Madeline Sheehan - Unbeloved

Gone was the fresh-faced girl next door he’d fallen for. She no longer carried with her that aura of innocence and naïveté she’d held throughout her twenties and thirties. No, Dorothy finally looked like the grown woman she was. Her features had matured, sharpened, were no longer cute, but instead a refined sort of beautiful.

“Dorothy,” he said quietly, focusing on her face and those big and beautiful green eyes of hers. Her eyes hadn’t changed, and for some reason he took comfort in that. “I didn’t realize—”

“The vote,” she said tersely, interrupting him. “Did you vote yet?”

Jase’s mouth snapped shut as he noticed for the first time the slight tremble of her lips, her rigid posture, the way she was gripping her hands, wringing them together.

She was afraid.

For motherfucking Hawk.

Of course she was. After all, she had come all the way from California just to find out what was going on with him. But what Jase had initially thought was only concern for the sake of her son’s father, looked to be something else entirely.

Jesus fucking Christ, did she still have feelings for the man? Did the two of them have something going on that no one else knew about . . . again?

Feeling suddenly awkward, he reached up to rub his hand across the back of his neck, using the maneuver to avert his eyes, hoping she didn’t realize the sudden overwhelming disappointment that had gripped hold of his heart.

“I . . . uh . . .” He stumbled over his words, trying to form an answer that didn’t include telling her he’d just announced how much he didn’t care whether Hawk lived or died, seeing as she so obviously did care.

“No vote yet,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m just taking a piss break.”

Nodding, Dorothy’s lips pressed tightly together and her eyes perceptibly widened. He knew that look, had seen it hundreds of times before. It was the face she made when she was desperately trying not to cry. Seeing that, something rattled painfully inside Jase’s chest, and his insides clenched uncomfortably. He hated that face, he fucking loathed it . . . mostly because he’d always been the cause of it.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “We’ll bring him home.”

“Okay,” she whispered, nodding more to herself than to him. “I’ll just be . . . I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

He watched her disappear around the corner, listened as the swinging doors to the kitchen creaked back and forth as she passed through them, and shortly after that came the banging of pots and pans.

Something warm burst forth within his gut, easing the uncomfortable tightening that had taken root. She was back, not only in Miles City but inside the clubhouse, and back inside the kitchen no less.

It was so fucking familiar and, goddamn him, so incredibly comforting. After so many years of feeling nothing but the cold shoulder from both her and his family, feeling this semblance of his past, a place where he’d been happy and content, was more than welcome.

And he didn’t want to lose it.

Turning around, he burst back into Deuce’s office. Ignoring the stares of everyone in the room, he marched forward, shoved Anger out of the chair he’d been occupying before he’d left the room, and reclaimed his seat.

When it came time for him to cast his vote, he looked directly into Deuce’s narrowed eyes, raised two fingers in the air, and answered, “Yay. Bring him home.”

What bringing Hawk home would accomplish, other than putting Deuce and Preacher at the mercy of the Russian cartel, Jase didn’t know. All he knew was that it would keep Dorothy around, if only for a little while longer . . . as well as keep her from crying.

At the very least, he owed her that much.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

— Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr

“Weird, isn’t it?”

Tearing my gaze away from my daughter and the group of young woman who were surrounding her, I glanced to where Eva was seated beside me on a long leather couch. Seated beside Eva was Kami, and to my left was Kajika, a Native American woman from a nearby Indian reservation who Cox and Kami had employed as their nanny, but now held my former position around the clubhouse, cooking and cleaning up after the boys. Something I had only just found out after being scolded for disrupting her highly organized cupboard system. Who knew plates had to be stacked according to size and shape?

“What’s weird?” I asked.

Pushing her headphones off her ears, Eva smirked. “Them,” she said, gesturing to Tegen and the other women. “And us. We used to be them, young and hot, the center of attention inside the club, and now we’re not. We’ve become the actual old ladies.

“Strangely enough,” she continued, shrugging, “I don’t mind. I feel like it’s the natural progression of things, and we’re all exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

Knowing exactly what she was up to, attempting to distract me while we all waited for Preacher to arrive from New York City, I decided to play along instead of dwelling on the agony of wondering what was going to happen next, or worse, if Hawk would survive it.

Or . . . who Hawk truly was, something that I couldn’t exactly bring myself to think on quite yet. I’d sat inside Deuce’s office and quietly listened, absorbing the wild story he’d told me about the son of a mob boss he’d found living on the streets. In return for saving his life and giving him the protection he’d needed, Deuce had only asked for one thing in return . . . his loyalty.

Now, Hawk had been kidnapped by an uncle everyone had thought dead or living on the lam, and who was threatening to turn either kill Hawk or turn him over to the federal government if Deuce and Preacher didn’t concede to their terms.

It was a little too much to take in all at once, more so because Hawk wasn’t here to confirm any of it, or let me berate him for lying to me all these years.

Although it finally made sense to me why Hawk never insisted on Christopher taking his last name. Young wasn’t his actual name.

And for some reason, knowing that was why, because he’d been in hiding and hadn’t been able to give his son his real last name, hurt my heart in a way that left me physically aching.

“I don’t mind either,” I said. It was true that I’d never been one for the spotlight, even in my youth. While most of the other women who’d hung around the clubhouse had always tried to outdo one another when it came sex appeal, I’d never even attempted it. Being wanted by many wasn’t something I’d ever aspired to, despite the way my life had gone.

“Speak for yourselves,” Kami retorted. Leaning back against the couch, she folded her bony arms across her chest, purposely pulling down the neckline of her lacy black camisole. “I’m still hot. Forties are the new twenties, ladies.”

My eyebrows shot up and I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me. “Are you serious?” I exclaimed. “Forties are the new twenties?”

My forties were most definitely not my twenties. Most mornings I stood in front of the mirror staring down my reflection, wondering disparagingly where my twenties and thirties had gone to. That wasn’t to say I felt myself ugly or lacking. Other than the slight signs of aging around my eyes, I’d been blessed with very fair freckled skin that had kept up its elasticity nicely through two children and four decades, even though not everything on my body was as perky as it once had been. Not that it mattered. Since I was no longer having sex, hadn’t engaged in anything more than meaningless kisses after a few awkward dates with men I hadn’t felt more than a speck of interest for, since . . . since Jase and I were last together.

Looking to the bar, where I’d last seen Jase, I found him watching me. Setting down his glass, he smiled kindly at me. The smile didn’t sit well with me and, suddenly awash with discomfort, I quickly looked away.

“Ignore her,” Eva said, laughing. “She’s full of shit. Since realizing she’s now the mother of a teenager, every year she’s doing something new and ridiculously expensive to try and stop the aging process. This year she’s given up sex.”

My mouth fell open and my surprised gaze flitted back to Kami. “You gave up sex?” I sputtered. “Are you blackmailing Cox again?”

Aside from the two beautiful boys they’d produced together, Cox and Kami were notorious for two things: Fighting. And sex. All the time. If they weren’t doing one, they were doing the other, or engaging in both at the same time.

Crossing one leg over the other, showcasing her expensive black heeled boots, Kami sniffed imperiously. “Fuck that asshole. Forty-three years old and he’s still going at it like a jackhammer on crack every chance he gets. He was wearing me out! It’s his fault I’m getting wrinkles!”

Eva rolled her eyes. “You don’t have wrinkles.”

“I do!” Kami protested. “You just can’t see them when they’re hiding behind the Botox! And these strange little hairs were appearing in the worst possible places! It is all Cox’s fault!”

I was still staring at her, my mouth agape. “Wait,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I’m still stuck on the fact that you and Cox aren’t having sex.”

Turning to me, her big eyes wide, Eva mouthed, “Kami isn’t having sex.” Then she wrinkled her nose and gave a slight shake of her head.

And I knew exactly what she was trying to convey to me. Although we came from vastly different upbringings, where Eva had spent her entire life within the confines of a motorcycle club and their social norms, I too had spent a good portion of mine here as well. And I knew exactly how things worked, more so than most.

And what she was telling me was that Kami wasn’t having sex, but Cox most certainly still was.

“He’s adapting,” Kami added. “I’ve had to tase him less and less lately in order to get a good night’s sleep.”

Beside me, Kajika let out a long-suffering sigh, the look on her face speaking volumes about Cox and Kami’s demented relationship. “One would think working for a group of bikers would be worse than being a nanny,” she said, “but after living with you and your family . . . I know now there is nothing on earth worse than that.”

“I don’t blame you at all.” Eva laughed.

“Please, Evie,” Kami said. “How can you judge me? At least my husband isn’t a grandfather.”

“And how old is Cox’s daughter now?” Eva asked, turning to wink at me. “He could be a grandfather sooner than you think.”

Kami’s nose wrinkled. “I’m not sure how old she is. Her mother told Cox I’m a bad influence, so she’s not around much anymore.”

Pressing her lips together, Eva rolled her body against mine and buried her face in my shoulder. As she shook with silent laughter, I was unable to stop the snort that escaped me. Dropping my face into Eva’s mass of long brown hair, I burst into a fit of giggles.

“What?” Kami yelled. “You bitches! I am not a bad influence!”

“Yes,” Kajika said dryly. “You’re a pillar of female empowerment, a model all young girls should aspire to become.”

“Fuck you,” Kami said with a snarl. “Just because I don’t wander around spouting off Indian proverbs at a bunch of biker assholes and their whores in hopes of bettering their lives, doesn’t mean I’m completely useless!”

“Oh God,” Eva said, breathless with silent laughter. “Just stop . . . Please, Kami, you need to get laid so badly . . . Shit, I’m gonna pee . . . Just stop . . .”

“Please pee,” Kami snapped, “so we can throw out those disgusting jeans of yours! And that awful T-shirt. Who wears their husband’s clothing, Evie? Who, dammit, who?”

“What is so funny?”

Glancing up, we found Tegen and Danny standing above us. Tegen’s red hair hung in two long braids down her chest, and Danny was dressed in her typical pink, her blonde hair surprisingly short in an adorable pixie cut. As they peered down at us, their expressions varied between curiously amused to downright confused.

“Nothing that concerns your wrinkle-free faces,” Kami said with a dramatic and dismissive wave of her hand. “You’re too young to understand our suffering.”

Howling with laughter, Eva fell forward, nearly falling off the couch entirely, and I quickly followed suit, collapsing on top of her. The bewildered expression on Tegen’s face only served to provoke more laughter, until I could no longer control myself and I laughed and laughed until my belly positively ached.

**•