Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

They cooked together. They ate together. They showered together. They played together. They relaxed together. They argued over television shows, debated politics, and discussed their favorite pastimes and hobbies.

All in all, the past three days had been perfect—or nearly so. There were two topics they hadn’t broached. Two major subjects she’d compartmentalized into neat boxes in her mind. Now, on day four, when she had a weekday off from work and the guys were at the clubhouse, reality on a deeper level began to intrude. No longer could she deny her feelings. No longer could she ignore the fact they didn’t once speak of the future or the fact they were acting as though they were in some sort of committed triad relationship.

No longer could she lie to herself about how deep she’d fallen for both men. Never in her wildest dreams had she pictured herself falling in love with Screw. He was supposed to be the easy one. The one she had this crazy physical chemistry with, but nothing more. Their connection should have been shallow, surface level. But for some reason he’d let her in as he’d let Gumby in and now she saw the man beneath the witty quips, innuendos, and whoring around. She saw the wounded little boy who grew into a man that protected his heart with an iron coat of armor. But once it was pierced, what lie beneath was a supportive, caring, compassionate man who actually felt the deepest of emotions.

Then there was Gumby. The man she’d wanted fiercely back in Arizona. The man she’d fantasized about a future with late at night alone in her bed. Their future had been violently torn away before it had an opportunity to flourish. Hell, before it even had a chance to begin. Turned out, Gumby’s waters ran just as deep as Screw’s. He was a man struggling to accept himself and his place in the world. Working so hard to feel comfortable in a skin he’d so often been led to believe was wrong, unacceptable, dirty.

Watching him gain confidence in himself these past few days had been nothing short of a beautiful experience. With Screw’s—and she hoped her own—acceptance and desire for him and who he was, he’d seemed to realize there wasn’t a goddammed thing wrong with him.

But how could it last? Hell, maybe she was the only one who wanted it to last. She had no idea, because she’d been far too chicken to ask and neither of them seemed to want to rock the boat either.

Adding to all the personal drama was the ever-looming Chrome Disciples Motorcycle Club. The other undiscussed issue. Sure, Jazz knew something was going down. She still had a babysitter at work or whenever she was without Screw or Gumby. And the men, Gumby included, had daily meetings at the clubhouse where something was being planned, but she hadn’t wanted their bubble of happiness to pop so she’d pretended that problem didn’t exist.

Now, for the first time in the past few days, she had prolonged alone time. Hours to sit around and obsess. So many minutes crawling by at a snail’s pace where her mind drove her insane with what-ifs and worry.

After ninety minutes, she’d grown disgusted with herself and sick of the freaked-out voices in her head. Those ninety minutes had been spent stress-cleaning her already spic-n-span kitchen. Finally, revulsion with her own company drove her to leave the house in search of an understanding and non-judgmental sounding board.

And that’s how she landed on Cassie’s doorstep, uninvited and unannounced.

She pushed the bell as she cursed herself for not calling ahead. How selfish could she be? Here she was ready to unload relationship drama on a woman fighting for her life. Maybe she should just leave. Cassie could be sleeping for all she knew.

As she contemplated leaving, she glanced over her shoulder where Monty, who’d driven her over, was chatting with Thunder. They’d been assigned to watch over both women while the men were in church. The door opened, making Jazz’s head whip back around.

There stood Cassie, Mamma V, wearing sweatpants and a fuzzy red robe. Both hung on her tiny frame made smaller by months of battling cancer.

“Jazmine!” she said, eyes lighting. “Come in. Come in. It’s freezing out there.” With a wave for the guys at the curb, she pulled Jazz in by her puffy jacket. “You’re just in time. I brewed a fresh pot of coffee. It’s decaf, but it’s hot and if you want it bad enough, you can almost feel a caffeine buzz.”

Jazz chuckled. “Thank you. I’m so sorry I didn’t call first. After I rang the doorbell, I wanted to kick myself.” She shrugged out of her jacket and pulled her woolly hat off, smoothing down her wild hair.

“Please, honey, you are always welcome anytime and without notice. Plus, you caught me on good day, so you won’t be subject to me vomiting. Lucky you.”