Page 55 of Blue

“What do you do all day? I mean, while you’re sticking around in Ohio,” Mooky asked after he gave the address.

“What the club needs,” he said as he pulled out of the lot.

The ominous yet vague response fit the man.

Mooky considered him. He knew his brother had no plans to remain in Ohio. His bottom rocker still read Montana. Yet he lingered with their brother Whiskey, who’d been beaten pretty badly in the club war a while back and still wasn’t in any condition to ride.

“You got a woman or something?” Mooky guessed.

That’d be a reason Mooky stayed in a different state. Well, if he didn’t have kids. Star and River kept him planted in Ohio. Because of Blue, he didn’t just endure Ohio for his kids. She made it his home.

Pushing his thoughts aside, he focused on the man beside him. He’d never seen Mittens show interest in any of the club ass hanging around the clubhouse.

Mittens laughed to himself.

“Why don’t you just drive back to Montana?” Mooky asked.

The other man offered Mooky a quizzical look.

“Tow the bikes or even put them in a box truck or something.”

Mittens frowned. “We rode here. We will ride home.”

Glancing out the window, Mooky nodded to himself. Bikers were funny like that. Especially those who didn’t get to use their bikes all year. They only had a few precious months before the snow made it hazardous. They never squandered their chances. Motorcycles were freedom—they were life. Some crazy bastards even took the chance with a second bike in the snow.

The memory of Blue’s legs pressed against his thighs when he put her on the back of his bike flittered through his mind. Her laugher whispered in his ear. He wanted to feel her hands around his middle and the heat of her against him again.

He needed to fix things somehow. There had to be a way to keep her and his kids out of danger from fucking McAssFace cop once he got his divorce settled. He’d tasted happiness once. There had to be a way to return there.

No. He couldn’t have Blue again. It wasn’t safe for her. Today it was Officer Fuck-a-doodle. Tomorrow it would be someone else. He had to stop doing that to her. She deserved better.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he shook his head. One step at a time. No carts before horses. He needed his bike back. So, he focused on the man taking him to his Harley.

“Montana don’t need you?” he pressed.

He couldn’t stand the silence between them. If he didn’t continue their conversation, they’d drive quietly. Which meant Mooky would think. He was too tired to do any more of that. Mooky had very few positive thoughts left.

Mittens lifted a shoulder. “The fights probably do.”

Occasionally, Odin’s Fury hosted bare-knuckle matches at the Broken Spoke. When they’d patched over, they brought that to Ohio. With their best fighter out of town, it had to be hurting their bottom line. Mittens filled that void.

“Do you miss it?”

“What?”

“The fights?”

“Clark has one scheduled in three weeks.”

“Right.”

Mooky ran his fingers along the short length of his facial hair. “Do you have someone waiting for you at home?” he asked again.

“No.”

They pulled into the tow lot and Mittens put the truck into park. Mooky flipped through his paperwork and checked his wallet for his documents so he could retrieve his bike. This had become an expensive day.

“You’re lucky,” he told Mittens, as the sadness of what the evening had cost him pierced his chest again.

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