The Aces MC Complete Collection

  “Ye ready to tell me what I want to know?” he asked, taking the joint from me again and finishing it off.

  “Want to go inside for this?” I asked calmly, leaning back against the railing.

  “Probably not. At least out here dere ain’t anyt’in’ to break.” He shook his head at me, his eyes moving leisurely from the top of my head to the neck of my black blouse.

  “It’s not something I talk about—ever.” I said, looking away from him. “I mean, I haven’t even discussed it with Sam yet.”

  “Dat de jammie bastard wit’ his hands all over ye today?”

  “He’s a good guy, Patrick.”

  “He know he’s fuckin’ a married woman?”

  “Don’t be a cunt, he knows that we were married.”

  “Cunt, huh? Yer language has gone to hell. And we’re still married.”

  “It’s a piece of fucking paper,” I argued, knowing that I should be really irritated, but not really feeling it. The marijuana was doing its job.

  “It was vows we spoke in front of a priest.”

  “A dirty priest.”

  “Dat doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “We made promises,” he insisted stupidly, and I had to curl my hands around each other to keep them from smacking him in the head.

  “You didn’t keep even one of those promises—” my words trailed off as I saw movement at the end of our long driveway, and within seconds I was on my feet and running.

  “Phoenix?” I called, “Are you okay? What happened?”

  He was sweaty and breathing hard, his face beet red from running in the heat, and there were dust covered tear tracks on his cheeks.

  “It’s nothing, Mum,” he lied, passing me without meeting my eyes.

  “It isn’t nothing. What the hell, Nix?”

  “I said it was nothing!” he turned and leaned down to yell at me, and I flinched backward.

  “Mum?” he asked, his voice cracking as he tried to understand my movement.

  “Don’t speak to yer mum dat way,” Patrick said angrily, walking toward us.

  “I can handle this, Patrick,” I warned, my eyes never leaving Nix’s.

  “Ye don’t look like yer handlin’ anyt’in’,” he retorted.

  “Why the fuck are you still here?” Nix hissed, turning to face Patrick. “Your mom no longer lives here, you need to leave.”

  “Phoenix Robert!” I yelled, completely caught off guard by his scathing words. Who the hell was this kid?

  “Ye okay, boy?” Patrick asked quietly, watching Nix closely.

  “Fuck you! I said I’m fine!”

  “Ye don’t look it.”

  “I’m fine!” Nix yelled, his hands closing into fists and his arms tightening down his sides. Tears began running down his cheeks again, and humiliation mixed with absolute grief on his face.

  “Baby,” I murmured, reaching out to touch his back gently through the sweaty white undershirt he was wearing. “What’s going on?”

  My tone, or maybe my touch, must have been the catalyst, because he began sobbing as he covered his face with his hands. He turned his body toward mine, and I took most of his weight as he wrapped himself around me.

  “Mum,” he moaned into my neck.

  “You’re okay, son,” I whispered into his ear. “We’ll figure whatever it is out. I promise, baby. But you’ve got to tell me what it is.”

  Patrick watched us with concerned eyes as I held Nix in my arms. He wasn’t sure what to do—and I was glad for that. He may have been Peg’s son, and a part of my life years ago, but he had absolutely nothing to do with Nix.

  Nix was mine. Only mine.

  “He broke up with me,” Nix finally whispered.

  On the day of his grandmother’s funeral? I shook with fury, wishing that Simon was eighteen so I could go over and beat the shit out of him. What a little dick head.

  “He said he wasn’t really gay, that he just—” Nix began sobbing once again, and I almost didn’t hear his whisper. “He said he just knew that I’d give him a blowjob.”

  My stomach turned at the whispered words and I saw red.

  “What a prick,” I said tightly, squeezing Nix tighter. “And if that kid isn’t gay, then neither is Elton John.”

  Nix laughed once, then pulled back to meet my eyes.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” he said shamefully.

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Phoenix Gallagher. Not one thing. He’s the douchebag, not you.”

  “But why would he say that?”

  “Because people are assholes sometimes.” I reached up to grab a fist full of his hair, holding it tight as I made him meet my eyes. “You’re better than him. So much better. And someday you’re going to meet a guy that’s as handsome as you are, and he’s gonna think you hung the fucking moon.”

  “This hurts really bad, Mumma.”

  “I know it does, baby. I know.”

  I turned him, and walked him slowly to the house as he did anything he could to keep from meeting Patrick’s eyes. My kid was mortified, and I resented the fact that Patrick had witnessed something that Nix didn’t want him to see.

  “I think Renee is gonna call you,” Nix said as we reached the front porch.

  “Good, I can tell her what a little fucker her son is.”

  “I think she’ll probably say the same thing.”

  I came to an abrupt stop and my gaze shot to his.

  “I’m pretty sure I broke his nose… maybe his jaw, too,” Nix said nervously.

  I looked closely at my tall, strong son. He was so many things. Smart and kind and handsome and funny. He had a way with people—they just seemed to gravitate toward him—and he’d never met a stranger. When he was really little he’d been kind of shy, but I sometimes wondered if it had been my nervousness rubbing off on him, because as I’d healed, he’d become more outgoing. He was the best man I knew.

  “That’s my boy,” I said with a solid nod, reaching up to cup his cheek in my palm.

  “I thought you’d be mad at me,” he said in relief, his shoulders slumping as he continued to hiccup with leftover sobs.

  “You never let anyone treat you like less than you are, you hear me? You stand up for yourself. Always. Now go upstairs and shower. You smell like BO and manure.” I looked down to see blades of grass sticking to the bottom of his dress shoes. “Oh, gross! Take your shoes off, I’m pretty sure you stepped in some.”

  Nix’s startled laughter made my lips curve as he slid his shoes off without untying them, then went up the stairs, taking two at a time.

  “Yer a good mum,” Patrick said, startling me. “Ye know just what to say to him.”

  “Nah, I’m just winging it most of the time.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to—”

  “I think you should probably go, Patrick,” I said, setting Nix’s shoes on the front porch. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but you’re not going to find it here.”

  “What are ye sayin’?” he asked cautiously, stepping toward me.

  “I’m saying that I can’t do this with you—whatever this is.” I raised my hands palms up. “I have nothing to give you. Nothing. I have a son that’s heartbroken, medical supplies that I have to go through and dispose of, a boyfriend who’s probably wondering where the fuck I’ve been all week, and a yoga studio that won’t run itself, even though it’s been doing a pretty good imitation for the past few months.”

  “A boyfriend.”

  “Don’t act like you’re surprised, we just talked about this.”

  “I didn’t realize it was serious—dat ye would choose him—”

  “Are you shitting me right now?” I asked incredulously. “Choose him? Is there a choice? I swear to God, Patrick, you think you can change the past to suit your purposes.”

  “It has always been ye,” he said, and I couldn’t take one more word of his distorted reality.

  “Get the fuck out of my house,” I said
flatly. “Thank you for coming, and for helping with everything this past week. I’m not sure how I would have done it without you. But now—now you need to leave.”

  He looked as if I’d just punched him, but he didn’t say another word and I didn’t back down as he gave me a nod. He left me there in the entryway as he strode into the kitchen for his coat, and I was still standing frozen in the same spot when he came back.

  “I apologize for takin’ advantage of yer hospitality—” his words were so quiet and almost embarrassed, that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from reassuring him. “I want ye to know, no matter how much time has passed or how far away ye are, if ye ever need me, all ye have to do is call. I’ll be dere in an instant. I know I’ve not done what I promised all dose years ago, and ye’ve no reason to trust me word, but ye’ve got it, anyway.”

  He leaned forward and pressed a scrap of paper into my hand as he kissed my cheek, lingering for just a moment.

  “I’ve loved ye for as long as I can remember,” he whispered before pulling away.

  I didn’t say anything as he strode out of the house. I couldn’t.

  Once again, my voice was stuck in my throat.

  It was finally over. There was no longer any reason for us to cross paths again.

  And I had no words left.

  Nine Years Later

  Portland, Oregon

  Chapter 49

  Amy

  “Hold on a second, son,” I mumbled into the phone, setting it down to pull my hair back into a massive bun at the nape of my neck.

  My dreads were getting too long again, and I knew I needed to cut them—but the process involved a night in, pot, red wine, and Nix wielding a pair of yard clippers. Hands in my hair was a trigger I’d learned to live with, but over twenty years later, I still wouldn’t allow a pair of scissors in my house or shop.

  I was okay with that, even if it meant my hair grew too long on occasion and I had to have my son cut it when I was buzzed out of my mind.

  It was funny that when I was a kid I’d so badly wanted to fit in somewhere, and as an adult I stuck out like a sore thumb. I guess that’s life, though. Experiences change you, there’s no way to escape it.

  “Are you and Ken coming over tomorrow night for dinner?” I asked, picking the phone back up.

  “His name is Mat, Mum.”

  “With one T,” I confirmed with a snort.

  “You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

  “Ditto, kiddo.”

  “We’ll be there as long as your house doesn’t stink like incense and pot and you use one of Nan’s recipes.”

  “What the hell is wrong with my recipes?”

  “They’re disgusting.”

  “They’re works in progress,” I grumbled, looking out the door to my office—that was really a utility closet I’d stuffed a desk in—to see how many we had for the ‘Mommy and Me’ class Kali was teaching in ten minutes.

  “You’re not a bloody vegetarian!”

  “I could be if my son didn’t insist on eating the carcasses of dead animals.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I ignored the twinge those words brought me.

  “Hey, I better go. I’ll call you tonight before—” I dropped the phone to my side as I caught sight of a woman walking in the door with her daughter.

  She was lovely, with creamy skin and straight strawberry blonde hair, and she was wearing expensive yoga gear that only a woman with too much money and too much time would wear.

  A few years ago, when Nix had gotten a job offer from a growing ski and snowboarding company in Portland, I’d packed up and followed him. There was nothing left for me in Texas by then except for the acquaintances I’d met through my old studio, so I’d sold my house and settled down in the Oregon town, even though the thought of being so close to Patrick had made me nervous. I didn’t regret it, either.

  I’d opened up my tiny yoga studio on the west side of Portland between an Indian restaurant and a funky thrift store, and while the space was limited, I couldn’t complain about the foot traffic. We were busy from open to close, and last year I’d been able to hire Kali to teach more of the classes so I could work on the business side of the desk.

  I had realized quickly that there were two types of people that came into our studio. The first type were serious, mostly crunchy people like myself that came in to do more than just stretch their muscles. They wore beards and sandals and beaded necklaces and they used the same ragged yoga mat for years.

  The second type, well, they were my favorite and I also hated them a little. They were the housewives who never carried cash and bitched every time the credit card machine was down because they couldn’t pay for their class without it—even though it had happened to them twice before and they should have remembered that the thing was a bit temperamental. Their hair was always styled to perfection, they wore clothing that cost more than my car, and I’d never seen one with a broken nail. I called the studio’s popularity with those women The Dharma and Greg Effect. It was the idea that those women came in because they wanted their workout to sound sexier than it was. Their rich husbands wanted to be able to mention how their wives could put her feet behind their head, and the wives, well, they just wanted to find the hot new thing before everyone else… and what was hotter than a flexible woman?

  The redheaded woman ushering her little girl into the shop was one of the Dharmas. I hadn’t seen her before, but I usually worked from home on Tuesdays when I didn’t have class. I wondered how long she’d been attending.

  I didn’t know what it was about her that made me look twice, but I knew it was something. I completely forgot the phone in my hand as I watched her set her stuff down. When she suddenly tilted her head and smiled, it was like being punched in the chest.

  It couldn’t be. I didn’t even know if she lived in Portland, or even if she was in Oregon anymore. There was no way she’d walked into my shop.

  I watched her for a while longer as Kali started the class, and the more I saw, the more my heart raced. The mannerisms. The head tilt. The way her hair curled into tiny little ringlets at her neck as she began to sweat.

  I stumbled back inside my office and closed the door quietly, finally realizing that my phone was still clutched in my hand.

  “Nix?”

  “Mum? What the hell was that?”

  “I’ll call you back.” I hung up the phone and sat heavily in my chair, reaching for the member files in the drawer next to my desk.

  I checked for Gallagher first and there was nothing, but I wouldn’t let myself relax. She was what, twenty-five now? Just a few months older than Nix, and plenty old enough to be married. I rubbed my hands over my face and took a deep breath before pulling out every single file for members who had last names that started with A.

  I went through the files letter by letter and it took me hours.

  And then there she was.

  Brenna and Beatrix Richards.

  Twenty-five years old, according to her driver’s license.

  I stared at it a lot longer than I should have.

  Classes were over for the day and the studio was quiet as I stared at the little black and white photo our copy machine had printed out. She was a little blurry, and without the red hair I wouldn’t have been able to pick her out of a lineup. There was nothing about her in that little grainy photo that would have made me look twice, but I had a hard time looking away.

  She was the single most influential person in my life, her mere presence on the earth the catalyst of every single thing that had happened to me in the last twenty-five years.

  Yet when I stared at her photo, I couldn’t see anything but a beautiful mix of Moira and Patrick.

  I dropped the sheet of paper on my desk and sobbed into my hands.

  ***

  I wasn’t proud of myself, really I wasn’t. And I knew that I was acting like a lunatic.

 
But that didn’t stop me from being in the office the next Tuesday morning when Mommy and Me classes started up. She was there again, with her dark haired little girl, smiling and quiet as the rest of the moms talked over each other.

  I followed her that day.

  And the next week.

  And the week after that.

  She always took her daughter to a coffee shop down the block for hot chocolate when they finished class. They’d stay for thirty minutes, while the girl drank her hot chocolate and Brenna drank an unsweetened iced tea. Then they’d walk to the lot on the other side of my studio to pick up their car.

  The routine never changed. Not for two whole months.

  I knew, because like the incredibly stupid woman I was—I watched them.

  Then one day, Brenna brought a laptop to the coffee shop.

  I sat behind her, facing the little girl I’d come to know as Trix, and tried to see what she was doing over her shoulder. It didn’t take me long to recognize the website she was on, and I watched avidly as she posted her expensive car for far less than it was worth.

  “I need to go potty,” Trix said politely, her voice almost lost in the noise of the shop.

  “Just one second, okay, baby?” Brenna answered, her fingers typing over the keyboard.

  My initial thought was that her husband was going to be pissed as hell that she was selling her car for way less than she could get on a trade in… but then, it was like my sight widened. She was moving slower that day, almost stiffly, but the way she’d pulled her laptop out of its case and snapped it open had seemed a little jerky. Like she was waiting for someone to walk over and catch her. Her hair was down instead of tied back in the low ponytail she usually wore… and even Trix was quieter than usual.

  A knot of dread formed in my stomach as she exited out of the website and went back in to clear her web history.

  “Okay, let’s go potty and then we’ll head home,” Brenna said shakily, putting the laptop back in its case and reaching for Trix’s hand.

  I watched as they walked toward the bathrooms, then grabbed my bag and left the shop. I was shaking as I pulled out my cell phone.