“Roosters can’t drive, little dude. She was talking about a movie that Uncle Asher took her to,” Greg utters as calmly as he can to a very curious Cohen.
The rest of the table is in a mix of anger and hilarity over the scene we just witnessed between Asher and one of his many whores. And I say whores because that’s exactly what they are. No woman I’ve ever had the displeasure of watching him hook up with has ever looked like she has an ounce of self respect. They’re always so . . . fake. Huge breasts, big butts, and tiny waists. One thing he doesn’t ever discriminate against is their hair color, so hey, at least he keeps an open mind. Disgusting.
There was a time when I felt like he could be the one. A time when he wasn’t drunk and sleeping with every easy lay that spread her legs for him. It didn’t happen often, but those rare moments when I would catch him sober were some of the greatest.
“Someone needs to talk to him. This is getting out of control, Ax. I’m shocked that he even remembered what day it is to show up tonight,” Izzy says to her husband.
“Clearly he ran out of liquor,” Dee speaks from across the table.
Beck shakes his head and reaches over her shoulder to pull her closer to his body.
“How do you forget the name of someone that you sleep with?” Sway questions.
“Hell if I know. I remember all of the ladies I’ve had the pleasure of,” Greg chimes in after making sure Cohen is distracted with Nate, Axel and Izzy’s two-year-old son.
“Pig,” Melissa, his wife, smiles at him.
I allow myself a second to feel the wave of jealousy wash over my body before quickly putting it back where it belongs—locked in a box deep inside me.
“When was the last time anyone even saw him without the stench of alcohol oozing out of his skin?” Davey asks.
He, like me, is pretty new to the group. He started as the front office assistant to the guys at Corps Security when Emmy left. Out of everyone who had a hard time after Coop’s death, Emmy might have taken it the hardest. Coop took the bullet that had been meant for her, and I can’t even begin to put myself in her shoes. I hate that she left abruptly, but I understand why she did.
“He’s been drinking nothing stronger than Coke for the last three days,” Maddox says, speaking over the group and gaining every single one of our eyes. But he isn’t looking at anyone else except me.
His expressionless face is just boring into mine, his eyes clearly trying to communicate some kind of hidden message for me alone. I frown at him, not picking up on his underlying meaning.
“You don’t say?” Beck responds dryly.
“Completely drink free?” I don’t know who said it; I’m too busy meeting Maddox’s eyes without breaking, trying desperately to understand what he’s telling me.
“Completely.” His eyes never waver from mine when he confirms.
“That’s good, man. I’ve been worried about him,” Axel, I think, says to Maddox.
There’s more continued conversation about the state of Asher and his grief over Coop’s death. Out of instinct, when I hear them bring up Coop’s name, my hand goes straight to my stomach. I realize my mistake a second too late when Maddox breaks contact and his eyes travel down to where my hand is splayed across my slightly rounded stomach.
Maddox isn’t a stupid man. He’s probably one of the most intuitive people I’ve ever met. His eyes stay on my stomach—even after I move my hand away as if I’ve burned myself. He just takes it all in. The only tell he gives me is when he looks back up and lets his guard down long enough to show the shock within the black depths of his normally blank eyes.
Shit.
“You,” he speaks through clenched teeth and points at me. “Come with me.” He doesn’t even look to see if I’m moving to follow him before he roughly pushes from the table and walks away.
“What the hell?” Izzy questions.
I spare Dee a quick slightly panicked look before making my way to where Maddox is waiting for me.
He pulls me around the wall that separates the room and the bathrooms, allowing us a bit of privacy for what I know is going to be a hard conversation.
“What’s going on, Mad?” I hedge.
“Don’t play games with me, Chelcie. I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. You don’t know me. Just let me get this out and then we can get back to dinner. Anything you need, anything you want, or anything you feel needs to be done, you let me know. I’m not going to pretend to be a chick and understand what you’re feeling, but you’re not alone. Yeah?”
For the first time since I met Maddox, every single trace of the hard man I’ve come to know is gone. Standing in front of me is a version of him that I’m not sure how to deal with. His face holds so much compassion and pain that I don’t know if he’s upset that I have kept this secret to myself or what. He almost looks vulnerable.
“Yeah, Maddox . . . Uh, thanks,” I whisper.