Page 7 of Royal Sons MC

Tymber wasn’t surewhat had made Ivy retreat from him, but he’d be damned if he allowed it. There was something about the woman who was dressed to kill, yet her demeanor was that of a woman in need of saving. He watched and waited for her to process his declaration.

Ivy let out a deep breath. “You should get going. It sounds like Carly needs.”

He almost smiled. Only knowing Ivy might kick him with those black boots kept him from following through with it. Nope, he definitely wasn’t going to crack a shit-eating grin, even though he understood why she was backing away. Jealousy was a bitch, one that he didn’t usually like seeing on a woman he wanted. However, with the gorgeous Ivy, he found he liked it. “My sister tends to go into theatrics when one of her offspring is a little hard to handle. Hence the frantic call. My nephew is giving her fits,” he explained.

Wariness clouded her gorgeous green eyes. “You better get going then.” She tilted her head toward his bike.

“You gonna give me your number?” He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, the softness of it making him wish they’d had more time together. If she didn’t give him her number, he wasn’t sure how he’d track her down. Of course, he could call a friend who could run her plates, but that would only cause him grief. Sure as shit, his buddy would demand he explain before he’d run them. How would he explain the crazy need to see Ivy again? He had this need to make sure she was safe and happy. Shit, maybe it would be better if she denied him her digits.

“What’s your number?” Ivy asked instead.

His brows rose, and then he rattled off his number, thinking she’d never call. Ivy pulled her phone out of her bag and typed in his number. He figured she’d delete it once she was away from him. The sound of his phone ringing made the grin he’d fought earlier appear. He slipped his cell out of his back pocket, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Hello?” he said into the phone, hoping it was Ivy, hating the thought it wasn’t.

Silence met his words. Ivy let out a deep breath. “There’s my number.”

Tymber quickly added her to his contacts. “You’ve got mine too. Are you going to answer if I call?”

Ivy laughed. “You act as though women turn you down, Tymber. If they have, then you’re either a dick once they get to know you, or you have a small dick, which for the record, I’m not asking, just saying.”

He stepped closer to Ivy, eyeing the way her tongue peeked out to lick over her lips. Fuck, he wanted to do the same thing, replacing her tongue with his. “I can’t say I’ve never been a dick, but I can assure you the size of my dick has never been an issue, except that it might be too big. However, I’m a patient man, so even those complaints I can erase.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Good to know.”

“I’ll call you tonight.” He made it a statement. There would be no stalking or calling her if she didn’t answer him when he called the first time.

“My phone will be on. See you, lumberjack.” She moved back, then rounded her vehicle, leaving him alone on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, you will,” he promised her. Shit, he needed to have his head examined, he thought while watching her tail lights disappear around the corner. Walking over to his bike, he grabbed the skull cap he never rode without and strapped it on. The familiar rumble of the bike usually eased his mind, giving him a respite from reality. However, the vision of Ivy standing on her toes outside a meeting for suicide survivors and those who were on the edge kept him from shutting down. “After I deal with Carly, I’ll call her. If she doesn’t pick up, I’ll leave a message, but then the ball would be in her court,” he muttered while easing into traffic.

A short time later...

“Carly, you need to be consistent with the kids. You can’t give them their way one day, then expect them not to be pissed when you deny them the next. If you don’t want Carl hanging out with certain friends, letting him go to a party with them last week, yet telling him he can’t be friends with them, isn’t going to sit well.” He took the cold bottle of water his sister held out. He was thirty-two to her forty-five. Times like these made him wonder how she’d gotten through life without falling flat on her face.

“Tymber, there are reasons for everything. For one, the party I let my fifteen-year-old son go to last week was monitored by adults. This one isn’t. Hell, the kid he wanted to go with drove a sportscar like a...teen let loose for the first time. I didn’t want to see my son get in with him. I don’t know how to explain it, but I have a feeling he wouldn't come home. Call it mother’s intuition, but that’s what I got.”

He walked around the kitchen counter and pulled his sister into his arms. Like him, she had dark brown hair and brown eyes. In her mid-forties, she was in better shape than most women in their twenties. She kept her mind and body fit as her way of saying fuck off to her ex. “I don’t question your motives, sis. I hate seeing you upset like this. Where’s CJ at?” His nephew was Carl Junior, but he hated it when people called him that. Why his sister had married the douche, Carl, making them that couple with matching names, he would never know. Their twenty-year marriage had fallen apart three years ago after Carly found out he’d been screwing around on her for the last five years. He wondered if the man had not cheated but hadn’t said that to Carly. After all, Carl Senior was now spending a fifteen-year jail sentence, thanks to his fall from grace and into the arms of a junkie who set him up. Karma was a bitch, but when she came calling, snaring Carl in a sting operation, nobody in his family cared.

“He’s in his room sulking. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t open the door, and he’s not returning my calls or texts,” Carly said, her tone filled with hurt, and so was her demeanor.

Back when he’d been a teen, throwing a hissy fit like CJ would’ve been the last thing he would’ve done. He made his way down the hallway after he’d assured his sister he’d talk with her son. Shit, he wondered when he’d become the wise one, then chuckled. At CJ’s door, he could hear the pounding beat of heavy metal. Two sharp raps on the door didn’t elicit a response, but unlike his sister, he wouldn’t allow a little thing like that to keep him out. Reaching the ledge above the door to his sister’s room, he found the key she kept there. “I hope you’re decent and not jacking off to online porn,” he muttered as he opened the door.

“Hardy har har, Uncle Tymber. What did my mom do, call you in for reinforcements?” CJ asked without turning to look toward the door.

“Something like that,” he agreed. Never would he lie to the boy if he could help it.

“Well, you can return and tell her I’m being a good little boy. See...” He moved aside to show Tymber what was on the screen. Not that he’d actually thought the kid would be watching porn...but seeing some document he’d been working on had him relaxing.

Tymber walked a few feet from the door to where his nephew sat. Leaning against the desk, he faced CJ. “You know your mother only has your best interest in mind when she gives an order.”

“Well, my best interests weren’t to be kept from attending Dillon’s party just because his parents weren’t home. It’s like she doesn’t trust me.” Sadness wafted from the boy. Having your dad locked up for drug trafficking and a mother who kept the apron strings too tight had to be hard.

He spent a half hour with CJ, looking over his paper and explaining what could happen if the party was busted. Even though he was sullen, he agreed he didn’t want to be anywhere near the police, especially with his father’s name still floating in the air. His sister had been lucky when she’d finally divorced the man, or he would’ve drug her and their children down the rabbit hole he was in.

The kitchen was empty, but he knew where to find Carly. By the pool with a book and a glass of water with lemon. He shook his head as he stepped out the patio door, taking in the serene picture of the sun setting and the crisp, clean air.

“I just got a text from CJ. I guess your talk did him good?” She lifted the glass and took a sip, laying the book on her lap.

“Yeah, he’s still mad, but he understands you were only looking out for him. You might want to talk to him. You know, before beginning with the yelling.” He sat on the lounger across from her, his elbows resting on his thighs, waiting.

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