Page 4 of Creed (Satan’s Fury MC- Little Rock #6)

DEVIN

I t had been a day.

It was the kind that made you wonder if it was even worth getting out of bed. It started out like any other, with me groggy and second guessing my life choices, and it went down from there.

One of my classes was canceled, and no one cared to mention it to me.

It was one of the many irritations that came with being a professor at a community college with zero leadership.

Despite how I missed all the aspects of being a police officer when I left the force, I couldn’t face another day of wearing that badge.

Not after that night.

I just couldn’t do it.

And while the admin wasn’t great at the college, the kids were, and it was close to home. The whole canceled class thing ended up being somewhat of a blessing.

I was half an hour late, my aide was nowhere to be found, and I still had fifty or so tests that needed to be graded. So, I didn’t complain. I left my empty classroom and headed back out to my car, and that’s when things really took a turn.

I walked out of the building, and just as I started down the steps, I tripped on my own two feet. And when I say tripped, I mean I went sailing.

Everything I was holding went flying. Pens, paperclips, my school laptop, and over a hundred tests—graded and ungraded. I was trying to catch my breath as I watched them all flutter down around me like a nightmare.

No one came to my rescue. They all just walked by like they didn’t notice me sprawled out on the ground. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it started to rain.

Not that cute, light mist, sprinkling kind of rain.

No, this was a monsoon kind of rain that came down with a vengeance.

It stung against my skin, but I didn’t rush to pick everything up. There was no point. In a matter of seconds, I was soaked to the bone, so I took my time and made sure I grabbed everything before continuing to my car. I tossed everything into the back seat and drove home.

It wasn’t a pleasant drive home. I was sopping wet and in a foul mood, but I pressed on.

I wasn’t giving in just yet. So, I got to the house and rushed inside to change clothes.

I’d just slipped on a fresh T-shirt when I heard the front door open, followed by the thump of a backpack hitting the floor.

Austin was home.

My fourteen-year-old hormone with two feet and a tread-lightly attitude had finally decided to bless us with his presence. He walked into the kitchen, and there was a rustle of a chip bag before he even bothered to say hello. I stuck my head out and smiled as I said, "Hey, bud. Where ya been?”

"Scotty’s," he muttered, as he turned and started down the hall.

"Whoa, wait a sec."

I pulled my damp hair into a ponytail as I followed him into the living room.

He was already sprawled out on the couch, scrolling his phone like it was glued to his hand.

His hair was down in his face, shielding his eyes.

It reminded me that I needed to get him a haircut.

Oh, how I missed the days when he’d let me cut it.

“Yeah?” Without looking up, he grumbled, "What’s up?"

“I’m about to start working on our grocery list. Is there anything special you’d like me to add?”

“Some Gatorades would be good.”

“Yellow or blue?”

“Yellow.”

“Okay. Can do.” Since I had him talking, I dared to add, "So, I was thinking maybe we could go to the movies this weekend. Or maybe that food truck thing downtown? I’m not sure what Chrissy has going on, but she could…”

“I’m going to Dad’s this weekend.”

“Wait, what? That’s not the schedule.” He sighed like I’d asked him to donate a kidney when I said, “This is my weekend.”

“Yeah, I know. But Dad said he was good with it.” He finally looked up at me with indifference, and somehow, it stung more than my anger. “I already told him I was coming.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?”

“What’s the big deal?” He shrugged. “It’s not like we were gonna do anything.”

“We could’ve.” I stood there with my hands on my hips, and my heart was thudding with a mix of frustration and heartbreak. “I wanted to spend some time with you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel like hanging out.” He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his phone. “Dad’s taking us to the lake.”

“Us? So, Chrissy’s going, too.”

“She said she was.”

I stood there for a moment, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that they were going to their father’s.

They both wanted to be with him. He was the fun one.

The cool one. The one who never had to be the bad guy.

The one who got to keep the house, the dog, and the narrative.

I was the one who left.

That’s what his father told him. He told the same to his sister. He led them both to believe that I was the one who destroyed the family. He said it over and over until it finally became his mantra. And it was true. I did leave.

But I didn’t walk out on a happy home.

I didn’t destroy a perfect family. It was neither of those things, but that didn’t stop me from trying. God, how I tried. I stayed through the silence, the cold shoulders, and the indifference. I stayed through the years of sleeping next to a man who felt more like a stranger than a husband.

I kept telling myself that this was the life I’d chosen, and I had to find a way to make it work. I had to try for the kids, for the life we’d built, and for the woman I’d once imagined I would become.

But the truth was I was never in love with him.

Not really. I was twenty-three when we met.

I was young and stupid and desperate for something that looked like stability.

He was older, confident, and stable. He was a lieutenant and my superior.

He was hesitant to get involved with someone in the same precinct, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

And I was flattered that someone so put together would take a liking to me.

Flattered but not smitten.

I didn’t feel love or a real attraction to him.

I thought that would come later. But it never did.

Not even when I had his children. Not even when I held them in my arms and felt the intense love I had for them.

It was all-consuming. But with him, there was always a distance, a coldness that rattled deep in my bones, and I felt a sense of loneliness that I couldn’t shake, no matter how hard I tried.

I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t keep pretending. Not anymore.

Not if I wanted to be honest with my children and with him.

Not if I wanted to be honest with myself.

I tried to explain myself, but the kids didn’t understand. All they could see was the woman who broke up their home. Their father used that to his advantage, and I quickly became the villain in his version of events.

“I guess I’ll see you Sunday night, then.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “I guess.”

I stood there a second longer, waiting for him to remember that I was his mom and I mattered, too.

But he didn’t.

He just kept his eyes trained on that stupid phone.

Feeling defeated, I gave up and walked to my bedroom.

I closed the door and crawled into bed. I let myself pout for a bit, then I grabbed my phone from my purse and texted Laura.

She was my best friend, and she’d been begging me to join her for a night on the town.

I figured this weekend was as good as any other, so I messaged:

Me:

The kids decided to go to their dad’s this weekend.

Not thrilled about it, but it means I’m free if you’re up for going out.

Laura:

Wait. I thought you said this was your weekend.

Me:

It is.

Laura:

Then why are they going over to asshat’s?

Me:

He’s taking them to the lake.

Laura:

Of course, he is.

But it doesn’t matter because you and me are going to have

a much-needed night out! I have to work Friday, so let’s plan for

Saturday.

Me:

Yes! Sounds good. Where are we going?

Laura:

Leave that up to me.

Just dress in your slutty best and be ready by seven.

Me:

My slutty best?

Laura:

Get creative.

Me:

I’ll do my best.

Laura:

Yay! I’m excited! See you Saturday!

Before I could respond, there was a light knock at my door. Knowing it was one of the kids, I answered, “Come in.”

The door eased open, and Chrissy, my beautiful, precious daughter, stepped inside.

She looked so much like me it was scary.

We had the same long, wavy blonde hair, the same brown eyes, and even the same smile.

But today, there was no smile. Just a heavy look in her eyes like there was something on her mind.

She was wearing her favorite old cut-off shorts that were at least a size too big and a little tank top that had clearly seen better days.

A sliver of her belly peeked out when she shifted.

I opened my mouth, half a second from saying something motherly, something I doubted she wanted to hear, so I kept my thoughts to myself instead.

“Hey, baby,” I said gently, patting the spot beside me even though I knew she wouldn’t take it. “You okay?”

She mumbled something, then shook her head and asked, “Do you know where my swimsuit is?”

“Top drawer in the bathroom. It’s under your extra towels,” I answered, watching her closely.

She nodded, not meeting my eyes, and started to turn.

“Chrissy?”

She stopped in the doorway.

“Can I have a hug?” She didn’t move at first. Just stood there, still as stone. “I could really use one.”

She hesitated, then turned and crossed the room.

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight—tighter than I expected.

It felt like she was trying to hold onto something or maybe let it go.

I hugged her back as I whispered, “I love you, sweet girl. I love you so very much, and no matter what’s going on, I always will. ”

She didn’t say anything.

She just held me.

And that was enough, at least for the time being.

She held onto me for a second longer, then eased back and muttered, “I need to go take a shower.”

“Okay. I’ll go start dinner.” I stood and followed her toward the door as I asked, “Mini burgers sound okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds really good.”

She stopped and looked up at me, and once again, I saw those little wheels turning in her head.

My daughter was upset with me. Anyone could see that, but she loved me.

I could see it in those precious, little eyes and the way she hugged me.

Her father could say whatever he wanted, but nothing was going to change that.

I smiled as I told her, “Go grab your swimsuit.”

She nodded, then darted down the hall to her bathroom. Our little encounter wasn’t much, but we were making progress and that had me smiling as I made my way into the kitchen. I made dinner, and after we ate, we all watched a movie, and I finished grading papers.

In a blink, it was two days later, and the kids were packed up and ready for their weekend with their father. I gave them both a hug as I stood in the doorway, watching them pile into his truck.

Chrissy climbed into the backseat. She already had her headphones on and was pretending not to notice me watching her. Austin slid in next to her, barely glancing back, but he did manage a slight wave before closing the door.

And then there was him.

Brian.

He gave the truck a quick once over, making sure everything was intact, and then he turned and gave me that polite nod we’d both perfected over the years. Not angry. Not friendly. Just a simple nod.

I smiled and gave them all a little wave. Seconds later, the truck roared to life and backed out of the driveway. And just like that, they were gone.

I closed the door, went back into the kitchen, and started picking up shoes and snack wrappers like any other night. I did some laundry, a little schoolwork, and then the dishes. Anything to keep my mind from drifting toward that pit in my stomach that never seemed to go away.

By the time the clock hit nine, I was ready to start winding down. I poured myself a glass of wine and slipped into the bathroom. I ran a hot bath and soaked until my fingers started to prune, taking that as my sign that it was time for bed.

I got out, dried off, and put on my favorite pajamas. Curled up in bed, I piddled on my phone until I drifted off to sleep. The next morning, I woke up to a text from Laura.

Laura:

Remember- wear your slutty best tonight!

Me:

I remember. Are you going to tell me where we are going?

Laura:

Not a chance!

Me:

I didn’t think so.

Laura:

Don’t worry. I guarantee you a great night. See you in a few hours!

I didn’t bother pushing her for more of an answer. I knew she wasn’t going to give it, so I let it go and dove into my regular Saturday morning routine. I drank a cup of coffee, ran a couple of miles, and once I was back home, I made a bite of breakfast and spent a few hours working in the yard.

The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of my bathroom mirror with scissors in my hand.

I studied myself for a moment, and before I lost the courage, I gathered a few strands of hair and cut them.

It wasn’t much, just enough to give me some fringy bangs that framed my face, and they actually looked pretty good.

I felt like I was on a roll, so I painted my nails and took a shower.

I went to my closet and tried on dress after dress.

Skirt after skirt. I was about to give up when I landed on a cute little black number I hadn’t worn in years.

I slipped it on and checked myself out in the mirror.

I did a little spin and decided it was the best option.

I was feeling damn good about it, too. Right up until Laura showed up at my door in a tiny royal blue jumper that barely covered the essentials and enough shimmering jewelry to make my eyes flutter.

She was beautiful. It didn’t take much effort for her to turn heads, but tonight, she kicked it up a notch.

Men wouldn’t stand a chance with her around.

The second she got a good look at me, her smile faded, and she gasped, “Is this what you’re wearing?”

“Well, yeah. Is there…”

“No. No, no, no,” she said, cutting me off. “That is not nearly slutty enough.”

“Seriously?”

“Not even close.” She marched right past me and into my bedroom. She went straight to my closet as she told me, “We’re on the prowl, Devin. This is not the night for respectable and modest. This is the night for revenge cleavage. ”

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Seconds later, I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror wearing an oh-so tiny mini-skirt that I didn’t even know I owned with a fitted black top whose plunging neckline did, in fact, show lots of revenge cleavage. It wasn’t an outfit I would’ve ever chosen for myself, but it wasn’t bad.

In fact, I looked pretty good for a divorced mother of two. I still had no idea where we were going, but I was excited about getting there. Hopeful even. And that was something I hadn’t been in quite some time.