“Belle,” he said, sighing heavily. “I took all that blame a long fuckin’ time ago and I never denied it, not fuckin’ once. But there ain’t nothin’ I can do about the past. All I got is right now, and I’m tryin’. I’ll never stop tryin’. You’re my daughter, my baby girl, and that shit means somethin’ to me. Always has.”
Maribelle continued to glare at him, seemingly unwavering in her resentment, except for the slight tremble of her bottom lip.
Seeing an opening, he took a step forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I know I’ve no right to ask you for a damn thing, not after everything I took from you and your sisters, but I’m askin’ anyways.”
Maribelle looked up and directly into his eyes. “And what exactly are you asking for?”
He stared down at her, into the mirror image of his wife twenty years ago, realizing for the first time that if he didn’t try to right this wrong, really try this time, his daughter’s eyes would continue to grow colder, losing their light the same way her mother’s had.
“I’m askin’ for Christmas,” he said. “I want you home for Christmas.”
In fact, he wanted all of his daughters home for Christmas, but the truth was that the twins took their cues from Maribelle. She had, along with Chrissy’s parents, taken over as their caretaker. Jase was persona non grata. But if he could get Maribelle home, the twins would undoubtedly follow suit.
Several long moments passed by in uncomfortable silence, during which it began to snow. Jase glanced up at the darkening sky, worrying about Maribelle’s long drive home, and while he was distracted, Maribelle slipped out from under his hands.
“I can’t,” she said as she quickly backed away. “I’m sorry . . .” She shook her head. “No, I’m not sorry, but I just . . . can’t.”
Then she turned and hurried off.
Jase remained where he was, watching as she fumbled with her car keys, waiting until she was safely inside the vehicle and halfway out of the parking lot before finally lowering his gaze.
“Back to the club,” he muttered. Because there was no way in hell he was going home to that empty house on Christmas Eve. There was no Christmas tree, no decorations, no presents to be wrapped, no turkey baking in the oven, no giggling coming from the kids’ rooms upstairs. There was nothing but four walls, dusty furniture, and a dirty floor.
Ever since his two youngest had left home, he’d been at the club more than ever, unable to stomach the ever-present emptiness that had not only taken root inside his house, but inside him as well.
If only he’d realized sooner that it wasn’t the house, four walls and a roof, that made a home. It was who had lived inside those four walls, his wife and daughters, the true support beams of the structure. Without them the roof had caved in, the walls had collapsed, and the foundation had crumbled away.
And as he headed for his truck, he found himself wishing for the millionth time since Dorothy had been shot, that Cox hadn’t wrestled the gun from his hand.
Chapter Five
My grandfather used to say that when it rained, it poured. Or in my case, when it rained, it rained like Christmas in San Francisco until eventually it flooded and pulled you under, leaving you flapping your arms and kicking your legs, gasping for a breath you already knew wouldn’t come.
After Tegen’s phone call, I’d spent the following thirty-six hours flapping and gasping under a waterfall of problems. It seemed as if the universe, Mother Nature herself, was determined to keep me away from Miles City.
First I’d needed to find a place for Christopher to stay. Not knowing what awaited me at the clubhouse, there was nothing on earth that could convince me to bring my son into what could potentially become a dangerous situation, or worse, a devastating one.
This proved to be a problem as I had very few friends in San Francisco. Due to some minor residual side effects from my brain injury and my lack of education, I hadn’t been able to find a job that would provide me with a more substantial income than my disability checks already did, which meant there were no coworkers I’d grown close with. I’d made nice with the other mothers at Christopher’s school, and I’d gone on a few dates over the years, but there was never anyone serious, and most definitely no one I’d trusted with my most precious possession.
It was Tegen who’d suggested Hayley, one of her closest friends, and I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of her sooner. Hayley and her husband were kind souls, full of happy energy, who had a young child of their own.
Hayley had readily agreed; it was Christopher I’d had to convince. More time was spent explaining to him why his mother had to leave him, and on Christmas Day no less. I ended up lying to him, something I had promised myself to never do, and told him his grandfather was sick.
Being that I’d had no contact with my family since I’d divorced Tegen’s father, something Christopher was aware of, I could tell he was skeptical, as well as feeling put out that I was leaving him behind. But what choice did I have? I couldn’t very well tell him his father was in danger or worse. In the end he took it in stride, further proving how very much like Hawk he truly was, and only serving to make me feel even worse for lying to him.
Once Christopher was settled at Hayley’s, I ran into a whole other slew of problems. Due to a winter storm that was bearing down on the entire Midwest and spilling into the surrounding states, flights to Montana were being either canceled or delayed indefinitely.
I waited at the airport for hours, my anxiety worsening each time another flight was canceled, until I eventually gave up on the airlines altogether and ended up renting a car.
The next twenty-four hours were spent on the road, only four of which I’d allowed myself a quick nap in a rest area off the interstate.
By the time I reached the state of Montana, I was well into the center of the storm, unable to see more than a few feet in front of me, and unable to drive more than thirty miles per hour. It was slow going for a while; my only reprieve was that the roads were virtually empty, and I was determined to make it to my destination.
Now I was parked just beyond the clubhouse’s razor-wire-topped gates. Releasing my death grip on the steering wheel, I released a large breath of pent-up air and looked up at the building before me.
The whitewashed warehouse was massive, the Hell’s Horsemen logo painted on the front, huge and intimidating. Nothing about the appearance was warm or inviting, something I’m sure Deuce did purposely.
I’d been here a thousand times before, even after my move to California, but something felt different this time.
I felt as though I were standing on a precipice composed of quickly unraveling thread, and once I passed through those gates, my quiet life, my now peaceful existence and everything I had rebuilt from the ground up, all of it was going to disintegrate and send me free-falling back into the never-ending abyss of the unknown.
That thought, the fear it caused within me, was nearly enough to make me turn the car around and go back to California.
But this wasn’t about me. This was about Hawk and the little boy I’d left behind.
Taking a deep breath, I swallowed my fears and pulled the vehicle forward. Rolling down my window, I reached out into the blistering cold and pressed the call button on the intercom.