Page 37 of Sparrow

It wasn’t that she ignored Bowie’s words, she heard them. She didn’t have a good answer.

“Why didn’t you?” he pressed.

Closing her eye when her fingers found Jacob’s thick mane, she shook her head slowly. “There’s no reason that’ll make this situation any better. There’s nothing I can say that’ll undo it. I didn’t. It was never this bad before.” She looked over her shoulder to see him.

“It’s never bad until it is,” the president of the MC countered. “Which is why we don’t tolerate that fucking bullshit. I raised my sons better than that and I’m sorry you never got that message.”

Bowie leaned in the chair, resting his forearms on his knees, studying her.

“Maybe there are times a man should hit a woman, like when she gets on another man’s bike knowing he intends to claim her,” she suggested.

“No,” Jacob croaked from the bed, drawing both their focus.

Bowie rose from his seat, strolling to the other side of the bed. His gaze drifted down to the younger man, to his brother, and he nodded. Sparrow scooted closer to him and squeezed Jacob’s hand.

“There’s never a good enough reason for a man to do that,” Jacob continued when he tried to lift himself on his elbows, wincing the whole time.

“Stop,” she said. “Just relax.” His words pierced her heart, her soul. Tears burned the backs of her eyes as she willed them not to fall. This wasn’t the time to hear a lecture about decent men from two criminals.

“If I had known, he’d never been patched in. I rushed the patch. I needed bodies,” Bowie admitted.

Grunting, Jacob was determined, and eventually got himself into a seated position. Gingerly, he ran his hand over the blood-stained bandage on his side. “Jesus,” he hissed before looking from Sparrow to Bowie. “He still breathing?”

“We took his colors, and now he’s in the shed,” the club president said sternly. The shed was on the club’s property. She’d never been there but there were rumors about what went on inside. If it were anyone else, she might have felt bad. Pipes earned whatever they would do to him. “Roughed him up a bit, but he’s still there. We’ll keep him that way so you can give him what he earned.”

Nodding, Jacob’s focus went to the foot of the bed. He turned his hand over and intertwined his fingers with hers. He squeezed gently before he spoke. “How bad is it?”

“Just a deep-ish graze. Nothing major hit.” Bowie relayed what Dash had said after he’d stitched him up. “Got a few stitches.”

“Can I ride?” he asked, lifting his gaze to the Ohio president.

“Gonna take a few days, according to your boy,” Bowie said, patting him on the shoulder. “Clark hasn’t officially moved into this room yet. He said you can use it to stay here a few days, till you can ride.”

Jacob sighed. “Thanks, brother.”

Sparrow watched as the older biker nodded before exiting the room, leaving the couple alone. She forced a smile, and with the condition of her face, she knew it had to be a gruesome sight. Feeling self-conscious when his piercing eyes settled on her, she turned away. “Your brother, he brought your bag up.” She scanned the floor for the duffel.

As she pulled away from him to retrieve it, he squeezed. “Where are you going?”

“To get it,” she replied, refusing to look back at him. She didn’t want him to have to look at her.

“I don’t need it.”

“It’s right here.” Stubbornly, she pulled her hand free. Keeping her back to him, she took the three steps toward the small black duffel. Cocking her head to the side, she couldn’t help but notice the side pocket was open.

Crouching down to zip it closed, one of the corners of the pamphlets inside brushed her hand. She hadn’t tried to be nosy. It just sort of happened. She pulled it out and blinked several times, unsure how to process it.

She turned and held it up. “Did you go to school?”

He let out a puff of air sounding like half a laugh. “No.” He shook his head and waved his hand. “Bring it over.”

Peering at him a moment, she reluctantly lifted the bag. She took her spot beside him on the bed and placed the bag on the other side.

Wincing, he reached into the pocket and then fanned out several pamphlets. “They’re from the community colleges in Montana, that aren’ttoofar from me,” he admitted as though he were telling her an awful secret. “I wanted to give them to you, to see if you wanted to transfer and come home with me.”

Transfer? He thought she needed to transfer? Her heart swelled and her eyes immediately burned with tears. He thought she took the test the next time they offered it. He didn’t realize it. She covered her mouth as the tears fell.

“This one accepts the most credits from the school you go to,” he pointed to the one on the end. “I called.”

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