Page 22 of Property of Shotgun
“Irish is still your emergency contact.”
My eyes widen. “He’s my husband.”
His eyes soften slightly, and he takes a step forward.
“He’s dead, Jade.”
I don’t need a reminder. I wake up every morning, and it’s the first thought in my head. And I really don’t need him, of all people, to be the one who points it out to me.
“I’m sorry, do you think I don’t know that?” I sneer, clenching my teeth. “I’m very well aware my husband is dead, despite you people thinking you had the right to withhold his body from me.”
“He can’t make decisions on your behalf.”
It’s very obvious where he’s going with this, and while I know he means well, I can’t get past the anger I feel. I can’t push it aside or pretend it doesn’t exist. I also don’t know what to do with it, so I project it onto him, because deep down, I know he’ll take it. He’ll take everything I give him, and after he’s done taking it, he’ll buy me a sandwich.
“First you let everyone here believe you’re Irish, then you tell me you’re moving into my house, and now you want me to erase his name from my medical records and what… put yours instead? You got his patch, might as well take the house, wife, and kids too, right?”
He grits his teeth, his jaw popping slightly as he growls, “I explained this already. I didn’t have a choice. You were in bad shape, and no one was giving me any information on you or Killian. It wasn’t right, but I had to do it, and if given the chance, I’d fucking do it again.”
“Of course you would,” I snap. He uncrosses his arms, bracing his hands against the side railing of my hospital bed.
“You could’ve died, Jade. You and Killian could’ve needed extreme measures to survive. If decisions needed to be made, I wouldn’t have been able to make them. Fuck, Jade, the boys—Legend and Raiden—they could’ve been taken by the state.”
Logically, I know everything he’s saying is true. I just don’t want to accept it. I don’t want to accept any of this as my new reality. I think if I keep putting things off, they’ll just go away. Or maybe I’m still hanging onto hope that Irish will come back. That I’ll wake and this will all have been one big nightmare.
“You, Irish, and me, we learned early on that life ain’t all that different from riding. There are lots of bends in the road, and if you don’t lean into those curves, Jade, you’ll get knocked on your ass. I ain’t asking you to forgive me, or the club for what happened, nor am I asking you to let go of your pain. You got every right to feel what you’re feeling, and no one can take that from you. But like it or not, we’re family. You, me, the boys, and the club.”
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away.
“Oh, please, don’t give me that bullshit. You call me family, but for the last twelve years you’ve barely acknowledged me. Ever since me and Irish got married, maybe even before that.”
Diverting his eyes away from me, he flexes his around the railing. “That’s not true.”
I scoff. “I’m sure you’re good at a lot of things, Shotgun, but lying isn’t one of them. I know you love my boys, and I’m grateful for that.” I have difficulty showing it, but I am. They need a man in their life, and Legend has already decided it’s going to be him. I keep telling myself I won’t take that away from him, but it’s hard. I have too much resentment. “I won’t be a charity a project of yours. You got guilt for what happened to Irish, that’s on you. But I know he wouldn’t want you to hold onto that. So, as his widow, I’m giving you a pass. You can see the kids—you don’t even need to call ahead. But I need to do this on my own.”
“I don’t want a fucking pass, Jade. I want you to stop fighting me. I gave you space, went against my gut…againstmyfuckingword… and it blew up in both our faces. Are you even listening to a word I say? You could’ve fuckingdied. The baby too. Then what? How do I explain that to your kids? How do I fucking live knowing I stood back and did nothing while both their parents died?”
He slaps his hand on the papers the social worker dropped on the rolling table, and I purse my lips. I don’t think can recall a time when I’ve ever seen him this angry.
Definitely not toward me.
“Sign the fucking papers. And when you get released from the hospital, you’re going up to the kids’ schools, and putting me down as an emergency contact for them. I already called the club’s lawyer. He doesn’t do wills, but he referred me to someone who does. There needs to be a plan in place for the boys God forbid something happens to you. I won’t move into the apartment, but you’re going to accept my help. Period. End of story.”
SEVEN
SHOTGUN
I pullmy Harley next to Biggie’s and kill the engine. Desperate for a little wind therapy, I could’ve ridden for hours, but I’m pressed for time, which seems to be a regular occurrence these days.
We make our way into the diner, and the hostess seats us at a booth in the corner of the restaurant as per Biggie’s request.
“Can I get you fellas anything while you look over the menu?”
“Coffee, black,” I say.
“I’ll have the same, sweetheart.”
“You got it,” the waitress says before she disappears behind the counter. Once she’s out of ear shot, I push the menu away from me.
