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She looked around the kitchen, at the exposed beams across the ceiling and the pine and chrome everywhere. Her gaze landed on the Sub-zero fridge, then the six-top stove with double ovens, and finally a large butcher top table with high backed wooden chairs.
“It’s the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen called rustic.” She paused and looked around again. “But I like it. It’s homey despite being big as hell.”
“You got something against big things?” She rolled her eyes as I knew she would.
“No, but I thought we’d be hiding out in some tiny one room cabin and calling it a honeymoon to soothe your ego. Not this,” she said as she waved her hands round the room. She realized her tone might be a tough offensive and sighed before turning back to me. “Sorry. This is great, I’m just … hell I don’t know, but thank you Lasso.”
“No problem. Wife.” It was still weird saying that, but it got easier and I loved getting a rise out of Rocky. Even a little one. “This chili is damn good for someone who can’t cook.”
“Thanks. And I never said I couldn’t cook. I said don’t expect me to cook.” Her shoulders had relaxed a little bit with each passing hour. But so far, I couldn’t do a damn thing to erase the worry from her eyes. “Do you eat at the clubhouse and if so, do you have a cook there?”
I laughed because it was just such a Rocky question. Most women wanted to know about illegal activities and fights and shit but she wanted to know about housekeeping.
“I usually eat at home and, no, there’s no cook there. If we’re on lockdown or some shit, the women and the Bitches will cook but otherwise we feed ourselves.”
“Bummer. Seems like a good way to make use of a vet who’s not cut out for the other stuff.”
“What other stuff?” I could tell something about the Reckless Bastards bothered her, but I didn’t know if it was just because they were unwilling to help or something more.
“You know what I mean, stuff like shooting a gun or whooping some ass. Or what about a guy who stutters? Can’t have him working at the gun range or the dispensary but maybe he’s a crack shot. Or the guy who’s good with numbers but can’t ride a bike to save his life.”
Yeah, she caught me, but Rocky didn’t smirk or brag about it. And she made her point. “You have to ride. That’s why it’s called a motorcycle club.”
“What’s organized socialization without arbitrary rules?” She pushed her bowl away and rubbed her belly. “And it’s time for me to lie down before I doze off sitting here.”
I watched her go, enjoying the sway of her hips and feeling a little disappointed I wouldn’t be getting any wedding night sex. The pregnancy was wearing on her in a thousand little ways, but she hadn’t complained about it yet. After rinsing the dishes, I joined Rocky on the sofa, lifting her head and putting it on my lap.
“If you’re trying to get head, I’m game but you gotta do all the work.”
A laugh bubbled up out of me at her words. “You’re kind of crazy, aren’t you?”
“Doesn’t matter now, you married me.” She moaned as my fingers sifted through her hair, snuggling deeper into my lap. She had to notice my cock hardening beneath her head but the champ that she was, Rocky ignored it. “Did you have a horse as a kid?”
“I did. Windsor, an appaloosa, you know with a spotted coat? Mom thought it looked regal so she named him Windsor.” Her laugh was pure and amused. “He was wild and energetic, perfect for a little boy. We’d rip around the property together as fast as we could, trying to outrun the wind.”
“Sounds nice. Why did you leave?”
“Too many expectations I had no plans on living up to. It won’t ever stop so I removed myself from the equation.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
I thought about her question as I often did over the years. “No. I mean I wish they could’ve been h
appy with who I wanted to be or maybe that I could’ve been happy being who they wanted for a son, but I don’t regret leaving.”
Her eyes wandered over the high ceiling as if she were looking for some truth up there before she spoke. “Me either. I miss my dad sometimes, but I’ve spent most of my life missing him, so I’m used to it.” Her sigh was heavy but she didn’t move, just lay there while my hands got lost in her thick red hair. “Do you wish I hadn’t tracked you down?”
I sighed at her question and kept running my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp with my fingertips.
Do I wish she hadn’t tracked me down?
“No Rocky, I don’t. I’m glad you thought I was the kind of guy you could come to when trouble found you. I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this shit show but I don’t regret you showing up on my doorstep, not one damn bit.” I felt like a fool for saying all that to her but when I risked a glance at Rocky her eyes were closed and her breathing had evened out.
She was asleep.
It was for the best anyway. I hoped she hadn’t heard that verbal diarrhea because she didn’t need to hear it. She was here under my protection, she and our baby, and that’s what mattered most. It wasn’t her feelings or mine that mattered, just keeping her safe. My wife and kid. What a fucking trip to think of those two words in reference to me. The fucked up part was this was exactly what my folks wanted for me, a wife and a kid, though they’d probably shit their pants that I’d married a sexy bohemian who made a living selling craft items.
A laugh bubbled up out of me at the irony of them getting what they wanted in the most wrong way possible. There was a kind of twisted beauty to it that made me want to get up right now and tell them. But more than that, I was content where I was. Oddly so. Sitting on the ugly ass sofa Jag had insisted we put in here for ‘local flavor’ with my arm on the wooden rest and the soft weight of Rocky’s head in my lap, it all felt right.
