Page 6 of Reclaiming Venom

The resolve in her voice stirred something within me -- respect, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of hope. I found myself nodding, despite the doubts still swirling in my mind.

“All right. One step at a time.” It wasn’t like I could deny anything she’d said. Not after seeing that picture and my name across her back.

Ridley’s face lit up, a tentative smile curving her lips. The sight tugged at something deep within me, a feeling I couldn’t quite name.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She settled into the chair beside my bed, leaning forward slightly. “Where should we start?”

I shifted uncomfortably, the starched hospital sheets rustling beneath me. “The club,” I muttered, latching onto the one constant I could remember.

“Right. When we first met, you were the VP.”

“Why is that in past tense?” I asked.

“You stepped down several years ago. Now Saint is the VP. Um, you may remember a Prospect called Johnny? I’m not sure how far back your memories go.”

Jesus Christ. I’d clearly gotten older, but why the fuck had I stepped down? Or had it even been my choice?

“Torch is no longer President either. In fact, all the old officers turned the club over to younger guys at the same time. Savior, who was the Prospect Gabriel, is now the President. Tempest… Um, I doubt you’d remember him. He was a Prospect after we got together. He’s the Sergeant-at-Arms. There’s more, but I don’t want to overwhelm you more than I already have.”

“Tell me more,” I said gruffly, surprising myself with the request. “About… us.”

Ridley’s eyes softened, a mixture of hope and tenderness flickering across her features. Her perfume -- a delicate blend of lavender and vanilla -- wafting toward me. The scent stirred something deep within, a fleeting sense of comfort and desire that I couldn’t fully grasp.

“Well,” she began, her voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone, “we’ve always had a bit of a wild streak together. I got pregnant with our first child, Farrah, almost immediately. She’s with a guy named Demon at the Devil’s Fury. In fact, he’s their Sergeant-at-Arms. Our middle child, Mariah, is also with them. Her man is called Savage. There’s a bit of story behind the two of them getting together. Let’s just say, you arranged it.”

“You said we had three children.”

She nodded. “Dawson is our youngest. He’s in his twenties, is a fireman, and is also the VP of a local club called the Swift Angels.”

I held up a hand. “My son is awhat?”

Her lips twitched. “You didn’t handle it well the first time you found out either. He’s really good at his job. He’s married to a sweet woman named Nora. They have a little girl and just had a baby boy. In fact, our granddaughter likes you more than me.”

I shook my head, frustrated by the void where that memory should have been. But as Ridley continued talking about our years together, painting a picture of stolen moments and passionate encounters, I found myself captivated. The way she described our connection -- the fire, the understanding, the unwavering support -- it resonated with a part of me I thought long buried.

“You’ve always been my rock, Jackson,” she murmured. “Even when the world’s gone to hell, you’re there, steady as ever.”

I jolted at the use of my real name, then swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Sounds like a fairy tale. You said it wasn’t, but it sounds like one to me.”

Ridley’s laugh was rich and throaty. “Oh, trust me, it hasn’t all been smooth sailing. We’ve had our share of fights. You’re as stubborn as they come. And when I’m angry, I’m not exactly easy to deal with.”

As she recounted one of our apparent disagreements, I found myself torn. Part of me still rebelled against the idea of this life she described -- husband, father, settled down. But another part, growing stronger with each passing moment, yearned for the connection she spoke of.

“I wish I could remember,” I admitted gruffly, my fists clenching in frustration. “It’s all there, just out of reach. Like trying to grab smoke.”

Ridley’s expression softened, and for a moment, I saw the weight of our situation reflected in her eyes. The silence that fell between us was heavy, laden with unspoken promises and shared uncertainty. I studied Ridley’s face, searching for any hint of deception, but found only open vulnerability and a fierce determination that stirred something deep within me.

“I can’t promise I’ll ever be the man you remember, but…” I trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

Ridley leaned forward, her gaze intense. “But?”

I inhaled deeply, the sterile hospital scent mingling with the faint, enticing whisper of her perfume. “But I’m willing to try.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Ridley’s lips, a spark of hope igniting in her gaze. “That’s all I ask.”

The air between us crackled with a tension I couldn’t quite name. My body seemed to lean toward her of its own accord, drawn by some inexplicable magnetism. I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her.

“So, where do we start?” I asked, desperate to break the charged silence.

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