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He’d been shot on the job years ago when he was training a rookie. Afterwards, he’d relived the shooting in his dreams for months, then it had gone away. For the last couple of nights, he’d woken from dreams of gunfire. What he could remember of them were a mishmash of dreams from his time in the military, the police force, and from when he lived with his incubator.
He'd never shared everything that had happened with anyone. It was easier to push it back and lock it in a corner to not think about it. Most of the time that worked but sometimes, it pushed through in his dreams. Last night, his incubator had done what she did best—terrorize him. She’d been the one holding the gun, threatening that she’d kill him if he bothered her again. In the dream, she’d shot the gun, hitting the floor near where he was sitting. In real life, she’d threatened him with the gun but then shot a watermelon she had on the table. After it exploded everywhere, she’d made him clean it up, reminding him that’s what would happen to his head if he didn’t keep quiet.
Chapter Five
Bear sat down witha cup of coffee, relishing sitting at the island and breathing in the smells of yeast, cinnamon, sugar and bread baking in the MC kitchen. The room had been updated over the years but it still had the huge island with chairs around it and a smaller table with six chairs in the corner. The coffee station had been enlarged over the years to include multiple machines, including a large one-hundred-cup pot. Coffee and the smells of baking were what he associated with his first real home. When he’d be away for so long, he’d make cinnamon rolls about twice a month to bring the smells into his apartment.
Regina had been called out to the farm for a question. He was in charge of making sure her cinnamon rolls didn’t burn. She said she wanted to get his opinion on something when she was back. It was typical Regina—always a whirlwind. The restaurant-size refrigerator had a calendar on it where Regina not only had when and what was being served for the MC but now included who was watching Roam’s kids and where they would be. He wasn’t surprised everyone had stepped up to help Roam when his wife had left. It was what his MC did. They loved each other and held one another up when someone had fallen.
Even though Regina had aged, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known. She was also the closest person he had to a mother. When he was growing up, it had been him, War, and War’s twin, Roam. They’d been inseparable. Regina may have been their mom but she pulled him into her circle despite how wary he’d been as a kid.
After they’d left the Army, Roam had returned to the MC and joined Rascal at the tattoo shop. War and he had grown closer until he couldn’t imagine not working with his best friend. War understood him sometimes better than he understood himself. They’d both missed Roam but had known Roam was never meant for law enforcement. Bear was glad his friend was getting to use his artistic gift because it was what fueled Roam. Bear loved the tattoos his friend had done for him.
He'd known as soon as War said he was done being a detective and was tired of their corrupt captain impeding their efforts to help victims, he’d leave, too. He’d honestly been ready before War but wasn’t leaving War alone with no one to watch his back.
He glanced at his watch. He needed to check the cinnamon rolls. He pulled open the oven, pausing to let the heat escape then grabbing a potholder and sliding the rack out. He thumped the top of the middle cinnamon roll in the pan. It sprang back. Done, which was good. He was starving. At the rate he was going here, he’d need to up his workout after he was recovered. He was having a hell of a time resisting the sweets Regina kept on hand. Cinnamon rolls, dinner rolls and her croissants were out of this world. Pair them with the sandplums jelly and he’d gorge himself until he popped.
He slid them on the cooling rack, setting his time for frosting them. Cinnamon rolls had been the first treat Regina had taught him to make. She’d had all three boys helping around the island in the kitchen rolling out dough right after he’d first come. He must have been four or five. They’d helped roll the dough, then gotten to spread the filling, then roll the dough into a tube. He’d loved wrapping the string around the tube and pulling it to cut the rolls. When they’d come out of the oven and he’d gotten to frost and eat one, he’d realized Regina was different than his incubator. It had been the first time he’d realized he might be somewhere safe.
He still remembered being amazed there were snacks always available. In fact, Regina had them come into the kitchen in the morning and afternoon for healthy snacks but if they were hungry other times, they grabbed what they wanted.
Over the years, she’d helped deal with his tendency to always think the worst. She’d turned it from a flaw to an advantage. The first time was when she’d asked his opinion about her garden. She’d asked him to figure out a way for him to keep the rabbits from eating her vegetables without killing the rabbits. He chuckled remembering his multiple scenarios, but she listened to each of them. He loved her like a mom even though he’d never said the words.
Regina walking in and washing her hands pulled him from his thoughts.
“How’s the wound healing?”
He obligingly lifted his shirt. Today, he was leaving it uncovered. Having the fabric rub against it wasn’t bothering him.
She leaned over close. “Looks like it’s healing well.”
She turned, touched the top of a roll, grasped the frosting knife, and swiped the frosting across the rolls in five quick passes. He wondered how many thousands of cinnamon rolls she’d done the same to.
“Will you grab us a couple plates?”
Bear reached into the cabinet, placed two plates down for her to put the cinnamon rolls on, and got forks and napkins for them.
