Page 87 of Riding the Edge

Chapter Twenty-six

In the first week that followed my diagnosis, I made every attempt to keep things as normal as possible. The thing was, normal for me was a lonely world and I suddenly wasn’t alone anymore. When I wasn’t working at the bowling alley, I was spending time with my kids and Al, making memories and well, simply living.

The day Nico was released from the hospital, Al and I cooked dinner at his house. His three boys came over and we told them we were together. We also told them about the cancer and explained my course of treatment to them. Like my own children, they were eager to lend a helping hand. Nico offered to move back into his old room and take care of the house should Al decide he wanted to spend more of his nights at my house. Enzo, bless him, suggested we go bra shopping after my implant surgery. Apparently, he wasn’t an ass man like his dad. The youngest, Frankie, was more reserved but equally supportive in his own way. By the end of the night, I found myself planning another family dinner with all of our children.

Al called us the ‘Brady Bunch’.

I called us perfect.

“What’re you thinking about?” Al asks, winding a lock of my hair around his fingers.

“I’m trying to decide if my dining room table is bigger than yours,” I admit.

“Lady, we just fucked for six hours straight and you’re thinking about furniture?”

Did I mention there’s been a whole lot of that going on too? I swear my body goes on fire the minute he’s near. All he has to do is give me a look or say something dirty and I’m ready to claw him.

I’m not going to lie and tell you, I haven’t wondered what will happen after the mastectomy surgery. Will he still want me as much as he does now? Will I still want him? Will my body shut down or will I crave his touch? I tried googling the answers—big mistake. It’s no wonder people tell you not to do that. By the time I was done searching the web, I diagnosed myself with six terminal illnesses and burst into tears. I thought Al was going to throw the computer out my window. However, as ticked as he was, he showed incredible patience too and had a knack for saying all the right things.

Don’t get me wrong, most of the things that come out of that mouth of his are vulgar, so vulgar they’d make a hooker blush. But that’s him, that’s Al. A little rough around the edges but once you scratch the surface, he’s soft as silk. In fact, I don’t think there is a person on this planet with a heart as big as his.

Running a hand over his abdomen, I press a kiss to his chest before bending my elbow and propping my head on my hand. Staring at him lazily, I grin.

“Was it six hours? I thought it was five.”

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll make it seven,” he says, squeezing my ass.

Dipping my head, I nuzzle his beard, finding his lips and give him a quick peck.

“I want to have all the kids over for dinner next Sunday—yours and mine.”

“Whatever you want, Lady,” he says, going in for another kiss.

“And, I was thinking, while we’re at it…” My voice trails as I cock my head to the side. “You could invite some of the club too.”

Our relationship has been sort of a whirlwind from the beginning and I feel like everything has been about me. My needs, my wants, and my cancer. If a relationship is going to work, there needs to be a balance. I haven’t even started treatment yet and I know once I do, everything is going to revolve around me. My needs, my sickness, my loss. When will it ever be about him and his needs?

As long as I’ve known him, the club has been such a major part of his life and in the short time we’ve been together he’s barely mentioned it. The men who frequent my daughter’s house and show up unannounced on the regular, are nowhere to be found and the man who once rode every day to survive has traded his Harley for a banged-up Charger.

When he doesn’t respond, I sit up and wrap the sheet around my chest. Leaning my back against the headboard, I study the expression on his face and try to understand him.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he says, patting my thigh. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “You never mention the club. I might not have been invited to every party but, I’ve been the babysitter on call for most of them. I know how tight you are with the club and how often you’ve been the one who has entertained them yet, you barely mention your brothers to me.”

Sitting up, he leans against the headboard too and turns his head, giving me his eyes.

“I told you I was taking a break from the club,” he begins. “Initially I was pissed, and I acted out of anger,” he admits. “I thought thirty years of riding entitled me, that I deserved to be treated differently than anyone else,” he says, pausing to shake his head. “When I realized it didn’t, that I bled the same as everyone else, I went to take back my patch and Jack wouldn’t give it back. You see, as crazy as that fuck is, he’s perceptive. He knows when a brother is in need of something and what I needed was time away from the mayhem,” he continues, lifting a hand to my cheek. “I needed time with you…just you. I still do.”

“I guess we all need a break from our lives every once in a while,” I say thoughtfully. “But, don’t you miss it? I feel like I’m keeping you from your life and I don’t want to do that. Just because I’m not necessarily the motorcycle type doesn’t mean I don’t respect that you are.”

“Not the motorcycle type?” he questions with a smirk.

“C’mon, Al, can you honestly picture me on the back of your bike?” I ask him, the tone of my voice laced with skeptical sarcasm.

“I’m going to get you on at least once before the surgery,” he replies.

---