Lucky Bastards (Grim Bastards MC) Read online

  She pops back to her feet and walks to me. Not saying a word, she sits in my lap and wraps her arms around me. A second later, her face is buried against my chest and I can feel her tears wetting my shirt. Not knowing what else to do, I wrap my arms around her and hold her close. With each tear she sheds, I feel another piece of my heart breaking. Finally, when I can’t take it anymore, I look over to Brew and dip my chin toward the top of his woman’s head. He nods, standing up and pulling her out of my arms. He carries her across the room then down the hallway. I watch, wishing I could take care of Trix with such ease.

  “Trix is a strong woman,” Round says, taking the seat that Brew just left. “You can sit here and worry all you want. I’d be doing the same, but you need to remember just how strong she is. There is no fucking way cancer is going to beat her. She’ll kick its ass.”

  I look to the man that I think of as a father and nod. “I know you’re right, but I’m having trouble remembering that right now.”

  He leans back in his chair and asks, “Did the doctor tell you how long recovery would be? What happens next, that sort of shit?”

  I take in a deep breath, reminding myself I can do this. I can talk about facts. It’s the what ifs that bother me. As long as I focus on the facts, I’ll be able to hold my shit together.

  “She’ll stay in the hospital for at least three days. Recovery from the surgery can take up to six weeks, because she chose to do the reconstruction at the same time.” I tell him exactly what the doctor told us. “He wants her to start chemo and radiation two weeks from now, mainly as a precaution, to eliminate any cancerous cells that she may still have. The initial round will be for twelve weeks. After that, he doesn’t know. He said she may have to do another round. He just doesn’t know. From what he has told us, the most important thing right now is getting the cancer removed. He’ll be able to know more after the surgery is done.”

  Round nods, taking in everything I said. “Chemo and radiation are going to be hard on her. Lisa is gonna get the old ladies on a rotation. Someone is gonna come in every day to take care of everything. They’ll make sure the house is cleaned and all of you are fed. They can also help Trix do shit that she isn’t gonna want you and the kids to help her with.”

  Before I can tell Round that I can take care of my wife on my own, the surgeon comes into the waiting room and calls out Trix’s name. In an instant, he is surrounded by bikers and their families, including my kids that must have gotten back just in time to hear what the doctor has to say. I have to push my way to the man, standing between my boys and wrapping my arms around Fiona’s tiny shoulders. I want to be the first person the doctor talks to. As soon as I get in front of him, I see blood smeared on his forehead. It’s just a little spot. The rest of him is pristine, not even a drop of my woman’s blood on his clothes. Still, that one small spot on his forehead has me transfixed.

  “The surgery went well. Patricia’s resting in recovery right now, but she should be back in her room with the next hour or so,” the doctor states, looking at all the people surrounding him. “I believe we were able to remove all the cancer. With chemotherapy and radiation, I would say her prognosis is good.”

  It takes a long minute for his words to make their way through my mind. I’m immediately filled with relief. Worry quickly follows. A million questions run through my head. Is he sure he got all the cancer? Is she in pain? Does she need me? The prognosis is good. Does that mean that there is still reason for concern? They keep coming, one by one, so fast I’m not sure what to ask first.

  “Can I see my momma now?” Fiona asks, taking the choice from me.

  “You’ll be able to see her as soon as she gets back to her room,” he answers kindly, then looks at me. “The initial surgery took a little longer than I was expecting. With her being under so long, I didn’t feel comfortable completing the reconstruction at this time.”

  “What are you saying?” Hoss asks, his voice gruff with worry. “I know my girl. She’s gonna want to have reconstructive surgery as soon as possible.”

  She will. There is no fucking way Trix is going to be comfortable without her breast. It wouldn’t bother me one damn bit. I just want her safe, but it would drive her fucking insane. The doctor needs to get this shit done as soon as possible.

  “She can have the surgery as soon as she heals from the removal. However, I recommend waiting until she is done with treatment. Radiation is hard on a person. Chemotherapy is brutal. She will need all her strength to get through the treatments. When she is done with all that, we can reconstruct her breast.”

  I listen to him continue to talk, but my mind is stuck on the word brutal. I spent some time on Google, researching all this shit. From what I have read, brutal is the best way to describe chemotherapy. There is hair loss, nausea, and weakness. Those are just a drop in the bucket. The list of side effects is a mile long. This is going to be hard on her, and it’s going to be hard on all of us. I’m just going to have to man up and help all I can.

  “The nurse will let you know when Patricia is back in her room,” the doctor adds before walking away.

  I watch him until he turns the corner. Finally, I turn around and see everyone staring at me. My children, my mom, Trix’s dad, Brew and Addy, Smoke and Gidget, Hack and Pru, even Park is here. Every single face is locked on mine, hoping I can give them the words that they need to hear. I ignore my brothers, their families, and focus on Hoss and my kids.

  Taking a deep breath, I try my best to sound convincing. “She’s going to be okay. Trix is gonna come home and everything will be okay.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Trix

  The sound of machines beeping wakes me from a sound sleep. I look around the room, careful not to move too fast. I learned quickly that any quick movements cause pain to shoot through my body. It doesn’t matter how much morphine they put into me, the pain is still kicking my ass. I swear, I feel like I have been run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Then, some other dickwad drove over my mutilated body once more, just for shits and giggles.

  “You’re awake,” Addy says with a smile from the chair beside my bed.

  I roll my eyes at her, not quite ready to put up with her exuberant attitude. “No shit. How did you guess that?”

  “I see you woke up in your normal chipper mood, Trix,” she says, looking to the other side of the room.

  I don’t even have to turn my head to know who is standing there. Boz has not left my room once, not one damn time. He has had people bring his food and a few changes of clothes. The man even takes his showers right in my bathroom. He doesn’t even do that when I’m awake. Hell no, he stands over me, constantly asking if I need or want anything. Every time he asks, I have to fight the urge to tell him I want my breast back. So far, I have been able to hold the words back, but I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to keep my true thoughts from popping out of my mouth.

  “You hurting, darlin’?” he asks, coming to my bedside and leaning down to place a kiss on my forehead.

  Hell yeah, I’m hurting, but there is no way I’m going to let him know that. Last time I told him I was in pain, he threw a hellacious fit. By the time he was done, he had half the nurses and the doctor upping my pain meds. Of course, he only got the doctor to agree after twenty minutes of arguing with him. During the argument, my old man just had to let half the hospital staff know that I had smoked so much weed during my life, I probably had a high tolerance for pain meds. I don’t know if he was right, but the end result was me getting enough morphine to knock my ass out.

  “I’m just a little sore this morning, but I’m okay,” I tell him, not really lying but definitely stretching the truth a bit.

  He smiles down at me and says, “I talked to the nurse a few minutes ago. She said the doctor should be in soon. She figures you will be out of here before lunch.”

  I close my eyes, blowing out a relieved breath. What should have been a few days in the hospital turned into a nine-day stay. Lucky me caught s
ome sort of an infection after my surgery. For three days, I ran a high fever and my entire body was flushed. The doctor told me that it was not unusual and could be treated by antibiotics. Of course, he would not even talk about discharging me until the infection was completely gone.

  “I came by to help you get dressed and stuff,” Addy says, standing up from the chair and walking to my bedside. “I figured you might need a little help.”

  Before I can say anything, Boz reaches down and pulls a stray lock of hair from my face. “I had her stop by the house and grab your hairbrush. You forgot it when you packed your bag.”

  Anger fills me at his words. I’m not sure why. Hell, I have so many emotions running through me that I can barely keep up. For some reason, it pisses me off that Addy had to go to the house and get my stuff. Boz could have left me alone for a few minutes and got it himself. Irritation keeps me from thinking before I speak.

  “I’m not gonna need a brush much longer anyway. Once the chemo starts, all my hair is going to fall out anyhow. How are you gonna like telling all your biker brethren that you have a bald old lady?” I ask, regretting the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.

  Boz looks at me for a second, not saying anything. Suddenly, he turns around and walks across the room. As soon as he is in striking distance, his fist goes flying into the wall. A second later, he storms out of the room. I watch as the door closes behind him, part of me wanting to call him back and apologize, and another part glad to have a minute without him by my side. He probably needs a little space. Can’t say I blame him, because I have been pushing his buttons for the last few days. Obviously, this time I pushed too far.

  “I know you’re in pain. I know that you’re hurting in a way I can’t even imagine, but you need to take it easy on him,” Addy says, reaching out to grab my hand. “This has been hard on him, too. He is holding on by a string, and I think that string is about to break.”

  “Let it break.” I snatch my hand away from her, spewing my anger her way. “I just had my tit cut off. I figure if there was any time I would be allowed to be a bitch, it would be now.”

  She grabs my hand again and holds it tightly. “Be a bitch all you want. Scream and rail at me until you feel better, but take it easy on your old man.”

  I know she’s right. This isn’t Boz’s fault. Hell, it isn’t anyone’s fault. My mind keeps reminding me of that fact, but my soul is screaming at me, forcing me to vent my anger at someone. It’s just easier with Boz; he’s the easiest target. I know, without a doubt, he will love me no matter what. I can bitch at him day and night, and he will still love me. That still doesn’t excuse my behavior. I’m going to have to apologize. I’m going to have to make sure that he knows just how much I love him.

  The same thing goes for Addy. She will take whatever I throw at her and still be my best friend when it is over, but that doesn’t make it right. I can’t blame anyone for what has happened, not even myself. I can’t punish anyone either. This is just part of my fucked-up genetics. This disease killed my mother, and it is trying to kill me. There is no damn way I am going to let that happen.

  “I’m sorry, Addy,” I whisper, forcing tears not to fall. “I just feel like shit and am taking it out on everyone.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for,” she replies, smiling at me.

  I nearly scream at her response. Any other time, my best friend would have read me the riot act. There is no way she would let me get away with this shit. But just like everyone else, she is treating me with kid gloves. That shit is enough to drive me up the wall. What I want is for everyone to treat me the same way they always have. When I’m a bitch, I want them to give me attitude right back. Since news of the cancer got out, no one has even disagreed with me. I could probably tell everyone the ocean was orange and they would agree. It’s enough to make me want to throw something.

  Before I can tell her any of that, the door opens and Boz walks back into the room. His eyes are locked on me, studying every inch of me. It’s like he is searching to see if I’m still in my pissy mood, as if it just disappeared in the last few minutes. When I don’t yell at him, he continues into the room, walking to my bed side and wrapping his long fingers around the rail.

  “I saw them pushing the food cart down the hallway. I know you hate hospital food,” he states, as if he didn’t just lose his shit moments ago, before asking, “You want me to have someone run down to Waffle House and grab you some smothered grits?”

  I look toward Addy and ask, “Would you mind going to get us all some breakfast?”

  She quickly agrees and grabs her purse. She and Boz take a few minutes arguing about who is going to pay. Like most arguments, Addy wins. She walks out of the room, leaving my old man standing in the middle of the room with a glare on his face and a couple of twenties wadded up in his hands.

  “Come here,” I say as soon as the door shuts behind her.

  He immediately does what I ask, grabbing hold of my hand. “Is something wrong? Are you hurting again?”

  “I’m okay, just a little sore.” I close my eyes and remind myself that he is just trying to help.

  I try my best to think of a way to ask him to chill out. Everything that comes to mind ends up making me sound like an unappreciative bitch. After more thought, I realize that Boz is going to have to do what he feels like he needs to do, and I’m going to just have to deal with it. Hopefully, I can do that without losing my shit, too.

  “I’m not a good patient,” I try to explain, hoping he will understand what I am saying. “I’m probably going to be a bitch, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate everything you’re doing for me, or that I don’t love you. You are my everything. My life would be nothing without your love.”

  His lips tip up as he bends down to place a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I love you, too, darlin’.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Trix

  I walk out of the bathroom, my already thinning hair up in a towel, with my fluffy robe on that Boz got me last Mother’s Day. After chemo, my skin cannot handle anything else. Sometimes, any fabric feels like sandpaper scrubbing me raw. It’s not just my scar, even though that does hurt, but it’s my whole body. It’s like the poison they are pumping into me is making my skin extra sensitive. Hell, I can’t even put on makeup anymore. Every time I do, my face feels like it’s on fire. I quit trying after the third treatment.

  My phone dings before my thoughts can turn too dark. I look down and see a text from Gidget. Relief fills me. As a nurse, she has helped me out a lot. Where everyone else treats me like I am going to break, she treats me like the same old Trix. Not even Addy treats me normally. I love Addy. She will always be my best friend ‘til the day I die, but I do not need her babying me right now. I need Gidget’s no-nonsense attitude to bring me out of this funk.

  Are you still coming over?

  I smile as I text her back. Give me about an hour.

  See you soon.

  I toss my phone down and pick up my brush. I squeeze any excess water from my hair and remove the towel. I can’t hold back the tears as I take in the clumps of golden hair I see laying against the soft terrycloth. I knew losing my hair would be a side effect from the chemo, expected it to happen at some time. I just never imagined that it would happen this soon.

  I gently brush my hair, hoping to avoid the inevitable and keep as much hair on my scalp as possible. It’s a delusional hope, but it’s the only thing I have to hold on to at this point. My heart is crushed when I finish and see the amount of hair in my brush. Looking in the mirror, I can see it’s not really noticeable. My hair may be a tad less full, but I had so much to start with, it’s hard to say. I toss the brush onto the towel, planning to get rid of the hair before Boz sees it.

  Still looking into the mirror, I slowly push open my robe. My eyes lock onto my scar, and I can feel bile rising up in my throat. I knew it was going to look bad, but I had no idea it would look like this. The right side of my chest of flat, with only a f
ew bits of floppy skin laying around the incision site. The scar itself can only be described as ghastly. It looks like a train track running right across what used to be my breast. The doctor said it will fade in time to nothing more than a pink line, but that time is not coming quick enough for me.

  Deciding I cannot look at it for a minute more, I bend down and grab a pair of panties and a bra out of the dresser. I quickly step into the panties then snatch my prosthetic off the dresser. Before this happened, I didn’t realize there was such a thing as a prosthetic breast. Now, it is my savior. I have worn it every day since I came home, even when I still had my bandage on. Just knowing it was there was worth the pain it caused. As long as I wear the right kind of shirt, no one can tell that I had to have one of my breasts removed.

  Waking up and realizing the reconstructive surgery wasn’t done was a blow. I expected to come home with two breasts, even if one of them was fake. My first thought was to have it done as soon as possible, but I changed my mind after talking to the doctor. Now, I have to wait for my treatments to be done. I don’t really know if I could have made it without the prosthetic. It has helped me keep some of the confidence that I need to get through the days.

  I’m just about to drop my robe onto the floor when the door opens. I quickly pull it over my shoulders and tie it closed. I turn in time to see Boz staring at me, a look of shock in his eyes. I’m not sure if he saw the scars, but he saw something that he didn’t like. It could have been the twentyish pounds I have lost since my doctor told me the news. It could also be the bruises that seem to pop up, even if I have done nothing more than brush my arm against the door. Hell, I have fingerprints on my arms from where Fiona got excited and grabbed my arm.

  “I thought you were going to the club for a while,” I state as I pick up the discarded towel and brush, walking to the bathroom and putting them away. Brew called this morning and said they had a small crisis with one of the prospects and a club whore. So, Boz reluctantly left, promising to only be gone a short time.