“Well, he won’t,” I stated. “I’m going to the clubhouse to see my brother. I need to stop giving headspace to immature manbabies and start concentrating on being a boss bitch and kicking ass.” I transferred my perfume into my tote bag. “What are you up to today?”
He winced slightly. “I’m going to Maureen’s for a Sunday roast.”
I froze
“I suspect Donovan will be there,” Tristan went on. “He doesn’t often pass up his mam’s Yorkshire puddings.”
My eyes darted to Tristan’s. “He asked me and the kids to go with him next weekend. I guess that’s canceled now.”
“You should go if you get the chance,” Tris argued gently. “Maureen’s a great cook.” He put his phone down on the countertop and studied me. “Donovan may have a good explanation for what happened.”
I ignored the pang of regret that shot through my belly. “Maybe, but he could have called.”
“I know,” Tristan agreed. “And I get it, but hear him out, Rosie.”
“That may be difficult.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Fool me once, shame on you. That’s where it stops because no fucker’s gonna fool me twice. That’s why I blocked his number.”
“Ro—” Tristan began, but I held up my hand to cut him off.
“I took off my rose-colored glasses a long time ago, honey. I always saw people for who I wanted them to be instead of who they really were. It was the reason I married a man-ho and why I’ve since repeated the same pattern over and over. I don’t hate Donovan, and I’m not gonna hold onto anger because the only person that’ll hurt is me. I like Donovan, but when the red flags wave at me, I have to take notice.”
He gave me a tight smile. “I get it.”
“I know you do,” I whispered. “I’ve accepted that Donovan’s not what I need, and I’m too old and far too jaded to tolerate bullshit. I’d rather be on my own.”
“You won’t be on your own forever,” Tristan muttered, his gaze sweeping down my outfit. A rueful smile spread across his mouth, and he shook his head. “If I were straight, I’d snap you up.”
“If you were straight, some lucky girl would have marched you down the aisle years ago, honey. Cruise must be crazy to let you go.”
Tristan gave me amehface. “Cruisie likes boys and girls; I knew it from day one, and he never lied to me. I can’t be everything he needs simply because I haven’t got a vajayjay, so it’s better to accept that fact and let it go. He’ll meet his and I’ll meet mine, but it won’t be each other.”
I took his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
He laced our fingers together. “Don’t be. A wise lady once told me that she was too old and too jaded to tolerate bullshit, and I kinda get where she’s coming from.”
—————
An hour later,I drove into the Speed Demons’ parking lot and was met with total bedlam.
I stared through the windshield, open-mouthed as I studied the burned-out car butted up to the caved-in structure of one of the small outhouses the club used for storage. My brother Dan, John Stone, Bowie, and Reno surrounded the smoking vehicle, using hand-held fire extinguishers to put out the remnants of the fire.
After parking my car, I threw the door open, got out, and strutted toward the crowd of people while slipping my sunglasses over my eyes. It was a warm morning, but most of the blistering heat on my skin came directly from the charred remains of the burning vehicle.
Cara was up in Cash’s face, screaming at him. She gripped Wilder’s shoulders so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. A wall of ol’ ladies stood behind her with their hips popped and their arms folded across their chests.
Wilder was looking up at his mom sheepishly while she screeched, “It’s not funny!”
“No, it’s not,” Cash agreed. “It’s fuckin’ hilarious.”
“He could have killed himself!” she shrieked.
Cash glanced up at the heavens, then lowered his stare and nodded down to his son. “That kid won’t ever die. He’ll blow up every fucker around him, but he’ll end up living until he’s a hundred and three.” He swept a hand around the room. “I think we all know that Wilder Stone’s got nine lives. Actually, correction, the little shit’s probably got ninety goddamned lives.”
“He’s right,” Atlas called from the burning car. “You know that scene inMan on Firewhen John Creasy plants the bomb up Victor Fuentez’s ass, then it detonates, taking Fuentez and the entire fuckin’ car with it? Creasy just casually strolls away surrounded by flames, right? Well, that’ll be Wilder one day. He’ll plant C4 up the bad guys’ asses using a goddamned suppository ‘cause he’s a fucking lunatic, then when it goeskaboom, he’ll walk away, unharmed, not a bead of sweat on his crazy-assed face.”
Cara’s hands went from Wilder’s shoulders to cover his ears. “Don’t give him ideas,” she yelled. “Jesus, like I haven’t got enough to cope with.”
Snickers sounded from the direction of the doors where a crowd of brothers had gathered to watch the show.
