Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
RACHEL
The last thing I expected to do on a Sunday afternoon was clean out and organize my garage.
I’d been asking Scott to deal with it long before the divorce and after, I kept waiting for him to pick up his things before tackling the rest myself.
After this long, the task was a little daunting, but Mojave didn’t even bat an eye before picking up the first box and moving it to the driveway.
I thought there would be some commentary or maybe some rough treatment of Scott’s things once Mojave knew who they belonged to, but I should’ve known better.
Mojave wasn’t petty like Scott would be in a similar situation.
He moved boxes with care, pointing out smaller ones that Frankie could grab so she could help, and only peeked inside long enough to figure out what was inside so he could label them before moving on to the next one.
We spent the morning just emptying the garage.
I’d had no idea that Scott had begun to just toss things in here without putting them away properly and there were a few things that either had water damage or were ruined from animals chewing on them or using them as a bathroom.
My trashcan was full by the time the garage was empty, and we still had Scott’s pet project to deal with it.
I put my hands on my hips and frowned at the car.
He’d bought it with the intention of fixing it up, but he hadn’t touched it in years. It mostly just took up space.
“This yours or his?” Mojave asked, gesturing to the car.
“His,” I answered with a frown. “It was his dream car and he swore up and down that he’d fix it up himself or ask his buddies to help him.
He ended up spending maybe two afternoons on it before the excuses started.
He needed a part, he needed one of his buddies to help him, he was too busy, the excuses were endless.
It’s been sitting in here taking up space for years.
Picking up boxes is one thing, but I honestly doubt he’ll put in the effort of picking up the car. ”
“You want it gone?” Mojave asked. He still looked calm and collected, which I appreciated. I didn’t need him getting all bent out of shape over something as silly as this.
“Yes, eventually. I’m just not sure how.”
He waved that off. “I know a guy. Gotta check with Prez first though. He doesn’t have a stake in the house, does he?”
I shook my head. “No, I got the house in the divorce. He was supposed to take it all with him when he moved out, but he asked me to hold his stuff for a few weeks while he found a new place. I should’ve known better than to say yes.”
Stepping up to me, Mojave leaned in to kiss my cheek. “You were being nice. He took it for granted. I’ll check with Prez, see what the process is for getting this shit out, and we’ll handle it.”
He said it like it was no big deal, like he wasn’t helping me offload a huge burden that’d been weighing on me for months.
Like he wasn’t spending an entire day after he’d had a rough night reorganizing my garage and ridding my house of all of Scott’s things.
And he wasn’t being brazen about it either.
He was going to call Prez to make sure we did it right, essentially ensuring he wouldn’t be causing me more trouble down the line.
It was a courtesy Scott never gave me. He never thought things through.
More often than not, his ‘help’ only made more work for me, which I suspect was on purpose so I’d stop asking for his help.
Catching Mojave’s arm before he could walk away, I pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you. It means a lot.”
His expression, which was back to its normal stoic blankness, softened and he leaned his forehead against mine for a moment before stepping away.
Somehow, I’d forgotten Frankie was with us until she asked, “Are you in love?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, I felt my cheeks flame at the bold question. Kids weren’t known for subtly.
Mojave, for his part, didn’t react. He just grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, nudging her back into the garage. “We need to make a list of stuff to buy to build shelves. You want to write it or should I?”
She narrowed her eyes at him over her shoulders, not so easily deterred. “That’s not an answer.”
Mojave gave her a bland look. “Do you want to help or not? We can get ice cream after if you help out.”
“Two scoops?” she bartered. I could just tell from that mischievous grin that she knew exactly what she was doing. She was too smart for her own good.
“Deal,” Mojave acquiesced, taking her hand and shaking it. “Now go get paper.”
Still grinning, Frankie nodded. “Where do I get paper?”
“Ask Rachel. And don’t forget a pen. I’ll call Prez while you two are doing that.”
Frankie wasn’t the type to wait around, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the house at mach speed. I chuckled at her enthusiasm, following her toward the house, but hesitated a second at the door. Was I imagining it, or had I seen a police car in front of my house?
I followed Frankie inside, shooing her toward the art stuff I kept in the living room while I peeked out the window.
I didn’t see anything, but I swore I’d seen the black and white SUV out of the corner of my eye.
Maybe I was being paranoid. As far as I was aware, Scott hadn’t been reinstated and none of the other officers had any reason to be in the area.
It wasn’t like I lived in a rough neighborhood.
I was actually not far from the school, only a short distance in the opposite direction from Frankie’s house.
The closer to the schools you were, the safer the neighborhoods tended to be.
They didn’t need to be in this area unless someone called them here.
I put it out of my mind, helping Frankie find a clipboard to attach her paper to so she had something to write on, and joined her outside to write up a list for Mojave.
He left for a little while to pick up the materials he wanted, refusing any and all offers for me to at least pay for it.
While he was gone, Frankie and I made a lunch of sandwiches, chips, and watermelon balls as a special treat.
Frankie was ecstatic, stealing more than one piece of fruit while we were preparing, but I didn’t comment outside of a wink when I caught her stuffing another one into her mouth.
There were worse crimes than stealing watermelon from the cutting board.
And at least she hadn’t brought up me and Mojave being in love again.
I’d rather discuss that with him first before I tried to explain anything to Frankie.
Mojave returned with Killian in tow, a familiar truck stacked with wood, more boxes, and a couple tools.
Luckily, he’d warned me he was bringing his friend to help him, so Frankie and I had made enough lunch for everyone.
We all sat to eat before they started on their project and Frankie and I got to work repacking boxes that had gotten water damaged into new boxes so they wouldn’t fall apart when Scott moved them.
Could I have gone through them and thrown out the things that didn’t survive?
Yes. Was I going to put in that kind of effort?
Absolutely not. He should’ve picked them up months ago like he said he would.
He knew the garage wasn’t fully sealed. It was a problem I’d need to deal with eventually.
Frankie and I were moving boxes out of the house to join the rest when tires screeched and made us both jump.
I turned to look for the source of the sound, spotting Scott at the end of my driveway in an unfamiliar car.
He barely stopped long enough to throw the car into park before getting out and storming toward me.
“Frankie. Go see Mojave,” I requested, setting the box down and taking the one she held out of her hands as well. Thankfully, she didn’t argue, and when she got close enough, Mojave snatched her and moved her behind him and Killian, keeping her well out of the way of Scott’s temper.
“You fucking bitch!” he shouted as he got closer.
Knowing there was a child nearby listening, I didn’t hesitate to pull out my phone and dial 911.
I held it up, showing him the screen, and kept my voice level as I said, “This is your one warning. There are children present. Lower your voice and watch what you say or I’ll call the police. I mean it, Scott.”
His eyes darted to where Frankie was peeking behind Mojave’s legs, his hand cupping her head to block one ear while the rest of his attention was on me.
From the way his other hand fisted at his side, he was doing his level best to keep control of himself, something Scott didn’t even bother to put any effort into.
“Don’t fucking threaten me, Rachel! You know what those assholes are doing to me and the guys! You’re whoring yourself out to them when they’re trying to put me behind bars? You’re my wife! You’re supposed to be on my side–”
Pressing the call button, I put the phone to my ear, watching Scott’s eyes widen in fury as it began to ring.
“911, what’s the address of your emergency?”
I started to rattle off my address, but Scott cut me off, forcing me to take a step back to avoid his lunge to grab the phone. “Hang up the fucking phone!” he screamed.
Mojave moved like a shadow, putting himself between me and Scott. He didn’t reach for him, didn’t even lift a hand, but his expression said it all. He wouldn’t let Scott touch me.
“Move out of my fucking way!” Scott demanded.
“No.”
Mojave’s answer was simple, to the point, and only pissed Scott off more.
While he was distracted, I quickly rattled off my address to the operator, keeping a sharp eye on what was happening just in case Scott did something stupid.
Killian had moved Frankie around the side of the garage and stood in front of her like a statue, his phone raised and pointed at Scott to record as he screamed in Mojave’s face.
“Ma’am? What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“My ex-husband is trespassing on my property and screaming obscenities near an underage child. I need an officer here immediately, please.”
Scott’s attention turned to me, but Mojave side-stepped to keep Scott’s gaze on him, not once saying a word to him.
Over Mojave’s shoulder, I saw Scott’s lip lift in a scowl, his eyes so wide I could see the whites all around them.
“You’re targeting her on purpose,” he snarled, pointing a finger in Mojave’s face.
“You and your crew are already making problems for us. You think you’re going to touch my fucking wife and I’d let you get away with it? ”
I couldn’t see Mojave’s expression, I could only see the way his body seemed to subtly shift, like he was bracing himself for a fight he had no intention of losing. My heart seized at the thought. I did not want Mojave getting hurt because of me.
“How long will it take for them to get here?” I demanded of the operator.
“They’re only a few minutes out,” she promised. “Is your ex-husband armed?”
I couldn’t tell. Thus far, Scott hadn’t reached for anything, but he did have a license to carry, and I wasn’t sure if the current investigation changed anything about that.
“What? You’ve got nothing to say?” Scott demanded when Mojave didn’t answer.
“I’m not interested in arguing with you,” Mojave responded evenly. “I’m here for Rachel. You don’t factor into my decision making or our relationship.”
Wrong word to use. I knew it the minute it came out of his mouth. While Mojave wasn’t lying, I think we both assumed a relationship even if neither of us had defined it outright, the minute he said it, it pushed Scott over the edge.
“I’m not letting my wife have a relationship with a fucking biker!”
He swung and I sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step forward automatically, but it was like the threat tripped the trigger for Mojave.
He just… moved. His arm came up, blocking Scott’s punch while his other hand struck Scott right in the solar plexus.
It knocked the wind out of him, stunning him long enough for Mojave to grab his wrist, twisting it in just the right way to make Scott cry out.
I winced as Scott dropped to the ground from the pain, screaming obscenities once he could breathe again.
“Fuck you! You can’t fucking do this! I’m an officer of the law! I’ll have you thrown in jail for the rest of your life! Fuck! Let go! You’re going to break my wrist!”
“Ma’am?”
The operator’s voice drew my attention, making me jump.
“Yes, sorry. My ex husband just attacked my…” I hesitated, unsure how I wanted to describe our relationship, but in the end, there was no other way to say it. “Boyfriend. My boyfriend has him subdued, but we really need an officer out here now.”
“Did he say he was an officer of the law?” the operator asked incredulously, like she was surprised I’d left that part out.
I sighed heavily. “He’s suspended and off duty. He’s not here officially. And he attacked Mojave, not the other way around.”
“I’ve got it on video,” Killian called to me, then grimaced at Mojave. “You’re not actually going to break his wrist are you? There are children present.”
“Not if he stops moving,” Mojave answered calmly. Eerily calmly. He didn’t look away from Scott, his eyes locked on his opponent and studying his every move like he was waiting for Scott to do something else stupid that would force Mojave’s hand.
“Fuck off!” Scott screamed. “Just wait until backup arrives! They’ll have you in cuffs!
You and your piece of shit crew are the problem!
You attacked me! I–” He twisted and yelped, his whole body freezing from the pain.
I watched in shock as Mojave didn’t move an inch.
Any pain being inflicted on Scott was his own fault for moving.
“Ma’am, officers are en route. Is your ex armed?”
“Mojave? Is he armed?” I asked, because not one part of me was willing to get close enough to Scott to look for myself.
Mojave shook his head. “Not from what I can see. Not unless it’s concealed.”
Scott looked surprised that Mojave would be honest about that. It was a courtesy he likely wouldn’t have given Mojave if the situation was in reverse.
Sirens in the distance had me holding my breath. Depending on who arrived as backup, this could get so much worse before anyone stopped long enough to get an explanation.