Madeline Sheehan - Unattainable

“Don’t hold your breath,” he heard Deuce mutter.

He wasn’t going to.

When it came to his old man, he’d stopped holding his breath a long fucking time ago.

“Stupid,” I muttered as I yanked a frying pan out from underneath a stack of pots and pans, wincing as the following loud clatter echoed throughout the kitchen. My mom didn’t get a lot of sleep; when she did sleep she dreamt of the memories she couldn’t quite access and usually woke up in a cold sweat, shaking and crying. Between that and Christopher, she needed her rest.

After placing the pan on top of the stove, I headed for the refrigerator.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I said under my breath as I surveyed the chilled contents. A carton of eggs, a package of cheese, a loaf of bread, and a tub of butter later I was sitting down with a cheese omelet and a side of toast, not eating.

I felt too sick to eat.

I was a first-class fucking idiot. And not just because I’d fucked Cage. Again. I mean, yeah, that was seriously idiotic, but worse, I’d fucked him not once, but three times, and not once did we use a condom. Not once did I even remember to use a condom. Why oh why did I always lose my head around that man?

Goddammit, I probably had AIDS now or at the least some sort of wonky biker venereal disease. Or even worse, I was going to end up like motherfucking Danny and pregnant with a little biker baby that, knowing my luck, would be a boy who’d look just like his father, become a biker just like his father, and break a million hearts…just like his father.

It was official. I was my mother’s daughter. I could bed the man but never wed him. I could suck his cock, make him dinner, do his laundry, and have his children, but I could never actually have him.

Jesus, I’d actually prefer to have explosive diarrhea while wearing a miniskirt, performing a jig onstage in front of half a million people.

My one saving grace was that I had absolutely no reason to see Cage for the rest of the weekend. I closed my eyes and let out an irritated sigh. Why did I absolutely hate the sound of that?

My eyes flew open and I stared down at my omelet. “FUCK!” I yelled. “You look really yummy and I don’t even want to eat you!”

“Tegen?”

Glancing up from my breakfast, I found my mother hovering near the kitchen entrance, dressed in only a knee-length black robe and fuzzy slippers.

“Shit,” I said, immediately pushing my chair back and getting to my feet. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

She gave me a small smile. “Is it okay to come in? Or am I going to get an omelet to the face?”

My shoulders sagged. My mother had never been a shy woman and she’d never skirted around sensitive subjects. Unless it had something to do with her relationship with Jase, she’d never had a problem speaking her mind. I took after her in that way, although I was infinitely more vulgar than she would ever be.

Other than that, we were polar opposites. Our hair wasn’t even the same shade of red.

Even at forty-one she was still beautiful; at forty I was pretty sure I was going to look like skin sagging off a stick. But not my mother. She was several inches shorter than I was, petite but not without curves, her breasts were full and her stomach flat.

Her deep red hair hung halfway down her back in soft waves, her pretty green eyes still sparkled with a youthful vitality, and her skin, although freckled, was a shimmering sort of pale, not the sickly sort. Like me.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I said quietly.

“No, baby, I was already up and about to get in the shower when I heard you yell. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I’m fine.”

She took a step inside the kitchen and folded her arms under her breasts. “Tegen, I may not remember everything, but I still know when my own daughter is lying to me. I already knew something was up when it was Eva and Kami bringing me back my car last night. And then I get a phone call from you from Cage’s phone telling me you’re at Cage’s house and you need to get picked up. Not only that, I am well aware of what a woman looks like after she’s had sex, which is exactly how you looked when I picked you up from Cage’s house. Now, you have one of two choices; you can tell me what’s wrong or you can keep lying to your mother.”

Oh. Well. Now that sounded exactly like my mother. My mother who, memory problems or not, I absolutely did not want to discuss my sex life with. Hell to the no.

“You seem good,” I said, hoping to build a bridge over last night’s ocean full of confusion and regret, and head immediately for dry land. “No more nightmares?”

“Have it your way,” she said, sighing. “I’m going to shower then, I guess.”

As she began to turn, she paused. “You know, baby, I might be older than you, but I still know what pain is. I only wanted to help.”

I swallowed hard. Of course she knew what pain was. She’d had nothing but pain, and why would I want to contribute more to the ungodly amounts already weighing her down?

“Mom, I—”

The sharp chime of the doorbell cut me off.

Glancing to her right, my mother pursed her lips. “It’s too early for—”

“D! ANSWER THIS MOTHERFUCKING DOOR!”

At the sound of Jase’s voice, my mother turned an unhealthy shade of pale.

The doorbell chimed again, one, two, three times. This was followed by a demanding series of what sounded like someone trying to beat a door down with their fists.

I closed my eyes. Without fail, Jase loved making my visits home even more miserable.

“DOROTHY!”

“He sounds drunk again,” she whispered, staring down the hallway, her expression one of sheer terror. “Last time he showed up here drunk, he tried to kiss me.”

WHAT? Oh, hell no.

“Go in the back,” I said firmly, quickly crossing the kitchen, grabbing her car keys off the counter as I passed by her. “I’ll get rid of him.”

“Tegen!” she cried, grabbing my arm. “You know he gets violent when he drinks!”

“Fuck that,” I said, shaking her off. “He’s gonna get a foot to the dick if he tries anything.”

Shoving her car keys in the front pocket of my jeans, I grabbed the doorknob and waited for it. The second Jase started pounding again, I quickly flipped the lock and threw open the door. I ducked Jase’s fist and went barreling into his midsection. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward.

“Fuck!” he bellowed, grabbing for the railing before he went tumbling down the stairs.

“Lock this!” I shouted as I turned to pull the front door closed.

“D!” Jase yelled, having pulled himself back to standing and lunging for the door. I jumped in front of him and grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Stop!” I yelled. “Stop it right now!”

Jase blinked down at me through bloodshot brown eyes ringed in dark circles.

“Tegen?”

Duh.

“Yes, Jason,” I bit out. “Now, turn your drunk ass around and let’s get in the car.”

“What?” He blinked again, looking confused.

“The car!” I yelled, pointing to my mother’s four-door sedan in the driveway. “Get in the damn car! I’m taking you home!”

“I need to see D first,” he slurred, slapping at my arm, trying to pull free.

“Jason!” I screamed. “You will either get in the car or I will go inside, get a baseball bat, and use it to beat the shit out of your motherfucking Harley!”

“Tegen,” he said hoarsely, and his eyes began to fill. “Please, please let me see her.”

Shit.

It was one thing to see a grown man cry, but it was another thing to watch a six-foot-plus, two-hundred-and-thirty-pound man covered head to toe in leather break down in front of you.

Still holding his shirt, with my free hand I reached up and slapped him across the face.

“How many bikers am I going to have to slap this weekend?” I yelled. “Get your shit together! Do you really think she wants to see you like this? No! She doesn’t. You look like fucking shit, you smell like fucking shit, and you’re a babbling, crying mess! Nobody wants to see you like this! Now, get in the car before I call Deuce and he makes you sit in the corner for acting like a douchebag!”

Jase’s mouth flattened. “Don’t call him.”

“I will,” I said, releasing him with a small shove. “If you don’t walk your ass off this porch and get IN THE MOTHERFUCKING CAR!”

Jase lost his balance and his boot slid backward off the top step. Any other time, under any other circumstances, I would have found humor in watching Jase fall off a three-step porch and land on his ass. But this was just sad.

“I’m fine,” he said, struggling to get to his feet.

“Great,” I muttered, grabbing his arm. “I can rest easy tonight.”

Once I had him buckled into the passenger seat, I glanced back at the condo and found my mother standing at the window, staring at Jase, tears streaming down her cheeks.

What a fucking mess.

• • •

“Where the fuck is the Patrón?” Cage demanded from behind the bar.

Cox, who was seated opposite him, jerked his thumb over at Blue. “Wake the fuck up, you old drunk!” he yelled. “You’re sleepin’ on top of the Patrón!”

Blue cracked an eyelid and gave Cox a toothless grin. “Get outta my face, ya fuckin’ crazy little spic,” he slurred. “This baby’s mine.” Then the old bastard fell promptly back to sleep.

Cage remembered his father saying once, a long time ago, that Blue had been around seventy-five, but that he wasn’t really sure and could very well have been eighty-five or ninety-five, for all he knew. Which, if that were true, Blue could be well over a hundred now and looked it. Still drank like a damn fish, though.