Fuck, he loved her.
Straight up, down to his gut, for the rest of his life, loved her.
He didn’t tell her that.
He told her, “The manly man biker shit you spout is cute, Butterfly, but it’s also goofy.”
She grinned, pushed forward on her knees, then crawled to him where he sat on the edge of her bed, twisted to her. She got close, landed on her hip pressed to his, and put a hand on his chest.
“I’m not goofy,” she whispered.
She totally was.
“Whatever,” he whispered back.
“Not sure I can get back to sleep for the whole hour I could do that,” she shared.
“What are you sure you can do?” he asked.
She leaned in and ran her nose along his jaw.
That was what he was hoping would be her answer.
And it was an answer to a lot of things, all of what they’d just talked about.
An answer he liked.
Luckily, he was sure he could do that too.
So he pulled her into his arms, took her to her back, and they did it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Give Good Girlfriend
Carissa
WHILE MY BIKER was in the kitchen making coffee, droopy-eyed, I stood at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth, thinking about all that had happened the night before and early that morning.
I gave Joker what I needed to give him when we had our talk.
That didn’t mean what he said didn’t alarm me.
It did.
And in the light of the coming day, tired and facing work and an important meet-the-friends dinner that night, that alarm grew.
Still brushing, I saw Joker walk in wearing nothing but his jeans (and by that, I meant nothing—he’d pulled them on commando to go make coffee), his miraculous chest (and shoulders, and head, and face, etc.) on display.
And I saw his tattoos.
He had a variety of them he’d explained were Chaos tattoos. A big one on his back, one on his inside biceps, one on his outside forearm.
He also had a tattoo over his left pectoral that was a playing card of a joker.
To be honest, I’d never liked tattoos. I thought they were common, not in the sense they were low-class, but when everyone started getting them, the coolness factor went out of them.
But Joker had told me the story of his Chaos tattoos, and the joker card was obvious.
So I’d changed my mind.
First of all, they were amazing to look at. I was no art expert, but it was clear they were that. Art on skin.
But it was more. They told the story of the person who had them. Inked forever in their skin was their history, or what was important to them, or lessons they’d learned they didn’t want to forget.
This made me look at all Chaos brothers’ tattoos more closely, and I’d stopped being judgmental as I read their lives, their thoughts, their life lessons on their skin.
For Joker, I liked most the fact that his tattoos showed his life started when he found the brotherhood. He didn’t have tattoos from before, angry ones he got after he left his father and struck out to make his own life with a car full of stuff and not much else.
I liked it that instead, he’d inked his skin when he’d found his place, knowing it with such certainty, he vowed allegiance to it and put it in a forever way right on his body.
From a man like Carson “Joker” Steele, that said a lot about the place he found.
My eyes lifted from his chest to his eyes as he walked up behind me. I kept brushing but did it automatically when he put a hand to my hip and slid it over my nightie (another stretchy, blousy one that still fit and looked okay, this one in green) to my belly.
Then I watched as he bent his dark head and kissed my shoulder.
That was when my eyes went to my shoulder and I saw the love bite he’d given me there. It was more than a hickey. There were indistinct purple teeth marks all around it.
And that was where Joker’s lips right then touched.
My stomach dropped and I locked my legs as his hand slid up to my ribs and he moved his lips to kiss my neck.
He let me go, moved away, and reached for his own toothbrush.
But I was brushing and staring at that mark.
My physical reaction was only partially due to Joker’s touch, liking it, the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, and the beauty of watching him give it to me in the mirror.
Mostly, it was about that mark. About him kissing it. About him making it.
About me wearing it.
And having it, how I got it, what was said after, and later, the honest way Joker gave me what he had to give me early that morning, the apprehension I was feeling slid away.
Chaos were bikers. And being around them I’d learned that bikers were just like any people.
I was sure there were scarier clubs, more dangerous ones, ones that attracted that kind of guy. There were probably more casual ones, ones about riding on the weekends and having guys to hang out with, a different kind of brotherhood that wasn’t as important as family.
And then there was Chaos.
It had not been lost on me the men were tough, rough, and edgy. Even before Joker shared what he shared with me, I would not expect they sang in the choir at church on Sundays.
But Tack had picked Tyra.
And Hop had picked Lanie.
And Tabby had picked Shy.
They’d gotten married. They were making babies.
And they were devoted.
Not like Aaron was “devoted” to me.
They were devoted.
Truly.
Not to mention, Stacy was really nice and she was no one’s old lady, but the boys liked her hanging around and I knew why.
Because the guys were tough, rough, edgy, about family, and good to their souls. It might be a different definition of good that included vigilantism, which was arguably not the right thing.
But it was their thing.
So who was anyone to judge?
I couldn’t say I was happy that my biker and his friends who were now my friends were possibly in danger.
I could say that I knew down to my gut they not only could take care of themselves, they wouldn’t do anything stupid to put themselves in jeopardy. What was happening with this bad guy wasn’t about that. They weren’t about that. And they wouldn’t put their loved ones through that.
So I had to trust, and I’d spent a decade trusting the wrong man so I’d learned.
This time, I had it right. I knew that down to my gut too.
Feeling content in this, having sorted it out in my head, I quit brushing, spit, rinsed, and moved to my man. I shoved close, forcing him away from the counter, and went in.
He kissed the mark he gave me.
I kissed the mark he gave himself, touching my lips to the joker card.
Then I tipped my head back and whispered, “I’ll go pour the coffee.”
He kept brushing but his eyes, already warm at my touch, got soft.
I allowed myself time to take that in before I moved away to get my man and me some coffee.
* * *
At my first coffee break at work, I was no longer feeling content.
This was because we’d had a slow morning and Sharon, me, and the other cashiers had a chance to gab.
I’d shared I was seeing someone and was meeting his friends that night.
They were ecstatic for me (they all didn’t know everything about Aaron, but they all knew he was a jerk).
Then Sharon asked me what I was wearing.
And I instantly started to panic, because meeting your man’s friends did not say tube top or clingy T-shirt dress or tank with cool sequins.
Especially when one of them lived in assisted living!
And I had nothing postpregnancy weight that would do.
Not one thing.
So I had to form a plan, which I did.
And now I was in the break room with pho
ne in hand and it was ringing in my ear.
“Yo, girlie, what’s shakin’?” Elvira asked in my ear as greeting.
“Panic stations!” I cried.
“Uh… what?”
“I’m meeting Joker’s friends tonight,” I told her on a rush. “Not, like, biker friends. Like, the woman who looked after him when he was a kid and his dad was off carousing and left him home alone without dinner. And when I say kid, I mean, he was eight.”
“Yikes,” she muttered.
“Also the guy who gave him a good man in his life, seeing as he didn’t have one, is going to be there too. And his family!”
“Lordy, Carissa, this shit’s big.” Elvira told me something I already knew.
“I know, and I have nothing to wear.”
“Uh-oh,” she mumbled, totally understanding me, as I knew she would since she was a girl.
“I’m at work but Tyra says you can get time off to shop,” I said leadingly (and hopefully).
“Right. Got it. I’m on it,” she replied immediately.
I blinked at my locker.
That was easy.
“Really?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She just said, “Budget.”
“Um… well, I need shoes too.”
“Budget, girl,” she demanded.
Gosh, this hurt. It really hurt. Surprisingly, after months of money being so tight it was a wonder I could breathe, I had thousands of dollars in a savings account and my monthly expenses had decreased dramatically.
But it had been tight and anything could happen (like your car needing four new tires). I had a buffer now when it felt like I’d never have a buffer in my life. It was good to have. And I was terrified of drawing it down, definitely not doing it for new clothes.
Further, I hadn’t spent money on me for so long, focusing on Travis and his needs (as it should be), it felt strange to consider doing it.
Strange as in guilty.
“Carissa,” Elvira prompted impatiently.
“Okay, maybe two hundred, at most, all of it together.”
Eek!
“You need undies?” she asked.
I actually kinda did but I didn’t know how to ask Elvira to take care of that. Anyway, only Joker would see those, and unlike my nighties, he’d never mentioned my undies (which were, admittedly, not all that much to write home about) so I didn’t think they were a priority.
“You need undies,” she decided for me. “When you gotta be at their table?”
“Six thirty.”
“Your house. Five.”
“I get home at ten after five.”
“Your house, ten after five.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“On it. Later,” she said then I heard her disconnect.
“Did I just make a mistake?” I asked the locker.
There was no reply, and I needed to throw back some coffee and get to my register, so I couldn’t wait for what was never going to come to me from a bunch of steel.
I could also fret no longer.
And anyway, I’d set Elvira on her course. She was Elvira. I hadn’t known her a long time but one thing I did know.
Unless I was a man named Hawk who put the kibosh on it (and I wasn’t), there was no turning back now.
* * *
At my lunch break, I went to my locker to get my phone to see if Joker had texted me (because he always texted me when I was at work, another way he was sweet).
I pulled it open like I’d pulled it open repeatedly for months.
But this time, I did it and froze because, staring unseeing into the locker, a memory hit me, and on its heels came another one.
These being that all my stuff, excepting the guest room furniture, was out of the storage locker. Everything was unpacked. Everything was put away.
But the sketch Carson Steele gave me before he left town then came back as Joker was not at my house.
“Oh no,” I whispered, because I had also suddenly remembered something in all the turmoil of the last year that I’d completely forgotten.
I had stuff in the attic of Aaron’s house. A couple of boxes filled with yearbooks, some photo albums, commemorative coins my mom’s uncle used to give me for reasons I didn’t understand but I’d always kept them.
And that was where Joker’s sketch was, framed and tucked away because Aaron didn’t like it, no matter that it was of me and it was beautiful. When we moved in together after the wedding, I’d put it out and he’d told me (not asked me) to put it away.
I’d put it away.
And then, in a dither that my life was a mess, I left it behind.
“No,” I whispered again.
I needed to get it back.
Darn it!
I grabbed my phone, turned it to me, and slid my thumb on the screen.
As usual, Joker had texted me, and as usual, it was sweet.
This time, it was, You’re on my mind.
I liked that.
What I didn’t like was the notification above it that said I had a missed call and voicemail from Aaron.
Ulk.
Well, he had my son and it could be about Travis, not to mention I needed to talk to him about the boxes, so I quickly texted Joker back with, Me too, sweetie. See you tonight.
Then I listened to Aaron’s voicemail, which only said, “Riss, hey. When you have a second, call me. Okay? Later, honey.” All of this like we left voicemails for each other every day due to the fact we were in love, married, had a baby, and all was hunky dory.
This was not a surprise. This was the way he behaved when he went about getting back into my good graces the other times he’d jerked me around.
But this time, I didn’t feel hope from his behavior.
I only felt exasperation.
I drew in breath and hit the Call Back button, hoping all was okay with Travis, further hoping that Aaron wouldn’t give me any guff about me getting the boxes in the attic, and last hoping that I got voicemail (of course, only if Travis was okay).
It rang twice before he greeted, “Hey, Riss.”
I fought a gag and asked, “Is Travis okay?”
“He’s fine, babe.”
Babe?
He’d never called me babe.
“Listen,” he carried on. “I’ll be working into the night. Can you come to the office? We need to talk. I’ll get food in and we can talk over Chinese or something.”
Was he crazy?
“I have plans tonight, Aaron,” I told him. “So perhaps you can tell me what you’d like to discuss while you have me now.”
“I’d like to do it in person.”
“Is this about Travis?” I pushed.
“In a way,” he hedged.
I didn’t have time for this.
“Okay, Aaron, I’m at work on lunch break and I need to eat so I don’t have a lot of time. It’d help if you could be more forthcoming.”
He hesitated for a moment before he said, “It’s about Travis, you, and me.”
You and me?
“You may have missed this, but there is no you and me,” I pointed out.
“Riss—”
“Stop,” I whispered.
He stopped.
Then he started again.
“That was wrong to ask.”
He was so right.
Then, as he was wont to do, he went wrong.
“The wrong way to go about it. This is important. I’ll ask Mom to look after Travis and I’ll take you to dinner so we can talk. It may be a while before I can get away but I’ll take you somewhere nice.”
He was crazy.
“Aaron, please don’t do this,” I said quietly.
“Do what?” he asked. “Sit down with my wife to talk about our family?”
His wife?
Our family?
I wanted to kick him. Since I couldn’t, I lost patience with him.
“I can’t do this now,” I snapped.
“I messed up,” he said gently. “
I’ve been thinking a lot, can’t get it out of my head. I messed up, Riss, and I want to fix it. I’m trying to fix it. And I have to talk to you about what I’ve been thinking.”
“I just said I can’t do this now,” I reminded him. “I’m at work. I have to get my lunch and get back to my register.”
Before I could continue in order to finish our conversation, he muttered, “I hate you work a cash register at a fucking grocery store.”
I let that go, since in reality he put me at that register but I didn’t think it would end our conversation any quicker if I reminded him of that.
Instead, I kept on with what I wanted to say.
“Since I have you, I’ve discovered after the move that I left some things in your attic. A couple of boxes. I’d like them back.”
“I’ll bring them over to your place tonight,” he offered instantly.
That was easy, which was good, just not what I needed.
“Like I said, I have plans,” I told him. “But maybe I can come over after work some night this week and get them?”
“Whenever you want, Riss. I’ll cut out of the office and be there. And maybe you can have dinner with Travis and me or something.”
What about Tory?
I didn’t ask.
I said, “I’ll text you, let you know.”
“Great. I’ll go up and get them down.”
I studied my memory banks and couldn’t remember so I could only hope that the boxes were closed and taped.
I also could only hope he didn’t go through them. I’d told him about that sketch and who’d done it. If he saw it again, who knew what he’d do with it.
And I wanted it back.
No, I needed it back.
“Right, um… talk to you later, Aaron.”
“All right, honey, have a good day.”
He was making me queasy.
Still, to keep him from turning into a jerk (or exposing he still was one), I said, “You have a good one too. Good luck with the case.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
I swallowed back another gag and said goodbye.
I didn’t wait for him to return my farewell before I rang off, ran out, got myself a sandwich from the deli, went back to the break room, and ate it while calling Joker and telling him my latest tales of ridiculousness from Aaron (though I left out the part where Aaron still had Joker’s sketch).