Madeline Sheehan - Unbeloved

The very thought of leaving the club left him with a fear he’d never felt before. When everyone else had left, the club had always been there. It was his foundation. His safe place. His whole world.

And maybe that was his biggest problem. The club was his crutch, the one place he could hide from the mess he’d made of his life.

He swallowed back a wave of sickness that had nothing to do with his detoxing body and everything to do with the fear of living outside the club. He’d be a regular joe. No band of brothers, be it military or motorcycle club, to tell him what to do, or catch him when he fell flat on his face. And he always did fall flat on his damn face.

But his girls . . . Without them, what was he?

As far as he could see, without them he wasn’t worth a damn.

“Uncle Jason! Uncle Jason!”

Jase turned, barely having time to jump out of the way as his niece and nephew came barreling through the snow, nearly waist deep on them both. They were wearing matching pink and blue snowsuits that made them look like tiny colorful marshmallows.

“Build a snowman with us!” the girl yelled as they ran past him. Jase tried to smile at them, but failed. Neither child had ever met him before, yet they’d instantly accepted him as their uncle. It only deepened his yearning to be reunited with his own children, who wouldn’t be nearly as accepting, if at all.

His younger brother, Michael, who’d been quickly following his children, paused beside Jase with a smile on his face. Of course he was smiling at him. Michael was a Brady, and Bradys loved their family despite their faults.

“How’s it going, big brother?” he asked, knocking Jase softly on the shoulder with his fist.

Brother.

It struck him then they he might no longer have the reserves, and if he left the club he’d no longer have the boys, but he’d always have his family, complete with two brothers who would always have his back.

“Listen,” Jase said. “I owe you an apology—”

Michael shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “We all knew you’d come home again.”

Jase studied the younger man, almost a mirror image of himself back when he was still in thirties. Yet instead of the hard lines and firm jaw that Jase had inherited from their father, Michael had a more rounded face with wide blue eyes like their mother’s that gave him a perpetual youthful appearance.

Remembering when they were kids and how Michael had always looked up to him, Jase felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Michael might easily forgive, but Jase couldn’t forgive himself for not being there for his little brother’s marriage, or for the birth of his children. Those were things Bradys did simply because they loved their family.

Jase didn’t deserve to a Brady.

“Help me out?” Michael suggested. “Those two monsters can go all day, and after Mom let them eat a plate of her sugar cookies . . .” He shook his head. “I’ll be running out of energy long before they do.”

Jase glanced to where the kids were unsuccessfully trying to roll a ball of snow, but instead of seeing his brother’s kids, he saw his own girls in their childhood, running through the snow-covered backyard, bundled from head to toe, grins gracing their innocent faces.

He’d tried so hard to keep them innocent, separate from his other life, from what he did for a living and his numerous indiscretions.

He’d never wanted to hurt them, but he had.

And now it was time to make a change.

“Build a snowman,” he said, giving his brother a sad smile. “Why the hell not?”

Jase wasn’t stupid enough to think that redemption would be handed to him on a silver platter. But as he walked side by side with his brother, leaning down to grab handfuls of snow as he went, he figured he had to start somewhere.

Might as well start with a snowman.

“What do you mean, Tegen and Cage are bringing Christopher here?”

With my hands on my hips I glared at Hawk, who was still in bed, looking much the same as I’d left him this morning. Only now he was sitting up, the bed a mess with papers that had been strewn across it, along with bits of food and an ashtray that looked precariously close to spilling over and covering the white sheets in black ash. And someone had lugged the flat screen up the stairs, along with both of Cage’s video game consoles.

It appeared that the boys had been visiting, and nobody had bothered to clean up.

This disgusting mess, coupled with the fact that Hawk hadn’t consulted me about bringing Christopher to Miles City, had taken me from feeling a sort of nervous excitement for what the night might have brought, to being downright irritated with him.

“I didn’t want him seeing you like this,” I continued. “What’s he going to think, finding his father all black and blue, hardly able to walk on his own? How are you going to explain that to him?”

Very slowly, Hawk set down the glass he was holding and turned to look at me in that maddening way he’d always looked at me when he thought I was acting like a lunatic. And maybe I was reacting badly, but if anything he should be used to me and my reactions by now. But what was really irking me, what I absolutely could not fathom, was why he hadn’t grasped yet that it was that damn look that only infuriated me further.

“I missed Christmas,” he said carefully, as if his words were footsteps and my temper was the thin ice he was skating on. “And I want to see my boy.”

“But you didn’t even consult me!” I cried. “And I’m his mother!”

“I’m his father,” Hawk replied coolly. “And I was planning on tellin’ him I wrecked. Fucked my bike up and myself.”

I couldn’t exactly argue with that and yet for some reason, because I had nothing to say in response and was starting to feel a little silly at my Tegen-esque outburst, I grew even more upset.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Fine, whatever, I’m . . .”

I stopped talking to glance quickly around the room, looking for something that would give me an excuse to make a quick exit. My eyes landed on the closest, most plausible excuse.

“I’m going to take a bath,” I said, averting my gaze from Hawk’s always prying eyes, and scurried off across the room.

When the door was closed behind me and I was safely ensconced inside the little room, I leaned back against the tile wall and took a deep, calming breath. I’d been so nervous, so wound up after talking with Eva, full of expectations and excitement for the upcoming evening with Hawk, that once I’d found out Christopher was coming, it had felt as if someone had pulled the plug on my newfound happiness. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Christopher to come to Miles City. I not only missed him, but I wanted him to see his father. It was just that . . .

Maybe I’d wanted Hawk to myself for just a little while, before I had to share him with a child who didn’t see nearly enough of him, and who monopolized the man whenever they were together. Not that it had ever bothered me before, but things were different now, things were changing, and maybe they were changing too quickly. I couldn’t keep up, my emotions couldn’t keep up, and I’d wanted just a couple of days where time could stop, and Hawk and I could get to know each other again. We could talk, make love, just be together for the first time out in the open, before our families, our lives, and the club all caught up to us and time started moving again.

Sighing, I pushed away from the wall and went to sit down on the edge of the bathtub. There was no use in going back out there and making more of a fool of myself, so I turned on the water and waited for the tub to fill.

I’d always loved baths, usually first thing in morning, sort of like the calm before the storm, a way to relax before the day turned hectic and busy. Not that my days had been hectic, they hadn’t been for quite a long time, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

I was back home, back in Miles City, and hectic was a rather mild word for what tended to be the status quo for the good—and not-so-good—citizens of my small town.

When the tub was full I undressed quickly, leaving my clothing in a heap on the floor, and stepped tentatively into the steaming water. I sighed contentedly as I sank down, my muscles loosening as the water lapped over my body and instantly ebbed away my frustration. Letting my head fall back against the cool porcelain, I closed my eyes.

Alone now and comfortably relaxed, my thoughts returned to my conversation with Eva, and to what I’d had planned for tonight. And then they turned to the man himself, the story of us, how we’d begun, and all the stolen moments we’d shared over the years. With every latent memory I allowed to rise from the cobwebs, I found myself growing more and more aroused, excitement building inside me until I was burning, aching to be touched the way he had once touched me, hoping he still wanted me as badly as he once had.

Whimpering, I arched my back, sinking even deeper into the bathwater. Cupping my breasts, I kneaded them softly before reaching down. My fingers whispered over the soft skin of my stomach, across my hips, before sinking between my thighs.

Panting, air shuddering from my lungs, I squeezed my legs, closing them tightly around my hand, putting pressure where I needed it most.

And then, as I often did when I was alone and turned on, I envisioned Hawk. Dressed in head-to-toe riding leather, covered in road dust, his Mohawk matted and messy from his helmet. But it wasn’t his appearance that was appealing to me, it was the look on his face after a run, refreshed and rejuvenated. His dark eyes would lighten, his thunderous walk would slow and relax; at those times he always looked as happy as a man who never smiled could look.