Chapter 26
KINGSTON “FROST”
“Ain’t much to talk about, Rebel.”
I walk toward the house, hoping she’ll forget about it, because I’ve forgotten about it for years until all of a sudden we’re an instant family.
She surprises me by slipping her hand in mine to join me on the deck.
When I sit, she drags her chair next to mine.
She places the herbs on the table, and kicks her feet up under her on the chair.
“Tell me about your childhood, King.”
There’s a little bit of beer in my bottle. I hold it up, circling it in the air, and watch the liquid swirl at the bottom to spare us this conversation.
“Like I said, ain’t much to tell.”
“If we want a relationship, we should at least know the basics of each other’s lives, don’t you think? I mean, we can’t raise our children without talking about our pasts. Our histories.”
The bottle hits the table harder than planned, and I press my lips together.
This sharing shit is going to be the end of me.
I’ve never sat down and had a meaningful conversation with anyone.
My brothers and I know about each other’s lives through gossip or if someone like my Uncle Jorden said something.
We accept what we’ve heard and leave it at that, so why can’t Stevie leave this shit alone.
Our kids don’t need to know about my childhood.
If they do, they’ll probably look at me like I’m a piece of shit like I do my old man.
They’ll be disappointed to have a dumbass, loser dad.
Her fingers intertwine with mine, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I look at our joined hands. Stevie’s are small, skin smooth compared to my thick, calloused ones.
With my free hand, I grab my pack of cigarettes, retrieve one, light it, and inhale the biggest puff of smoke possible.
I hold my breath and open my mouth so the smoke eases out and spins upwards.
Stevie’s allowing me time to spill, so I finally do.
My eyes remain on the table. “I was born a crack baby, but that’s about all I know.
Heard I suffered from withdrawals as an infant.
My mom did drugs before, during, and after pregnancy.
She didn’t care because she hated me. A kid was the last thing Kimber wanted.
” I cough out her name, because she doesn’t deserve anyone to hear it.
“She had a lifelong affair with drugs. Since I could remember, she’d snarl, spit, or push me away.
The drugs took up most of her time and money.
We hardly had food in the house. If it wasn’t for my Uncle Jorden, I’d have starved to death.
My old man wasn’t any better. A drunk. He’d beat the shit out of my mom, until I turned eight, and he started pounding the shit out of me, too.
When I was ten, he went too far, beating my mom to death.
She died, he went to jail, and Jorden took me in.
The MC was my uncle’s life, so it became mine. ”
Finally, my eyes shift to her. Her cheeks have tear tracks, and bubbles dangle from her lashes.
Fuck me!
I hate seeing her cry. I hate pity.
Stabbing the cigarette out in the ashtray, I’m about to rise, except she grips my forearm. “I ain’t looking for pity, Rebel.”
She shakes her head. “Not pity, King. Just simple heartbreak.” As I watch her bring our entwined hands to her mouth, kissing the top of mine, I tighten my eyes on her.
“Parents are supposed to sacrifice for the safety of their children. Instead, your horrible mother and father chose to honor addiction, sacrificing their child for their habit.”
The truth in her words is a slap in the face. I deflect her stare and swallow down the lump in my throat. This is exactly what I didn’t fucking want happening. My gaze turns back to her beautiful features softening from sadness and tears. I swipe them from under her eyes.
“Now you know about our kids’ loser father.”
Stevie squeezes my hand and says, “Their actions don’t make you a loser. You’re only accountable for your own actions.”
“And you think I’m a loser.”
“No, I don’t.” She hesitates and adds, “Destructive, maybe. You live the way you do because your childhood lacked adult supervision, blurring lines, hurting people in the process of getting what you assume you deserve.”
“I haven’t done anything you didn’t want.”
“Really? Sexual assault and a tattoo against my will?”
My hand releases hers because she has me in a truth chokehold. Maybe I’ve avoided rules, and did as I pleased.
She breaks the silence. “You asked. This isn’t me pointing out your flaws. I’m simply highlighting your blurred lines.”
“I hear ya.”
Her hand grabs my jaw, turning my face so she can see me.
“Do you? Because we’re about to have two little humans who will depend on us for everything.
” I grit my teeth. “You’re not your parents, King.
” This stops me from moving. “You’ve made something of your life.
Owner of a tattoo shop and a house. That’s something to be proud of.
Something our children will be proud of.
” She pauses. “And once you recognize your destructive behavior, and fix it, you’ll be an excellent dad. ”
I scrub down my face to rid the feelings she just poked at. It isn’t long before we head to bed with her back to me. My arm circles her waist, sliding her into my front, and I rest my hand on her stomach. Two little humans. Damn, I better sort out my shit.
The sun’s a scorching bitch as we ride my motorcycle over to the restaurant where we’re meeting this Grayson asshole.
He towered me by several inches, and I’m 6’5”.
An older dude I’m guessing from the gray hair and wrinkles when we met in front of my house.
Stevie already gave me the ‘talk’ about being polite and not starting anything.
She repeated several times how we’re together and it doesn’t matter how he looks at her or his intentions.
Stevie says she’s with me. Having feelings for a woman and jealousy are both new to me.
We don’t have a whole helluva lot of history, yet Rebel somehow knows how my mind works.
Right as we pull into the parking lot, some fucker riding a chopper shoots past me, pulling into the closest parking space to the entrance. This pisses me off, but Stevie tightens her splayed hands over my abs, which calms me. I find a spot, remove her helmet, and help her off the bike.
Holding hands, we approach the entrance and guess who owns the chopper.
Dickhead Grayson. My jaw clenches. Stevie hugs my arm to put me in check and it works.
He’s standing at the door, waiting for us.
The big motherfucker’s eyes wander over Stevie’s summer dress, down to her chunky sandals with her tiny painted toenails.
We reach him, and Stevie and Grayson shake hands. It didn’t go unnoticed that his eyes drifted to her breasts then shifted my way, hand extended. With Stevie’s ‘talk’ still echoing in my head, I shake his hand, and we pile into the restaurant.
Once seated with drinks and our orders placed, Grayson says to Stevie, “You really didn’t have to take me out to lunch.”
Her hand swats the air. “Yes I did. We might even all become friends, right King?”
I give her the side eye, because she is hellbent on either pissing me off or forcing me to be polite no matter how jealous I am. Under the table, she pats my thigh.
Instead of answering, I ask him, “You live in Moose Grove?”
After sipping his wine, he responds, “Yes. I recently moved here.”
Wine. What fucking pussy drinks wine?
I lean back in my chair, placing my arm across the back of Stevie’s. “What for?”
Stevie shoots me a look, like I’m out of line, but Grayson doesn’t have a problem with the question. “Work. I own a sawmill, and I’ve expanded my business to Moose Grove.”
He has my attention since this part of the country is surrounded by forest. “Nice. What’s the company name?”
“Shaw’s Mill.” His chin juts in my direction. “What about you?”
“I own a tattoo shop. Tate’s Tattoos.” I scrutinize him and ask, “How old are you?”
Stevie’s head whips in my direction and gasps, “King! You don’t ask people their age?”
“Why not?”
Grayson doesn’t take it personally, grinning, and I kind of appreciate it. “Fifty-five. And you?”
“Forty.”
She cuts in. “Thirty-seven and pregnant.” Grayson’s eyebrows rise while I glance at her. She places her hand on her stomach, which melts the coldness inside me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt it out.”
“No problem.” Grayson’s eyes bounce from her to me. “That’s great. Congratulations to the both of you.”
I nod and Stevie rambles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone, except after what you witnessed with King and I it’s an important factor to know.” She rests her hand on my thigh, glancing at me and then Grayson. “King was furious—”
What the fuck?
I stop her. “It’s our business, Stevie.”
Grayson sits back, drinks his wine, watching our interaction while her hand slips away from me.
She thinks this fucking stranger deserves an explanation.
Stevie thinks her words and decisions are important and mine ain’t.
We’re arguing, everyone’s attention is focused on us, so I push the chair back and stalk out.
My hands run over my shaven sides, dropping my arms as I meet my bike.
I had to leave before I unleash my anger.
Fucking Stevie thinks her decisions are best. I might not be the smartest asshole, but I’m smart enough to know my life doesn’t concern this fucker.
I’m pacing back and forth by my bike when she steps in the middle of my path, and I stop, glaring down at her.
“I’m sorry.” Her apology knocks me back a step. “We agreed not to say anything and here I am talking to some stranger about it.” She looks over her shoulder at the restaurant and back at me. “Will you please join us?”
Rebel’s sincere apology has me cupping her jaw in my hands, and I kiss her.
A possessive kiss. One that says apology accepted, but don’t ever forget I fucking rule our family.
I break the kiss, leaving her breathless, and guide her back into the restaurant.
Grayson stands when we approach, all sitting at the same time.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.”
Grayson lightens the mood by asking me about my shop and tattoos. It turns out the guy ain’t so bad after all.