Chapter 36
DEAN
I don’t know what pisses me off more…that he followed her… or that he was there when I wasn’t… Like some guardian angel… Like her dark knight…
The water scalds, but it’s got nothing on my heated temper.
I press my palms against the stone shower wall as steam coils around me.
I should be looking forward to tonight—the patch-over party, and what it means to this MC.
But all I can see is the smug look on Legion’s face two days ago, when he told me what he did to those thugs who approached Vanna… What he arranged on behalf of my MC .
I slam my fist against the wall, not hard enough to break the stone tiles or my knuckles, just enough to feel something sharper than these nagging thoughts.
There’s nothing to be done about it tonight.
Tonight is about our MC. The future. Our growth.
Proving to ourselves and the communities we serve that we are capable of rising above the chaos and building something worthwhile.
Yet everything about keeping Legion around screams we’re inviting chaos…
I kill the water and step out, dripping, still simmering, and grab a towel to secure it around my waist as I head toward the sink.
The mirror is all fogged up, so I wipe it down with a washcloth before pulling open the drawer to rummage through what has become my wife’s bathroom-bullshit collection in search of my comb.
Once found among the clutter of makeup, lash curlers, and nail files she’s acquired, I run the comb through my hair a few times, slicking it back.
Before showering, I trimmed the sides low, as well as my facial scruff to little more than a five o’clock shadow, the way Vanna likes it.
I’ll add a little product after I get dressed and slick my hair back again before we head out.
I chuck the comb onto the countertop, about to shut the disaster of a drawer, when I spot something that seems to spell disaster in a far more alarming way.
Half-hidden, shoved toward the back like it’s trying to avoid me, lies her little disc of birth control.
It’s open and looking the worse for wear from being jostled among the rest of the shit in this drawer.
I pull it out only to discover this pack is from fucking December …
and there are still a week’s worth of doses remaining…
Oh fuck, no…
I rummage through the drawer in search of another. Maybe she temporarily lost this one and got a replacement? Maybe she switched brands, and it’s just someplace-the-fuck-else? Maybe she went back to the shot? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck my life!
Would she do this to me? To us?
It’s possible I’m losing my shit over nothing. It’s possible she just forgot to toss this old pack, and she really does have whatever she’s taking currently somewhere else. She’s switched contraceptives before. She could have switched again.
My guts continue to twist, and I just know she hasn’t taken anything in weeks… No, not weeks…months! Fucking months!
I drop the disc in the drawer and shove it closed. Gripping the edge of the sink, I stare into the mirror at the wide-eyed asshole losing his shit right along with me.
Jesus fuck, we talked about this! Didn’t we?
She knows how I feel… How reluctant I am. Not just because of money. Because of her . Because the last time nearly took her from me. Because I lay awake some nights still hearing the way she screamed… the machines beeping, and the hospital staff telling me they’re doing all they can…
That’s not all, though… Even if I could get past the fear, what if I simply can’t do it? What if Ace really is our one miracle? What if I fail her as a man and she…
The bathroom door opens, but I keep my eyes fixed on the mirror. My heart is thudding in my chest like it wants to bust through my ribcage and run screaming down the hall.
“What?” Vanna asks, her bare feet padding up to me.
“Did you find a grey or something?” she teases, wrapping her arms around me from behind.
Her cheek presses against my back for a moment before I feel her lips graze my heated skin.
“You know I love your salt and pepper,” she murmurs, her hands skimming down my Adonis belt.
One of them drifts lower, over the towel, until it’s resting against my cock.
Her little groan causes the fucking traitor to stir beneath her gentle grip.
“My gorgeous husband… How lucky am I?” She peeks around my side with a sultry little smirk. “ Rosita has the kids for the night. Viper will meet us with the rest of the crew at the clubhouse… We have the house to ourselves for a while before we have to head out…”
I force a smile at our reflection.
“Are you nervous about tonight?” she asks.
I can’t form words.
A warm, loving smile spreads across her features, and she maneuvers herself to stand before me. I take a step back to give her more room. “You should be proud, Dean. All the club’s hard work to expand the mission… You’re succeeding. It’s happening.”
Her faith in me always feels like a gift I don’t deserve. I should be willing to give her all within my power…or at the very least, try…
She turns around to grab her toothbrush and toothpaste, then proceeds to watch me through the mirror while she brushes her teeth, as if she’s waiting for something. Her eyes flick to the drawer, then back to me, fast, but I saw it. She knows or suspects I saw.
Questions crowd at the back of my throat, but I choke them down. “I’m gonna get dressed,” I say, leaning forward to press a kiss against the top of her head. She smells like warm vanilla with a hint of coconut and something else that feels like home.
“Did you see what came in the mail the other day?” she asks around a mouthful of foam. “I left it on the kitchen island.” I can tell she’s trying to sound offhand, like it’s no big deal.
“I saw. Didn’t bother opening it.”
Her eyes drop for a second, and there it is again. That flicker of disappointment. She catches herself, playing it off with a small nod like ‘it’s fine’. But I know her too well. That little pause speaks louder than anything else.
She spits, rinses, then cleans her toothbrush before telling me, “It’s from my sister,” even though we both already know.
“Yeah…” I nod, careful.
She doesn’t say anything now, just begins to tidy the already organized counter, fidgeting, while I stand here attempting to decipher why she seems upset about it.
Her family didn’t show up for our wedding.
No acknowledgment of the olive branch. No RSVP.
Not even a damn text. Though that’s all excusable compared to the fact that her family barely reached out when Ace— their first grandchild —was born.
Why the fuck should we pretend like nothing ever happened?
I watch Vanna for another few seconds as the silence between us fills the room, thick and uncomfortable like the lingering steam, full of all the shit we should be able to just fucking say to each other.
“We’re gonna be late.” I sigh, eager to step away before it gets worse.
While she’s in there doing herself up for this party, I slap on my usual biker attire, pull on my boots, and slip into my cut like it’s all muscle memory. But everything I do now feels out of fucking sync, and denial rushes to the rescue…
Maybe it’s nothing.
Maybe she forgot to toss the old pack.
Maybe her sister sent the invitation as a gesture of goodwill and not expectation.
I shove the thoughts aside. Denial’s a hell of a drug, and I’ve been using it more than I’d like to admit. Because what if I’m wrong about the contraceptives? What if I’m the one holding the grudge against her family because it’s easier than watching my wife make peace with people who hurt her?
I’ve been telling myself I’m only choosing my battles. That with everything going on with the MC, enemies circling, and wanna-be-rivals playing politics, I don’t have the bandwidth for domestic landmines.
Denial is just a comforting delusion, and you’re only lucky if it manages to buy you time.
The truth is, it’s a double-edged sword.
It keeps the panic at bay, sure. Allows me to focus on the club, on earning a living to provide for my family…
But the other edge is the one that cuts deep.
Denial doesn’t stop the truth from coming at you like a freight train.
It just makes it hurt worse when it finally arrives.
I learned that lesson the hard way in my first go-round with Legion.
I saw the writing on the wall the night he showed up in my lot with the rest of his nomads…
his taunting tagline on Lucinda’s purple, jar of hearts stationery… Denial almost cost me everything.
Standing here now, cut on my back, keys in my hand, waiting for my wife to ride with me to the patch-over party, I feel both sides of the blade pressing in.
Right now, we don’t have the time the birth control conversation deserves, but I can at least open her sister’s invitation and see what’s got her out of sorts about it.
I walk over to the kitchen island, where the envelope has been sitting for the last few days.
It’s nothing too fancy. Cream colored, hand-addressed in a neat, practiced cursive.
I pull out the invitation on thick card stock, foiled and elegant script informing us that we are joyfully invited to her baby shower.
Something slips out from within the card and lands on the marble island. Glossy…black and white…blurry but unmistakable.
I stare at the sonogram of Vanna’s niece… our niece, I suppose, and all I can think about is the discarded birth control pack in the bathroom drawer. Was she hoping I’d see this and change my mind? Was she hoping I’d see this and imagine the little girl Vanna wants me to give her?
It’s my fault. I’ve shut her down every time she’s tried to talk to me about this.
I slide the sonogram back into the envelope with the invitation and place it down on the island as if I never touched it.