Resurrecting Ghosts (MC Romance) (Kings of Chaos Book 4) (12 page)

“I’m blaming the hormones, but the truth is…I’m out of my depth. I’ve never done a serious relationship and now, I’m neck deep in one.”

“Because of the baby?”

The query reminds me how clueless she is about the life. “Because I’m his Old Lady. That’s like marriage to them. Even more binding actually. Not like I could send paperwork and bail anytime I got ready.”

“Really? Being in this, you can’t?”

Rochelle’s shock makes me laugh. “It’s whole other set of rules, sweet pea.”

“Then I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me too,” I whisper.

“I’m behind you one-hundred whatever you decide, or need. You know that right?”

“I do. I love you, Roch. Thanks for listening to me.”

“Always. Love you too, big sis.”

I hang up feeling a little less alone, but no less damaged.

***

Skull

I smooth Ruthie’s red locks away from her face and kiss her forehead. I’d been saved by the bell when work called me last night. She was hitting on issues I wasn’t ready to touch or think too deeply on. I’d spent years building it up in my head. My life was an escape route from my family’s dark past. Coming up with a new plan scares the piss out of me. The old one worked. No one got hurt and I enjoyed my life.
If I don’t do something, I’m going to lose them both.
It’s amazing how important these two beings have become to me.

“Wake up, sleepy head.”

“Hmmm.” Her eyelids flutter open.

I take in her sleepy-eyes and makeup free state. I like her best like this. When she’s pliant, soft, and natural. I used to think the pregnancy glow was a myth, but she’s got it. “Hey. Nap time’s over.”

“How long was I out?” she asks, slowly sitting up on the couch where the television had been watching her, instead of the other way around.

“About an hour and a half. I know you didn’t want me to let you sleep the day away. I have something I’d like to show you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She smiles up at me.

With her sweet smile, it’s all too easy to imagine her as a teenager. “Yeah, Trouble. Are you up for it?”

“Yes, just let me freshen up real quick,” she says easing off the couch.

I watch her go, eyes glued to her ass in the gray sweat pant capris. Her ass is getting fatter by the day, and I can’t get enough of it. She always had nice portions, but the pregnancy is ripening her like a fruit. All I want to do is pump her full of my cum. Which is insane, because I can’t get her any more pregnant. Mother Nature is a crazy ass bitch. I sink down on the couch wondering if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t share much of my past with people, and I’m about to take her on the scenic route of Tritt Alexander Matthews.

I tug my beanie lower on my head.
All or nothing. I can’t be half in and half out.
I commit or she won’t.
I’m already in it for at least eighteen years raising the bean.
The bean.
I smile as I remember the first time we saw the baby. I knew she was pregnant, but the child was an abstract concept until I heard the steady whump whump of its heart beat and saw the tiny form Kermit flail on the screen. It was more than an ideal, it was a living, breathing, human, half me and half the woman I’m in love with. I’d never admit that out loud, but this woman has got me hemmed up for as long as she’ll have me.

“I’m ready.”

Her sing song voice makes me smile. She’s tamed her bed head and put on sunscreen I’m sure. One thing I know about the woman is she takes her skin serious swearing up and down a redhead burns like a vampire in the sun if she’s not lathered in sunblock.

“I’m driving,” I say.

She scowls, but tosses me the keys to her
first
baby.

“You know I don’t like riding bitch,” I say.

“No, but you like it when this bitch rides you.”

“Damn straight.” I palm her ass, enjoying her giggles. She’s been down recently. It’s good to hear her laugh. I wrap my arm around her waist and guide her outside. Once we’re buckled in, I take a deep breath and pull out of the driveway.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asks.

“Back to the beginning, where it all started.” I reach out and take her hand in mine. “You want me to open up, spill my guts. I’m more a man of action than speech. So, I’m going to show you. This time around, it’s me trusting you.”

I take us thirty minutes away to the run down house in the shady part of town and park my car. “This is where I lived for the first five years of my life with my mom and dad. Back then, it was a decent neighborhood full of working class people. My dad had issues, but he kept a steady job. My mom stayed at home with me, when she wasn’t on a bender or running the streets. My father’s parents spent a lot of time watching me. I guess it made sense I ended up with them in the end. Mom was originally from Arizona, so visits to her side were few and far between. I don’t think they got along really. Everything about her is hazy. They never reached out after the incident. She was their only child, and I think it hurt them too much to see the path she’d gone down. This is also the place where my father took her life before taking his own by swallowing a shotgun shell.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s an ugly thing. Mental illness runs in our family. The trend seems to be it skips a generation. My grandfather’s mom had it, but he was fine. Then his son had it, and I’m fine.”

She squeezes my arm.

“Now, you see my concern with junior,” I say.

“Concern is one thing. What you have going borders on paranoia.”

“Yeah, you’ve said it a time or ten.” I massage my scalp through my beanie.

“What happened…after the murders?”

“I went to my grandparents’ home, which is our next stop.” I pull away from the curb, eager to be away from the home that to me was as evil as Amityville. A chill races down my spine. We were resurrecting ghosts I wasn’t fully ready to lay to rest.

The house is a twenty-minute drive. Warm memories fill me as I pass familiar landmarks. The gas station where I used to ride my bike to get ice cream treats. The park I used to play in. The church we attended every Sunday. My grandparents were good people with a strong work ethic and plenty of faith.

I pull up to the ranch style stucco house with the perfectly manicured lawn and a white picket fence. The shutters are the same teal blue my grandmother loved so much.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thank you, it’s the same way they left it.”

“Do you own this?” she asks.

“I never had the heart to sell it after I inherited, and living in it didn’t seem right either. This is where I learned everything I know. How to be a man. A good one. Work ethics and morality. My grandfather was amazing. He knew how to build things, fix things, and earned a living as an electrician at a local private company.”

“Did he teach you how to do all of this too?” she asks.

“He did, but my heart was never in it. I had no desire to follow in his footsteps. He wasn’t angry about it. He said every man had to find his own way in this world.”

“Sounds like a wise caring man.”

“He was.” I turn to her. “Do you want to go inside? I have a cleaning person and a lawn person to keep things from going into disrepair.”

“How far do you think this is from the clubhouse?” she asks.

“About fifteen, twenty minutes by bike,” I say.

“All this time you were in their backyard.”

“Yeah, kind of ironic how things happen when they’re supposed to.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asks.

I study her face. I realize that if she’d come along earlier in my life, I would’ve butchered this relationship. “Yeah, I do. Come on.”

We climb out of the car and make our way up the walk. I can imagine my grandparents sitting out in the rocking chairs on their porch, the way they used to. A pitcher of sun tea would rest between their chairs, as they’d watch the world go by.

“What are you seeing right now?”

“Them sitting in the rocking chairs they used to have here. A pitcher of fresh sun tea resting between them. Grandma was originally from the south, and she held onto a lot of their customs.”

“That’s where you get those impeccable manners I found so out of place, given your environment.”

I laugh. “Yeah, that was all her. She beat them into me, literally at times.” I use the key to open the front door and we step inside.

The house is dated with its quirky fifties era furniture. The kitchen has black and white squared tile, and the cabinets were the same teal they’d always been growing up. An oval table with black chairs with white stripes down the middle sat as a centerpiece.

“Oh my God, this house is amazing,” Ruthie says.

I can’t help the pride that wells up inside me. “Yeah?”

“Yes, thank you so much for sharing it with me. I know this is a special place for you.”

“I wanted you to see where I come from, so you can understand more about who I am.” I scratch the nape of my head, uncomfortable with the spotlight being cast on me.

“Can I see the rest of the place?”

“Yeah.” I lead her down the hallway of the three bedroom with a Jack and Jill one-bathroom split in the middle to function as two. Cherry hardwood runs throughout the house. Pictures of me from infancy to my later twenties line the walls.

“Oh my God, you were so damn adorable!” Ruthie gushes stopping at my baby picture. “I hope bean looks just like you.”

“Uh-uh. They need to have your eyes and this hair.” I give her ponytail a playful tug.

She wrinkles up her upturned nose. “No, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. They’ll be teased relentlessly and burn in the sun.”

I chuckle. “Grass is always greener.”

She snickers and continues her journey. She touches the frames carefully, treating them with a reverence that sears her name on my heart. She gets the shit I can’t say. I trail behind her, a living shadow. Her eyes glow with happiness.
I did that.
It feels good to finally get something right when it comes to her. She’s a complex woman. I’m used to superficial things who want clothes, money, and prestige.

With Ruthie, I have to dig deeper and think things through. It’s like using a muscle you didn’t realize you had. The growing pains as I build up strength and endurance have led to some crazy altercations. Today feels like the first step of an upswing.

“Why don’t you live here?”

“It wasn’t where I wanted to be. After I moved out, got my own place and started doing my own thing, it was always nice to come back and visit when they were alive. Once they passed, it felt wrong to be here by myself. Plus, I wanted to be in the thick of the debauchery with my brothers.

“Somehow, I think it was more the latter.” Her eyes twinkle at me.

I shrug. I’ve always been the type to live to the fullest because I knew firsthand how quickly the ride could end.

“Tell me more about growing up here.”

“Honestly, it was pretty all American. I played sports, went to church, and kept my grades up. My grandparents were very old school.”

“Then how the hell did you end up with KOC?”

“I didn’t want to do the school route, so I did the trade route. It paid my bills, but I wasn’t happy. Then I did some work for the KOC clubhouse and we just clicked. I hung around for about two years before they put me on as a Prospect. I just really connected with their way of life. And no, I’m not talking about the women. They look at things differently than most people. They have their own code of justice and civility. I’d been missing that in the
real
world. People are all for themselves and so wrapped up in meaningless shit, they waste their life away. Here, I’m helping maintain a brotherhood meant to last. If I go, I’ll be remembered. It’s a worthy cause. We help keep things safe around here too. We’re doing a service.”

“That’s a pretty incredible way to look at it,” she says.

“You think I’m wrong?”

“No, you guys are the most stand-up people I know. You get a bad rap most of the time. You can’t judge every M.C. by a few who are more…vocal.”