Chapter 9
CLUTCH - PROTECT OUR OWN
Leaving Church I have this sudden urge to have eyes on my wife. I need to see her, hold her. Reassure myself that everything is ok. For a second, I think she left already, but then the bathroom door swings open, and steam spills out into the small bedroom.
Bex steps out wrapped in a towel, hair damp and dark against her shoulders, a hair dryer in her hand. I know she knows I am in the room, but she doesn't acknowledge me yet.
She walks to the mirror over the dresser, plugs the dryer in, and starts working through the ends of her hair with slow, practiced movements.
I lean back against our closed bedroom door and watch her.
God, I've missed this. Not the sex or even the quiet moments in bed.
Just... her existing in the same space as me.
The way she moves around this room like she belongs here. Even though I know she's never really felt like she does.
I can still picture her, those first few months after I gave her my cut.
It was this feeling of bliss that I had never felt before.
Content… I think it is the right word. Settled, happy.
I could just lay in bed and watch her get ready for the day.
Every little thing she did, every time she opened a drawer that was now hers and not just mine.
.. having her in the only place that had ever felt like home to me.
I felt at peace, like she was the last puzzle I needed clicked into place.
The dryer shuts off, and she finally looks at me in the mirror. Her shoulders still, our eyes meet through the reflection.
"You're back sooner than I thought you'd be," she says.
Her voice is neutral, but something behind her eyes shifts. Relief and then something heavier. But there's also this feeling that she doesn't know what to say to me, that she isn't being herself, and I hate that.
"I... fuck, Bex. I... things are so strained right now. I know I haven't been myself, I have said things... things I hope you know I would never actually follow through on."
She drops her eyes to the dresser, losing that eye contact, feeling like I am losing more than just that. I think about the past few weeks, the tension building not just in the club, but between us. I haven't been treating her right and it’s not her fault.
I need to fix this.
I push off the door and step further into the room.
"You know how I feel about you, right?"
She doesn't answer, but her eyes lift again as she looks at me through the mirror. There's a look in her eyes I can't quite place. Sadness? Pain? Exhaustion? Maybe all three.
"You know this is all temporary," I add.
I feel like I am rambling, but I have this feeling low in my gut that I don't like. I need to squash it.
She sighs softly. "I'm so tired."
The words come out quiet and my brain grabs the most obvious meaning.
"You've been working nonstop," I say. "Why?"
She doesn't answer right away. Just turns the dryer back on and finishes the last few passes through her hair. The sound fills the room while I stand there watching her.
The woman I married… The woman who somehow feels farther away now than she did days ago when she was sleeping in a hospital on-call room.
The dryer clicks off again and she sets it down carefully, before turning and walking straight for me. When she reaches me, she drops the towel without ceremony and steps past me toward the bed where her clothes are folded.
I try not to stare.
I failed.
I can't help but trail my eyes over my wife's body. She is lean but soft. Perfect for me. My eyes trail to the scar on her leg that I still don't know how she got.
I think back to the first time I asked about it.
She was getting on the back of my bike, her long, lean legs stretched out, and for the first time I had seen her legs uncovered.
She had small marks I couldn't make out at a distance, a few smaller scars and a big one that trailed her inner thigh past her knee.
I asked what the hell kind of thing happens to end up with a scar like that, and she shrugged, looked away and said: "Some scars need to stay in the past." I let it go, and we spent an amazing day driving through small towns, talking about what we wanted from our future instead of focusing on the past. Her arms wrapped around me.
Over the years, I had hoped she would feel comfortable enough to tell me about her past. I would trail kisses over every mark, every scar, hoping that she would open up.
I shared mine, the abuse, how I ran... got in with the wrong crowd, and Angel's father saved me and took me in.
It was only after that that she felt comfortable coming here with me, staying at the clubhouse and moving in.
I shared what it meant to me, my brothers, my only family.
But she... she never talked much about her past.
"How much do you really know about your wife's past, Clutch?"
I push the thought from my head.
Bex quickly pulls on her underwear and bra, then she reaches for her scrubs.
"You know why, Declan," she says finally.
I frown, my sleep deprived brain trying to pull me from the past and latch on to what she is talking about.
"Why what?" I ask, sounding frustrated. But, I am just really fucking tired.
She pulls the scrub top over her head.
"You always say things will calm down," she says quietly. "That whatever is happening is temporary."
Her fingers smooth the fabric down over her stomach.
"How many years have you been saying that?"
The question sits between us and for the first time in a long time, I actually think about it.
Years? Yeah…But those years weren't all bad. We've built something during those years.
Day trips, and quiet mornings when neither of us had to be anywhere.
I try to think about the last trip, the last time we went anywhere… the last time it was just us… Fuck… Why can’t I remember?
Sure, sometimes things get tense around here, but that is the life. That is part of being in this club. And it's never been like this before. Not this heavy or this tense.
She bends down, slipping on her comfortable work shoes, then she looks up at me.
"I don't feel comfortable here anymore." Bex says with a pained voice.
My chest tightens.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
She ties the laces slowly.
"I don't feel safe here," she says. "Especially when you're not around."
I stagger back a step, feeling like she's hit me.
This place is the safest ground I know.
"Bex... baby..."
"Or… even when you are here," she continues, quieter now, "You are so busy, so occupied with club business... We're living separate lives in the same building. I don’t feel like I am a part of your life anymore…"
That one lands like a punch to the gut, and I suck in a breath trying to steady myself. I cross the room and pull her into me before she can step away. She stiffens for half a second, and then she softens. Her forehead presses into my chest as I wrap myself around her.
"You know that's not what I want," I murmured into her hair. "How do we fix this?"
She doesn't answer and that scares the shit out of me, so I hold her tighter.
"Don't pick up any more shifts," I say, because I am struggling with my feelings right now. "We're tightening security. Everything's being watched right now."
Her body tenses, and she pulls back just enough to look up at me, when she asks, "You trust me, don't you?"
The answer hits my brain instantly.
Yes. Of course I do.
But something flickers across my mind before the word reaches my mouth. Razor's voice in Church. "You ever think it's weird Mara disappears right after being seen at the hospital?"
It's gone just as fast as it appeared. But the hesitation exists, for barely a second, but it's still long enough. Her expression changes immediately, and she steps out of my arms, shaking her head slightly.
"Bex... yes of course I do... "
She moves around me, gathering her things.
"There's a mandatory gathering tomorrow night," I say quickly. "Angel wants everyone there. No exceptions."
She looks at me for a long moment. Then she nods. A small, sad nod.
That's it. No argument, no fight. And somehow that feels worse. Like I'm watching her drift away, and I don't know how to stop it.
I walk her downstairs without a word. The compound is quiet, a few brothers glance up as we pass, their eyes locked on my wife. I notice it now, the looks. When we reach her car, she slides into the driver's seat without another word.
"Text me when you get to the hospital," I say. I love you.
She nods, and then she drives away.
Why didn't I say it out loud? Why do I feel like I should have, that she needs to know more now, than ever?
Why didn't I tell her I love her, and why didn't she tell me? I remember the first time I asked her to call me by my name, and the sound of it on her lips was like heaven. "I love you, Declan...." It is my favourite thing to hear.
When was the last time she said it? Why does it feel like I hardly hear it anymore?
I stand there watching her taillights disappear through the gate and down the road, and I realize something that makes my stomach twist. I'm losing her.
"Clutch." Angel's voice comes from behind me.
I turn, and he walks up slowly, hands in his pockets.
"You know I trust you," he says.
I nod once.
"And I trust you with my life," I reply.
He studies my face for a moment.
"I'm not accusing anyone of anything," he says carefully.
The way he says it tells me exactly what conversation this is.
"I wanted to talk about what was said at Church."
Angel runs his hand through his hair, looking dishevelled, so not like him. He is usually controlled, put together, and steady.
"I am grasping at straws right now, Clutch. Mara is missing, and we can't find a trace of what happened to her. The only lead we have is her on camera at the hospital. With everything going on… with Four still locked up... we need to follow every lead, even if it's just a rumour."
He sighs, looking around the lot filled with bikes.
"My baby sister is missing, Brother," he continues quietly. "Our enemies are circling."
I don't interrupt.
"If Bex isn't involved," he says, holding up a hand before I can say anything, "and Preacher's sniffing around the hospital... then she's in danger."
That makes me straighten.
"She'd tell me if something was wrong."
"Maybe," Angel says.
Or maybe she wouldn't. Is what he doesn't say. The thought creeps in without permission.
Angel exhales slowly, adding, "We have to look at every option right now."
He looks me dead in the eye as he says, "We protect our own."
Always have.
Always will.
"Stick together," he adds. "Figure this shit out before someone else does. Before things get worse."
Then he asks the only question that matters. "Are you with me?"
The answer comes easily. Automatic.
"I'm always with you, brother."
Angel nods once. But as he walks away, my mind drifts back to the road Bex just drove down. I wonder about what she keeps saying and all the things she isn't. And now I worry that someone else might be watching her, too.