A Very Christopher Christmas (A Death Dwellers MC Novella) (13 page)

“Fuck, baby. I’m fuckin’ tryin’. Stop bein’ a lil’ pain in the ass motherfucker. Cleanin’ up my language hard as fuck.”
 

“I know. Thank you for trying, though.”
 

“Woodolph!” CJ squealed, holding up an ornament from the box he’d managed to open.
 

“Look at that, boy. A lil’ red-nosed motherfucker.”
 

“Wed nose fucka mudna!” CJ yelled, setting the figurine on the floor and digging in the box again. “Want him in my woom.”
 

“CJ—” An ornament flying past her head and shattering on the wall interrupted her.
 

“Hey, boy!”
 

“Sowwy, Mommie,” CJ said contritely, turning his green eyes to Megan as tiny pieces of glass fell to the floor.
 

“I know that was an accident,” she said as he reached inside the box again.
 

“Nope,” Christopher called, grabbing his son around the waist and lifting him away from the box. “You ain’t breakin’ no more shit. Don’t throw shit if it ain’t yours, and if it ain’t meant to be fuckin’ thrown.”
 

“Daddy’s right,” Megan added when tears filled CJ’s eyes. “No throwing, okay? Now, come here, buddy.”
 

At Megan’s words, CJ wiggled to get down. Once Christopher obliged him, he ran to Megan and climbed on her lap, although her stomach took up most of the space. Somehow, she managed to situate him so he rested his head on her shoulder, where he fell asleep within minutes.
 

“We got a few weeks left to do this shit, baby,” Christopher told her.
 

“I know. I’m tired anyway and wasn’t much help. Maybe, we can try again next week.”
 

“Yeah, baby. We’ll figure this shit out, so you can replace whatever the fuck need replacin’.”
 

“Okay.”
 

“Maybe, you might even find some new shit to buy.” That would save his ass from having to go through all these fucking boxes. Besides, doing fucking Christmas inventory wasn’t quite as much fun without Megan’s enthusiasm.
 

 

Megan’s words haunted Johnnie and he barely slept as he turned them over in his head. He couldn’t understand how she saw him so weak when Christopher all but stood on his cock to keep her happy.
 

She’d said they kept each other in line. What did that even mean? Didn’t he and Kendall do the same for one another? When Kendall felt Johnnie was too far out of line she told him, and when she felt she was too far out of line she reeled herself back in.
 

As he headed to the breakfast room, he paused in front of the hallway mirror and adjusted his tie. The voice of Leontyne Price serenaded them through the sound system, and Johnnie grunted in distaste. He’d pay seven figures to hear a little Florida Georgia Line, Alan Jackson, Patsy Kline or Tim McGraw.
 

“Johnnie?”
 

Ignoring Kendall’s call from the kitchen, Johnnie readjusted his tie, trying to decide if he’d bypass breakfast this morning and head to Brooks’s office. He needed to sort through the mess Kendall had made before he approached Christopher. Part of the reason he’d agreed to Kendall’s plans to corner Christopher and Megan was so he’d get Megan on his side. Maybe, she’d talk some reasoning into her husband and save their lives. But she hadn’t been in the mood and, according to Kendall, she’d also failed completely in getting even a modicum of civility from Christopher.
 

Instead of getting Megan on his side and explaining Kendall’s actions, Megan had blasted him. Not only that. She didn’t look well. He didn’t know what was the matter, but she looked…
sick
. Besides, she’d been talking to him again, so he didn’t want to ruin it with a selfish request that would cast him in a bad light. Kendall should’ve known better than to do what she’d done. She should’ve known that
any
club president—not only one who seemed to despise her fucking guts—would want to kill her for her role in the arms deal. She’d interfered in club business and that was a grave infraction. An automatic death sentence. Johnnie decided he’d take the fall for Kendall and face Christopher’s wrath. In other words, he’d get killed on her behalf. If Megan knew the situation, things might be different. Only she had the power to talk Christopher down from killing him.
 

“Rory is waiting for you.”
 

Kendall’s small, sad voice broke into his thoughts. He hated to hear that sound from her. It made him want to wrap his arms around her and protect her from all hurt, harm, and danger. But how could he do that when
she
was her own worst enemy? How could he help her when he couldn’t even stand up to her about wanting a beer? Or a spin on his Harley.
 

Or goddamn country music.
 

“Dada!” Rory whisper-yelled, leaning against Kendall’s leg and using the inside voice she’d taught him.
 

Leaning to the side, Kendall lifted Rory into her arms, allowing him to rest on the bulge of her belly. “Say John-nie,” she instructed in a slow voice.
 

“Jo-nee,” Rory repeated.
 

“Say Ken-dall.”
 

“Ken-naw.”
 

“You’re so smart, Mr. Donovan,” Kendall gushed. “You’re already speaking so much better than CJ. Say Kendall is proud of you.”
 

Rory grinned. “Ken-naw ploud of you,” he screamed.
 

“That’s your outside voice,” she chastised. “Now repeat it in a modulated tone.”
 

Rory glanced between Johnnie and Kendall, uncertainty creeping into his blue-gray eyes.
 

Johnnie cleared his throat, remembering two days ago when he’d taken his son to the park with CJ, Harley, and Ryan, and allowed them to run free. Rory had really enjoyed himself, playing and laughing and being a little kid. “He’s just a kid, gorgeous. We have time to teach him the difference between inside and outside voices.”
 

She stiffened. “Now, you talk to me. Just to disrespect me in front of our son.”
 

“It’s to do no such thing, Kendall,” he snapped. Once again, Megan’s words taunted him. But more than that, Kendall’s actions with Brooks—and Christopher—pissed him off. He hated the insinuation that she’d found his brother nearly naked, and thought it was a good idea to pursue a conversation with him.
 

She set Rory on his feet. “Go sit at the table, sir. Remember to put your napkin in your lap and chew with your mouth closed.”
 

“Yes, Ken-naw.”
 

Turning, Rory started to run off until Kendall cleared her throat and he slowed down. The moment they were alone, Kendall rounded on Johnnie.
 

“How dare you? You didn’t talk to me at all when we got back from Outlaw’s house last night. You didn’t make love to me. And the first words you say to me is chastisement while Rory is present?”
 

“He’s a goddamn child, Kendall. What do you want me to do? You’re turning him into a fucking robot. Perfect manners. Perfect speech. Perfect everything, but no fucking joy.”
 

The tears rushing to her eyes shoved away Johnnie’s anger. He couldn’t do this with her right now.
 

“Let’s talk later. I’m still angry for the shit you’ve gotten me into with Christopher. Let me cool off. I don’t want to take out my frustrations on you.”
 

“No. I want to talk about this now. You always have breakfast with us. What will Rory think if you storm off?”
 

She was right. The last words Rory heard between Johnnie and Kendall was her tight accusation. Things happened so quickly and considering he had to face Christopher...Johnnie didn’t want Rory’s final memory of his parents to be of harshness.
 

Stalking past Kendall, Johnnie went to the breakfast room and found his son struggling through a large bowl of oatmeal, looking sad and alone at his spot. He hadn’t spilled a drop of food. Some adults spilled shit everywhere as they ate. Not to mention a twenty-two-month-old child. But both Rory and Johnnie knew how much Kendall hated messy eating.
 

“Da…Jo-nee,” Rory said quietly, glancing at Kendall.
 

Rory’s uneasiness upset Johnnie.
 

Searching his mind to break through to Kendall and cheer his son up, Johnnie headed to the sideboard and fixed a plate of sausage and eggs, along with a bowl of oatmeal.
 

Once Kendall prepared her food, the three of them ate in silence for several minutes, until Rory allowed some of the oatmeal to fall onto his clothes.
 

“You aren’t paying attention to what you’re doing, Mr. Donovan. Now, look at the mess you’ve made. Do you know how much Kendall paid for your button-down? What do you say for yourself, sir?”
 

“Solly, Kennaw,” Rory said around sniffles.
 

“The cost of dry-cleaning comes out of your allowance. No new books for you, mister.”
 

Did this really go on every morning? As Johnnie explored the way Kendall had acted over the weeks, he realized the more her pregnancy advanced, the worst she’d gotten in her over-the-top, OCD behavior.
 

 “Look, Rory,” Johnnie said, drawing his son’s attention. He grabbed the bowl of nearly cold oatmeal and dumped it onto his chest.
 

“Johnnie!” Kendall jumped to her feet and rushed to him with her cloth napkin. “That’s your favorite shirt!” Frantic, she wiped the oatmeal away, leaving behind stains on the white silk.
 

Ignoring Kendall, Johnnie kept his focus on Rory, picked up his orange juice and dumped it over his head. Rory’s little mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise, his eyes widening as Kendall gasped.
 

“Give yourself a juice bath, son,” he instructed, reaching for Rory’s sippy cup and removing the top. “It’s fun.”
 

“Don’t you dare!” Kendall cried.
 

If Johnnie insisted, he’d only confuse Rory, so he backed off and got to his feet, grabbing Kendall’s hand. “Don’t move,” he told his son.
 

Reaching the kitchen, he released his wife and faced her fury.
 

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” she yelled. “You’re turning him into a goddamn barbarian just like…”
 

“Christopher, right?” he finished.
 

“Yes!”
 

“Bullshit. I’m turning him into a kid. You don’t see what you’re doing to him. To me. Fuck, you don’t see what you’re doing to yourself. But it stops now, Kendall. I’ll continue to support all your decisions about your health until the baby’s birth.” There was only twenty days left until her due date. “As for Rory, you’re letting him be a little boy from this moment forward.”
 

“Would you like a mirror to see how ridiculous you look? You’re dripping orange juice and oatmeal everywhere. That’s real fucking adult.”
 

“Rory doesn’t need me to be an adult right now. He needs me to be his father, Kendall.”
 

“That requires being a grown man.”
 

“No, that requires knowing what my son wants, and what the fuck he wishes for is some playfulness. He has to know we’re his parents. He needs to call you mother and me dad. Think about how much you’ve wanted to become a mom, gorgeous. Now that you are, you want to undermine your role and allow him to call you Kendall?” He shoved his hands through his hair, frustrated to the point of madness. “You know what? If that makes you happy, then let him do it. But I want him to call me ‘dad.’”
 

She swiped at the tears rolling furiously down her cheeks. Cautiously, Johnnie approached her, sagging in relief when she allowed him to take her into his arms and hug her. Still annoyed and angry, he couldn’t bombard her with demands and accusations. To get through to her, he’d have to approach each angle one step at a time.
 

At the moment, the most important aspect was their son.
 

“This is the season of joy, sweetheart. Let’s not ruin it.
 

She cried harder.
 

Johnnie kissed Kendall’s temple, breathing in her sweet scent. “If you don’t mind, let me take Rory with me for the day.”
 

She sniffled, and he felt like a low, unfeeling fuckhead.
 

“We’ll still have to pay the same rate for his daycare, and today, they will draw their vision of the First Thanksgiving.”
 

Weeks ago, Kendall decided she wanted Rory in a high-achieving daycare and away from the other kids at the MC. She wanted him set apart, especially from Christopher’s sons. Even Matilda, not yet born, was being set up to be above Rebel. At the time, Johnnie hadn’t particularly liked Kendall’s stance, but wanted her happy, so, as usual, kept silent. Now that she’d probably gotten both him and her killed, he saw the error of his ways.