Grinch (Cerberus MC)

I didn’t let him finish that day when he started to tell me he loved me. I swore love didn’t look like manipulation, and it doesn’t. The fight we had the day before was horrible. He broke our plans, didn’t answer his phone, and when I saw him next, the man refused to tell me where he was. For me, it was the beginning of the end. I just didn’t know how quickly that end would come.

I swallow down the threat of tears as they begin to burn the backs of my eyes. I cried a lot that day, feeling like a fool for letting myself get tangled up so easily in one man. That same foolishness is threatening to come back even after I swore I was over him.

The years between us right now don’t seem to make a difference. I still hurt as if the scar tissue from that old wound has been flayed open again.

“I want—”

My words are cut off by his ringing phone.

“Prez,” he answers. “I don’t think that’s a good—Yes, sir.”

Trenton stands, offering me his phone. I take it, but I don’t immediately hold it to my ear. Although I knew how Kincaid was involved in helping with Josie Bennett so long ago, I’ve never actually faced the man.

My hand trembles as I lift the phone, staring at Trenton until he takes the hint and leaves the room.

“Mr. Anderson,” I say when I gather enough nerve to speak.

“Hello, Gracie. Call me Diego or Kincaid, please.”

“I haven’t been called that in a long time.” My throat threatens to seize with emotion and not nostalgia. My parents called me Gracie, amongst a slew of other things no adult should direct at a child. The nickname carries the distaste for me.

“My apologies,” he says, somehow knowing I don’t like the childhood designation. “Grinch tells me that you want to help, Grace.”

Grinch. His road name. I know that most all members of motorcycle clubs have them.

I read the patch on his leather cut, and Kincaid mentioning it makes me realize I wanted to ask about it, but I got distracted with old feelings and things I have no hope of changing.

“Grinch,” I say softly, knowing exactly how he got the name, but the frowning man who came into my hospital room not long ago hasn’t hummed a single bar from a Christmas song. I realize now how much I missed that part of him. We bickered more than once because he got “Jingle Bells” stuck in my head despite our relationship beginning and ending during the summer.

“Trenton,” Kincaid says as if I’m confused that we’re talking about the same person.

“Yes,” I say clearing my throat. “I feel responsible for that other woman being taken.”

“That situation wasn’t of your own doing, Grace. It isn’t your fault.”

I grind my teeth, hating that another man is telling me how to feel and negating my emotions, but I swallow it down. I doubt Kincaid is trying to control me, but even if he is, I want something from this conversation, and I know I won’t get it if I remind him that I’m a free-thinking person and he has no right to tell me what I should feel.

“I don’t think I’ll be okay until I know that she’s okay.”

“That’s understandable. I’ll make arrangements for you to help.”

“That easily?” I ask, praying he doesn’t spew something that indicates he’s merely placating me.

“Yes. You know what your abductors look like, and that goes a long way in helping to get them apprehended.”

“I appreciate you letting me help.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe, Grace.”

I nod although he can’t see me. I used the word okay, knowing there’s a chance I never will be emotionally. He doesn’t use that word, telling me he’s well aware of the struggles I’m still facing. I can appreciate him even more for it.

“Cerberus is here for you. I’m here for you if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it, Grace. If you need a place to stay, we’ll make room for you at the clubhouse. If you don’t want to go back to Tennessee for a while, I’ll make arrangements for you anywhere you would like to go.”

“Even if it’s on a beach in Mexico?” I tease, a smile threatening on my face.

“I’d prefer you stay somewhere safer than a foreign country, but a beach can be arranged.”

The smile filters away, making me realize there’s no real place I can think of that would make me feel completely safe.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It’s going to be hard to return to your regular life after this,” he says, making my fears even more real. “Just know that we’re here for you, and there are no contingencies on that offer. I owe you after what you did when you were younger.”

“Thank you, Mr. Anderson. Goodbye.”

I hang up the phone, hating that I didn’t do it a few moments before he could remind me of my failure as a kid.