Whiskey Blues: A Second Chance Romance (Serrated Brotherhood MC Book 2) Page 3

  “I’m not ready for that,” Ruby says, sounding tired.

  Still smiling, I study Ruby’s face and wish I could touch her lips. I don’t know what she sees in my expression, but her gaze narrows.

  “I’m not kissing you goodnight,” she nearly growls.

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  I catch a hint of disappointment in Ruby’s chestnut eyes. We both need a little more before we can end this evening.

  So, before she walks inside, I lean forward. I don’t kiss her as much as allow our lips to caress. Not even a taste, only a hint of what we might have again.

  Ruby goes rigid and I see surprise in her eyes first. That’s followed by anger and finally feigned indifference. I know her well enough to understand how she can’t allow me any power yet.

  I hurt her, and Ruby’s not good with pain. She’s the tough sister, the one with more common sense and confidence than her younger siblings. Ruby can’t fall apart, yet I make her feel like the world is spinning. I feel it spinning too.

  “Good night, Ruby.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I stop and frown at her. “Wait, are you flirting with me?”

  “What?” she asks, looking around like I’m nuts.

  “The way you said uh-huh sounded seductive.”

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “Oh, yeah, I get it. You’re playing coy now. Okay, I see what you want. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “No, not tomorrow. Why are we talking so much now?”

  Fighting a smile, I ask, “Isn’t that what you wanted? I mean, that’s what you hinted you wanted earlier. I’m confused now.”

  “I haven’t hinted at anything,” she says, forcing her voice into an angry whisper rather than yelling. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Studying her, I know Ruby’s pissed, but she’s also curious. Not enough to overcome her bruised ego and broken heart. No way can I expect her to come along willingly.

  “I get it. You’re not ready to admit anything,” I say, taking a step back. “It’s been a long time, and you need more time before you jump into anything. I catch you,” I add before giving her a wink as if we’re on the same page.

  “Don’t wink at me.”

  “You’re right. We need to slow this down. I’ll talk to you tomorrow and we can make plans.”

  Ruby throws her hands up, storms inside, and slams the door on me.

  Despite her anger, I walk back to my car, feeling like a king. I know Ruby and she’ll answer when I call tomorrow. No doubt she’ll give me a ton of grief I deserve. If we had gone through this crap years ago, we’d be together now.

  Instead, we avoided making things ugly and prolonged the inevitable. The time for hiding is over, and I’m ready to tear open the wounds to see what we have festering inside.

  Eight - Ruby

  Salome “Sally” Slater arrived in the US at the naïve age of 17, knowing very little English and having few skills. From nanny and maid, she eventually got her high school equivalency and started waitressing. When she saw the chance to try out a manager position at the diner she’d worked at, Sally jumped at the chance.

  My mother is a solid mix of spontaneous wild woman and simple country girl. She grew up on a farm, having small dreams. Now she lives in a trailer park and enjoys a solid job. If not for her love of liquor and pretty men, she’d be an average middle-aged woman unwilling to rock the boat.

  Today, Sally and I wait in a coffee shop. I suspect her mind is on that boat and whether she can go against her nature to play life safe when it comes to a paycheck.

  “I don’t know what they want. We shouldn’t assume anything,” Sally says to me as we wait.

  “I’m here for moral support. I make no judgments,” I say, yawning after another restless night thinking about Bonn.

  “While we’re waiting, do you want to talk about your date with Bonn?”

  My mother has a way of pinpointing my weakness and diving in. I’ve been in a state of confusion, and quite frankly heat, since our night at the movies. Since then Bonn has taken to texting me happy messages such as “thinking of you” and “I miss you.” I never reply, but I still reread them a dozen times an hour. He’s driving me crazy, and I haven’t even seen him in days. What the hell will happen when we’re face to face again?

  “It wasn’t a date and no. The only good thing to come out of that night was he said I could use his laundry room if I wanted.”

  “He’s still so handsome. Very polite too. Did I tell you he said I looked beautiful last Halloween?”

  “Yes, you’ve told me that story about a dozen times. Now let’s sit here silently and wait for the Hallstead women to drop their bomb.”

  My mother grins at my bad mood, and the woman has a great smile. Her personality is why she succeeded even when life wasn’t helpful.

  She’s right to be wary of the Hallstead family who runs Hickory Creek Township. Except since Daisy married Camden, Sally and his mother, Clara Hallstead, have bonded over talk of future grandchildren. That didn’t mean this secret meeting wasn’t an odd request.

  Clara enters the small diner, wearing all black as if she’s in mourning.

  “She’s dressed for a heist,” Sally whispers to me.

  Blonde hair wrapped into a perfectly styled messy bun, Clara smiles at us with her red painted lips. She’s joined by the town’s mayor, Eloise Hallstead, who’s wearing all white to her sister’s black ensemble.

  “You brought Ruby,” Clara says, and despite her casual tone, I feel singled out. “Good. She has experience with restaurants.”

  Once the Hallstead women sit across from us with their fresh coffee, Sally asks why we’re here.

  “See that burned-out lot?” Clara asks, gesturing across the street to where De Campo’s Pizza Shop stood before a fire destroyed the business.

  “Yes, so?” Sally asks.

  “The owner, Mickey, received pressure from the Brotherhood to sell his place. They planned to switch it out to a strip club. I requested Camden to ask his father to back off. Mojo agreed, and the issue was settled.”

  “Then someone burned down the place,” I say, knowing everyone suspected Bonn’s long lost half-brother, JJ.

  “Yes. Mickey knows the Brotherhood will never let him be, so he’s prepared to sell the place and move on.”

  “What does that have to do with us?”

  “My sisters and I purchased the lot from Mickey with the intention of owning a restaurant. We’d like to hire you as a consultant during the building process and then as a manager once it opens.”

  “What sort of restaurant?”

  “We plan to stick with Italian. De Campo’s chef remains, and he prefers to do more than bake pizzas.”

  “If the Brotherhood wants that lot, won’t they get it from you the same way they got it from Mickey?” I ask, carefully choosing my words.

  Clara glances at her older sister and then smiles at me. “We don’t suspect a restaurant owned by the sheriff and mayor will suffer similar issues.”

  “How soon will you start rebuilding?”

  Eloise finally speaks up. “We’re currently pushing through the title change and city planning requirements. Clara’s hired a contractor to oversee the project. We see a start date in the middle of next week.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Mom asks.

  “Help us work on menus. The chef has a million ideas, but we know that’s a mistake. We need you to help us hire new staff since many are afraid to work there now.”

  “But they shouldn’t be afraid, right?” I ask, unsure why the Hallstead women would challenge the Brotherhood over a pizza joint.

  “No,” Eloise grunts as if I’ve challenged her.

  “I like the idea of working on this project,” Sally says, “but I don’t want to get between you and the Brotherhood.”

  “They’ll do nothing because they can do nothing,” Clara says sounding friendlier than our distinguished mayor.

  “What the hell?�
� Sally says, shrugging and smiling at me. “I like the idea of girl power, so I’ll help out and divide my time between Applebee’s and your place.”

  “We’ll expect you to more than help once we open. You’ll need to quit your current position and come on full time at our restaurant.”

  “We can talk about that when the time comes.”

  Eloise and Clara want my mother to bow to their will. Most people in Hickory Creek can’t fall to their knees fast enough for the Hallsteads, but Sally Slater’s one fault is her temper. She can’t have anyone putting her into a corner without her ego forcing her to punch her way out.

  “We don’t like leaving open the door to problems,” Eloise tells Sally.

  “You’re offering this to me because I am Daisy’s mom. You also know I fooled around with Mojo years ago. This entire thing is a power play against him and the Brotherhood. I don’t mind any of that because those boys like to cheat so why shouldn’t you play dirty too? No, I don’t mind you using me to make a point to them, but I won’t sign off on a future job when I have bills to pay now.”

  “You don’t trust us?” Clara asks, feigning shock.

  “Would you if the roles were reversed?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “Well, then we understand each other. I will work hard for your restaurant when the time comes.”

  “How about you?” Eloise asks me. “Would you like a job?”

  “I wouldn’t have to work the same shifts as my mother, would I?”

  “What does that mean?” Sally grumbles.

  “You’re a hard-ass, and I prefer a less stressful work situation.”

  “Ungrateful,” my mother sighs. “Work isn’t meant to be stress-free. That’s why it’s called work, Ruby.”

  “Let’s not have this conversation again,” I tell her and then study the Hallstead sisters. “I don’t know much about running a restaurant.”

  “You managed the Bend Over Bar in Common Bend,” Clara says.

  Ah, how much I miss my old bartending job at a strip club complete with good tippers and few complaints. My current job involves considerably more whiners and a shit-ton more kids.

  “I wasn’t a real manager,” I admit, still feeling nostalgic of the job I lost when the Common Bend sheriff went rogue.

  “You have the experience, even if you lacked the title.”

  Giving a non-committal nod, I’m nowhere near ready to quit a stable yet unfulfilling job for a position in the Hallsteads’ vendetta project. Sally, Clara, and Eloise make small talk for another twenty minutes, mostly talking about how soon Camden and Daisy might have kids. Their friendly chit-chat is a ruse between women with a long history of distrust. Despite their past problems, the new restaurant could give my mother a real challenge in her otherwise rather sedate life.

  Nine - Bonn

  I’m surprised when the woman running the party plays the Spanish version of Shakira’s Loco, considering the party is full of bleached blonde girls from Tennessee State. I doubt any of them understands a single word of the song besides “loco” which they yell out randomly.

  When I was ten, my mom enrolled me in dance classes to piss off my father. Of course, Jude “Howler” Hallstead never cared enough about my existence to feel anything at all.

  As the only boy in class, the instructor treated me like a prince while the other girls were gentle compared to what I was used to in my neighborhood. All my life I got mocked for being a pretty boy, but in class, my good looks made me one of the girls.

  Tonight, my looks make me a wiggling chunk of beefcake for squealing girls barely old enough to legally drink. I don’t hate the job because I know how to focus my mind elsewhere. If I let myself feel their fingers on my body or listen to their obscene offers, I’d likely go nuts.

  The one stripper at the agency that I’ve spoken to is a stoner who dances to keep himself in pot and munchies. Jeffrey is never sober enough to care one way or another about the women around him. He hinted more than once how women don’t do anything for him, but his body does something for them.

  “I’m selling the fantasy of a man at their disposal. Besides, dancing is good exercise, and I eat too many chips.”

  I wish I could shrug off the gross factor as easily as Jeffrey. I’m sure other strippers even enjoy the attention. For me, I get through the parties by thinking of Chevelle and Ruby. No matter what the women scream or how many yank at my pants to give me a tip, my mind remains locked on my dream of living as a family.

  In my fantasy, the house we live in changes. Sometimes, we have pets. Other times, I imagine a second child. I see us during the holidays. I have a hundred different fantasies that distract me through each night of stripping.

  The worst part of every job is returning to my condo and cleaning up. My mind can’t latch onto a fantasy. Instead, I’m forced to think about how long I have left with this job. At twenty-six, I could probably get away with dancing for another few years, but eventually, time will catch up with me.

  What then? I lack the kind of skills to make a good living. Even with the money from stripping, I sweat each bill. I skip lunches, walk rather than drive, and keep the lights and TV off whenever Chevelle isn’t visiting.

  Even saving as much money as I can each month, I’m only biding my time. Then there’s the fact that once Ruby gives me another chance, I’ll have to quit dancing. I’ll be stuck with the seasonal construction work that left me broke only a year ago.

  If I want to improve my financial situation, I need to do something big. I have something in mind, but it could easily end with me crashing and burning. Or worse.

  Ten - Ruby

  Elle opens the door to her father’s condo and walks inside with the air of a girl used to such posh surroundings. I can’t deny the place is a million times fancier than our trailer. The ceilings are high, and everything shines from the wood floors to the granite countertops. I stand in the doorway and accept how stripping has been good for Bonn. The condo looks like something I’d see on HGTV.

  “Mom, come inside,” Elle says, opening the large stainless steel fridge. “I’ll get you a drink.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Dad goes to the store on Wednesdays. He has a lot of stuff now.”

  I don’t argue with Elle, who wants to show off for me. She brings me a soda and uses a step stool to climb to reach the crackers. Once she’s gotten enough snacks, she turns on the large set on the wall.

  “Want to watch TV?” she asks.

  “I’m here to use the laundry, not hang out,” I say, hating how my body reacts to the faint scent of Bonn’s aftershave.

  Nodding, Elle hurries to show off the small laundry room with a brand-new washer and dryer.

  “Dad puts the cleaning stuff up there,” she says pointing. “I help him wash bedding sometimes.”

  Imagining Bonn and Elle together always tears at my heart. He’s so good with her, just like I knew he’d be. When I got pregnant, I dreamed of the moment I’d first see him holding our baby. I never got to enjoy that milestone or a million others. Even after all these years, I still want to cry my eyes out when I think too long about what we lost.

  “Are you okay?” Elle asks, taking my hand in hers.

  “Yeah. I think I’m about to start my period.”

  Elle’s grown up surrounded by women and is well versed in the struggle between female hormones and sanity.

  After putting on a load of laundry, I walk with Elle to the living room where we work on her school assignments. She struggles with math as usual but blows through the writing and reading stuff.

  “Dad said you tutored him with math,” Elle says later while leaning against me on the large couch.

  “Yeah, he didn’t get a lot of stuff at first. He’d fallen behind, and your dad doesn’t like to ask for help. Grandma Franny isn’t good at math and couldn’t help him. Once I tutored him a little, he got the hang of it and is good at math now.”

  “I hate math.”

 
; “Because it’s hard. Once you catch on, it won’t be hard, and you won’t hate it.”

  “Do you like math?”

  “No, but I don’t hate it either.”

  “Do you hate Dad?”

  Frowning, I exhale hard. “No. Why would you ask that?”

  “You never want to talk to him or see him.”

  Avoiding her gaze, I nearly whisper, “Your dad and I aren’t friends anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not something you can understand.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re eight. When I was eight, I didn’t understand things either, but I knew my mom and dad loved me.”

  I hate lying to Elle, but she doesn’t need to know her grandfathers are assholes. When she’s older, she can hear the truth without it defining her.

  “I wish you and Dad were together.”

  “I know.”

  “We could live with him.”

  “Elle…”

  “Isn’t it okay for me to want that?” she asks, staring at me with her beautiful brown eyes.

  “You can want whatever you want, baby. What you need to understand is how much your dad and I love you. How you’re the most important person in our lives, and we’ll always support you.”

  Elle leans over and wipes a tear from my cheek. “Do you miss Dad?”

  “No.”

  “It’s okay if you do. He misses you too.”

  “Did he tell you that?” I ask, hating how interested I sound.

  “No, but he talks about you a lot. That means he misses you. Like how Aunt Harmony talks about Aunt Daisy a lot because she misses her. That’s how come I talk about Aunt Daisy’s cats because I miss them and wish we could have a cat.”

  “Maybe we can get one for your birthday.”

  “Really?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.

  I feel like an asshole for distracting her with a pet, but I can’t deal with her questions about Bonn. This condo is his, and everything inside it reminds me of what I lost. Hell, even my baby’s sweet smile is a kick to the gut.

  Nearly an hour later, Bonn enters the condo and is greeted by Elle telling how we might get a cat. He smiles at her news and then takes in the sight of me. I try not to care what I look like. Of course, I couldn’t help putting a little more effort today into my appearance than during movie night.