Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel (37 page)

“Absolutely.”  Bishop directed his face to his son.  “Wait until whoever you pick wants you as much as you want her, dig?”

“A slow burn kind of deal?”  Which was the question that had been directed to the side window instead of the man driving.

Fuck! 

Those were Dory’s words.  Ones she’d used to tell him of how much their first time had meant.  When she’d told Bishop that he’d created a slow burn inside her, one she couldn’t deny, couldn’t repress.  Not until he’d made her first come on his fingers, then with his tongue until she’d finally, fucking
finally
, had given him access into her wet sweetness with the steel between his own legs that her innocent moves had created.

A memory that’d had Bishop wondering just who the fuck was dipping into her in that moment, in her weekend away.

“Yep,” he’d replied tersely in reply, his hands going to a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

But J.R. wasn’t a complete moron.  Wasn’t inept in catching on to another person’s emotions.  “Why do you seem so mad, Dad?”

“Hand hurts,” Bishop had replied.  “A good night’s sleep will do us both wonders, don’t cha think?”  At the kid’s nod, his father offered a soft, “Sleep sweet, little man.”

And it must’ve been the right words to say because, J.R.’s shoulder’s had straightened as he looked over his shoulder as he’d exited the car.  “Yeah, Dad.  You too.”

Remembering the night before though, didn’t help Bishop in trying to work out exactly how to handle Dory’s return.  In fact, it almost made it worse.  Because what he’d been trying to guide his kid towards, the acceptance that not every girl you wanted would want you back, more than fit for him and Dory.

He’d had her once.  Had her for the two years they’d dated and then the five they’d married but she’d still left.  And even though he finally understood why she’d done so, the fact still remained that she’d gone. 

Taking both herself and the zygote that had been his son with her.

And now she was coming home after having a fuck-fest with some weird-o, punk-faced, piece of motherfucking crap that she’d decided offered a better future than the one she’d known since she was fifteen?

Right.

Bishop threw back Dory’s thick-as-shit comforter before seating himself on the edge of the bed.

“Game on, then dick-wipe.  Bring it!  Let the motherfucking games begin.”

Chapter Twenty Nine

My house was empty when I got home even though I’d made a point of telling both J.R. and Stan when I thought I’d arrive.  And there hadn’t been any delays in either the flight from Casper or on the plowed road that wound from the airport to my place.  So I couldn’t understand the empty house.  But I wasn’t worried since Stan had more than shown he was a responsible parent in the couple of months we’d shared in the raising of our son.

I wheeled my suitcase inside and as soon as it was on my bed, I began emptying it, separating the clothes into piles of those to be washed versus those I hadn’t worn.  And just as I was stowing my footwear in the recesses of the closet, I heard a voice.

“Did you have fun?”  I glanced up and couldn’t help my smile at the sight of Stan leaning in the doorway of my bedroom.  Looking, as ever, gorgeous.  But he didn’t seem to be as happy to see me as I was him.

“It was okay, I guess.  Where’s J.R.?”

“He went to Randy Wilkins place while I was at Hellion church.  The parents asked if J.R. wanted to go with them for pizza.  Think they’re doing the arcade afterward.”  I saw Stan straighten up to his full height as I scooped up my lingerie that needed laundering.  “Just as well because we gotta fucking talk.”

There was something in his tone that had me dragging my eyes to his and caused my heart to trip at the serious, almost angry look on his face.  “Talk?  Did something happen I need to know about?”  My gaze fell to the gauze that was wrapped around his palm.  “What happened to your hand?”

“Where the fuck were you, Dory?”

I stopped dead in my tracks, clutching the pile of lacy material closer to my chest as I tried to work out what was going on.  At why he seemed so upset.

 I’d checked in with J.R. on Saturday afternoon but it had been a brief call.  More of a ‘I’m alive but busy’ on both sides.  But it was obvious by Stan’s lowered brows that all had not gone well in the time I’d been away. 

“What happened?” I asked again.  And again got a scowl that was quickly edging into the ‘glower’ category.

“I asked you where the fuck you were, babe.”

Stalemate.  Neither one of us answering the questions of the other.  Something Stan and I had almost perfected when we’d been married, both of us too stubborn to let things go.  “I was out.  Now I’m back, okay?” 

I stepped closer, intent on brushing by him so I could get to the laundry room but he didn’t move, not even shifting to the side to let me by.  Just stood there filling the doorway as he glared at me.  “I need to start laundry, Stan,” I explained as if he couldn’t surmise my next move.

“Did he fuck you good?”

What. The. Hell? 

Everything within me went still at his question that rang in my ears but which made absolutely no sense to me in the least.  “What?”

He unfurled his arms from his chest, dropping them to his sides.  “I asked if he fucked you good.”

“I heard what you said,” I whispered, or at least I thought I did although it was hard to tell over the booming in my ears.  “I just can’t believe you’d ask me that.”

He didn’t answer with words but just stood there, scorching me with his eyes.

Then it hit me.

Stan thought I’d gone away for the weekend to have sex!

I hadn’t realized that my lips had opened in shock until I closed them, my mouth shutting so fast that my teeth clicked as they came together.

“What?  You think I didn’t work it out, didn’t fucking realize you ran off to play hide-the-salami this weekend?”  His face twisted into a sneer as he leaned towards me.  “Well, I damn well
did
, babe.”

I felt the heat hit my face about the same time I got pissed.  Who the hell did he think he was to accuse me when, according to the gum-chewing Carmi, he was tag-teaming both me as well as one of the young, dumb Honeys?  And the thought that he was throwing around accusations when he was the one at fault moved me straight from pissed into indignant rage in about zero point two five seconds!

 “How freaking
dare
you!” I screeched, pushing myself up onto my tiptoes and getting right up in his face.  “How dare you point the finger at
me
when
you’ve
been playing around all along!”

To his credit, he had the grace to look confused although I wasn’t sure if it was because I was dishing out my own brand of shit or that he was suddenly made aware that I knew he was screwing around with someone else.  “Yeah.  I heard about you and…”  My brain raced to try and remember the name Carmi had provided.  Had she said Lizzie or Missy? I couldn’t remember.  “…that Honey at the clubhouse.”

His face went completely blank and Stan took a step back.

“And by the way?  I too have noticed that
you’ve
taken off a couple weekends when it’s my turn with J.R.”  My chest was heaving, my voice in the higher registers and very, very loud.  “So don’t you go blaming
me
when you’re the one that can’t keep his dick to himself!”

I pushed my way past him and stormed down the hall.

“
Who told you that
?” He bellowed from behind me but I didn’t stop.  “Dory?  Don’t you walk away from me…”

I threw up a hand, shooting him the bird over my shoulder before going to the bi-folded doors in the kitchen that held the washer and dryer.

“You better get your ass right the fuck back here, Dore!”

I shoved my pile of lingerie into the machine, changed the settings and added the detergent.  In other words, I completely ignored him.

Which I knew would piss Stan off even more, but right then I didn’t give a shit!

Just as I was turning around, getting ready to spew another zinger, something along the lines of him being a two-timing rat bastard, the doorbell rang. 

Both our heads swung towards the front door even though neither one of us could actually see it from where we were standing.

“You expecting someone?” he asked slowly.

“No, you?” I replied back just as deliberately and wondered how come we were both almost whispering.

We moved almost as one as Stan and I went to the front foyer.

There was a deputy sheriff standing just on the other side of the storm door, one who began speaking as soon as I opened it.  “Is this the home of Stanley Robert Bastian, Junior?”

“Y-yes,” I answered, struggling to come up with a reason why I had a cop on my porch on a Sunday afternoon asking about my son. 

“Is there a problem?” Stan asked from over my shoulder.

It was then I noticed how uncomfortable the officer was, how he couldn’t seem to keep his hands still, nervously flitting them from his belt to his jacket.  “There’s been an accident.  We need you down at St. Pat’s.”

“He’s in the hospital?” I’d taken a step back without even realizing it until I felt Stan’s arm tighten around my waist.

“Yes ma’am.  And we need you there as soon as possible.”

I turned to look at Stan but he was already on the move, handing me my jacket and purse.  “We’ll take the truck.”

“My car is closer,” I replied, stuffing my feet into boots I kept near the front door.

“Fine, but I’m driving!” 

I didn’t have it in me to argue. 

I just handed Stan my keys.

*.*.*.*.*

Neither one of them said a word on the way to the hospital, each lost in their own thoughts, their own worries.  When they were halfway there, Bishop heard Dory’s breath hitch and glanced over to see her face streaming with tears. 

He snagged her closest hand, bringing it to the console so he could grip it with his own.  “Don’t lose hope yet, mama,” he murmured.

She shook her head and wiped her face with her coat sleeve, a move he’d just seen J.R. do Friday night.  A gesture so heartbreakingly similar that he held his breath and offered up another prayer for the safety of his son.

The E.R. was in chaos when they arrived, overflowing with people, some who were waiting to be seen to receive treatment.  He noticed a lot of them were kids younger than J.R. and he wondered what was going on.  And if it had anything to do with his boy.

It seemed to take forever for the line to move, for Bishop and Dory to get to the receptionist.  They turned over their ID’s and the insurance card and were each given a badge in return.  “You need to go to the third floor.”

Bishop’s heart dropped to his knees.  The third floor was where ICU was located as well as the operating suites.  What the fuck was going on?  But he kept his thoughts to himself and used a hand to guide Dory to the bank of elevators.

Things were a lot quieter upstairs.  Almost too quiet after the pandemonium of the ER.

“We were told to come up here.  I’m Stanley Bastian’s mother,” Dory told the pretty Filipino nurse behind the desk.  Bishop didn’t like how the tiny girl stood and came towards them, thinking that things were far from good if she couldn’t deliver information from a seated position.

“You son was in a car accident and is just now going into surgery,” the woman said softly.  “There’s a room at the end of the hall where you can wait.  The doctor will be in to talk to you just as soon as we know more.”

“Surgery?” Dory whispered, her hand going to her throat as her eyes turned to Bishop’s.

“Do you know why?” He asked but his voice sounded strained, so rough with all the other questions running through him.  “Where’s he hurt?  When can we see him?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a lot of information.”  And the nurse seemed genuine.  “Things are a little tumultuous at the moment.  From what I can gather, a church bus hit a patch of black ice and took out three cars before it flipped over.  Your son was in one of those cars.”

He and Dory stared at each other before she turned back to the nurse.  “Do you know how long he’ll be in surgery?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”  The nurse’s sympathy ate along Bishop’s nerve-endings.

“Let’s go to the waiting room, Dory,” he suggested, using his fingers on the small of her back, over her coat in order to lead her away.  “I’m sure they’ll let us know something soon.”

Just as they were clearing the doorway to a small room filled with chairs, he heard footsteps behind him, ones that were moving fast.  Very fast.  “Bishop?”

He turned to see Stella aiming his way.  “Is Dory with you?”

At the sound of her name, Dory turned around just as Stella slowed before stopping in from of them.  “Okay, here’s what I know,” Trey’s aunt began.  “The car J.R. was in was t-boned by a bus that couldn’t stop.  Your boy was brought in with a broken wrist, two broken ribs and a hairline fracture of his right leg.  He also obtained some lacerations on his scalp and deep bruises that we think were the result of the seatbelt.  Our biggest concern though is about his wrist.  He’s in surgery so they can pin the bones in place.  I don’t want to scare you but it’s a tricky procedure and may take a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?”  Bishop was surprised he was able to speak since he could barely think after hearing the litany of his boy’s injuries.

“It’s gonna be three, maybe four hours at best,” Stella answered, her big brown eyes moving between him and Dory.  “Then he’ll be in recovery for a good hour after that.  But I’ll keep you posted.  Just wanted to give you a head’s up with what I know.”

“Thanks, Stell.”  Bishop moved his arm, tucking Dory hard into his side as he again led her into the small waiting area.  “Oh, wait!  What about the other people in the car, the Wilkins?”

“The dad and the other boy only received minor injuries.”  Her voice dropped and she took a step forward.  “The mom didn’t make it, though.  Was pronounced DOA.”

“Oh my god,” Dory breathed and she leaned into Bishop’s body as if her legs couldn’t hold her body weight.    He helped his ex-wife into a chair before seating himself, his mind working out the logistics of what Stella had said.