Page 5 of Roxy’s Independence (Mayhem Makers – MMM: Deviant Knights MC #3)
CHAPTER
FOUR
Roxy
Men can be over the top when it comes to their little girls and the opposite sex.
Egypt didn’t do anything wrong by simply holding a boy's hand as they introduced themselves. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to take a moment to step back, watch, and realize that’s exactly what it was—a quick hand shake and release.
I sent him away to find our son so that he didn’t make a more of a fool of himself than he already had.
“Mom,” Egypt cries, her face blazing red from humiliation.
“It’s going to be okay,” I promise her. I step toward the young man, ready to apologize for my husband's overreaction. “I’m sorry about how Weston treated you. He isn’t ready for his daughter to have boys as friends.”
“I have a lot of friends that are boys, Mom,” Egypt complains through a huffed breath.
The boy laughs as the shop owner comes over to us and smiles at me.
“I didn’t introduce myself earlier, I’m Emerson, and this is my son, Axel.
He’s a sculptor and I’m a painter. We each offer classes in our craft, which you’ll find in the brochure.
The camp we offer is in two parts, but you don’t have to sign up for both. ”
“Nice to meet you Emerson and Axel,” I say, extending my hand. “Again, I’m sorry for the way Weston acted.”
“It’s okay, I was an alpha male’s daughter too, so I understand a father’s devotion and protectiveness when it comes to his girl,” Emerson states, a humorous smirk crossing her face. “They can be overbearing and a bit embarrassing at times. Axel gets it, don’t you, kiddo?”
“Yeah,” he answers, a bit of laughter in his voice. “My pap is still like that with my mom. One time, he pulled out a measuring stick and checked the distance between her shorts and knees. It was funny.”
“It certainly was not,” Emerson scoffs. “We were on the way to the beach. What did it matter what I had over my bathing suit when I was going to be in something far skimpier than that once we got there.”
Egypt’s eyes grow as wide as saucers as she peers up at me. “Dad won’t do that, will he?”
I wave my hand back and forth in a so-so motion because the odds are, he most certainly will do something close to that when the time comes.
My money’s on something a bit more drastic than that, but I won’t bring that to light because our girl deserves to be a kid without worrying about teenage drama between a father and daughter for a while longer.
“He’s going to do it,” she surmises. “That’s just great.”
“It’s how you know they care,” I reckon.
“I’d have loved to have a dad that hovered over me and gave me a hard time.
” Emerson skeptically looks at me so I go on to explain, “I was in the system, my foster father couldn’t have cared less what I wore as long as I was there to do the housework and such. ”
“Well, I’d happily share my dad with you if you’re in the market,” Emerson says, snorting. “He was the same with all of my friends growing up as he was with me. They found it laughable. I however, did not.”
“I would think not,” I commiserate with her. From there, we make small talk and sign Egypt up for a timeslot. She’s only interested in the painting portion of the program so she’ll only come an hour per day for five days. As we leave, I feel as if I’ve made another lifelong friend.
As we make it back to the cabin, and unload the groceries, we put on our new suits and head toward the lake.
Weston and Canyon carted the grill and ice cooler with the sides and drinks down to the shore where we’ll grill dinner while the kids swim and we lounge.
I have a book to read while enjoying the sunshine.
Weston will most likely get in a little water time with the kiddos between flipping the meat and relaxing at my side.
He likes to give us all equal time and attention, but honestly, I’d like some time to myself and one of my favorite authors.
As the day progresses, I’m in a lulled state of bliss.
Watching my family brings a sense of comfort to my rough and beaten soul.
Once upon a time, I was abandoned at a bus station by the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally, but now, I have a plethora of friends and family who not only care about me, but want me.
It’s eased that void in my heart, and has filled it to the brim with hope and contentment.
When Weston and I separated, I never thought this could be my life.
I was focused on my education and making a name for myself in the pediatric and emergency medicine field.
The day he came after me was both the best and worst day of my life.
I dreaded being in close contact with him daily, and if it hadn’t been for Wrecker and Dragon, we would’ve lived the rest of our days as frenemies.
Not quite friends, but not necessarily enemies.
“Doing okay, Foxy?” Weston asks as he plops down on the folding chair beside mine.
“I’m great,” I answer, smiling at him. “How about you?”
“This should’ve been the life we always had, Foxy,” he muses, a small frown marring his face.
“We can’t change the past, husband. All we can do is make sure they have a better childhood than we did,” I express.
“I don’t know if I’d be as strong as they are after losing parents who loved me the way they did them,” he mutters, his tone low and full of aversion.
“I hate that this is the hand Fate thought was the right one for them. I’d rather had never met our son than have him go through this heartbreak. He’s still having a rough time, Foxy.”
“I know he is, biker man. Of course, he is, Egypt too. We can’t blame Fate, baby. She brought him back into our lives for a reason. Probably because we’re surrounded by those with gifts that can help him navigate his own.”
“You’re right, I know you are but I hate this, Foxy Roxy. I want to protect both of them from any hurt they’ve faced and will face in the future.”
“I applaud you for that, Weston, but it’s not realistic. All we can do as their parents is show them the right path and hope they follow that road. You’re a good dad, Weston. But we have to give them some berth and let them make mistakes and learn from them.”
He grumbles and grunts, but other than that, he doesn’t say anything in reaction to what I said. “The coals should be ready now, I’m gonna toss on the meat and corn, want anything while I’m up, baby?”
“Another water would be nice, thank you, West.”
He reaches over and kisses the top of my head as he walks to the cooler, grabs himself a beer and me a water.
“Heads up,” he calls out as he tosses my water through the air.
I have never been a great catcher so when the cold bottle connects with my nose, pain radiates through my head and every nerve in that section of my face explodes.
“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so damn sorry, Roxy. ”
Weston rushes over with a roll of paper towels and kneels between my legs. Canyon and Egypt wade through the waves of the lake and rush over to us, when they see me, Canyon rushes to the cooler and grabs one of the baggies we filled with ice and brings it to me.
This is not my idea of relaxing.
Once my bloody nose is under control, I dig in my beach bag and pull out some over-the-counter pain relievers and pop a few into my mouth and swallow them.
It wasn’t a hard hit necessarily, but enough to cause a vessel to pop.
I don’t bruise easily, so I doubt I’ll have a shiner from this, but I am expecting some tenderness.
I keep the ice pack on that appendage until dinner is ready for consumption.
Weston keeps sending me pitiful looks throughout our meal, but other than some slight soreness, I’m fine—which I tell him over and over.
When night falls, we hit the shower/changing rooms and get out of our wet clothes then start a bonfire where the plan is to roast marshmallows, catch up with the kids, and become one with nature.
These quiet evenings are when they talk to us the most. We hear about their life goals and any problems they’re going through.
Most of the time they figure it out for themselves, but they still like to hear our input.
When Canyon opens up and tells us about one of his friends and the horror he’s living with at home, we talk it out and try to lead him on the right way to handle it.
As a doctor, I feel it’s best to report this to the authorities, but Canyon worries that if his friend goes into the system, he won’t react well and will most likely become a statistic—a runaway.
So we come up with another game plan, one we can’t initiate until we get home.
I just hope that this boy and his older brother can handle things until we get our plan smoothed out.