Trapping Wasp (Dead Presidents Book 3) Page 4

He cracked a smile. “It’ll be all right, babe. I know the owner.”

  Cocky bastard. Grabbing a string cheese and some carrot sticks from the fridge, I headed to the table and sat at the opposite end, hoping he’d leave me alone to eat in peace. Hoping he would stay so I wouldn’t be alone. My emotions were so fucked up I didn’t even know how I felt.

  Wasp chuckled. “I feel like we bonded at Helping Hands, and here you are giving me the cold shoulder again.” He stood and scooted down to the chair directly across from me.

  Bonded? “I don’t know what you think happened, but there was definitely no bonding going on.”

  “Oh well, a man can dream. How’s Trent?”

  Trent was none of his damn business. I opened my mouth to say as much, but then snapped it shut. Wasp and his team were putting in time at the school because they obviously cared about kids. He cared about Trent before he knew he was my kid. This wasn’t about me and I shouldn’t be all bitchy about it.

  “He’s fine,” I replied. That wasn’t much better, but it was all I could give him. All I was willing to tell him.

  “So, everyone’s fine?” Wasp asked.

  I nodded.

  “What are you two doing for Father’s Day?”

  I eyed Wasp, wondering why the hell he was firing these questions at me. “Why?”

  “He seemed pretty wrecked about the card. I’m just wondering how he’s gonna handle the day.”

  “We’ll get through it.”

  He frowned. “I could help, you know?”

  “How?”

  “I’m an excellent distraction. I could take you guys out, show you a good time, help get his mind off what he’s missing. I know it’s not ideal, but… it’s an option.”

  The offer took me by surprise. No doubt Wasp could distract Trent from the father-sized hole in his heart. For a time. He’d make tomorrow a hell of a lot easier, but then what? Wasp would eventually grow bored and bail, leaving behind his own hole in Trent’s heart. My kid would grow up with an organ resembling swiss cheese in his chest, and would probably turn to drugs and alcohol to fill it. All to make one stupid day easier. “Thanks, but we’ve got this.”

  He stood, his face twisting in frustration as he ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m fuckin’ this all up. What I mean to say is… you and Trent have allies. Whatever’s going on… whether it’s Father’s Day or if this bad man Trent talks about finds you… you don’t have to do this shit alone. I can help you, Carly.”

  Confused, I stared at him. “Why would you want to?”

  “Because you and Trent are cool, and I want to get to know you both better.”

  He had to have an angle. Everyone always did. Was he using Trent to get to me? “What do you know about my kid?” I asked.

  Wasp shrugged, seemingly unaffected by my tone. “Not a whole hell of a lot, but I’d like to know more. He’s a funny kid. He makes me laugh.”

  Trent was a lot of things, but rarely funny. I arched an eyebrow at Wasp, letting him know I wasn’t fooled.

  He held up his hands. “No, I’m serious. He’s fuckin’ hilarious. The first day I met him he complimented my pecs. Never met a kid who did that before. Some blonde girl, the little sasshole who narked on him, she asked what pecs were and Trent informed the whole class that girls have boobies and boys have pecs.”

  Sasshole? I was still trying to figure out what that meant when the rest of Wasp’s words sank in. Imagining the scene and the reaction of all the biker volunteers, I cradled my head in my hands. “I’ve told that kid a hundred times he’s not supposed to say boobies in public. That’s not funny, it’s humiliating. Those teachers probably think I’m a stripper or a prostitute or something.”

  “Babe, he’s not the first little boy to say boobies, and he sure as hell won’t be the last. It was funny as shit, though. Not one of us could keep a straight face. We had to regroup in the hallway and try again. His comedic timing is on point. Especially with those ‘that’s what she said’ jokes. I know he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but my God he always hits it right on.”

  “Shit. He’s doing those again? He promised me he’d stop. You think it’s funny, but I get phone calls almost every day. I feel like everything I’m doing is wrong. Like he’s gonna grow up and be really fucked up because I didn’t discipline him right or was too lenient with him or something.” Why was I telling Wasp this, making myself sound weak and insecure? I wanted him to know I was trying, that I wasn’t a bad mom by choice.

  He laughed. Not exactly the response I expected or wanted. I narrowed my eyes, but he only laughed harder.

  “Sorry, babe, but I can guarantee you your kid doesn’t have shit on me. I got kicked out of Boy Scouts for cheating in the Pinewood Derby race.”

  I blinked. “You were a Boy Scout?”

  “Damn straight. At least until they kicked me out. It wasn’t so much the modifications I did to my own derby car as it was the fake modifications I charged the other kids for. I took their money, so I could get a feel for their cars and make sure mine could beat them.”

  “What kind of Boy Scout cheats?” I asked.

  “The kind who’s trying to win. That’s not the worst place I was kicked out of. Not by a long shot. Don’t think I made it through a single church camp without my parents getting the call to come pick me up. They were desperate to get some Jesus in me, but I was just trying to get into some cute little church girls.”

  I was nibbling on a carrot and choked, surprised by his crude honesty. “Ohmigod.”

  “That’s what she said,” he deadpanned.

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He was so… unexpected. Tears of a different kind stung my eyes. Relief? Exhaustion? Humor? Whatever it was, I suddenly felt lighter than I had all day. “You’re somethin’ else,” I said.

  “So I hear. You gonna give me your number now?”

  Relentless. Still laughing, I shook my head. “Not a chance, Romeo. I don’t need some biker-soldier-church boy trying to get in me.” More heat flooded my cheeks as what I’d said sank in. It had been so long since I’d felt comfortable enough to be real in front of anyone. Guilt tugged at my conscience, reminding me of why I couldn’t do this. Why I had to keep everyone at an arm’s length. Standing, I went to the fridge and put my snack away. Rubbing my hands on my shorts, I turned toward the door.

  “I gotta get back to work.”

  Wasp watched me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before grabbing a napkin and a pen from the center of the table. He scribbled something on the napkin and held it out toward me.

  “What’s that?” I asked, eyeing the napkin.

  “My number. Since you won’t give me yours.”

  Warning bells went off in the back of my mind. This was dangerous territory, and I needed to get out of it. I needed to run away to somewhere loud and busy where thoughts and dreams couldn’t penetrate. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  He stood. “It’s just a phone number. I know you’re strong and independent and all that shit, but you might need help someday.” Closing the distance between us, he held out the napkin again.

  I couldn’t take it. I didn’t have the courage, the strength, or the trust in me to accept his offer. “Sorry, Romeo, but that napkin would cost way more than I can afford.”

  His brow furrowed and his mouth opened, but I got the hell out of there before he could change my mind.

  Wasp

  I WAS DONE chasing after Carly. For three months, I’d been trying to get her number and all she ever gave me was grief. I’d put more work into reaching out to that sexy little bartender than I’d put into any woman. Ever. I’d even attempted to give her my phone number. What the fuck had I been thinking? I didn’t give my number away to broads, they gave me theirs. And I always blocked my number before calling them.

  But I’d left that napkin with my digits on the break room table of the Copper Penny, where anyone could find it, hoping she’d pick it up.

  What the fuck was my malfunction? Carly had made it abundantly clear she didn’t want shit to do with me. So, why the fuck was I lying in bed, staring at my ceiling at six a.m. on Father’s Day, worrying about her kid and unable to get her fine ass off my mind?

  It was that goddamn look she gave me when she’d let down her guard in the break room. So fucking vulnerable, so wounded, I wanted to wrap my arms around her and protect her from whatever demons were chasing her. Then I got her to laugh, and that beautiful, rich sound had awoken something deep within me.

  When was the last time she laughed?

  Was it before she and Trent tangled with this mysterious “bad man” who made Carly clam up and made Trent want to protect her? Who the fuck was the bad man? How much danger were they in from him?

  I’d tried to get information out of Flint, but the bar manager wouldn’t tell me shit, insisting that Carly’s personal life was none of my business. But, he did look a little worried when I told him she might be in trouble, so hopefully the hardass would do some digging and get back to me.

  If he would just give me her birthdate and social security number, I could have Tap do a full background check on her. Maybe then I could get some goddamn sleep.

  I was done chasing her, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to keep her and Trent safe.

  Holy fuck, I needed to get her off my mind.

  No such luck. Giving up on the idea of sleeping in on my day off, I grabbed my tablet and checked my newsfeed to see what new bike customizations were coming down the lines, trying to divert my thoughts. After reading the depressing news on new tariffs and the possibility of Harley Davidson having to move its manufacturing overseas, I decided I’d had about enough of that shit and dragged my ass out of bed.

  When Link had first offered me the job of managing Formation Auto Shop, I made plans to stay in Seattle for a while and put down roots. Using some of Gramps’ inheritance, I purchased a little thirteen-hundred square foot, three-bedroom, two-bath home in Tukwila. Fifteen minutes south of Seattle, my place was right off I5, with wood and tile downstairs, carpet upstairs, a garage big enough to park my Jeep and bike in, and a small backyard with enough room for a bar-b-que. It wasn’t perfect, but the price was right, and it was mine.

  The kitchen was too damn small for a table—I didn’t own one anyway—so I poured myself a cup of coffee, took it to the little bar separating kitchen from living room, and glanced at the clock. It was after seven, which put Minnesota time past nine. Knowing my dad would be home from his Sunday morning golf game, I bit the bullet and made my obligatory call.

  “Andrew,” he said by way of greeting, sounding happy and relaxed. His golf foursome must have done well. “It’s good to hear from you.”

  “Hey Dad, happy Father’s Day. Did you get the bar-b-que set I sent?”

  “Sure did. It’s a nice one, too. Good quality. Sturdy utensils. Not like that cheap set your mom picked up on sale last year. The brush on that one fell off not even a month after I got it. They just don’t make things like they used to. This one looks like it will hold up, though. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Dad and I were about as different as two people could be. He wasn’t interested in bikes or the club, and I wasn’t interested in banking or golf, which meant we didn’t have much to talk about. Our conversation quickly went from his awkward rambling about bar-b-que sets to uncomfortable silence as I tried to think about other viable topics.

  “You do any fishing lately?”

  “Yep. Your brothers took me out on Pelican Lake yesterday. Duane brought his boat and we caught our limit of northern pike, crappie, and bluegill. Your mom’s frying them up for dinner tonight. Speaking of your mom, she wants to talk to you.”

  I loved my mother, but she was a talker who used guilt and obligation like she’d invented them. I had no intention of spending my entire day on the phone, being made to feel bad about shit I had no desire to change. “Wait, I gotta—”

  “Hello Andrew,” Mom said, cutting off my objection. “Are you ready to come home yet?”

  Damn.

  This was how she had begun every single conversation we’d had since I’d joined the Navy right out of high school. After my time in the service, I was supposed to go home, but with Gramps dead, going home meant facing his house and shop and deciding what to do with them. Did I sell them? Did I move in and live next door to my parents for the rest of my life?

  Fresh off the boat, I was looking for any excuse not to go home when a friend invited me to check out his hometown in Washington. It seemed as good a place as any to hang my hat for a while, so I camped out on his sofa and started searching for a job. Link had a help wanted ad in the Times, seeking a mechanic who knew how to repair and customize Harleys. I made the call and as soon as Link explained the purpose of the Dead Presidents, I knew I’d found what I was looking for. Seattle was home now, and I couldn’t think of a single reason to return to my small hometown of Virginia, Minnesota.

  “Hi, Mom. Nope. I’m still good. I like the Pacific Northwest. It fits me.”

  She let out a sigh. “A mother can dream.”

  “I’ve got a great job and a purpose here. This is where I’m supposed to be.” Something inside me was still hoping she’d understand, that she’d see I was where I needed to be.

  She clicked her tongue but didn’t argue. Thank God for small favors. “I’m surprised to hear from you. You haven’t called since Mother’s Day, so I figured you must have lost our phone numbers.”

  Guilt already. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been busy.”

  “You’re never too busy to call your mother, but if you’ve been busy with a girlfriend, all will be forgiven.”

  Throwing my head back, I stared at the ceiling and shook my head. How many times had we had this discussion? Fifty? A hundred? And she still wondered why I didn’t like to call home. “Nope. Still single. Focusing on my career. Being a responsible adult and all that.”

  “Andrew, you’re thirty now. You need to find a nice, sweet girl to settle down with so the two of you can move back home and give me grandchildren. That reminds me, Leslie Wright’s daughter is single again. Didn’t you go to prom with her?”

  “Yep.” Maryann Wright was a sexy blonde with big tits and a nice ass, and I’d only asked her to the senior prom because she’d just found out Brandon Michaels was cheating on her and was working her way through the rest of the football team as retaliation. She was a guaranteed score, and I was a horny little bastard. The next day, she’d tried to stake her claim on me like we were going steady or some shit, but even back then I knew better than to do repeats. Especially with clingers.

  “I don’t know what happened with her and that man she was dating, but Leslie said he was no good. Maryann’s been asking after you, wanting to know when you’ll be returning.”

  Never. Especially not for that thirsty broad. I kept in touch with enough of my old high school buddies to know that although Maryann was no longer out for revenge, she was still a guaranteed score.

  “Maryann Wright is not the type of woman you’d want grandchildren from, Mom. With the way that girl gets around, I couldn’t promise they’d be mine.”

  “Andrew! That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  “Just callin’ it as I see it.”

  Another deep sigh. “You’re not here to see it, so how could you call it? People around here talk. Always have, always will. Only about half of what they say is true, so you can’t believe every rumor you hear. I see that girl at mass every Sunday, so she can’t be all that bad.”

  “She’s there confessing something. Besides, you already have grandchildren. Lots of them.” All four of my brothers had done their duty. Each had between two and three kids, at least one dog, a house, and lived within miles of our parents. I was the only disappointment.

  “Never enough. Grandchildren are like jewels in my crown. Don’t deny me my jewels.”

  “Your crown’s getting heavy. That can’t be good for you.”

  “I have a strong neck. I’ll be fine. This is about more than grandchildren, though, I’d love to see you happily married.”

  “I don’t need a ring on my finger to be happy, Mom. I have my shop and the club, and—”

  “The club? You mean that motorcycle gang?”

  Another conversation we’d had a hundred times or so. “It’s not a gang, it’s a club, like the Lyons or the Elks, only we ride bikes. We also do a lot of good for the community and help military vets.”

  “Well, Martha Welch said she watched a documentary on motorcycle gangs and they treat women awful, passing them around like some sort of sex cult or orgy. Sharing diseases and god only knows what.”

  No way in hell was I about to discuss club whores with my mother. “Please don’t ever say orgy again, Mom. And I can’t believe you’ll give Maryann Wright the benefit of the doubt, but not the Dead Presidents.”

  “Don’t be like that, Andrew. I worry about you. If you were a little closer to home, I’d worry less.”

  If I was closer to home, I’d probably have to put a gun to my temple and end it all. “I gotta go. The sun’s out, so we’re backed up at work right now.”

  Another deep sigh. “Okay. But please don’t wait until the next holiday to call. Oh, and don’t forget that your father and I will be in Seattle on the twenty-second through the twenty-forth. Make sure you carve some time out of that busy schedule to have dinner with us. Maybe you’ll even have a girlfriend by then to introduce us to.”

  Not likely, but I had to hand it to her, the woman never stopped trying. Shaking my head, I said goodbye. I put my coffee cup in the sink and headed to the bathroom to shower.

  By the time I was dressed and ready for work, I had a missed call and a text from Link, the text asking me to swing by the club as soon as I could. I texted him back to let him know I was on the way and hurried into the garage.

  The rest of my inheritance from Gramps had been spent between a blue 2005 Jeep Wrangler and a black 2010 Harley Street Glide. I’d done a decent job fixing up and customizing the Street Glide, but every time I started it up, I felt like I was cheating on Bertha. She was waiting in Gramps’s garage, collecting rust as I tried to work up the desire to go get her. A bike like that wasn’t meant to be garaged somewhere, she was meant to be ridden. Daily. I needed to bring her home to Seattle, but until I went back to Minnesota, my Street Glide would have to do.

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