Page 20 of Parrish
Chapter Eight
Reina Parrish
On the way to pick up Danny from school, Grace called Victor’s lawyer only to learn the man and his son were both in court all day. She assured me that one of them would call back, even if it was in the middle of the night, and provide us with the information needed before Jack turned himself in. In the meantime, she made herself at home in my kitchen and started cooking dinner for Danny and ordered me to get dressed for my final date with my husband.
I had no desire to get dolled up or even to go out, but for Jack I pushed through the nagging depression and put my best foot forward. Inside my bedroom, I made my way towards my closet and dug through the sea of clothes. Finding the leather jacket I wore on our wedding day; I pulled it off the hanger and ran my hands over the soft leather. I still remember the expression on his face when I walked down the makeshift aisle created in the clubhouse. His dark eyes were full of so much love I thought my own heart would explode.
When I was younger and dreamed of my wedding, I never imagined I’d wear a Grecian style gown paired with a leather jacket. No, the dreams of my wedding included a ball gown with a twenty-foot train and a reception at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Instead, there were twinkling Christmas lights that Pipe and Wolf strung and a man in leather standing in front of a trellis painted by a bunch of prospects, waiting to pledge his life to me.
It exceeded any dream.
It was perfect.
Until, a man walked into the clubhouse and disrupted our ceremony by detonating a bomb he had strapped to his chest. I went into premature labor and Jack temporarily lost his hearing. Still, that didn’t stop him from marrying me. Right there, in the hospital, in the middle of chaos, I became Mrs. Jack Parrish.
Deciding to give the jacket another shot, I laid it on my bed along with a pair of skinny jeans and a Satan’s Knight tank top declaring me property of Parrish. I grabbed my knee-high leather boots from the bottom of the closet and threw them next to bed before reaching into my lingerie draw and taking Jack’s favorite ensemble out. After I showered, I took extra time to lather my skin with lotion, fussed with my hair and applied my make-up.
Now, an hour later, I’m all ready and I feel somewhat ridiculous. Mainly because I’m a grown woman with butterflies in her belly. I guess that’s not such a bad thing. There are probably women who crave for their husband to make them feel a fraction of how mine makes me feel. Sadly, it won’t be long until I join their ranks, until I’m wishing and praying for one more night of dressing and riding, loving and fucking the man I married.
Descending the stairs, I freeze when I spot Blackie sitting on my couch with his head in his hands. My boot drops off the last step and the moment my heel clicks against the wood floor, he tears his hands away from his face and lifts his head. Call it a force of habit or maybe intuition, the man’s instincts are second to none and the very reason my husband is still alive. He’s jumped in front of more bullets than I care to count and for that reason alone, I could never fault him for being sloppy and dropping the gun.
That don’t mean I can’t be mad at him for other reasons.
Years ago, Blackie and I were kidnapped by a crazed man named Jimmy Gold who also happened to be Victor Pastore’s underboss. After Victor went away, Jimmy took over, and he went against everything Victor and Jack stood for, filling the streets of Brooklyn with drugs. Jimmy injected enough heroin into Blackie’s veins to kill him two times over and yet the man who married my stepdaughter, prevailed. He beat his habit and got clean for Lacey. Now, he’s on the cusp of becoming a father and he’s another man losing a battle.
Feeling his gaze on me, I walk to the window and peer through the blinds. There my husband stands in the front of the house playing ball with his son and daughter. My throat clogs with emotion at the sight and I force myself to swallow as I reach into my back pocket of my jeans for my phone. Without bothering to open the blinds, I snap the photo. The lines of the slats are captured but so is the tender moment between a father and his children.
The longer I stand there watching the three of them the more I feel like I’m intruding on a personal moment and reluctantly I tear my eyes away. Turning around, I face Blackie. It’s a shame I can’t tell if he’s high, drunk or sober. Every version of the man looks the same—tortured and conflicted.
Sighing, I cross the distance between us and take a seat next to him.
“How is she taking it?” I ask, turning my head to meet his gaze.
“How do you think she’s taking it?” he hisses, looking down at his hands. I watch as he toys with the titanium band around his left ring finger.
Blackie is a lot of things, but he’s always been a good husband. I didn’t know him when he was married to his first wife Christine. When I met him, he was still grieving the loss of her, but he took his vows seriously and to this day, the man brings flowers to her grave once a week. After marrying Lacey, he was one of the few men who opted to wear a wedding band. Most men, including Jack, won’t wear one because they ride so much, but Blackie would rather risk cutting off his circulation before ever choosing not to wear his. He’s as committed to his marriage and his wife as he is to his club and his demons.
A lethal cocktail.
“I don’t suppose worrying about you is helping matters,” I tell him. There is no malice to my words. Blackie knows me well enough to know that I speak with genuine concern. It’s the very reason he turns his head and looks away from me.
“I haven’t had a drink in over a week and before you go ahead and assume I’m shooting again, I’m not. Yeah, I got drunk, but I didn’t stick a needle in my arm, Reina,” he says, drawing out a deep breath as he combs his fingers through his long hair. “I’m a fuck up but not that much of a fuck up.”
“Have you gone to a meeting?”
He nods.
“Yeah, and I’m in touch with my sobriety coach,” he adds, as he glances back at me. “I know I need to get a handle on this shit.”
“Well, that’s a start,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. I don’t know much about addiction, other than it doesn’t just destroy the addict himself but rather everyone around him. However, like anything else, the first step in fixing something is admitting it’s broken.
“How are we going to do this Reina?”
Confused by the question, I narrow my eyes. Blackie’s never asked me for help before and while I’m more than willing to do whatever it takes, I don’t know where to begin.
“How are we going to go on without him?” he clarifies. “I don’t even know who I am if I’m not the guy jumping in front of bullets, talking him off a ledge and I don’t imagine you know what you’re going to do either.”
I’ve tried not to dwell on how life will be without Jack around. I just keep telling myself, I need to be strong for him and Danny. It’s a lonely and dark place, one I’m not willing to visit yet. Not when he’s still here.
