Chapter 14 – Mortician
Sitting at Roxanne’s breakfast bar and finishing his second cup of coffee, Mort hoped his news about Rebel’s near drowning wouldn’t set off Bailey again. Or news of Tabitha’s death. Or anything about Prez, Meggie, and their children that had befallen them in the span of hours yesterday.
The old Bailey would’ve been sympathetic and offered herself in whatever way the family needed her.
This one? Yeah, chances were high she’d pitch a bitch over his concern or gloat that Meggie had almost lost one of her children again.
But if Roxanne hadn’t told her, Mort didn’t want Bailey to accuse him of hiding information from her like she had when Johnnie wrongly believed she and Meggie were cousins.
There was also another, more urgent reason for seeking out Bailey.
Tomorrow, Mortician would go to Kendall’s office and file for legal separation.
As much as he loved his wife, he couldn’t break through to her and feared he never would.
Their lives were in limbo, which wasn’t cool for them or their kids.
Even if Mort left the club like she’d asked months ago, another problem would arise to set her off.
She refused to respond to any of his overtures, and he just couldn’t live with such uncertainty any longer.
Or on the fringes of her life. She’d been at her mother’s house for days and refused to tell him why. Maybe he was being a motherfucker, but he hadn’t asked Roxanne, Knox, or Grant and they hadn’t volunteered any information.
Besides, Harley needed him. Bailey was back on her wanting-an-apology-from-everyone kick, offended that Harley preferred Zoann. Fuck, at this point, Mort did too.
Harley returning to Val and Zoann’s also made it easier for Mort to spend time with her whenever he wanted, not when Bailey set the rules like she did with Lou and Kaleb.
He planned to cancel Carissa and Alexia’s high limit credit cards, which he only gave to his sisters-in-law to make Bailey happy.
Those two took full advantage of that shit, too.
He couldn’t remember the last time they worked.
Alexia was a stay-at-home mom to two kids when her old man didn’t do jack shit but…
fuck, nothing. Carissa and her wife were a little better.
The wife had good job. But…no…just fuck no.
In his quest not to be like Sharper fucking Banks, he’d spoiled Bailey so much that whatever she’d asked him for, he’d given to her.
Fine, materialistically. Fucked, when it was a baby she was throwing a fucking tantrum over.
A baby she might have in her belly because he’d made love to her two weeks ago during their ill-fated getaway to Long Beach, where he’d lost his goddamn temper and she’d lost the rest of her fucking mind, costing him thousands in damages.
He hadn’t sold the diamond he’d intended to give her, but he sure the fuck was keeping that motherfucker.
She probably wouldn’t accept it. She resented him too fucking much.
Speaking of her feelings toward him, he didn’t want her to have the power of his life and death in her fucking hands.
At least for the time being. Maybe if they managed to save their marriage and she got her senses back, that would change.
Tomorrow, he also planned to ask Kendall to file backup medical proxies, so it wouldn’t default to Bailey.
He’d list Prez, Roxanne, Digger, Val, and Meggie, in that order.
And he was only placing Meggie last out of respect for Bailey.
It was why he didn’t include Bunny and Chester.
Because Kendall was his attorney, he didn’t want Bailey to find a loophole and cry conflict of interest.
He wasn’t planning on croaking any time soon, but he lived a dangerous life. He needed people who’d want to take every measure possible to save him, not a woman who might pull the fucking plug herself.
A noise brought him back to the present and anticipation filled him, but nothing. Not Roxanne, Bailey, Grant, or Knox.
Mort had expected his boys to be there. Discovering they were with Mark JB annoyed him, though he’d hidden it from his mama-in-law. All he needed was to show his ass and she’d get her broom or collapsible baton. He didn’t need a fucking ass beating on top of an emotional one.
Once she brewed a fresh pot of coffee just for him, Roxanne left Mort alone, promising to send Bailey to him. That was almost forty-five minutes ago. He’d wait fifteen more and then leave.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Knox walked in, wearing Chinos, a long sleeve Polo with a check-collar, and leather loafers. The motherfucker had loosened up a bit, and even wore jeans more often, but he still had a hard time dressing down, so this casual outfit impressed Mort.
“Let me guess,” he said, debating on a third cup of coffee. Maybe he’d wait until he saw Digger. His brother had moved back to his house because he was a lucky motherfucker to have such a good woman as his wife.
“What are you guessing?” Knox asked.
“Bailey don’t want to see me.”
“It isn’t personal.”
“It’s very much fucking personal.” Fed up, Mort got to his feet. “Tell her I’m headed to the hospital to check on Rebel and Meggie, Knox, and that I’ll see her soon.”
“Will do.”
“And tell her I’m filing for legal separation tomorrow.” The words were as hard to say as they were to think but he was glad he’d worked it all out in his head and created a solid plan. Later, he’d lick his wounds in his room at the club. “If she want to call me, she know my fucking number—”
“Mortician—”
“I’m not listening.”
“Don’t file…there are extenuating circumstances that you don’t know about. Bailey doesn’t want you to know.”
“Of course she don’t,” Mort snapped. “She don’t fucking want me. You don’t have to drive that point home. She doing fine herself.”
“Mortician—”
Ignoring Knox, Mortician stormed to the door and walked out into the overcast mid-morning.
Hortensia’s climate was nothing like the sunniness of Southern California.
Here, there were more cloudy days and precipitation just under half the goddamn year.
It had never mattered much before. Rain, sun, wind, or snow barely registered.
He’d been content. Now, everything was falling apart and the dreariness underscored that.
The back of his house loomed in front of him. He’d been so lost he hadn’t realized he’d walked from the side of Roxanne’s place where the kitchen entry door was located to their shared lawn with the cobblestoned pathway between the two residences.
“Mortician!”
Pretending not to hear Knox, Mort kept walking.
“Wait, goddamn it.”
As much as he loved Roxanne, Bailey was her daughter.
She’d want Mort to stick it out until Bailey made her final decision.
That had been fine before he fucking kissed Kendall.
He didn’t want to betray Bailey with Kendall or anyone.
He didn’t want to think about if they’d been somewhere else when they kissed, where Johnnie couldn’t walk in, he might’ve slept with Kendall.
Bailey meant more to him than that, even with their looming legal separation.
Instead of going into his house as he’d originally intended, Mort veered off at the last minute. If he went inside, he might break down. Everything that once was, and would never be again, was in there.
A hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around.
He knew it was Knox. Annoyed with the fucking world, he jerked away.
He needed to get back to his room at the club and talk to himself.
His problems wasn’t any motherfucker’s fault—they just were.
Life happened. Shit changed. He didn’t want to take out his anger and pain on Bailey, Knox, Roxanne, or anyone else.
No one deserved it. He didn’t even want to hurt his sisters-in-law and take away their credit cards, no matter how much paying those high balances hurt his soul every month.
“Listen to me, Mortician.”
“I already know you about to tell me not to hurt Bailey that way.”
“Projecting much?”
Mortician glared at the motherfucker.
Heaving in a breath, Knox glanced over his shoulder then met Mort’s gaze. “Walk with me.”
“Knox—”
“Please? I have something to tell you that Bailey asked her mother and me to keep from you. Roxanne doesn’t agree and thinks you should know, but she loves her daughter.”
Fuck everything. As much as he wanted to turn Knox down, Mort couldn’t. He was so afraid to hear whatever it was Bailey wanted kept from him. Maybe she’d started an affair with that fuckhead she’d been in practice with. Or, maybe, she’d already filed for divorce.
“I can see your wheels spinning,” Knox said. “If it helps, your wife loves you.”
She had a fucking fine way of showing it, but fuck, those words did help. Mort turned and started walking back to the club, leaving Knox to decide if he’d follow.
Early on a Sunday morning, the clubhouse was almost deserted with only Kenny behind the bar and Potter on a stool, eating breakfast.
They both paused and looked at Mort expectantly, ready to abandon their tasks to serve him.
“Nothing for me,” Mort said, heading to Prez’s table.
“Me neither,” Knox responded, taking his usual seat while Mort did the same. Even in Prez’s absence, order needed to be respected. “What I’m telling you goes in one ear and out the other. Understand me?”
“Nope. I’m not about to give my fucking agreement until I know exactly what’s going on with Bailey.”
“I’m breaking my wife’s trust, fuckhead. That’s a big fucking deal. She’s trying to get through to Bailey but she doesn’t want to damage her anymore.”
“Damage her?” Mort echoed, and stiffened, as sensitive as an emotional chick. “Are you implying I damaged Bailey?”
“Fuck.” Closing his eyes, Knox gritted his teeth. A bleak expression settled into his face. He shook his head. “It isn’t you. It’s Johnnie. Since the first time he brought information to her, she’s started drinking, Mortician. A lot. Roxanne is trying to convince her to get help.”