Chapter Seven
Bright and early Tuesday morning, Christopher walked into the smallest private room at J’s and headed to the temporary coffee station.
He’d enjoyed a big breakfast that Megan and Bunny prepared, so he wasn’t hungry.
However, he’d gotten addicted to coffee over the last few weeks.
It was a habit he needed to kick, but since it wasn’t the worst in the world, he wasn’t searching for fucking Coffee Drinkers Anonymous.
Forgoing the saucer that matched the fine China cup, Christopher walked to the small table and sat. Curlicues of steam rose from the coffee, so he set the cup down and hoped it cooled soon. Nothing like a scalded fucking tongue trying to lick Megan’s pussy.
Snickering, Christopher folded his arms and stretched his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.
He hoped CJ had a good day at school. His boy was still shaken over Torie’s death.
Seeing his cold, dark side of him upset CJ as much as watching that cunt die.
He’d have to reconcile that side of Christopher in his own time.
As he’d told CJ, if he wanted to patch in, he had to not only resolve the two sides of Christopher but cultivate his own duality.
“I always thought Mom was being funny when she said you were Outlaw and not Christopher. Or Christopher and not Outlaw,” his boy had said quietly, sitting on his bed with his back against his wall.
His sadness—the clear disillusionment—hurt Christopher’s soul.
Unlike his apologies to Megan for his ruthless side, he spoke as gently as possible to his son, not once offering a sorry.
Even his woman knew club life was brutal.
She might’ve been a little blind to the reality of their sons patching in, but she understood the truth.
With Torie’s death, Megan was thawing. She was still a little bloodthirsty.
However, he had hope that his sweet angel could be rescued from the pits of the hell Christopher’s actions sent her to.
He was so fucking sorry he’d almost ruined her.
Sorrier still that he couldn’t fucking accept her acceptance of Rebel on birth control or entering the dating scene.
For the entire weekend, he’d expected news that Kaia Riggs had made good on CJ’s instructions to ask Rebel out. Almost two weeks had passed, along with a lot of bullshit, and the invitation still hadn’t come. Perhaps, CJ decided he couldn’t handle it either and ordered Kaia to back off.
This past Saturday, Megan and Rebel went with Kendall and Mattie to some fucking spa.
Bunny wanted to go, but Digger pitched a fucking fit at having to look after their kids.
From what Christopher heard, Mort and Kaleb relieved Bunny and she got to the spa late.
CJ spent the day with Rory, JJ, Lou, Mark JB, and Devon.
Christopher and Diesel kicked it in the man cave, teaching the Triplets how to play poker.
During dinner that night, Christopher teased Megan and Reb about spending the day soaked in mud and yogurt. “If you need to relax, baby, hit a fat boy. We can dig mud for you, buy a case of yogurt, and that’s fuckin’ that.”
They’d all laughed.
Megan relaxed a little more. “It was clay. Thank you very much. They’d run out of mud,” she’d teased. “And I don’t smoke weed.”
It was pre-fuckup banter. Pre-November 23 rd . Pre- Torie .
They’d even spent time with their kids in the den. Laughing . Dancing.
Loving .
Like normal, the kids trooped out to do their own thing after an hour. CJ and Rebel promised to keep an eye on Gunner. Diesel went for a swim with Rule and the Triplets in the natatorium. Christopher and Megan remained in the den, cuddling and talking.
Like old times.
They’d discussed the Mardi Gras ball, the chandelier that she wanted for the foyer, the reports of Torie’s house exploding.
Together, they decided Christopher needed to visit D.
Elliot. He’d been on the news in tears. He thought Torie died in the house.
Preliminary details were that a gas leak led to the blast.
That would be the fucking final report, too. Nothing would tie Christopher to her death. He’d spent half of Sunday making sure of that.
Then, he and Megan visited Jo. His heart hurt as he’d held his sweet baby.
The offer to place her for adoption haunted him.
Even as he said the words, he feared Megan’s agreement.
She just wasn’t present with Jo. Torie’s involvement with the baby as a reason made sense.
Megan had her own crosses to bear, including Torie’s taunts and tortuous texts and phone calls.
Christopher loved Jo so very much. Whether they raised her didn’t matter.
He’d always love his baby. As her father, it was his responsibility to choose what was best for her.
He’d never pretended to be selfless enough to put his kids before his wife.
That just made his crime of prioritizing another woman’s child over his girl even more fucked up.
Despite his deep regret, he couldn’t change his decisions.
And he couldn’t change his fervency to do whatever Megan wanted to make his behavior up to her.
If Megan couldn’t be the same type of ma to Jo that she was to their other children, then Christopher didn’t want his daughter to suffer. She deserved a ma who loved and nurtured her. He still wasn’t sure Megan could do it.
Beyond her normal bedrest and minimal activity, her pregnancy was fraught with Rebel’s bitchery.
Megan couldn’t focus on the daughter inside her because the one already here took resentfulness to another fucking level.
Megan couldn’t celebrate Jo’s impending arrival as she wanted to because she didn’t want to send Rebel further over the edge.
Christopher had been all for locking Rebel in her room until she got some fucking sense.
Megan’s detachment from Jo began during her pregnancy because of Rebel’s resistance.
The days it took her to recover further damaged any bond Megan could’ve immediately formed with Jo.
Once she awakened, she had to reassure Christopher, their kids, their extended family, club members, fuck aliens in outer fucking space, that she was fine.
On top of that, not only was Johnnie fucking with her, Christopher and CJ were pressuring her into having a hysterectomy and berating her for her hesitancy .
Was it any wonder she couldn’t bond with Jo? Was it so shocking that she’d not only lost herself in this fuckery, but his sweet angel?
If Megan didn’t want Jo, his baby would be better off with another family who would want her.
Christopher wanted her. He didn’t fucking fool himself, though, and pretend he was willing to walk away from Megan for the sake of Jo.
He’d be a lying motherfucker if he claimed he wouldn’t grow to resent his daughter if he chose to raise her, and Megan left him.
If they put Jo up for adoption, he’d always hold her in his heart, but he’d never hate on Megan for the solution he came up with.
If raising their daughter was best for Megan, Jo would stay. If putting her up for adoption was best for Megan, Jo would go.
Christopher hoped his baby stayed.
The door opened, and D. Elliot walked in. Unlike the happy-go-lucky motherfucker he usually was, his eyes were red rimmed and puffy, and his face was haggard.
“Outlaw,” he greeted, lumbering forward as if it were a struggle to stand or to move. “Mrs. Harrington said you needed to see me.”
Christopher unfolded his arms and nodded to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
Tears rushed to the waiter’s eyes, and he blinked, averting his gaze. “I’d prefer to stand.”
“How your boy?”
“Devastated.”
Instead of the remorse he thought he’d feel at the trauma the young boy must be going through, Christopher didn’t care about Torie’s death. No matter who was affected. She hadn’t given a fuck.
“I ain’t fucked your woman.”
Might as well get to one of the points. With the games that bitch played, Christopher knew she probably used her fake fucking photo to not only fuck with his woman but her motherfucker.
D. Elliot’s watery gaze flew to Christopher’s.
“I visited her to talk about a job. Your boy took a photo of me and your woman doctored it to fuck with my wife and you .”
“I’m sorry, Outlaw,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry. Edna was a good woman. I broke her heart because I couldn’t keep my cock in my pants.” He wiped his cheeks. “Now, she’s gone, and I can’t make it up to her.”
“They found her remains?” He knew they hadn’t, but he fished for other information. “She was caught in the fuckin’ explosion?”
“No.” D. Elliot’s hands trembled, fisted, spread wide. Finally, he pulled a sheet of paper out of his back pocket and held it up.
That was what Christopher wanted to see. Yesterday afternoon, Christopher went to Diesel’s office, where he and Diesel came up with the letter. Knowing Diesel fucked Torie and felt absolutely nothing about her death spoke volumes. One son had no conscience and no empathy and the other had too much.
D. Elliot shifted. “She left me and…she called me everything. Dared me to find her. We’d been through this already. I know she saw me as a piece of shit. First a cheater and then, after she left, clingy. She don’t even want Dex.” He looked at the floor. “She wants a wealthy man to spoil her.”
Apparently, Diesel knew that bitch. D. Elliot wasn’t questioning none of Diesel’s embellishments.
Christopher wrote what he wanted included.
Once Diesel typed the Dear D. Elliot letter, he allowed Christopher to read it, imploring Christopher to trust him.
It was then he’d confessed to fucking Torie more than once .