I’d watched him.
Even when I was exhausted, I’d watched him.
Usually it was Motown—Storm liked Marvin Gaye—sometimes it was something more modern.
Every frickin’ night, he’d danced with her, and every frickin’ night, I’d fallen harder for him.
Our marriage had a rough start, but how he’d been with Cyan had calmed me down, had helped me see that he was in this for the long haul.
Of course, I’d only thought he was all in.
He’d been banging clubwhores while I’d fallen hook, line, and sinker deeper into love with him.
The bastard.
The shithead—
Before I could condemn him some more, the baby fussed and he started humming.
Seriously, my heart broke open.
‘Blurry’ by Puddle of Mudd.
I knew that song. It was one of his favorites and one of mine as a result.
Excuse me while I bawled my eyes out.
Feeling choked up and resentful for it, I rasped, "What do you want me to do?"
"MaryCat’s been asleep ever since she arrived last night, and she’s still stone cold on my sofa in the office and we both know how funky that is. Plus, the kid’s being a kid." He heaved a sigh. "Babe, I’m sorry to ask, but I got church in an hour. I can’t go in there with a baby."
"You want me to come sit there?"
"Yeah. If you don’t mind. I’ll drive you back if we finish late. Lots of Old Ladies are here with their kids as well, and I’d ask them but she doesn’t know them—"
"Why are they there?" I questioned, my brow furrowed.
"It’s a tradition here." I heard the shrug in his voice. "Apparently, when the men have church, the women and kids get together too."
"What about emergency church? Do you call them in for a quick potluck dinner?"
"Mockery, Keira? Et tu, Brute?"
Smirking, I commented, "You’re okay with all that? The family vibe?"
"Already changed a lot about the place. Ain’t interested in changing that shit up, not when I’m as much of a family man as they are.
"If I were Rex, then maybe it’d piss me off, but I ain’t him. Plus, it comes as no surprise. I told you what happened to the other Prez, didn’t I?"
I hummed, well aware that the last guy to hold Storm’s position had let his woman worm her way into power over the MC.
So accustomed to the Sinners in West Orange, the very notion was alien to me, but I almost applauded her for her balls.
It was so easy to get pushed aside, to have to stick to the perimeter when these men of ours were one foot in jail and one foot out.
Even as I thought she was smart, I knew she was also dumb.
Getting the Sinners to fraternize with the enemy against the Mother Chapter’s orders? That was more than just asking to get your ass killed, it was begging for it.
Of course, that was something I’d come to learn recently. During our marriage, I’d barely known what he did for a living, aside from the fact riding with the MC took him away from the house for days on end.
He’d kept Cyan and me and his life at the club completely separate, but I couldn’t blame him for that—I’d started that, and over the years it had snowballed out of control.
I blamed my naïveté and youth for failing to settle in.
Maybe things would have been different if I’d been a more integral part of club life?
"Cyan’s being difficult so I don’t know if she’ll want to come," I said with a sigh, dragging a lock of hair behind my ear. "Anyway, I’m not—"
"Did Daddy call? Is that him?"
Sitting bolt upright, I twisted around and saw my daughter, all five feet of her, skidding toward me, her glee quite clear.
She made grabby hands for the phone, and I winced as she snatched it from me, almost dropping it in her haste to get the damn thing before squealing, "Daddy!"
When she started to turn away, I reached for her shoulder and held her in place. She scowled at me, but then her bottom lip popped out. "Are you calling to cancel dinner?"
I didn’t hear his reply, but I felt it. That low rumble called to me even over the sound waves.
A part of me wanted to cry at somehow being the enemy in this situation, but her joy at speaking with her father had happiness welling up inside me.
Before I’d had her, I’d believed my mom was inherently weak. There’d always been a distance between us, and I’d watched her take Dad’s criticisms, had frowned over the way he treated her and controlled her.
The older I got, the more he’d done the same with me, until I’d begun testing the bonds of his control.
It had made my rebellion with Storm seem even sweeter… which, of course, was how I found myself in this position all these years later. It was only now, however, that I recognized the truth.
Mom had done her best.
Just as I had.
Was doing.
It wasn’t enough.
Some days, I was pretty sure it’d never be enough.
Christ, being a mom was hard. Harder than I could have imagined. Harder than they talked about in home ec.
"Daddy wants to talk to you," she said, her tone less surly than before but the resentment was still there.
"We need to work on her attitude," Storm rumbled, and my ear drums melted, as did the ice around my heart. "She’s turning into a real little bitch with you."
I winced. "She’s not a bitch."
"A little one—I modified it because I love her."
Snorting, I muttered, "You’re all heart!"
"Don’t I know it." He huffed out a breath. "Goddammit, this kid has just shit again. I swear, there’s some kind of evolutionary tactic that makes you forget how much babies crap."
Despite myself, I chuckled. "You remember Cyan? How she was in one cloth diaper for about ten minutes then we had to change it?"
"Always had a goddamn bottle in her mouth," he agreed. "I remember. Attitude or not, I prefer it now that she can deal with the bathroom herself."
Amusement growing, I asked, "Why don’t you just wake MaryCat up? I don’t know if she’d want me looking after her baby.
"I was really possessive after I gave birth to Cyan. If anyone other than you or I went near her, I was pretty feral. I didn’t even like Rene holding her."
"I remember those days," he murmured softly, something catching in his words that ensnared me, just for a moment, before he reasoned, "She was okay with me taking care of him, and anyway, I want her to sleep. She looks exhausted.
"Plus, I called Digger. He says he’s on his way here ASAP, but he’s on a run so I don’t know when that’ll be, and he told me she has postpartum depression."
Wincing on MaryCat’s behalf, I shoved away my selfish desire to never go anywhere near the clubhouse as that made up my mind for me.
Still...
"You sure you want me there?"
He hesitated. "What do you mean?"
I worked my bottom lip between my teeth. "You sure you want me there?" I repeated, not willing to change the question, not willing to elaborate.
A hiss escaped him, and I heard jangling, like his keys were dancing as his agitation grew. "Keira, that had better not be an ass backward way of asking if I don’t want you here because there are clubwhores I’ve fucked."