Page 31 of Scotch: Unraveled

“But—” she tries to protest.

“You did nothing wrong.”

First, we make love in the bed and then I go down on her in the shower between washing up. And as much as I want to end that fucker Rodrick, I have to tread carefully. My family needs me. I already considered Frankie family, but when she said she loved me, that cemented she and I permanently in this relationship. No explaining away the time she and I spend together to Brighton. No more pretending it’s just for the wee ones. We’re officially an us and that’s forever.Fuck. I rub my hands over my eyes. I am so gone for this woman. So fucking,fuckinggone.

I’m pretty proud of myself for keeping my cool, actually.

The babes wake up, Macie as vocal as always. Mollie coos and gurgles. Both their eyes lit up, seeing Frankie and me. Together we change and feed them as we pack for Bald Head. I made the decision as the head of the MacGregor family that from the moment we stepped from the shower, Rodrick was forgotten. We have plans. New memories to make. He doesn’t get to ruin them, so I’m not going to let him.

“I don’t have any swimsuits,” she complains. “I can’t leave from here.”

“It’s a beach; they’ll sell swimsuits there. I want us gone from here before that dickhead has the chance to throw a wrench in our plans.”

“We’re running from him?” she asks.

That just pisses me off. “Shite, no. We ain’t running. It’s called a strategic retreat. Out of sight, out of mind. Gives me a chance to figure out what to do with him.”

“Okay, I can see that.”

“Plus, it gives me a chance to fuck ya on a beach,” I say, and I laugh when she punches my shoulder.

After a quick pack, because anything we’ve forgotten we can buy once we’re on the road, Frankie hooks Mollie into her seat and I do the same with Macie and we head out to the truck. Duke already gave me the time off because I was injured doing club work and he knows the situation with Frankie.

We take the Interstate, driving until we decide to stop to stretch our legs in Ashville, North Carolina. We walk around, pop inside some of the shops. The lassies are glad to be out of their seats for a while, I think.

Ready for a late lunch, we take our seats inside an eclectic café with white Christmas lights strung artfully on the walls alongside antiques. There’re two creepy-as-hell ventriloquist dummies seated in child-sized wooden chairs secured to one wall playing poker at a child-sized table. I swear their fucking eyes follow us around the whole room. The menu boasts of the best She-Crab bisque in the state and fried green tomatoes so good, they’ll “make you smack your mama.” Lucky for her, my ma is back Glasgow because Frankie and I both order their specialties and end the meal with peach cobbler because when in North Carolina…

It’s not easy to spoon up bisque and fork up tomatoes and cobbler one handed with a baby on yar lap, but the babes need to stretch as long as possible. And the smile on Frankie’s face, the way her eyes twinkle as Mollie latches on to Frankie’s lip with her little fingers while Frankie tries to take a bite… the way she laughs and kisses Mollie’s hand instead of eating… I wouldn’t trade one fucking minute of it.

From the restaurant it’s a fill-up for the truck and we’re back on the road. The sun shines bright enough through the cab of the car that it heats us to the point I have to turn on the air. Stark difference from the chilly weather back home. Frankie and I fill the time with listening to music, talking about the last few weeks we were apart—pointedly omitting any discussion of Rodrick or for me, the cartel—and reliving fun stories from the last time she and I headed to Bald Head together.

Several more hours of driving go by until we finally reach Southport. I park at the marina and we each grab a bag and a carrier. I use one hand to shake open the stroller, locking the lasses down in the stroller seats, then we take a shuttle to the front dock, where we purchase our tickets for the ferry. The wind blows Frankie’s hair, framing her face, and the way the light hits it brings out dark, coppery highlights.

She must feel me staring because she turns to me, laughing uncomfortably. “What?” she asks.

“Have I told ya how beautiful ya are?”

In a bout of shyness, she lowers her lashes. “No.”

“Shame on me, then. Because a more beautiful woman has yet to be born. Have I reminded ya of how much I love ya?”

“Not today,” she answers, and the smile she shoots me turns coy rather than shy.

“Then you should know that, too.” I set the bag on the sidewalk and, shifting the stroller out of the way but still keeping a hand on the handle, I wrap my free arm around Frankie’s waist to draw her closer. I whisper, “Love ya” right before I kiss her.

The line to board the ferry begins to move, which means I have to end things sooner than I want to, though we’ll have more time for everything once we’ve checked into our hotel on the island. Although we’d both love to sit on the top deck to get the full ferry experience—that rush of wind and ocean spray hitting yar face—with the wee ones, we opt for the first deck inside but close to the windows so we can look out.

Twenty minutes of unbelievable views and conversation and we dock at Bald Head. No cars are allowed on the island, other than emergency vehicles. For the rest of us, it’s golf carts, bikes—of the cycling variety—and walking. Since we have both girls and luggage, once we’ve made it off the boat, I flag down a golf cart to drive us to our hotel. It’s situated on the waterfront, opposite end of the island from the dock.

Check-in goes quick. Our room is on the second floor with the balcony facing the ocean and marshlands. There’s a wooden slat boardwalk leading to the sand. It’s a great view, but my mind is on other things. I’ve not had sex yet while the babes were awake and I don’t know how else to proceed other than leaving them securely in their crib that Frankie was smart enough to request when she booked the room, and pick her up to carry into the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” she asks, giggling as I kick the door shut. But she knows exactly what I’m doing, especially when my mouth finds hers hard and I impatiently undress her. Then there are no more words between us for some time when she wraps her legs around my waist and I take her against the sink basin.

10.

Frankie

Growing up in Thornbriar, I always thought of the Lords and bikers in general as scary outlaws because they lived their lives like scary outlaws. But there’s nothing remotely scary about the men I’ve come to know or the man I love. We take the girls out shopping and to the beach. People stop us, wanting to see the girls. Some people get a little flustered when they see Rory’s backpiece. It’s huge. All the brothers get one when they patch in. It’s the club’s flaming devil’s head with the words Live. Ride. Brotherhood. And of course, there are his very visible scars from the bullet wounds on his torso. Plus, a fresh pink one on his thigh that he hasn’t discussed with me yet and truthfully, I’m afraid to ask him about it.

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