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Five years into his sentence, his wife, his beautiful, lovely, supportive wife, had died of ovarian cancer. It had hit her fast and hard. And he hadn’t been there for her. The thought of her dealing with the pain, the fear, alone still haunted him. He knew the club had helped where they could, and Jett had been with her when she died, but it sure as fuck wasn’t the same as being beside her. He’d tried to get compassionate leave from prison to be with her, but they’d denied him because he’d committed a violent crime, regardless of the circumstances.
When he got out, still stunned by her death, he’d spent time absorbing the fact she was gone. It had been one thing to hear it in prison, and even being allowed to go to the funeral—but not being allowed to go to a fucking hospital room to hold her hand as she died, which left him bitter to this day—hadn’t made it real. Nothing had been real for those ten years, other than a few stab wounds from fights. When his friends had decided he had spent enough time feeling sorry for himself, Slash, the enforcer, his best friend, came over and kicked his ass.
“Open a fucking garage, will ya’?” he’d said. “You need something, and we need a decent mechanic who knows us.”
So there had been only one thing to do. The life insurance company had paid up after her death, and the money was still sitting in the bank. He’d forgotten they had insurance through her work until he got a letter. It was enough money to buy a defunct garage near the clubhouse, a complete set of tools, and some parts. He didn’t bother decorating, instead settling for pressure washing the entire place.
Because his wife had done so much for him when she was alive, he almost felt guilty that she’d had to save his ass after prison too. But she’d dreamed of him getting his act together and building something—so he’d done it. It wasn’t exactly a fresh start, but it was a good one.
From the start, the garage had made money. Enough to keep him happy. He kept his prices low for club members. In return, they brought him referrals, people who’d pay good money to have their bikes or cars brought up to par by the mechanic of the Road Kings. Jett joining him in the business hadn’t hurt either, with his reputation for vintage restoration.
There was a certain cachet to it. He could pick and choose the work he did. Even a couple of movie stars brought him their bikes, although there wasn’t anything hard about the repairs, and he suspected it was more so they could lay claim to drinking beer with the Road Kings and having the same mechanic. Jett had restored a few as well, including for a starlet that Ronan suspected his friend had banged in the office at some point.
The thought left him uncomfortable for a moment because he couldn’t help visualizing Tessa sprawled across that secondhand desk. In his mind’s eye, she was sucking his cock while Jett drove into her.
He cleared his throat, trying to dispel the thought with a shake of his head. He didn’t need that kind of complication. He lived simply. There was no trick to that in his book. He had the garage, and home was just a place to go, maybe cook dinner, watch television, throw clothes in the washer and dryer, and sleep. He didn’t know if he wanted more, but something was missing.
“Girls,” Jett had told him the last time he’d talked about it.
He’d meant sex, but that wasn’t it. Ronan wasn’t celibate. He indulged in one-night stands with girls that came to the clubhouse or came to hang around the garage with the idea of connecting with a bad boy. He didn’t mind obliging them. Sex was good. That wasn’t what he lacked. He knew what it was. His wife was gone. She’d left a void—a big void. None of the girls he’d met were even near what she’d been.
And yet… now he’d met Tessa Lee, and it reminded him there were women in the world who weren’t biker chicks. Women who had careers or jobs and lives of their own. More to the point, it reminded him they could be both intelligent and hot, just like his wife. Tessa seemed to be both. And he had sensed a glimmer of attraction. Something might be possible there, but if Jett’s instincts were right, and they usually were, she had that attraction for both of them. He didn’t necessarily rule out the idea of a triad relationship, especially a casual one, but he couldn’t imagine the teacher was the type to take a biker into her bed, let alone two.
But if she did… If she decided to do something that seemed out of character, he decided, he was definitely in. Jett was like a brother, and if he was going to share a woman with anyone, it would be him—and it would be her, if she was truly willing.
As he parkedthe bike outside the trailer, Kayla grabbed her book bag and ran inside. “Hey, Mom,” she called out.
Ronan followed her in and saw Willow staring at her, her fists on her hips. “Here I see you coming home with grease on your face again, girl. What will the boys think?”
“They’ll think I can fix a bike.” She overflowed with excitement. “And they’ll be right, too. I rebuilt a carb for Bernie’s bike all by myself.”
Ronan got a beer from the fridge. “And that was after what, Kayla?”
“After I did my homework. I did it right the first time, too. Then Vanessa quizzed me. She said I got one wrong, but I made her check and I was right.”
Willow smiled. “Bribery is a wonderful thing. You go wash that badge of honor off your face. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“Resting.” Willow sounded curt, and Ronan flashed her a look. When Kayla ran out of the room, Willow sighed. “He didn’t go to rehab today. Stayed home smoking dope. Now that he got himself a permit for medical marijuana, he’s really overdoing it.”
“Want me to talk to him?”
She laughed. “And then have him bitch at me all night about how his ungrateful little brother interferes with his life? I know you mean well, but no thanks, Ronan.”
Ronan came over closer so he could speak softly. “Just be there for him and he’ll snap out of it.” He handed her some twenty-dollar bills. “In case he bitches about me drinking up all his beer.”
She held the money tight and nodded her thanks. Ronan noticed the pinched look in her thin face. Willow had always been thin, but now worry seemed to be taking a toll.
“You’re a good man, Ronan. And the way you’re taking care of Kayla is a big help. I know I worry about her hanging around the club. That’s how I started, but then she ain’t me. She’s a damn sight smarter than me and better at looking out for herself. So with you there, I’m really happy about it.”
“Me, too, but I have a master plan of making her my assistant and earning me gobs of money so she can take care of all of us.”
Willow smiled. “That’d be fine. I know she sure likes that greasy work you two do.”
“The truth is, Willow, she has a real knack for it. She loves taking something that’s broken and making it whole again, making it work like new. I think it gives her a little faith in the world.”
“Maybe so.” The thought made Willow smile. “Like her uncle. Linc never was much for fixing things, except doing construction.”
