Page 51 of Jagger
I called Rome next, to check on Ethan and make sure Abby was still feeling OK. They were running low on juice, and E was upset because he’d eaten the last of his favorite cereal at breakfast that morning and was worried about what he would eat tomorrow morning. An hour later, I was leaving a gallon of orange juice and a family-sized box of Lucky Charms on their front porch, along with a cool-looking Matchbox car that I’d seen on a display at the check-out line at the grocery that I figured he would like. Uncle Jag for the win.
I’d gotten a few essential grocery items for myself as well, and then spent the rest of the day getting in a workout and catching up on yardwork. As I was putting the lawnmower back up in the garage and swiping at the stray grass clippings clinging to the sweat on my arms, I made a mental note to arrange for a lawn company from now on. I fucking hated yardwork. After showering and popping a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner, I spent the rest of the evening flopped on my couch watching TV and trying to decide where to take Molly riding.
The next morning, Molly was feeling a little better, but not really well enough to go out. She was even skipping her regular Sunday dinner with her folks. I was disappointed that we couldn’t go for a ride but promised her we would do it soon.
I ended up staying at the clubhouse after church, and got roped into a poker game with Sinner, Viking, Brick and Irish. Two hours and two hundred dollars later, my Sunday shitshow was complete when the prospect on the gate called to let King know that Christy was there, demanding to be let in.
Despite his protests, I went outside with him to see what the hell she wanted. It was money, of course, and she was full of sob stories about getting kicked out of the hair salon she rented space at when they found out she was on probation. One of her clients had noticed her ankle-monitor and complained to the salon owner about criminals working there, so the owner had pulled her contract.
“So, find a different salon, and make sure you wear fuckin’ pants to work, Christy, instead of a short skirt like this,” King pointed out to her, gesturing to the miniskirt she was wearing. “Jesus Christ, woman, use your head. It’s not a goddamned ankle bracelet for you to show off.”
“Oh, fuck you, Dante,” she sneered. “Acting like you’re so damned high and mighty. It’s not like you’re a regular Boy Scout yourself, either.”
“Don’t claim to be, but I don’t have a fucking felony record, either,” he shot back angrily. “I don’t know why the hell you think I’m gonna give you money. I don’t owe you a fucking dime. If anything, you owe me for all the years of child support you didn’t bother paying. And quit bothering the boys. They have their own families to take care of and shouldn’t have to deal with your shit.”
Her eyes shot to mine in confusion. “Family? When the hell did you get a family, Jagger?”
I snorted and shook my head. “I don’t have one yet, but if I have my way, I will before too much longer. King’s right. Just leave us the hell alone, Christy. It shouldn’t be too fuckin’ hard for you, just pretend we’re seven years old again,” I told her bitterly. I turned around and stomped back inside, ignoring the way she screamed my name as I walked away. I heard my dad order her to stay the fuck away from the clubhouse before he followed me inside.
Two hours later, the burning sensation in my chest caused by dealing with my egg donor had been replaced by a burning sensation in my gut caused by too much whiskey. Lucky and Bodhi tried to get me to play video games or shoot darts with them, but I was too drunk to have the coordination necessary for that shit. I finally went upstairs to sleep it off, only waking up when Lucky pounded on my door to let me know they were ordering burgers from the diner for dinner. I gave him my order and stumbled into the shower to clear my head and wash away the stench of the booze trying to seep out of my pores.
I didn’t hang around the clubhouse for long after we’d eaten. Walking into the kitchen to find Picasso balls-deep in the new stripper, Cynnamon with a y, pissed me right the hell off. His wife was a sweet woman who had no clue that Pic had developed a wandering eye over the last year or so, while she was at home raising their three kids. Lola was distantly related to La Famiglia Rossi, so the bastard usually tried harder to at least pretend he was a good husband in order to stay in his father-in-law’s good graces. I wasn’t sure what the fuck Pic’s problem was, but Rome had already bitched to me a few times about having to cover for him at the tattoo shop. Picasso was a talented artist, hence the road name, but he’d been seriously slacking lately.
“Take it upstairs to the bunny rooms,” I barked at him. “Nobody wants to eat in this kitchen with your nasty asses hanging out all over the place – and bleach that goddamned counter before you go, too.” I shuddered at the sight of her naked ass sliding all over the surface our food had been sitting on less than an hour ago.
I was stone-cold sober by that point, so I jumped on my bike and headed home for the night. I called Molly as soon as I got settled, and extracted a promise that we would finally get to take a ride tomorrow night. I fell asleep as I was debating the wisdom of telling her exactly what that meant in my world.
Chapter 13
Molly
By Sunday evening, I was feeling better, but still didn’t have much energy. My dad and Matt were out of town for a race, so Mom and I were originally going to just go out to eat rather than bother with cooking. When I called to let her know I had been sick, she insisted that I stay home to rest. I had planned to tell her about Cole over dinner but decided just to tell her over the phone when she asked me if there was anything new going on in my life.
“Well, actually, I’ve been seeing someone. I met him three weeks ago, and it’s going really well so far.”
“That’s great, honey. Tell me about him. Where did you meet, what is he like?”
“I met him at the diner over on Worth Avenue, over near the mall. His name is Jagger, and he’s amazing, Mom. I really like him.
“Jagger, huh? Interesting name. What does he do for a living?”
“He manages a bar. His dad ran it for years, and then Jagger took over running it a few years ago. And, uh, his real name is Cole, but he goes by Jagger. It’s, uh, kind of like a…nickname,” I trailed off lamely. I had a sudden flashback to seventeen-year-old me, trying to avoid telling my mom that the concert my friends and I wanted to go to was actually being held at a venue two states away. Spoiler alert – when the truth came out, I was not allowed to go.
“Molly Renee, why do I get the feeling there’s something you aren’t telling me?”
Yep, it was the concert all over again. I took a deep breath, and reminded myself that I was no longer seventeen, and my parents were open-minded people who didn’t rush to judgement. Hopefully, that extended to their daughter dating a biker.
“OK, so here’s the thing. Jagger is a member of a motorcycle club, the 5thCircle Guardians. I’ve met most of them, and they are really good guys. The club owns several successful businesses, and they do charity bike rides and things like that for the community.”
Mom was quiet for a few moments, then said, “So, he’s not like Jax fromSons of Anarchy?”
Her comment surprised a laugh out of me. I didn’t realize my mom knew enough about the TV show to know the main character’s name. “No, he’s not like Jax, except for maybe his level of hotness. Good Lord, wait until you meet Jagger. He’s gorgeous, seriously.”
“Well then, I suggest you bring your young man over to meet us on Sunday then. I wouldn’t mind getting a good look at him. Your dad and Matt don’t have a race, so they will be here, too.”
I agreed, as long as Cole was available. I hoped he would be open to meeting my family. After all, I’d met most of his relatives at this point. We chatted for a few more minutes, and I hung up the phone feeling relieved that my mom hadn’t freaked out about Cole’s biker affiliation. Hopefully, my dad and Matt would take it just as well.
Monday morning, I was feeling back to normal, thankfully. I checked my email before heading outside for drop-off duty, only to find a response from Anna Edwards’ mother. The guidance counselor had observed Anna in the classroom last Monday and again on Friday morning and had agreed that she could definitely benefit from some additional help. Despite feeling ill, I’d managed to send an email to Anna’s mother before I’d left Friday. I had outlined our concerns and had requested a conference with her so that we could discuss the social skills class, as well as a couple of ideas Amanda had for helping her assimilate into a Kindergarten routine with her peers.
