CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SHORT
I’m just sliding into my cut, ready to head to the clubhouse with Trip, when my phone rings. I glance at the caller displayed on the screen and quickly answer.
“Prez?”
“Get your ass here.” His tone tells me it’s urgent.
“Sure, Prez. Trip and I were just leaving.”
“Fuck, Short. You can’t bring the boy here.”
“What the fuck, Prez? He was fine yesterday.”
Bullseye gives a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah, but yesterday Doc wasn’t here.”
“Shit!” I exclaim, scratching my head as I realise being a parent comes with its own problems. “Prez, Bron’s at work and I can’t leave Trip alone.”
“Fuck!” He goes quiet, then asks, “He do okay with Trixie?”
Pinching my nose, I think fast. “Yeah, he got on with everyone, to be honest.”
“Well, I’ll send Trixie and Heathen out to your place. You be ready to jump on your bike the moment they get there.”
“Sure thing, Prez.” My head’s suddenly filled with everything that happened last night, how careful I had to be with Bronwyn because of what the bastard of her father had done to her. And how the therapist had told her part of Trip’s problems had come from the cruelty Doc and his bitch of a wife had shown him. “Prez, I warn you, Doc’s on my shit list right now. I’m not sure I can be trusted in the same room as him.”
“Button that shit down tight, Brother. Doc’s time is coming, I fuckin’ assure you.” With that warning, he ends the call.
It’s then that I notice Trip’s standing by the door, his toys still in his arms.Oh fuck. Now I’ve got to stand up as the parent and disappoint him.How the fuck do I do that?
Walking toward him, I take the box of cars from him. “Change of plans,” I start. “Trixie and Heathen are coming here to play with you. You can show them all your new toys. That sound good?”
Of course, I can’t read his expression. He’s as impassive as ever. Then he tries out his newfound skill, points to his toys, and then to the door.
“No, Trip. We can’t go to the clubhouse today.”
Oh fuck! He launches himself toward me, his fists flail, and his legs kick out. Damn, he nearly got me right in the balls. Deploying my defensive skills and using the fact that my arms are far longer than his, I hold him as far away from me as I can. Somehow, I know trying to reason with him isn’t going to work.
He tries to get free. If I hadn’t got a hold of him, his arms would be whirling like windmills. His legs almost comically make him look like he’s running on the spot as he tries to make contact with me. Damn if I’m going to do something like Doc and his wife did, however tempting the idea. Locking him in his bedroom isn’t going to help.
Last time I held him tight. Right now, I don’t know if that will work. It’s obvious Trip has lost it and doesn’t know what he’sdoing. He’s acting on instinct, so I act on mine as well. Pulling him off balance to tug him to me, and sinking to the ground, I wrap my arms around his body, and curl my legs around his.
Damn it, he’s strong for an eight-year-old boy, and it hits me. We’ve got to get a handle on these meltdowns before he gets much older, else he’ll be a danger to himself and everyone else. Right now, all I can do is wait him out.
Wondering whether a distraction might help, I take a good grasp of both his arms in one of my meaty paws, and somehow manage to get my phone into my free hand. I manage to shoot a quick text to Heathen before he can get loose.
I start a rocking motion, back and forth, for what seems like a million times. His efforts to break free of my restraint tire both of us out. But after what seems like a lifetime, he starts to relax. I continue swaying with him, and at last dare to loosen my hold.
When a knock comes at the door, which I’d left unlocked after Bronwyn had gone out, thinking we’d soon be following her, I call out softly, “Come on in.”
When it opens, Trixie and Heathen step inside. Both stop short when they see me sitting on the floor, holding Trip in my arms.
Speaking softly, I explain myself. “He had a meltdown when I told him he couldn’t go to the clubhouse.”
Trixie falls to her knees beside us. Worried he might start up again, I motion her to move back and give us space. I don’t want him to hurt her.
“Got this,” Heathen says. He holds up a box of building bricks with a picture of a motorcycle on the front.
