Page 55 of Royally Embraced: RBMC

“Jovi, you flirting with the blond god who is not Thor?” Steelshot asked, sliding a possessive arm around his ole’ lady’s waist without heat.

“Nope, I escaped out here, so I didn’t have to participate in that...that atrocity they called singing.” Jovi shuddered.

Bekkett gave a little nudge to the throttle on his bike—a not-so-subtle reminder he was rolling out. “I’ll see you two on New Year's Eve. Go have some fun,” he said.

Bekkett let off the brake with a wave. Jentzen would take care of Jovi. He needed to hit the road and let the wind blow away the shit rattling inside his head, or he’d end up doing something stupid. The burning ache inside his chest was always on a low simmer, but it became hotter this time of the year. If he didn’t pay attention and do the proper things he needed to do, the simmer would boil over and burn shit to the ground.

He aimed his bike north toward Santa Cruz and the Redwoods. The ten-and-a-half-hour drive usually wouldn’t be aproblem. However, he didn’t plan to ride the entire trip that night.

Five hours into the trip, he stopped to refuel and get his thicker leathers and warming gear out of his saddlebags. He took them inside the station, paid for the fuel, went into the bathroom, and changed. Once dressed for the colder weather and his tank filled, Bekkett continued the ride. For the next half of his ride, he listened to his playlist through Bluetooth on his custom Arai Corsair-X race-bred helmet. While a lot of his brothers wore skullcaps, he preferred to have his head covered on long rides. The Corsair-X RC felt like he had nothing on with its lightweight shell that blended the best of flexibility and impact protection into one. Fuck, at almost four grand, Bekkett would’ve killed the guy who sold it to him if it hadn’t been. It also allowed him to ride in the cold weather without fogging the visor.

The following day...

He stretched his neck from side to side, seeing the sign to his hometown. His first instinct made him want to head straight to the big house. However, he flicked the switch to turn on his blinker to turn left. It was Christmas morning, and he always spent the first ray of the day with his family.

Like every year, the ride from the stop sign to the entrance took less than ten minutes. He doesn’t remember if he passed anyone as he rode. The disassociation from reality had taken hold the moment he flicked the turn signal. The loud rumble of his Harley echoed around him. It was the only sound in the snow-white landscape. Towers of concrete interspersed with flat markers greeted him. He didn’t look at any while he continued riding until he saw the bench. His bench.

He came to a stop and brought his boots down on the packed snow. As he did back at the clubhouse, he went through the stepsof shutting down his bike. His vision blurred. He slammed his eyes shut. “Fuck,” he yelled and yanked at his helmet.

He laced his hands behind his head and dug his fingers into his neck hard enough to remind himself he was alive, wishing otherwise.

“Let’s do this,” he said.

Bekkett snapped his eyes toward the bench facing a large quartzite headstone. He moved from his bike, muscles stiff from the ride. His chest hurt, his stomach ached, and his head pounded.

“Fuck. Will this ever get easier?” he asked.

One foot in front of the other, he stepped across the snowy ground until he stood in front of the headstone with his wife’s and daughter’s names engraved.

“Nancy and Nina Larsen. Beloved Wife and Daughter,” he rasped as he ran his gloved finger over the words. The fucking irony. He’d have loved to have been a father. To have been able to hold his baby girl. If only...

“JINX, GET YOUR ASSin gear, girl. We got a shitton of customers waiting on drinks.”

Blair rolled her eyes at her boss and his snarl. “I’m coming, Frank. Hold your nads.”

“I’ll give you something to hold if you keep sassing me, girl.” Frank pointed his finger at Blair.

She looked at him. Taking in his pot belly, she allowed her eyes to wander down to his feet. She smiled at the pair of loafers he wore, swearing her grandpa had a similar set in the twenties, and then she glanced back at the top of his head. The man had perfected the combover. “Frank, while I love you dearly, I couldwhoop your ass on my worst day. Besides, you wouldn’t know what to do with all this.”

Blair waved her hand down her side. Tonight, she had on a pair of faded denim jeans with a few rips in the knee that were not fashionably put there but broken in and the most comfortable pair she owned, paired with a red and white flannel shirt over a red bodysuit. It was freaking Christmas, after all. Black combat boots completed her festive as fuck outfit.

“Not many men can, girl. If you don’t watch it, you’ll become an old spinster like Harriett. Mark my words.” Frank snorted.

Blair slid past Frank so she could make her way out to the bar. As he said, the place she called her second home could get rowdy, especially on Christmas, and people wanted to get away from their families.

“Jinx, I’m so freaking happy to see you.” Fred held his arms open, knowing she didn’t allow others to touch her without permission.

She walked into his arms and gave a brief hug before stepping back. “I hear it’s already been crazy today.”

Fred sighed. “You know my dad. He thinks the place is hopping if there are more than a dozen patrons.”

Jinx turned to the cooler, needing to make sure she fully stocked it before the evening rush. “I’m going to grab a couple more cases to stack off to the side. We good on everything else?”

Fred scrunched up his face, rattled off a couple of things, and then she left him to get other necessities.

By the time the evening crowd started filing in, Frank moved to help Blair and Fred serve drinks. Their two waitresses were working their asses off, but Blair saw they didn’t have a problem keeping up.

She looked at the time, groaning. “We really should’ve closed at midnight instead of one thirty.”

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