Daydream (Oath Keepers MC) Read online

  “You can sleep on the couch. We don’t have a spare room.”

  “Him will fit in yowr bed, Momma.”

  She swallows roughly and shoots an uneasy smile at me. “We’ll figure it out, Mav; don’t worry.” Her gaze meets mine. “Have you eaten?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well then, guess we can start there,” she replies, and I’m not sure it’s for me or her. I think she’s reassuring herself.

  “You don’t have a gig this weekend?”

  “Nope, bar’s got another band visiting.”

  “I’ll get some food started.”

  The day flies by hanging out with the kid, and it’s not until the next night that I’m really drawn to Bethany.

  Turning over on the uncomfortable couch, I steady my breathing to listen.

  “No!” B grounds out, and the sound carries out my way from her room. The living room is in the middle, separating hers and Maverick’s rooms. I doubt he can hear his mom, but I definitely can.

  On alert, I grab the blade from my pants that I’d discarded beside the couch earlier and quietly creep toward her hall. Her door’s cracked open, in case our son needs her in the middle of the night. I use it to my advantage, following the wall so I can be hidden by the partially-closed door.

  “No, please?” she groans, sorrow and fear coating her voice.

  She sounds as if she’s being tortured, and no amount of anger I had from her secrets can keep me from wanting to protect her, to save her from whoever’s hurting her in there. It’s in this moment that I realize that no matter how much her deceit hurt me, I’d die for her if I had to. She’s my son’s mother, and he needs her more than anyone else on this planet.

  Leaning toward her door, the floor creaks, and I instantly flatten myself against the wall, holding my breath. I want to have the drop on whoever's in there, not the other way around.

  There’s silence for a few moments and then a soft cry. It’s the last straw. I jump through the opening, in a fighter stance, ready to stab to death whomever I need to, so I can save Bethany.

  The room’s empty; her window’s even closed and locked securely. It’s just her, tossing and turning while grumbling. She’s dreaming, but whatever it is, it’s making her scared or hurt.

  I could walk away right now, go back to sleep on the couch and pretend like this never even happened. I don’t need to worry myself over her comfort, and I shouldn’t want to after what she pulled. But I do.

  Her being upset makes it hard for me to breathe for some reason. It’s confusing and infuriating. I’m a criminal, an outlaw; I don’t care about shit if it doesn’t concern me or my club.

  Yet, she concerns me. She digs at my heart that I once believed didn’t exist, and that’s answer enough. I need to comfort her. I don’t have to fuck her or have a relationship with her, but, in this moment, I can at least make sure she’s okay. There were so many dreams and so many times I’d wished someone would’ve done the same for me.

  Standing beside her bed, I watch her a few moments more until she calls out loudly, scrunching her face up. In pain or in sadness, I wonder? Who knows, but something is definitely not right in her head tonight.

  I can’t help but think it’s me in there, terrorizing her. She’s acted pretty scared and nervous since I’ve arrived, but, honestly, I’ve relished it. I’ve taken each little terrified look she’s sent at some of my remarks and have added them inside, collecting bits and pieces, letting them offer me what small comfort they can.

  Revenge…I love getting payback when it’s due to me, but how do you take out your hurt and anger on the mother of your child? I kill her for the shit she pulled, and, then suddenly, I’m the bad guy in the equation. I refuse to be the villain in my son’s eyes. I may not be some real hero out there, but to him, I will do everything in my power to look like I should be one.

  I could shake her, rouse her enough to pull her free, but I don’t. I’m stupid, I want to feel her against me, and this is offering me the perfect excuse to do just that. Pulling the puffy comforter away from the pillows, I climb into the bed next to her.

  One hand on her shoulder, I place my other palm to her face. She whimpers and the sound’s beautiful. I’d love to have her whimpering underneath me, but in pain and pleasure combined.

  “Bethany.” It comes out in a bit of a grumble. I’m still tired and watching her half-naked has me flexing and hard.

  She doesn’t wake, so I stroke over the side of her face, calling her again. “Little Daydream…wake up, baby.”

  “Night?” Her eyes crack open, dazed and confused. I’m sure she’s wondering what I’m doing in her bed and touching her as well.

  “I’m here, you’re safe.”

  Tears well up, her pouty lip trembling, and then she’s in my arms. Her own wrapped around my neck, head against my chest as sobs wrack her body.

  “Shh, shh, you’re okay. I got you, baby, don’t worry.”

  “Oh God,” she whispers, still crying.

  “Was it really that bad? What happened?”

  “I-I don’t want to talk about it. If I talk about it, it becomes worse, because then it’s real.”

  “Fine. Just tell me…was it me making you like this?”

  “You? No-no-no…it was…it was my father,” she admits, her warm breath fanning over my pecs. A few shuddering breaths and her tears begin to dry up.

  I lie back, pulling her on me until I can wrap my arms around her securely. We l like that, chest to chest for what feels like hours. Truth is, I have no idea how much time passes; eventually, we both drift off to sleep.

  It’s in the early morning when she’s sleeping soundly that I crawl free from her touch, wrapping the blankets around her cozily. That was close enough for now. I have to keep reminding myself that I hate her for what she did, that we could never be.

  I would never be able to trust her to even give her a chance.

  However, I can’t help but wonder why it was her that got pregnant with my child. I’d lied to her about being careful. I wasn’t; in fact, I was careless. No woman ever got pregnant no matter how many times I fucked them…and then there was her.

  I wake to a cold bed and groggy thoughts of Nightmare holding me all night long. Part of me believes that last night never happened, but I know it did. My bed still smells like him.

  Rolling over in his spot, I deeply breathe in his scent. It’s been a very long time since a man was in my bed in any form, and smelling him has my body wound tight, senses in overdrive.

  My hand crawls over my stomach, fingers almost going into my panties when I get a wake-up call.

  “Momma?”

  “Hmmm,” I groan, rolling over to my back.

  “Cereal’s wready”

  Shit. That means there’s a mess from hell in my kitchen and probably no milk left. I thought we talked about him fixing his own breakfast; it never works out for either one of us.

  “’Kay, I’ll be right there.”

  Clumsily, I head for the bathroom, taking care of business and washing my face with cold water, so I’m awake enough to mop up the milk that I know is coating my kitchen floor. At least it wasn’t eggs this time; cleaning those up suck.

  When I round the corner, I’m met with essentially two Nightmares—one big version and one mini version. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, both staring into the living room at cartoons while they eat cereal. Surprisingly, there’s no mess either.

  “Hey,” I mumble, heading for the coffee machine. It’s a fresh pot. Neither of them glance in my direction, zoned out on Transformers. I pour myself a cup, adding in a splash of cream and two scoopfuls of sugar.

  Throwing away the empty sugar container, I come across what looks like an entire roll of wet paper towels in the trash as well. My gaze lands on Nightmare.

  “Did Maverick make breakfast?” I ask, curiously, and Nightmare finally glances over at me and nods.

  “Yep. I woke up when he yelled, ‘Oh shit.’ Turns out the milk was a
little heavy for him.”

  And being a typical man, he used every paper towel in sight to clean it up versus just grabbing the mop. But one thing stands out; he got up, helped Mav, and then cleaned up the mess. He actually cleaned it up and let me sleep.

  Checking the clock, it reads nine a.m., and it makes me giggle.

  “You all right?” His eyebrow tips up, concerned with my weird behavior. He doesn’t understand the only time I ever get to sleep in is when Princess visits every few months, and I rarely do it then too. I could jump up and down and cheer right now.

  “Fine.” Grinning, I bring my cup of coffee with me and sit in the chair between them. I have cartoons to watch with my son and my baby daddy. Never in a million years, did I imagine I’d ever be able to say that.

  She dreams more often

  than she sleeps.

  - Jonny OX

  “When wiw he be back?”

  “We’ve been over this Mav; he had to go home to where he lives so he could work.” He, meaning Nightmare. We’ve been over this daily since Nightmare left.

  “But when wiw he be back?”

  “Soon.”

  “Soon,” he grumbles, copying me as his gaze turns out the window to watch the scenery as we drive. It’s weird, but I miss him, too. Sure, there were many nights I thought of him over the years, but this past weekend went well—really well.

  He was a dick to me Friday when he first arrived, but then I cooked him dinner. The next night he held me when he didn’t have to. It was nice and different. It felt like we were a family, and that’s the scary thing, because I loved it, and I know I can’t have it. He may have offered me comfort, but he still hates me.

  We get back to the apartment, and I give Princess a call. She’s another one pissed at me. She has every right to be; it still sucks, though.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, you still mad at me?”

  “I told you, I’m not mad. I’m disappointed; it’s different. I wish you would’ve told me from the beginning. It almost feels like you didn’t trust me enough to have your back.”

  “Of course, I trust you. You have to look at it from my point of view, too, though. I had just found out I was pregnant. I was tripping, freaking out over my life changing, and Nightmare’s words hurt me. Of course, I took him at face value; I didn’t know him well enough not to.”

  “And you do now?”

  “Hell no. I wish I could change how I went about things, but if I’m honest with myself, I would probably do the exact same thing again. I didn’t have options when Maverick’s existence surfaced. I had to bite the bullet, grow the fuck up and take care of the both of us, so that’s exactly what I did.”

  She sighs. “I know. It’s just…now Viking thinks I kept this from him and is questioning me on what else I’ve kept from him. You need to start coming down here and being around the club.”

  “Why would I do that? Those guys despise me for keeping Maverick away from Nightmare. I’m the bad guy, remember?”

  “They only see it from his side of view; they don’t know you or your story like I do. Start coming around so they can see for themselves you’re not trying to keep him away any longer. Trust me, you’ll want them on your side. It may suck for a little while, because, I’ll be real with you, they most likely will be jerks. Not to Mav, but to you. Once you choke through it, they’ll have your back. Most of all, they’ll have Maverick’s, and I know how important family is to you, B.”

  “I don’t care if they support me in any way, but you’re right about one thing. I do want my son around family, and I know the club is loyal to their own. I don’t necessarily want Maverick growing up to be a biker, but I do want him surrounded by people who’ll have his best interest at heart.”

  “That’s us.”

  “I know, Prissy; I know. Nightmare was coming back up here this weekend, but maybe I’ll see if I can take it off and go there instead. He saved me a lot of money being here last weekend to hang out with Mav while I worked.”

  “See, Nightmare being in your life could be good in multiple ways.”

  “I know, I keep reminding myself of the benefits. It’s still hard to be around him, and even more so, now that he hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you, Bethany.”

  “Oh no, believe me, he does. He sat right across from me at a table and told me he’d like to peel my skin from my flesh. Pretty sure that equals hate.”

  She chuckles, and I huff.

  “He has it so bad for you.”

  “Yeah, like the man may kill me in my sleep one night.”

  “No as in he was all over you to get in your pants again, and now he’s threatening you with bodily harm. He knows you’re the mother of his child. He fucking wants you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not going to make any bets or hold my breath on it.”

  “Oh yeah, what was that bet you made me when this whole thing started? Oh no, it wasn’t a bet…but I remember your words.” She laughs, then in a snooty tone, pretends to mock me. “’Fine, but I’m not fucking any of them’.” She bursts out laughing like a hyena. “So busted. We have DNA proof you’re full of shit.”

  “You’re such a bitch, Prissy.”

  She laughs again, at my expense, and I laugh, too. I’m just happy the guilt trip for not telling her about Night is letting up.

  “I am, but you still love me.”

  “Ugh, God knows why, but I do.”

  “Good. I love you, too. Now let me know if you can come this weekend. I’m sure Nightmare will have you staying at his house; but if not, you can stay at mine.”

  “There’s no way I’m staying with him. I want to keep my skin, thank you.”

  “You’ll have to fight with him about that, but anyway, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay, byeeeeee.”

  “Bye.” I hang up, rolling my eyes. I am happy that we ended the call on a good note, though. It’s hard when your best friend is upset with you.

  It’s also time I start planning Maverick’s birthday party. Usually Princess would come to visit, and I’d make a cake for him, but I have a feeling Nightmare will want to be involved this time around.

  Each day that passes, I continue with the daily texts. I always send a new picture of Maverick and let Nightmare know of anything significant. Usually, it’s just a small message from Mav. Today’s was: Maverick wants to know if you like meatballs and with sauce or no sauce?

  Random, I know, but I’m hoping it makes Nightmare feel a little closer to his son. Maverick thinks it’s neat, too, and has started helping me pick out which picture to send. Nightmare could think it’s stupid for all I know, but, as a parent, pictures mean something.

  At least they do to me. It’s like little perfect moments frozen in time that you can look back on and remember. I could be having a rough day and look at Mav surrounded in bubbles, and no matter how blue I am, it makes me smile. I’m crossing my fingers that they do the same when I send Nightmare his daily text from us.

  My phone beeps.

  Nightmare: Yes and yes. Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow and I’m teaching him to play my drum set. Be safe driving.

  Me: I will.

  He argued with me about us staying with Princess. I knew he would, but I still had to try. It’s awkward enough, but at least staying with Princess would provide some sort of barrier.

  I’m going to pick up groceries before we leave so I can cook dinner tomorrow night. I think it’ll be a good way to break the ice. I think when it boils down to it, it’s the small things that really matter. Dinner may seem like nothing to some, but Nightmare and Maverick haven’t gotten the chance to sit down at dinner together. Last weekend was the first time, and while I can’t make up for everything Night has missed, this is one small thing I can give them both.

  All of this is new, and I’m lost. I’m not used to worrying about sharing my son with anyone. The thought was always in the back of my mind that one day it could happen. That’
s not true; the actual thought was that there was a chance of Nightmare showing up and taking my son from me completely if he were to find out the truth.

  So, this visiting or whatever it is we’re doing, I’ll gladly do my part, because, in my heart, I know it could be so much worse. He could want nothing to do with our son ever, or he could take him away from me completely. Nightmare has the means to just disappear if he wanted too. He’s an outlaw, and those types of men do what they want and know how to do it without getting caught.

  With a sigh, I down the large glass of wine and pray that I’m able to sleep tonight. I’ll definitely need my wits about me tomorrow. Who knows what kind of mood my baby daddy will be in. Not only that, but I have to face his brothers, and some of them are as ruthless as he’s known to be. Fingers crossed I make it home in one piece.

  Having them in my space is strange; not bad, just different. Not like I’m here much anyhow. I’m usually at the club or gone doing something—a run, a gig, whatever.

  Maverick’s discovered my drums and thinks they’re pretty bitchin’. Those are my words, not his. His were more along the lines of “Ummm…wow.” Bitchin’ sounds better in my mind. His mom would have my ass if I taught him that word, though, so we’ll save it for when he’s older.

  I’m not going to lie to myself either. Having Bethany floating around in the kitchen, cooking dinner, is pretty fucking nice. I haven’t brought anyone here except for a few brothers. Club whores are meant to be kept at the club, not brought home.

  I don’t touch any of them anyhow. I haven’t been abstinent by any means, but I hit it out of town. Bethany or my son will never have to worry about running into past pussy.

  I like it that way; less bullshit for everyone involved. The gigs and runs help make that possible. I don’t know what the hell to do now, though.

  Nearly two weeks ago I had getting in Bethany’s pants, and possibly keeping her, on my mind. Last week after the news of my son being kept from me came out in the open, I hated all women. This weekend, I just have no idea where I sit with anything.