Chapter
12
Temper, Temper
~Sass~
Boredom is a slow, painful death. I feel like I am on a hamster wheel I can’t get off of. It’s Groundhog Day, every day.
Since our return from Miami, Nick and I have fully moved into the new house. He has multiple projects for work so he is quite busy. This leaves me home alone more often than not.
Nick likes for me to get up with him in the mornings now that I am not working, and being the dutiful girlfriend, I do as I’m asked. Getting up at the ass crack of dawn with him is a chore, but one I am trying to embrace. While he showers, I make him a breakfast of bacon, eggs and English muffins with juice and coffee waiting for him to take his seat. While he eats breakfast, I run an iron over his dry cleaned and pressed suit for the day to give it an extra polished look. He claims it makes them extra crisp, that’s why he wants me to iron over the already starched and completely wrinkle free clothes.
Then, as he’s dressing, I fill a travel mug with coffee, get the newspaper from outside and put both of those in his Mercedes and start his car for him. He kisses my cheek as he leaves to begin his day. What a role reversal we have found ourselves in. There was a time when he set my coffee out for me. Now, I don’t think he could remember to turn on the pot.
Nick provides me a housekeeper who comes weekly, but the expectation is that I still clean daily. I swear, I could eat off my damn floor. I live in a museum, not a house.
After I clean the already spotless house, I dress in whatever outfit Nick hangs in the closet for me to wear. Some days, he calls midday and needs me to run an errand, therefore he picks out my clothes so I am prepared for what he needs from me. At first, this annoyed me. Then he explained that he knows what his upcoming day entails, hence he knows what he may need. This is a simple preparation to keep me from scrambling at the last minute. It makes more sense for him to set out my clothes while he’s readying himself for the day.
Today, I have made provisions to go out. I need to pick up groceries, but that’s not all I’m doing. In the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t go see him. I know Nick would not approve of me visiting Tank. I can’t help myself, though. He has been awake for over three months and I haven’t been to see him. The way I see it, as long as I have taken care of what Nick needs from me, I should be able to see Tank. Nick is my priority, but if his needs are attended to, then what is wrong with me visiting a friend?
Making the two hour drive to the facility the club is paying for Tank to stay in, my anxiety builds. Doll sent me a text that simply gave me his location. Will he remember me?
No one knows I am coming to see him. I have avoided everyone. Should I change my mind about visiting? Given his need for rehabilitation and from the information I have found on the internet, he could be on the road to recovery or he could be a complete stranger who remembers nothing of his past.
When I make my way inside, the facility is nice, but there is no escaping the underlying hospital, sterile feel. Signing in at the reception desk, a nurse informs that Mr. Oleander is in physical therapy, but I can wait in his private room. Well, at least the club has given him his own space.
Did I really expect anything less? Everyone in the club may live in moderate, middle class homes or the duplexes, but make no mistake, the club has money.
Making my way down the stark white walls of the hallway, I peek into the windows and doorways of some of the rooms. There are rooms that are small open spaces with couches, and there are rooms with exercise equipment. I see a room labeled pool, which I assume to be for water therapy.
I pass by a nurses’ station where a nurse is locking up her med cart and making notes. She looks up and smiles sweetly at me. “Can I help you find a patient? What room are you specifically going to?”
“Tank,” I respond out of habit. “I mean, Frank Oleander. The receptionist gave me his room number.”
“Keep going; he’s the fourth room on the left.” She smiles at me as I nod back to her.
The number on the door reads three-twelve with a little paper tag that shows Franklin T. Oleander. Turning the knob, I enter his space. Directly in front of me is a hospital bed with Tank’s cut lying over the end. I make my way over.
Picking up the leather vest, I run my hand over each patch. I know the time and heart Tank put into earning each one of these. The intense loyalty he carries for his club—the loyalty that landed him in this very facility.
Without a second thought, I place the cut back on the bed and make my way out. As the tears are fighting to break free, I don’t stop and sign out of reception. Rather, I keep charging forward and out to my car.
Once in the Cayenne, the foreign feel of it breaks something inside of me. I can’t stop the outpouring of my emotions as the sobs shake through my whole body. Seeing where that patch has put my first real love, I am fueled with sadness, anger and frustration. All of this furthers my resolve to stay away from anything tied to the Hellions Motorcycle Club. Family, friends or strangers, I want nothing more to do with it.
Knowing Nick expects me to go to the grocery store today, I gather my resolve and clean up my now puffy, tear streaked face and head back to my new life. I don’t even look in the rear view mirror as I pull away from Tank, from my past.
I am not home thirty minutes when Nick storms in. My nerves already frazzled from this morning, I am not prepared to play house with Nick right now. Mentally, I have another hour to put my mask back on before he should be home.
When I look up as he enters the kitchen, his face is hard as stone.
“Savannah, where have you been today?” he asks coldly. His face is set harshly and sternly. It’s one that says he already knows the answer to his question, but he’s testing me. How does he know? Why does it matter? Surely, he didn’t come home early because of this. Did he?
“I went to the grocery store,” I answer firmly, testing the waters of how far Nick wants to push this.
“Anywhere else?” His eyes are now flooding with venom, pure poison circling his pupils.
“I went to see Tank in the rehabilitation facility.”
Closing the space between us, Nick’s hands painfully grab onto my biceps as he pulls me to him.
“How long have you known your lover was awake?”
“He’s not my lover, and I received a text from Doll before our trip to Miami letting me know Tank was awake. Given you don’t seem surprised by my stop today or by your own admission to him being awake, I suppose I should ask you the same question. How long have you known he was awake, and yet, said nothing to me?”
“What I know and how I know it shouldn’t matter if this issue was truly in the past. Being as I handed you the phone with multiple messages indicating Mr. Oleander was indeed awake and recuperating, I have nothing to hide.”
“How did you know where I went today?” I question him, knowing I am playing with fire.
“You knew of your lover being awake when we were in Miami. What does that say for you?
Throw some money at you and you will play the part until you can leave with it all. Is that the plan?” His grip on my arms becomes incredibly painful, I am certain to have bruises of his fingertips on me.
Rage boils inside me at his insinuation. “How fuckin’ dare you! I don’t need a damn dime from you. I have no intention of leaving you. Well, that is before today and your craziness over me visiting a friend.”
“Craziness, huh? If you have no intention of leaving, then prove it.” His temper flares in a way I have never seen before.
“Prove what? How? What do you want from me, Nick? Just tell me.”
“Marry me!” he demands. “Marry me, and then I’ll know you’re mine for everyone to see.”
“What?” I question as Nick removes his hands from my biceps and pulls out a small, black velvet box from his pocket.
“Marry me. Enough of the questions and insecurities. Enough walking the line between your past and your future, Savannah. Marry me.”
I can only nod my head in agreement because the day has taken its toll. I don’t have the fight inside me to question Nick further. He is my future, that’s the one thing I’ve determined today.
This is the next logical step in our relationship, so fine.
Of course, I have always dreamed of a more romantic proposal, but I’m getting the man behind the ring for life and that’s what matters.
~Tank~
Today was a long damn day. After months of rehab, they are preparing me to go home next week. I’m walking with a cane, but will hopefully build myself up to no longer needing it.
Back in my room, getting ready for bed, the front desk receptionist comes in. “Mr. Oleander, did your visitor leave?”
“What visitor?” I ask, curiously wondering who she’s referring to. My brothers visit, but only in the evenings since they know my days are filled with different forms of therapy.
She looks down at her clipboard. “A Miss Savannah Perchton signed in during your physical therapy, but she never signed out. As it’s almost shift change, I need to make the night clerk aware if we still have visitors in the building.”
Fuck! Savannah was here! How did I miss her? She was obviously told I was in therapy. Certainly, she would have waited, right? Looking at my bed, I notice my cut is lying differently than this morning. I had been in and out a couple of times today, but I never touched my bed or that vest. She’s been here, in my room. Yet, she’s gone.
I run my hand across the back of my neck as the tension builds inside. “She must’ve forgotten to sign out or had to leave in a rush.”
“Okay, thank you, Mr. Oleander. Have a good evening.”
I can only nod my head.
Sass came to see me, but she left before we had the chance to visit. Why?
I toss and turn all night, unable to sleep as thoughts of Sass run rampant through my mind. Everyone says she has gone and is not coming back. They are wrong. She came here. Even if she didn’t stay, there is still hope. She thought of me and came.
The next morning I get up, shower and dress for the day. Feeling on edge, I skip my breakfast. As I sit in my room, the urge to call Bull eats at me. If my uncle were still alive, he would calm the rattling building inside me.
Needing to hear a familiar voice, I call the next closest person to me.
“Yo, Tank, brother. We got the house ready for ya. They lettin’ ya out early?” Roundman answers.
“Nah, next week. I’m getting ready for my torture today, and then I should be cleared in a few days to come home.”
“I’ve seen that hot little therapist. You call it torture, I call it opportunity. Tap that ass, Tank. Let off some steam. With all the ways that woman has worked your body already, imagine what it would be like to work that pussy over for her?” He laughs.
“I doubt she gets worked over. I bet that’s one bitch who’s in charge in the bedroom.” I laugh back at him. It’s not often Roundman gets to be lighthearted like this, and it never lasts long.
“You doin’ all right? They treatin’ you good there?”
“Yeah, I’m all right. Everyone here is more than fuckin’ accommodating. Hell, it’s borderline obnoxious,” I try to joke.
“Then whatca callin’ for? You’re not one to shoot the shit, Tank. Whatever you need, consider it done,” he responds in the serious, no nonsense tone that is all Roundman.
“It’s not something I need as much as I had a visitor.”
“Yeah, who was that?” His voice is laced in concern.
“Sass.”
My one word answer brings out a deep breath, followed by utter silence.
“Roundman?”
“Yeah, I’m here. What’d she say?”
“Nothin’. That’s the thing. She signed in, but she didn’t stay to see me. She left before I got back from therapy.”
“Shit. All right, I’ll let Danza know. You go handle your business and get your ass home.” With that, we disconnect.
I am no less on edge than I was before. At least knowing she came, they can keep an eye on her from their end for me. Not that she’s ever not watched. As Danza’s daughter, she can walk away from the club all she wants, but she is always on our radar.
My physical therapy today is grueling. Desirae, my therapist, is pushing me hard. I swear the woman gets off on breaking people. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I have seen her with the elderly patients, and she’s a damn saint of tolerance with them. With me, though, she’s a tyrant. She has me lifting weights and working hard to get my body not only moving fluidly again, but back in shape.
After having the feeding tube for so long, I’ve had to live on protein shakes for a while to build up my tolerance to real food once again. Well, Desirae and her nutritionist have still been feeding that shit to me to feed my muscles, so she says. I swear, when I get out of here, I will be one happy motherfucker to never see protein powder or a milkshake again.
I stumble on my sprinting drill and land face first on the floor. Yelling out in frustration, I slam my fist down on the floor as I get ready to push myself up.
“Temper, temper. Oh, Tank—that’s what they call you—well, push through it, drive over it, whatever you need, use it and let’s blow this up!” Desirae yells while leaning over me.
Suzy fuckin’ sunshine and her pep talks. “Fuck off, D.”
“Uh-oh, did I hit a nerve?” she patronizes.
Looking up, I glare at her as I get to my feet. She doesn’t treat other patients like me at all. It works, though, the anger motivates me, and in the end, I finish the rest of my therapy strong. I’m still a little weak, but I’m ready to go the hell home.