Page 217 of Misrule
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” he whispered. “Shot to death. The police have no leads. Who could’ve done this to her?”
“Dad?” Grant called.
Moving away from Knox, Roxy lifted her head and saw Grant standing in the doorway. “Come on, baby,” she said, patting the space she’d created in the middle of the bed, by moving over.
“You’re still dressed, Roxanne,” Knox observed, scooting over and helping his son slip in between the covers.
“I’m too fucking tired to change,” she explained, then lifted her hand up and stared at the engagement ring. She couldn’t believe she’d once thought it was pretty. It was the ugliest motherfucker she’d ever seen. It would go to Grant for him to give to whoever he chose as his life’s mate. If it was left up to Roxy, she’d throw this motherfucker in the deepest part of the ocean.
They hadn’t even gotten to the make-up sex before Knox had gotten the news about Callie. Afterwards, it had been all about contacting his parents and his son, and making travel plans. Whether or not their wedding would go forward was up in the air. However, it seemed in poor taste that Knox would marry Roxy only several months after the murder of his ex-wife and son’s mother. She might’ve been classless according to Duke, and her own behavior at times proved him right, but Roxy knew when to draw the line.
She sighed. “I’m going to tell Bailey that she and Mortician can still marry on August 6thof this year, but I’m pushing our wedding back to next year.”
“What?” Knox gasped. “No, Roxanne. Absolutely not.”
“We’re going to marry eventually,” she assured him. “We need to ride out this storm.”
“As husband and wife,” Knox insisted. “We’re having the double wedding as planned.”
“Dad smiles a lot with you,” Grant said in a solemn voice. “I want you to marry him so he can be happy.”
They both looked at her with expectation.
“How can I deny you two?” she said with a smile. “I suppose the double ceremony is back on.”
Knox and Grant high-fived. Together, the three of them settled in, and soon fell asleep, wrapped in their cocoon of love.
Too soon, they had to face Callie’s funeral and their final goodbye to her.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Johnnie had to know. He had to be sure that Christopher and Emily didn’t know one another. He had to be sure that he could try to give her a chance, although he still wrestled with the role Emily had played in Kendall’s life. He had no peace.
Emily bombarded him with calls and texts, while Kendall seemed to be withdrawing. It didn’t matter that she was still part of the wedding party, and participated in whatever planning sessions or fittings the women had. The more he tried to ignore Kendall, the more his conscious beat up on him. Both her mother and sister had killed themselves. What if Kendall’s behavior wasn’t a ploy but a true cry for help?
In the midst of his confusion over her, to Johnnie, Emily served as a distraction. Not necessarily welcomed, but one he needed.
In the weeks since their date, he’d seen her six times. She’d prepared home-cooked meals for him on three separate occasions. Unlike Kendall, Emily was a great cook. She didn’t mind evenings in. She longed for children and an easier life. Most of all, she seemed completely into him.
His lack of desire toward her wasn’t her fault. It was him. To counteract his tepid responses to her come-ons, he’d even stayed away from Kendall for the past few days. He hadn’t brought the kids to see her or responded to any of her calls and texts. He and Emily talked at least four times a day, and texted even more.
Johnnie was tired of the internal conflict. Every time he gave the smallest consideration to fucking Emily, he recoiled.Shewas part of the reason Kendall suffered so greatly to this day. He believed he stayed away from Kendall more out of guilt than blossoming feelings for Emily.
Tonight, though, he was going to Digger and Bunny’s house for their weekly dinner, and bringing Emily as his date. He wanted to see her next to Megan. He wanted to see Christopher’s reaction to having the two of them in the same room. Johnnie might be fed up with Kendall, and worried sick about her, but if Christopher wanted to play fucking games with Johnnie’s wife, then he’d return the favor.
“Do I look okay?” Emily asked nervously as they approached the cottage.
As brothers in the club, Johnnie, Christopher, Val, Mortician, Stretch, Digger, and Cash had much in common. Their love of riding, women, alcohol, money, and weed. As married men, the women they’d married defined their style.
Kendall was educated and loved the good life, so she’d chosen a two-story mansion for herself, Johnnie, and their kids. Zoann was no-nonsense and hardy, so her choice of an oversized log cabin for her family made sense. Bunny was down-to-earth and rather creative, fitting for the co-owner of an English-styled cottage. Ophelia went with the flow, and didn’t mind the bungalow Stretch wanted and Cash insisted upon. Bailey was quiet and elegant. Though Mortician was a stingy motherfucker, he wanted to give her the best.
And, Megan, Christopher’s heart and soul—the youngest of all their women—lived in a three-story fortress with a moat surrounding it.
Whether or not he and Kendall reconciled, in Johnnie’s heart, he knew there’d be no place for Emily in this tight-knit group.
“I must look a fright,” she said softly. “You haven’t said otherwise.”
Smiling, Johnnie forced himself to brush strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. “You look beautiful as usual,” he told her. He bent and brushed her lips with his.
