Conquering Circumstances: Black Shamrocks MC Novella Read online

  Just like I failed Alanah.

  The harder the medication hits her; the more she leans on me, and the further into myself I pull. I feel like a fucking jack-in-the-box, concertinaed in my emotionally numbing hiding-hole, only emerging when Wendy cranks my handle with the right amount of urgency. Her thinning hair and prominent bones are digging at my old wounds, lifting the edges of the barely healed scabs left behind by my first love.

  “Oh my God. What are you doing in the ladies room?”

  Without letting go of a single strand of Wendy’s hair, I turn to the bitch who’s screeching at me. Lifting one eyebrow, I curl my top lip and growl, “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing, dumbass? Get the fuck out of here, and give us some peace.”

  I haven’t even finished my tirade before I lose my audience. The blonde bimbo, who looks old enough to know better than to make such a scene, turns on her heel and runs for the door, squealing at her companion to get out of her way.

  “Little lady?” I pat Wendy’s shoulder. “We’ve about thirty seconds before security gets here. Do ya think you’re done yet?”

  Groaning, she tries to rise from her spot on her knees in front of the toilet. Wobbling on unsteady legs, she reaches out for me as she straightens and I pull her to her full height, and straight into my chest.

  “If you hadn’t been so rude, she mightn’t have run out of here like her panties were on fire,” the frail woman in my arms laughs. Holding her, I can feel every nob of her spine and the ribs on either side. My eyes prick and my mouth fills with saliva. Blinking rapidly, I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the basin.

  “Rinse.”

  Lowering her so she can reach the taps, I hold her light frame suspended in the air until she’s finished cleaning herself up.

  “I can walk; you know?” Wendy says this at the same time as she snuggles back into my chest and wraps her damp hands around my neck.

  “It’s all good,” I answer, exiting the restroom and heading toward her doctor’s office for her appointment. “I like the feel of you in my arms.”

  A sharp intake of breath is her only response to my confession. I’ve peppered the last six weeks with little comments like this, trying to make her believe that I’m serious about laying my head on the line for the Shamrocks once she’s clear of this fucking cancer. It’s the only way I can have Wendy back in my life without her loyalties pulling her in different directions.

  It’s also the only way to rid myself of my never-ending guilt and show my kids that I’m sorry.

  “This is Wendy Markham,” I state flatly, not impressed to find that the dumb bitch who made the production about me being in the ladies is the fucking receptionist. “Here for an appointment with Dr. Jenkins.”

  Her mouth hangs open, and she stares at me. Shaking my head, I put Wendy back on her feet and reach one arm over the counter. With two fingers under the blonde’s chin, I lift her bottom jaw until it meets her top. “It’s rude to stare.”

  Laying an arm lightly across a giggling Wendy’s shaking shoulder’s, I direct her through the open door and into her doctor’s office.

  “Wendy,” the older man sitting behind the desk greets her. “You’re looking well.”

  After shaking his hand, we both take a seat, waiting for the pleasantries to be done with so we can get the verdict. Is the chemo working or not?

  For some reason, I wasn’t expecting her specialist to be a man. Especially a good looking, respectable looking fucker who’s eyeing my woman as if she’s lunch. A cockhead who looks like the type of douche any woman’s parents would be happy for you to bring home. Unlike me, the oversized, scary-looking, ex-outlaw biker club president.

  “She looks like shit,” I cut in. Wendy flinches at my words, and I regret them straightaway. Good one, Beast. Every woman loves to hear she looks like shit, especially when she’s fighting for her fucking life. If I could swallow my tongue right now, I would.

  “What I, uh, mean is that the chemo is knocking her around.” I backtrack, fidgeting with the outer seam of my jeans, so I don’t have to meet anyone’s eyes.

  “I feel like shit, too,” Wendy cuts in. I look up in surprise when the word “shit” leaves her typically straitlaced mouth, and we break into grins when our eyes meet. The small twinkle in her pain-filled eyes makes my fucking day. “But it’s worth it, if it’s working?”

  The question is out there, waiting for an answer that’s either going to make me the happiest man alive, or rip my still-beating heart out of my chest for the second time in my life.

  Clearing his throat, the doctor steeples his hands and leans his elbows on his desk. “The chemotherapy is having the desired effect.” He pauses and his words sink into my thick head. Fuck yeah! She’s going to be okay.

  “However,” he continues. My hope flickers and dies like a fledgling flint in a fucking thunderstorm. “It’s not enough to negate the need for the surgeries I’ve mentioned.”

  What. The. Fuck? The room spins. I hold onto the armrests of my chair and try to breathe through it. My head swivels of its own accord until I’m looking at Wendy. Her lips are moving, but I can’t hear a fucking thing. A roar, like the ocean when it’s pounding the shore with a big surf swell reverberates in my ears, drowning out everything else.

  “Patrick?”

  My hearing begins to return, and the whirling of the room slows down. I shake my head to clear it completely. “Surgery? You never said a fucking word about surgery.”

  Her pale face falls expressionless in an instant. My heart beats an irregular rhythm in my chest when I grasp the implications.

  “Bullshit. You’re not doing this to me as well.”

  Pounding my fist onto the top of the desk, I turn my attention from Wendy to her doctor.

  “What surgery does she need? When?”

  His throat works as he swallows nervously. Wrapping my hands around the armrests of my chair again, I resist the urge to drag him over his fancy desk by his fucking tie when he flicks his questioning gaze to Wendy, seeking her permission to tell me the truth. “Don’t mind her. She lost her decision-making rights when she chose to curl up and die on me. Answer my fucking questions. Now.”

  “Patrick.” The woman responsible for my white-knuckled grip on my chair—so I don’t throttle her and her incompetent doctor—interjects in an effort to save her doctor’s ass. “Dr. Jenkins recommended that I have surgery to remove my lymph nodes and the cancerous tissue. I’m going ahead with that operation.”

  She must think I’m stupid. And going by my behaviour in recent years, she might have a case to support her thoughts, yet I’m not dumb enough to buy the half-truth she’s trying to feed me.

  “He said surgeries. That means more than one.” I cock my eyebrow, partially with a disturbed sense of amusement when I see the cogs turning as Wendy scrambles for a new way to bullshit me.

  “I’m not having them. They’re unnecessary—”

  “Actually,” Dr. Jenkins cuts her off. “I advised a double mastectomy and a full hysterectomy to negate the chance of another recurrence. Having had the same cancer twice at such a young age is incredibly rare.”

  That’s it. I’ve heard enough. This woman takes the cake. I’ve spent thirteen fucking years of my life with her; shared my kids with her; told her every fucking fear I had before, during, and after Alanah’s passing; yet she feels that it’s acceptable to hide the fact that she’s had cancer before from me?

  Standing with such speed that I knock my chair over, I regard her as if I’ve never seen her before. Her cheek bones look sharp enough to cut, her collarbones jut from her shoulders, and her once luxuriously thick hair is dull and thinning. That’s hard enough to deal with on its own. The belligerent, self-righteous glare that she sends my way ... now that, I can’t handle.

  Giving her my back before I wrap my hands around her skinny neck and attempt to shake some sense into her, I bark my final orders at her doctor. “Book the surgeries. She’ll be there if I have to kn
ock her out and deliver her myself.”

  His bumbling, mumbles of agreement and the frantic bobbing of his head tells me that he’s going to do what he’s told, so without any further fucking ado, I sweep Wendy out of her seat and into my arms. Ignoring her howls of protest, I glare down at my second chance at love until she ceases her useless squirming in my hold.

  “We’re going home. You’ve got some serious fucking explaining to do.”

  “You can’t make me do it.”

  I’m aware that I sound like a child, a petulant one at that. Current care factor: nil.

  “Watch me, little lady. Do not try to take me on, you’ll lose. I guarantee.” Patrick spits his challenge at me. I search his hard features for a sign that he’s going to soften his stance. Finding none, I pick up my book from the bedside table and pretend to read.

  Since we arrived home after the disastrous appointment with my specialist, he’s been hounding me for details about my previous cancer diagnosis and my decision not to have the preventative surgery. My refusal to fill him in has almost caused his head to explode. I have my next session of chemo tomorrow morning so I need the best night’s sleep I can get. Each treatment has made me feel worse than the one before it. Making it all the way through is beginning to seem impossible.

  “Wendy?”

  I glance up from my book, surprised by the change in his tone.

  What greets me is unexpected and gut-wrenching. Tears fill his eyes, contained only by the sheer willpower I can see on his face. His bottom lip trembles as he crawls up the bed and then over me. Plucking my book from my hands he drops it to the floor and I don’t even protest the loss of my page or the ill-treatment of one of my favorite signed paperbacks. Settling his big body over mine, he slips his arms around my waist and rolls onto his back, bringing me with him so I’m lying on him instead.

  Propping my chin on his chest, I look up at him. A myriad of feelings flit across his features, and I watch, mesmerised. It’s unusual for Patrick to lose control of any emotion except his anger ... that gets lets off its leash regularly.

  “What?” I ask when my curiosity gets to be too much.

  “I can’t lose you, little lady,” he begins.

  I shush him with a finger to his lips. “You won’t. I—”

  “You can’t promise that. Alanah promised me that, and where’s she? Six fucking foot under. If you love me. If you love my kids ... our kids ... you’ll do what the surgeon recommends so you can stay with us as long as possible. We need you. I fucking need you. I’m a cockhead for never saying it, but I love you. I have since the day I knocked you on your ass in Pratt’s Bakery.” I bite my lip when he pauses and drags in a deep breath. Here comes the “but”, because there’s always a “but”. With Patrick and I, there’s always been the spectre of Alanah between us ... and there always will be. Nothing can change that.

  “When you looked up at me with those big brown eyes of yours, I was a fucking goner. Barely six months after the woman I’d promised to cherish for life had died, I was imagining my cock sliding into another woman’s pussy. Imagining what she’d look like on the back of my bike. Wearing my mark. Fuck, when you stammered your apology, and your face turned red after you looked at me, I even pictured my fucking ring on your finger—”

  “Patrick, it’s okay. I understand.” I need to make him stop. He’s getting worked up. His chest is heaving, and the tears that were threatening earlier are spilling freely over his face.

  “No! You don’t fucking understand. I didn’t understand until I was hit with deja fucking vu this afternoon in that doctor’s office. I’ve spent thirteen years feeling guilty for loving you because I was certain that it was impossible to love another woman as much as I loved Alanah without sullying the purity of my love for her. I didn’t understand that loving you had no fucking impact on the love I shared with her.”

  Patrick crushes me to him with both arms, and rolls so I’m on my back on the bed in our original position. He pushes his hips between my legs, and I wrap them around his waist.

  “Little lady. I’m a dumbass biker. That’s all I’ll ever be; all I ever wanted to be. I’m so fucking sorry it’s taken me so long to figure this shit out, but this dumbass biker now knows that he can love you both.”

  The truth in his words washes over me and peace settles into the marrow of my bones. Maybe the fairy tale is in reach after all? Maybe he can withstand what’s still to come?

  With that thought, talking no longer interests me—not with his delectable mouth hovering inches from mine. Tempting, tantalizing, tormenting me with its closeness. Lifting my head from the pillow, I use my thighs to cling to him, lacing my hands at his neck to bring his face to mine. We haven’t kissed properly since the day he ambushed me in the hospital, despite his best efforts. At this moment, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing.

  Our tongues touch, duelling for a few moments before I suck his bottom lip into my mouth. I nibble along it and then bite my way down his neck. Moving against the bulge I can feel steadily growing between my legs, it’s my turn to entice.

  “Patrick, please,” I whisper against his neck. “I need you.”

  “You’re sick. What if I hurt you?”

  “I’m not as fragile as I look,” I promise him, even as I mentally cross my fingers that I’m telling the truth. The man currently grinding against me lives up to his nickname in all aspects of life. He truly is a Beast, in and out of bed.

  He takes too long to decide so I make the choice for us. Digging my fingers into the waist of his pants, I pull his shirt free, and up and over his head. Taking a moment to enjoy the sight of the vast expanse of his wide, chiseled chest, his shirt dangles forgotten from my hand. Once I’ve regained enough sense to toss it aside, Patrick returns the favor and makes easy work of stripping my clothes off me. I attempt to sit up so I can push his jeans down his hips, but he pins me to the bed with a flat palm against my upper chest.

  “Lay still.”

  Making his way down my body, he knocks my thighs further apart with his massive shoulders. My mouth runs dry when I realize what he’s about to do.

  With one strong lave of his flattened tongue, Patrick licks my core from my entrance to my clit, before repeating the move a dozen times. My back arches from the mattress and he stops the sweet torture long enough to chuckle. I reach down and wind my fingers in his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt him. Lesson learned, he furiously flicks my clit with his tongue until I’m moaning and writhing on the spot.

  “God, I’m so close.”

  “Let go, little lady. You deserve this. I can give you as many as you want.”

  Drawing my sensitive nub into his mouth, he sucks it with relish. Sending me over the edge into an intense orgasm, I clutch at the sheets when Patrick slips one of his enormous fingers inside my channel and thrusts in and out in time with his sucking. The extra stimulation lifts my climax to another level, making me scream my enjoyment for him to hear. Sparks of color and fireworks explode behind my closed eyelids as I ride the waves of pleasure surging through me.

  I’ve barely begun my descent from cloud nine when I hear his belt being undone and his zipper working before he removes his jeans. Forcing my eyes open, I find him directly above me, staring down. Cupping my face with one of his big paws, he flashes a serious expression at me.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you need to have your nose chopped off, what I love is in here.” Patrick taps the middle of my forehead. “The pretty packaging is just a fucking bonus.”

  “I can’t,” my voices quavers when I deny him the promise he wants.

  “You can and you will.”

  Moving down my shaking body, Patrick circles my left nipple with his warm tongue until it peaks, and then makes his way to my other breast. Once the nipple has furled tightly under his ministrations, he blows hot air over it. “As beautiful as the lethal bastards are; I’d still rather have you.”

  Running his hand between my breasts and down my stomach until i
t stops at my lower belly, he strokes me from side to side. “What’s in here doesn’t make you a woman, any more than my ability to come makes me a man. You’ll still be perfect to me. The perfect partner. The perfect mother. The perfect woman.”

  I’m speechless. Patrick has opened up to me more today than he has in the entire time I’ve known him. In all honesty, I wasn’t certain he was capable of this depth with anyone.

  My lack of reaction must spur him on. He presses his hard cock against my opening, pushing just the tip inside. It’s been months since I’ve had sex—since I slapped his face and threw him out of our home when the truth about his betrayal of Madelaine, Mikhail, and the Shamrocks surfaced—and I’d like to believe it’s been the same for him. God knows, I’m a fool for hoping; knowing as I do how easy it is for a man like Patrick to find company.

  He pushes further inside me, opening me up to him. It feels exquisite to have him back within my body. I spent our time apart refusing to let my body’s needs register, and I’ve employed the same tactic each time my desire for him has risen since he’s been taking care of me. Now, I give my lust free rein. I let it mingle with my love for the obstinate, confusing man above me, allowing them to push aside my doubts that he can adequately atone for what he’s done. The sins we’ve yet to address, side-tracked as we have been by my fight for life.

  “I’ve missed you,” I tell him.

  “Me too. I couldn’t even begin to fucking grasp how much until right now. With your pussy holding me tight and your arms wrapped around me, all the lonely nights were worth it.”

  And on that note, with my heart full and my body well on its way to being worked into blissful exhaustion by my man, I make the choice that wasn’t really a choice at all. My cancer returned in time to give us a reason to conquer our current circumstances. It came back, not to end me, but to save me.

  To save us.

  “I’ll be here the whole time,” I promise Wendy as they wheel her away. Holding her hand and walking next to the bed until I’m forced to let go, I keep my expression full of love and certainty. “You’ll be fine. I’ll see you when you wake up. Love you, little lady.”