Page 8 of Patching Over

“Stop!” Rick’s normally low voice is a few octaves higher as he shrieks from the driver’s seat. “Christ, I’mrighthere.”

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me when I look over my shoulder to where he’s holding his keys out to me, reminding me I’m driving him and Tanner home later.

Timber’s loud guffaw earns him a glare from Rick as I snag the keys. “Come on, big brother.”

Looking toward the newly reconstructed front of the clubhouse, I smile, knowing it must have taken some doing to get it finished in time for this.

“How was your trip?” Rick asks Tarak.

“It made me wish I was back home on that Sleep Number bed,” Tarak easily dodges the question that Rick meant as small talk, but that I know better than to ask. Regardless, I stick my elbow into his rib cage and allow a small grin even as I keep my eyes straight ahead. “Oh, ah, I meant back home with you, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I teasingly reply as we approach a grouping of tables. “Lots of new faces around here.”

“Besides our guys, I’ve only met a few of the men from Idaho …”

“Who’s that?” Rick’s eyes are locked on an attractive blond who’s exiting the clubhouse with Declan and an older man. All three of them are wearing a Northern Grizzlies cut.

“Down boy,” Tarak responds, his voice low so his words won’t carry beyond us. “She’s probably one of the Ol’ Ladies, so tread carefully. No man here will take it lightly if you hit on their woman. Fuck.”

My eyes quickly whip from his face to see Tanner approaching the woman in question with an extra beer in his hand.

“I’ll get him,” Rick blurts out, hurrying in their direction before either of us can react.

“I warned them to be respectful,” I tell Tarak when he lets out a sigh.

“Why don’t you give me those keys? It looks like I’ll be babysitting today,” he says, keeping his eyes on them.

Luckily, the people with Declan don’t seem to mind my brothers’ intrusion or the bickering that ensues.

“Any idea who that is?” I ask my Ol’ Man.

“That’s got to be Flint. His father founded the Northern Grizzlies,” Tarak says before pausing. “I don’t think that’s his Ol’ Lady, but what do I know?”

“That’s Fury,” a woman speaks up from behind me and we both turn to see a lady with auburn hair who’s about my mom’s age. “Her grandfather was one of the other founders. Sorry to startle you, I’m Bree. Flint’s Ol’ Lady. You’re the firefighter, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I draw out the word, looking up at Tarak in confusion. “Talia.”

“We heard about what happened,” she replies, warmly smiling at me before looking up at Timber. “Can I steal her away from you? My friends want to meet her.”

“Keep her hydrated and off her feet as much as she’ll let you.” Timber’s instructions for my care are cut off by her soft laugh and a quick nod of agreement.

“I’m driving tonight. You go have fun,” I tell him as she pulls me off in the direction of a makeshift bar with a group of women off to one side of it.

At first glance, I notice the difference in their ages and how they present themselves, causing me to suppress a smile. From the more blatantly sexual to the demure, from those younger than me and going up to Bree’s age, some are noticeably pregnant while others are holding a shot and a beer. When they turn to greet me though and start introductions, there’s no doubt that their friendships are bound by more than the name on the cuts they’re wearing.

With my work schedule and being injured on the job, I’ve only gotten to know a few of the Ol’ Ladies here. I hope that down the line I’ll have relationships like these women seem to have.

“Actually, my older brother lives up in Idaho,” I say in response to one of the women asking me if I’d ever been up that way. “I visited him once a couple of years ago, but Timber and I have been talking about getting up there again.”

Bree nudges me toward a picnic table as she thrusts a bottle of water into my hand, and I continue telling them about Rick’s job and answering questions about my recent injuries.

When several of them look up past me, I turn and smile—relieved to be able to introduce Dylan to the group and divert some of their focus away from me.

“It’sa lotat first,” one of the women from Idaho says, as she sits down next to me and motions to everyone. “I grew up with my mom and grandma, then suddenly I have all of them.”

“I grew up in a huge family, but I think that’s the difference—they were just always there,” I respond, taking a sip of water to buy me time as I try to remember her name. “I can rattle off all their names without thinking. It’s just likemy familyhas tripled suddenly and I’m finding out that I’m awful learning new names.”

“Well, I’m Molly,” she says with a laugh, gently touching my forearm before lifting it and indicating two different men. “I’m Royce’s Ol’ Lady and Flint’s my father. But the two of us only recently found that out.”

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