart fell. “Come.” I led him to the couch and pushed him to sit. “Don’t worry about the dirt. The surface is treated. Get off your feet.”
A heavy sigh left him. “There’s no sign of Hoot yet.”
Damn. I tried to be positive. “He’ll come back.”
“I’m going to be a shit father.”
I stopped dead. I fought the instinct to cover my stomach, but the instinct won. Maybe I wanted it so badly I couldn’t help myself. “Why do you say that? You’re great with animals.”
He paused the petting he’d initiated. “Animals. I lost one. Almost lost this one. What if I— or something I do puts it in danger and—”
Oh god. A whole fresh fear rose in my heart. I knew how that sentence ended. I’d even uttered it myself at least once. What if I got all the way through this pregnancy and did something stupid or trusted the wrong person with my child and…
“We don’t know the future, do we?” My therapist told me that once.
He looked up. “I’m sorry for bringing it up again.”
“Don’t be. That’s one of things we really need to go through… I suppose.”
“Listen, I don’t want to put you through that.”
“Through what? Loss? Do you think I want to put you through that? But we are doing this, right?” Please tell me I wasn’t going to face this alone.
“I don’t think I can handle anymore. Not right now. I’m not that strong.”
“I’m not either.” Especially if he was going to abandon me. That would hurt too much. My hand turned into a fist.
That earned a much longer stare. He noted the hand clenched against my stomach. “And yet, that isn’t stopping you from trying. Is it? It isn’t stopping your heart from trying.”
Despite the fear making my knees weak, I pulled my hand away and forced it to relax. “You’re tired.” And because of that, I should forgive him for being an asshole. Right?
“Damn straight I tired. I’m tired of pretending I got my act together. I don’t. I’m tired of friends giving me crap about what I like. I’m tired…” He looked away. “Shit. Doesn’t matter. We know who snuck in and lit the barn on fire. I sent the camera footage to the cops.”
It wasn’t my place to ask, was it? “Who?”
He cleared his throat. “Rip the Band-Aid off idiot. A girl. She, uh…”
When a witness stumbled like that, we’re taught to dig deeper because they are hiding the truth. “One of your women?”
This time there was a frown on his face and his eyes were sharp. “Yeah. One of my women. I fucked her in December. She got clingy, and I scraped her off. She didn’t take that well.”
It sucked having a good memory. “You were flirting with me in December.”
“And you turned me down. What was I supposed to do? Wait? I knew you were out of my league.”
A whisper of doubt bit my thoughts. “Do you still think I’m out of your league?”
“All the damn time. I mean, look.” He gestured at his clothes. “I’ve got to sit on the dog couch because I’m a fucking mess.”
“Stand up.”
“No.”
“Wombat, stand up, walk your ass upstairs and sit on—”
“I’m not doing it. You’re going to have to prove your point another way, lady.”
He was infuriating. “Lady?”
He grinned. “Sweet Tits?”
“Goddamn bikers.”
That made him stand up. He crowded my space.
“That’s right. I’m a goddamn biker. I’m going to be a Destroyer for as long as I live.
Face that. I’m going to be crude. I’m going to party my ass off, get drunk, pass out, and not come home.
And you need to hear this because I don’t fit in your world, and as much as I wish you could fit in mine, I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you wasting—”
“Don’t tell me what I want.”
His face flinched. He quickly diverted his eyes so I wouldn’t see the emotions he couldn’t hide otherwise. “One of these days, maybe soon, I’ll fuck up again.”
“Why are you saying that?” I kept my tone even, deliberately adding notes of concern so he would open up.
“Why do you think?”
His sarcastic tone grated. “I think it is important that you vocalize your insecurities so—”
“I’m not insecure.”
It was too easy to point out what he was doing. “You’re putting yourself down.”
Whatever was on his tongue got bitten off. His head reared back like I’d slapped him. “Maybe I am, but here’s the truth. You’re part of the system. The Destroyers do everything they can to not be part of it. Now, tell me, how we are going to be together with that working against us?”
“It’s happened before.”
“Not to us. And honestly? I doubt anyone made a match like this work for very long. A lawyer and a criminal? That’s no fairy tale.”
“I never asked for a fairy tale.”
He studied my face. “But you deserve one.”
I bit my lip. “See? That’s why it would work. You are ten times more compassionate than anyone I’ve ever met, outside my parents, that is.”
“But your parents don’t have a rap sheet.”
The lawyer in me fired back, “How do you know that?”
He grinned. “Because when Walt hired your firm, he did a background check on everyone employed by it.”
Well. “Okay, but let’s say they did, despite that, they’d still be great people. You are a great person. I know that because…”
“You can’t even finish that, can you?”
“I can. It’s just that I’m not sure you’ll listen.”
“See? That’s a red flag. And here’s another. You’ve got good parents. I don’t. My Mom? She doesn’t listen to anything hinting at authority. Dad? He makes money dealing drugs because he doesn’t want to work. And trust me, between them both, they fucked us up.”
“Wombat, don’t.”
“I can’t help it, Honor. I’m like Lemon. She picks up strays all the time. You know why? Our parents left us. She is filling the void they left. I am too.
“If the animal is wounded, hungry, at death’s door, she’ll take it in.
She puts herself out there all the time and watches them die.
Sure, some don’t. And through it, she tries so hard not to attach because she knows what the odds are.
But she never stops trying. And I know myself.
I want to attach myself to you and god help me, our kid.
I’ll want to be its father and its friend and…
I can’t even take care of my sister. Or the farm, or my dog.
Or a damn owl. I’m going to be a shit father just like mine. ”
His voice trailed off with a heartbreaking whisper.
I tried to reassure him. “I see you.”
“What? What do you see?”
“You care because that’s who you are.” Maybe that was the wrong way to address our problems. I focused on my insecurities. “I’m thirty-nine. Do you know what they call pregnancy when you are that age? Geriatric pregnancy.”
“You aren’t geriatric.”
He was wrong there. “The doctors call it that because the odds get so much worse after thirty-five. Birth defects, higher risk… and with my track record it is just…” I had to clamp down on my words because I’d started quivering so badly my voice wavered.
“I don’t care.” That came out in his big, bad biker voice.
I hated that tone. Was I wrong about him? My tone was too sharp when I asked, “What did you say?”
“I said, I don’t care. I don’t care about the odds. I don’t want to know them.”
I laughed in his face. There was a time, during the last pregnancy, I’d said the same damn thing. “You think that’s it? That’s all you need to do? Ignore it?”
“I’m not ignoring anything. I’m saying we should—”
“You’re telling me what to do.”
He stood up and paced the room. As he did, he shoved his fingers through his hair, transferring soot and mud into the strands. Finally, he squared off with me.
“You’re right. It’s up to you. Not me. I don’t get a say in this.”
He was going to make me do this alone, wasn’t he?
I couldn’t.
Not even the world’s best therapist would be able to save me if I were really alone. Which left me no choice. None. “For what it’s worth? I’m sorry for everything. If I am, I’ll ask about terminating—”
“No, you won’t. You can’t.” His face twisted. “Shit. I mean, I know I can’t force you, but I can beg you not to do that.”
“Beg?” I was getting mixed signals. He claimed he’d be a bad father, that he was out of my league, not caring enough to have a say, but now…
beg? Out of frustration, I kicked the closest thing to me.
The cotton ottoman flew across the room and hit the wall, landing and rolling onto its side and showing its belly like I’d killed it.
The dogs barked at the suddenness of it all.
DA hopped off the couch he’d been lying on and ran around the stool, biting at it like he had to finish the job.
Molly joined in, and it took more than a minute to settle them down. When it was finally calm again, Wombat spoke. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. It’s your choice.”
Unfortunately, I really didn’t have a choice in this.
Not one I could articulate. It was so complicated.
I knew deep down he was right. My heart was fighting for this.
I wanted to try. I wanted to be something so badly I wished I could ignore reality.
My poor broken well of hope was begging right alongside him.
It was time to admit the truth.
“I— I think I’m like you. I’d love it, too.
Even if it can’t…be. And, I don’t want to be like that because it will devastate me in the end.
I’m not strong enough. I can’t—” I couldn’t get my hopes up.
“I don’t want to watch my dreams die. Not again.
” I crumpled onto the couch and pulled Molly close.
“This shit’s hard, isn’t it?”
He had no idea. “It gets harder. Trust me.” So much harder.