Chapter Twenty-Two – Christopher
After another restless night, Christopher almost canceled on Roxanne.
The emotional upheaval of not having his wife near him left him so fucking cold inside.
A dead man walking with no emotions, no feelings, and no thoughts other than his regret and fear.
Every hour, minute, nanosecond, that passed without her returning home and saying she forgave him and still loved him disillusioned him.
Each moment without her reminded him of how much he loved her. Why he loved her. Megan was a chameleon, adapting to whatever iteration of life that was put forth. What the fuck made him think, in his smallest fucking mind, that she wouldn’t morph into the woman this version of him created?
The one who fucked over her by ignoring her plans, stealing her sons, especially CJ, hiding shit from her that he knew she deserved to know, blaming her for everything when he had free fucking will, and excusing behaviors that he ordinarily killed over.
Hearing her voice during her phone calls helped him to survive this nightmare.
Another reason he’d almost canceled on Roxy.
Megan didn’t intend to call. It was always Axel contacting Diesel, but she ended up talking to one of them anyway.
Axel was home now, though. She’d sent him back to be with his brothers.
“Outlaw?”
At Val’s call, Christopher blinked. Somehow, he’d made it halfway to Roxanne’s place and hadn’t even realized it.
Cold air washed over him and he tipped his head back, hoping the ray of sunshine beaming through the towering evergreens meant things would turn around.
He’d have a chance to make things right.
Megan always searched found signs to stay positive.
Or she had.
Val clapped him on the back. He looked happy, refreshed. Loved. “You think Roxanne’ll make me some of her buttermilk pancakes with her praline sauce?”
“Maybe. Ain’t too sure.”
“Know what I always wondered?”
“Ain’t got a fuckin’ clue.”
“If a pancake is a cake made in a fry pan, what’s an oven cake?”
Christopher narrowed his eyes, searching for signs that Val was fucking with him. But nope. “It’s a motherfuckin’ cake.”
“So why are they both cakes if they’re cooked differently?”
“Same ingredients, assfuck.”
Rocking on his heels, Val pursed his lips. “Are you sure about that? Pancakes aren’t nearly as thick as oven cakes. That’s why referring to both as cakes blows my fucking mind.”
“Ratios are different,” Christopher said irritably, his skin prickling. No one was ahead, so he glanced over his shoulder. Mort was heading toward them. After a wave, he turned back to Val. “You can always call panfuckincakes flapjacks. Keep your motherfuckin’ mind intact.”
“How’d they get the name—”
“If you finish that fuckin’ sentence, Ima shoot the fuck outta you. Ain’t interested in the motherfuckin’ origin of no goddamn cakes. Pan, oven, or ash.”
The moment he said that and Val’s eyes widened, Christopher regretted mentioning ash cakes. Luckily, Mort reached them and Val snapped his mouth shut. For now.
“Hey Prez,” Mort greeted and gave Val a two-fingered salute. “I thought you’d already be at Roxanne’s.”
“I been thinkin’ about cancelin’. Megan might call. Diesel leavin’ soon, but while he’s home, I can hear her voice.”
“Whatever Roxanne got to say might help,” Mort reasoned. “But I can go back to the club and wait a little longer. She might want to talk to you one-on-one.”
“Fuck, I didn’t think of that,” Val said. “It’s been so long since she invited us motherfuckers to breakfast, I wanted to ride Outlaw’s coattails for some of her stove cakes.”
Mort frowned.
“Don’t fuckin’ ask,” Christopher grumbled.
“It stands to reason if we have oven cakes, then pancakes isn’t the right name. You use a pan for the oven, too. So pancakes should be oven cakes and stove cakes should be fry cakes.”
“Shit like this keep you up at night?” Mort asked, lifting his brow.
“Sometimes,” Val admitted. “I try to figure out the mysteries of the world.”
“Newsfuckinflash: this ain’t one of them,” Christopher growled.
“To me it is.”
Throwing Val a filthy look, he started toward Roxanne’s. “She do make good coffee, so I’ll go for a few minutes.” He nodded to Mort and Val. “You motherfuckers know what the fuck’s goin’ on. Ain’t no reason for you not to come.”
Five minutes later, they reached the walkway between the back of Mort’s house and the front of Roxanne’s. Grant was standing on the porch, smoking a cigarette.
“Little dude,” Mort greeted.
“Hey Mort,” Grant responded, then said his hellos to Christopher and Val. “Dad and Roxy are in the kitchen. She’s preparing a huge breakfast, so I hope you brought your appetites.”
“Stove cakes with praline sauce?” Val asked, like a hopeful little motherfucker asking for candy.
“Stove…?”
“Don’t ask,” Christopher and Mort chorused.
Knox opened the door, though he didn’t step outside. He glanced at Grant and his mouth tightened, while Grant stiffened.
“Roxanne saw you all on camera,” Knox said. “She sent me out here to get you all before the food gets cold.”
“Say less,” Mort piped in, squeezing Grant’s shoulder as he passed by. He nodded at Knox and headed into the warmth of the house.
“Right behind you, Mort,” Val said, brushing past Grant and Knox. “Fuck, it smells good in here!” he boomed.
Grant flicked his cigarette away, glared at his father, then went inside without another word.
Christopher started forward, but Knox blocked him.
“Can I talk to you a minute, Outlaw?”
“If it’s about Grant, ain’t up to me to fuckin’ tell you to stop bein’ a motherfucker and support him no matter what the fuck he decide.”
Knox frowned. “You just did.”
“Move, fuckhead.”
“It isn’t about Grant.” Knox glanced behind him and closed the door before stepping closer. “It’s about Kendall,” he whispered, probably so Roxanne wouldn’t hear.
But unless he blinded her, if she wasn’t distracted by Mort and Val’s arrival, she’d ask fucking questions.
“I’m listenin’, Knox.”
Realistically, whatever Knox had to say to Christopher could be about anything, so those words were innocuous.
It would be up to Knox to use his fucking brain and come up with a diversion.
Enlightened on the dangers of such methods, Christopher would advise against such low motherfucker moves against Roxanne, but Knox always thought he knew best. Their relationship worked so well nowadays because Christopher tuned him the fuck out most of the goddamn time.
“She knows what I did all those years ago.”
“Ain’t she been…” Knowin’ died on his fucking lips. Roxanne was a smart bitch. She’d figure this wasn’t run-of-the-mill motherfucker talk. “Ain’t she been wantin’ that?”
“Uh—”
Fuck, he forgot he was dealing with a mini-Johnnie in the commonsense arena. He lifted a brow, hoping the motherfucker got a clue.
“Diesel pickin’ up Megan blue diamond for me today.”
Knox frowned. Assfuck was so fucking lucky his back was to the camera. Christopher lifted a brow and Knox’s eyes widened, then he nodded and leaned in even closer.
“What if she tells Roxanne? What if she tells Johnnie? I’m either dead or divorced. Frankly, I’d prefer death than life without my wife. What should I do?”
Christopher pasted on a smile. “Motherfucker, how you expect me to answer that right here in front of that fuckin’ camera?” he said, the words barely audible or understandable because of his clenched teeth.
Knox’s shoulders slumped and bleakness settled into his eyes. Growling, Christopher grabbed Knox’s collar and dragged him down the steps, not stopping until they reached the halfway point between the houses.
“Listen up, assfuck. I ain’t too sure why the fuck this botherin’ you now, but Kendall ain’t fuckin’ stupid.
She know what the fuck you did. So does motherfuckin’ Johnnie.
Unlike her, he a dumb fuckhead. Kendall love Roxanne too fuckin’ much to tell her your role in her near suicide, so stop stressin’ the fuck out.
” He shoved Knox away. “If Johnnie confront you, remind that motherfucker he had free goddamn will but he chose to go with Emily cuz of Megan.”
Christopher started back to the house, but Knox’s tortured question halted him.
“Suppose he threatens to tell Roxanne?”
“Knox, it’s like this. Confess to her, live in fuckin’ fear, or let it the fuck go. I ain’t too sure in what context you and Kendall talked about this shit, but I’m fuckin’ tellin’ you she ain’t gonna hurt Roxanne. She can’t stand your motherfuckin’ ass, but she love your woman.”
“What would you do?”
“This old shit, Knox. It ain’t about another bitch.
It ain’t about you fuckin’ over Roxanne in some other way.
This was almost eleven years ago. If you tell her now, you’ll hurt the fuck outta her and she’ll wonder what the fuck else you been hidin’.
You shoulda fuckin’ told her then, but I understand why you ain’t.
We do shit in the heat of the fuckin’ moment that seem right but end up bein’ wrong like a motherfucker.
Howfuckinever, we ain’t able to undo it without causin’ a lotta pain. ”
“My guilt is eating me alive.”
Christopher considered the situation, thought back to that time when all he wanted was Kendall dead.
Megan knew the entire story. He’d told Roxanne bits and pieces.
When he put it all together, though, he’d fucking bet she was aware of what Knox did.
Megan probably told her a version that left out Knox’s need for revenge against Kendall and explained to Roxanne that Christopher left him no choice.
Because that’s what Megan did. Cleaned up the aftermath of his fuckery to keep their family together.
“Roxanne know, Knox,” Christopher said as certain of that as he was the moon hanging in the sky.
“No!”
“Megan told her.” Another certainty.
Panic entered Knox’s eyes, but Christopher held up his hand and explained how he knew that Roxanne was aware of the truth.
“She’s never once said anything to me.”