Page 40 of Rough Patch

“Not to you.” His stomach churned. “Fiona, what is going on?” Meeting Jez had saved his life, started everything between him and Fiona, made him a Demon. Without Jez, he would’ve never met Max.

“Do you know what happened to your real parents? The woman who gave birth to you?”

He sighed. Obviously, until they played this stupid game of twenty-questions, she wasn’t going to tell him whatever the hell happened to drive her to drink. “I don’t know. And I don’t care.” Because of her, he’d been forced to endure unspeakable horrors, things he’d never even told her. “I was two or three when she threw me away and she never looked back so I never looked for her.” He’d left the bitterness a long time ago, probably because he’d never talked about it before, but now, the taste of the words soured in his mouth.

“If you could meet her, would you?”

Maybe this had something to do with Fiona’s mother. He’d given her Max’s letter a long time ago, assumed she’d read it, even though he hadn’t, and also assumed that when Max had given it to him on his deathbed for Fiona, it would have her mother’s name in it.

He twisted toward her, laying the baby across his lap. “No. I wouldn’t. She gave up on me, and now that I have something good in my life, something precious and perfect,” he smiled down at the baby then up at Fiona. “I don’t need her. I did once. I prayed she would come back for me. Save me. I was just a little boy, but I prayed so hard. And she didn’t come and it’s too late now.”

“Jez is your mom.” No further preamble. No more questions. Just a blunt statement. Followed by, “And Willy Carr is your dad.”

He stared at her until his mind transported him back to that day—the one where he’d met the kind waitress at Delucca’s. Jez had been in her early thirties, tattooed, battle-scarred, and teary-eyed as Cameron Chancellor had taunted him. “Hey, Kermit. Where’s Miss Piggy?” Then, he’d tried to trip Grier and when he stumbled, Cameron laughed and asked, “Kermit, can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?” Loser had had it wrong. Kermit wasn’t on Sesame Street, but Grier hadn’t shared. It would only have made it worse.

At sixteen, almost seventeen, Grier was too small for Cameron to take him seriously. Already beaten by life.

Jez had “accidentally” poured a coffee in Cam’s lap and he’d rushed out. Then she’d fed Grier his first meal outside of his school lunch in days.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true.” She told him the story while he sat ready with every new detail to puke his guts onto the floor.

He handed her the baby and went to the bedroom. Jez? The woman who abandoned him, then saved him. And goddamned if he knew what to do about it.

Fiona watched Grier. He slept peacefully with a smile on his face. He whistled while he showered. He ate breakfast with the gusto of a man who’d never seen food before. But then instead of getting dressed for the day, he lounged on the sofa in a pair of pajama pants with the baby and the remote clutched in his hand.

She moved to stand in front of the TV. “Grier?”

He lifted his gaze to her face. “Yeah?”

“Do we need to talk?” He raised his eyebrows and she couldn’t read one damned thing. “About anything?”

His eyes hardened and his mouth compressed into a tight line. For one second then it all cleared away and he smiled. “No. I’m good. Do you need to talk about something?”

“What about yesterday?” She sputtered the words because this was something she wanted him to want to talk to her about. But he only shrugged. Shrugged! “What about the club then? Aren’t you going? There’s a…” Madman? Who also happened to be his father. “Don’t you want to talk to Jez?”

He stood and handed her the baby before walking into the kitchen and returning with a glass of orange juice. “Thought you wanted me to be Mr. Mom.”

Who the hell was she turning into? She didn’t need to talk about his feelings. Or hers. Max would spin in his grave if he knew she was standing in her house practically begging him to talk about his feelings. Dear God, when had she gone soft?

She nodded. “Yeah.” And damned if she knew what the hell she was supposed to say or do. “Well, okay then.”

Nothing to do now but get dressed and get to work. Back to her life.

Without her baby.

Knowing what she knew.

But she was Fiona Strong-Owen and she had courage no one even knew about. Intelligence. The ability to never show her hand.

And if that was true, she wouldn’t have stood in the shower crying, torn between Jez and Grier. Not really torn, just a little ripped. Nothing she couldn’t handle. And after today, no one would doubt her ability.

It took her all of twenty minutes to get ready. Today, she wasn’t Grier’s wife or Max’s daughter. She was Fiona, Leader of the Screaming Demons Motorcycle Club. And no one would question it. No one but Fiona, anyway.

She walked into the living room, took the baby, and almost teared-up at the thought of leaving her. Holding it back cost her a few deep breaths but she made it through. Grier smiled up at her from the sofa. “Hey, you have a good day.” He winked and shot her a finger pistol.

No kiss. No hug. A fucking finger pistol.