Page 9

EIGHT

JADE

Me: Hey are you awake?

I stare at the text, hoping those gray little bubbles will appear, but two minutes go by, and I get nothing. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if Shotgun is awake and is just intentionally not answering me. By now he’s probably had enough of my bullshit, and I can’t say that I blame him. The last few days have been rough.

I don’t know if he really knew what he was signing up for when he offered—no, scratch that—when he demanded I accept his help, but I can guarantee he definitely got more than he bargained for. The last two nights I must’ve really been unbearable because he dipped out as soon as we got back from my nightly visits to the hospital, when usually he hangs around, helping me get the boys to bed before he leaves.

This morning before we took the kids to school, he asked if I could see Killian a little earlier than normal. It didn’t really matter what time I got there. He still wasn’t latching, and for the sake of my mental health, I gave up on trying. So now that I’m exclusively pumping, and bottle feeding, I don’t have to be there at a specific time to feed him. I just made sure to bring extra milk for the nurses.

I told him that was fine, and he asked if I minded if Bella stayed with the boys while we went to the hospital. I thought it was random that he asked, but I agreed. I liked Bella, and I trusted her. Plus, she’s a nurse, what more can you ask for in a babysitter?

Instead of waiting in the truck like he did when the boys were in tow, Shotgun came up to the NICU with me, and when I was done feeding him his bottle, I let him hold Killian for a little while. It was the first time since I was discharged that he did, and even though I caught him up to speed every night on the way home from the hospital, he seemed amazed by the progress Killian was making. The jaundice had cleared, but he was still on oxygen, although the doctors don’t anticipate he’ll be on it much longer. They seem more concerned about him gaining weight. Now that he’s taking the bottle, we’re hoping to see more of an improvement over the next few days. If that happens, he might be released by the end of the week.

After our visit, he dropped me off at the house. I thought it was odd he didn’t come in to see the boys or say goodbye to Bella, but I didn’t ask any questions, and I figure I did that more out of habit than anything else.

Bella stayed for a while, and having her company was nice. She didn’t ask me a million questions or treat me like a charity case. I realized I needed more friends in my life. For the longest time my social life revolved around Irish’s, and since most of the guys didn’t have ‘ol ladies, I was often the only woman. It didn’t really bother me, but I’m thinking it’d do me good to have at least one girlfriend.

Guido picked Bella up a little while later, and he let it slip that he was in a hurry to meet Shotgun and Biggie at Lipstick & Lace.

I didn’t start to dwell on that until after the kids went to bed.

At first I thought he probably had to handle club business, but as the night dragged on, I wondered if there was more to it. Maybe he finally got tired of playing house with me and found a girl to release all the tension I’ve been causing him. As quickly as thought entered my mind, it disappeared, though. Shotgun would cut his dick off before he ever put it anywhere near a stripper. Being neglected by his mother as a small boy, watching her pay attention to the men who paid her to fuck them, really did a number on him.

I specifically remember Irish telling me when the Kings first acquired Lipstick & Lace, Shotgun refused to go the club. That’s why Irish was there so much in the beginning. I also recall asking my husband how Shotgun ever got laid. I knew the club had some girls on rotation that often serviced the guys’ needs, but if Shotgun had such a problem with strippers, it didn’t make sense to me that he’d be willing to share women with his brothers. Irish laughed in my face.

“Shotgun gets more pussy than any of the Kings. He’s got half the neighborhood girls on speed dial. His dick ain’t hurtin’ for nothing.”

That shut me up, and I never asked another question about Shotgun’s personal life. Never even gave it a second thought.

Until tonight.

Now, I’m sitting here with a sick child lying across my lap, staring at my phone, wondering where he takes all these neighborhood girls, and what they look like. Does he prefer blondes or brunettes? Do they know he’s been at my beck and call for the last few weeks? Are they mad about it? It would sure as hell bother me.

“Mommy, I hot,” Raiden moans.

I set my phone down on the end table and press my hand to his forehead. He woke up two hours ago, complaining about his belly, and proceeded to throw up all over himself and me. I took his temperature and gave him some Tylenol, but it hasn’t helped break the fever. Hence why I texted Shotgun at three in the morning. Both Legend, and Raiden tend to spike high fevers, and the only thing that helps is rotating between the Tylenol and Motrin, and in case you haven’t figured it out yet—I’m all out of Motrin.

“I know baby. I’m going to get you another cold compress to put on your head,” I say, easing him off my lap so I can go into the kitchen to get another damp towel. But before I can even take a step my cellphone rings, and Shotgun’s number flashes across the screen.

I quickly accept it, pressing it to my ear.

“Hi, I’m sorry?—”

He cuts me off, his voice breathless as he barks, “Is everything okay?”

“Raiden doesn’t feel well. I think it’s a stomach bug or something because he threw up all over the place. But he has a fever, and I’m all out of Children’s Motrin.”

“Send me a picture of what to get, and I’ll go and get it. Might take me a half hour or so, I have to stop at the clubhouse first.”

“I can Instacart it if it’s too much trouble.” I should’ve done that in the first place, but I didn’t think of it until just now. I probably could’ve called Fuckface too. He graduated from sitting outside my house and ruining my lawn since I was released from the hospital, but I doubt it would’ve been an issue.

“You’re not Instacarting fucking Motrin,” he growls. “Just send me the picture. Do you or the kids need anything else?”

“No, I think we’re good.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

He disconnects the call, and I quickly Google a photo of the medicine, screenshotting the picture before I send it to him.

“Is Uncle Shotty coming?” Raiden asks, his little voice groggy as he rolls onto his side. I stare into his glassy eyes, and touch my hand gently to his rosy cheek.

“Yeah, sweetie, your Uncle Shotty is on his way.”

Shotgun: Open the door.

I scramble off the couch, careful not to wake Raiden, before I hurry toward the front door, and disarm the alarm. When I pull open the door, the motion detection lights shoot on, illuminating my front porch. Shotgun lifts the bag from the drugstore between us, and that’s when I notice his knuckles are all bloody and bruised. My gaze immediately tracks over the rest of him, inspecting him for any other injuries, but he’s pretty covered up, dressed in a black zip-up hoodie, and a pair of jeans. The only thing I notice is the splattering of blood on his bright white sneakers.

“Here,” he says, pushing the bag toward me. “Take it.”

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing, just take the bag. There’s some Ginger Ale in there too, in case he gets nauseous again.”

Instead of reaching for the bag, I take his free hand in mine, turning his hand over to inspect the bruising. It looks like he drove his fist through a brick wall. My eyes lift to his.

“This isn’t nothing.”

He quickly snatches his hand back. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to. Just take the fucking medicine. It’s been a long night, and I have to be back here in a few hours.”

I’m taken back by the first part of his answer. I never asked Irish questions, because answers weren’t an option. I knew from the jump he wouldn’t divulge anything to me. But Shotgun makes it seem like he’d give me answers if I pressed hard enough. I don’t know that I want to, though.

What I want is for him to come inside so I can clean his hands. The man has been taking care of me and my children for weeks, and I’ve been nothing but unappreciative and resentful. And he still shows up. It doesn’t matter what time I call him, or how inconvenient the task is. He drops whatever he’s doing. The least I can do is take care of him, the way he’s been taking care of us. I think he needs that. I think he’s gone his whole life without having anyone show up for him.

“Come in,” I demand. “Let me put ice on your knuckles.”

“No.” His nostrils flare and his jaw goes tight as he shoves the bag at me once again. “I’m fucking tired, Jade. Take the fucking bag and let me be. I’m not your problem.”

That fires me up, and I snap, “But I’m yours?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, buddy, but it works both ways.” I grab the bag with one hand, and his with the other, pulling him into the house. “Raiden fell asleep on the couch, so be quiet,” I whisper, closing the door behind him, then I motion him to follow me into the kitchen, but he just stands in the foyer.

“Jade.”

I toss the bag on the console table and spin around, planting my hands on my hips.

“Is this payback for me being difficult? If it is, you’ve made your point,” I hiss. “But I feel I should remind you, I’m hormonal and my husband is dead. I have an excuse, what’s yours?”

He jaw tics. “In case you didn’t notice there is blood on my shoes. Not looking to track it on your floors.”

“Then take them off, and I’ll throw them in the washing machine.” I drop my hands to my sides and give him a once over. “You got it anywhere else?”

Something flashes in his eyes, something I can’t quite detect. He lifts his bruised hands to the zipper on his hoodie, slowly dragging it down to reveal his white shirt is also stained with blood.

“I hope the other guy looks worse.”

He slicks his tongue over his teeth, his eyes flickering over my face. “The other guy is dead.”

“Then it looks like a job well done to me.” My eyes lock with his. If he’s trying to villainize himself to me, it won’t work. “Does this have to do with Irish?”

His eyes darken. “Does it matter?”

Of course it matters, but I think our reasons for it mattering are different. Shotgun needs revenge to be able to live with himself. I want it for my sons. Nothing will bring their dad back but knowing the men who took his life don’t get to live theirs, provides a sense of validation. Why should those men get to see their children grow up when Irish will never see his?

“It matters,” I whisper. “I just don’t want you to get so lost in revenge that you forget there are now three boys who have lost their dad, and they would be devastated if they lost their uncle too.”

“I won’t stop until everyone pays for what happened to him.”

I nod. I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. “Just make sure you always come back. Bloody shoes, bruised knuckles, and all.”

We’re counting on you.

Whether I like it or not.

“Are you going to wake him to give him the medicine?” Shotgun asks as I dump a handful of ice cubes in a Ziplock bag.

“He just fell asleep before you got here. I don’t want to disturb him.” I walk over to the kitchen island where he’s sitting. After he took off his shoes, and the t-shirt under his hoodie, I put them both in the washing machine. Now he only has the hoodie on, and it’s zipped halfway, revealing all the tattoos that trail from his neck and disappear to God knows where. “Can you place your hands flat on the counter? I’ll grab another bag of ice.”

“It’s fine, they don’t even hurt,” he grunts.

He takes the ice from me and presses it against one of his hands. I frown because that isn’t doing anything for the other hand. Without giving him a chance to argue with me, I go about my original plan and fill another Ziplock with ice.

“Jade, it’s late, you should get some rest. Is Legend still going to school in the morning?”

I take a seat next to him and press the ice pack to the top of the hand that’s holding the ice against the other one. “Eh, if we wake up on time. It’s not a crime if he misses a day, and I think we can all use a break from the grind.” I frown as I stare at his hand. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go up and see Killian, though. I have to call the NICU and see what they suggest since I was exposed to whatever bug Kaiden has.”

I lift my eyes to his. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“I’ve been horrible to you, and I keep telling myself I’m going to do better, but…I don’t know… I have all these conflicting emotions, and I don’t know what to do with them. It’s just easy to lash out on you, because you take it, and that’s not fair to you.” I hold his stare. “You have to stop letting me walk all over you.

“Jade—”

“I’m serious, Shotgun. You deserve better from me.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just stares at me for a beat too long before he looks away. “If you need someone to lash out on, I rather it be me than anyone else.”

“You’re a sadist.”

The corners of his mouth curve slightly. “Maybe.”

Neither of us say anything for a long while after that. The ice starts to melt and he takes the bag from me, walking both over to the sink. “I’m going to take off. If you decide to send Legend to school, just call me. I promise to keep my phone close by.”

“Your shoes aren’t dry. I didn’t even take them out of the washing machine yet.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “Well, fuck. We probably should’ve thought of that.”

My eyes shoot to the clock on the stove. It’s close to five in the morning. The man looks exhausted. He has dark circles under his eyes, and no fucking shoes. He shouldn’t have to drive all the way to the other side of Brooklyn, only to come back here in a couple of hours if Legend wakes for school.

It dawns on me that this all could’ve been avoided if I had just let him stay in the side apartment. It was a temporary fix that would’ve made both our lives easier, but because I’m a stubborn bitch, I shut him down and made life even more difficult than it had to be.

But maybe it’s not too late to fix that.

“If you still want to move into the apartment, you can,” I blurt. “Temporarily of course. Maybe just until I get clearance to drive again?”

I don’t want the kids to get used to him living here. They’re confused enough.

His eyes widen slightly as he stares at me. “I think you’ve lost your mind. It’s five o’clock in the morning, Jade. I ain’t moving shit.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t mean right now. I don’t even know what it looks like in there.” Irish is only gone a month, but it’s been at least three since anyone went in there. Occasionally, Irish would disappear in there to smoke a joint, but I can’t remember the last time he did that. “It definitely needs a good cleaning.” I pause, returning my gaze to him. “Sleep on it. For tonight you can stay on the couch in the den, and then tomorrow we can figure out the details if you want to. They’ll be rules of course.”

He leans against the sink, crossing one foot over the other as he folds his arms against his chest. “Rules, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Five in the morning, and she’s still laying down the law.” He shakes his head, a small smirk playing on tired face. “What kind of rules, Jade?”

I don’t know why I even said that since I can’t think of a single rule that would need to be enforced. Pulling my lower lip between my teeth, I try to conjure up at least one.

“I know you’re the VP now, and things come up, but you leave the club business at the door. This is my boys’ home, it’s their sanctuary. There needs to be separation. If you come home like you did tonight, there is a fire pit in the yard, and a slop sink in the basement. Get rid of any evidence before step foot inside the house.”

“What else?”

“Um… well, you’re here to help, not overrule. You can’t go against me when it comes to the boys. I have final say in all the decisions.”

“Not looking to overstep.”

“I know that, but the boys might try to take advantage of the situation, and if that happens, I need you to be on my side.”

“Always.”

“Dinner.”

His brows pinch together. “What about it?”

“Do you eat?” I’m aware that question sounds ridiculous, but every night before we go to the hospital, I make sure the boys are fed, and he has never once sat down and eaten a meal with us.

His lips quirk again, and something sinister flashes in his eyes.

“Don’t mock me, Shotgun.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not mocking you.” He licks his lips. “I eat, Jade.”

“Ok, well, you’re going to start eating dinner with us. It’s weird when you just stand by the door while we’re sitting at the table. I’m not a great cook, but no one goes hungry around here.”

“Anything else?”

Just one thing.

“No neighborhood girls in the house. I don’t need to explain to Legend why there’s a revolving door of women coming in and out of your place. You need to get laid, do it at the clubhouse.”

“Kind of you to worry about my cock, but I assure you, I don’t shit where I eat.”

My cheeks flush at his crassness. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak like that to me before. “Then we’re good.” I slide off the stool, ignoring the dull ache where my incision is healing. “I’ll go put your things in the dryer and get you a blanket.”

“Jade?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only temporary.”

My brows furrow at the reminder. “I know. I’m the one who said it first.”

“Right.”