Checkmate With Bishop: A Hellions MC Novel (29 page)

“What does that mean, babe?” 

I glanced down at his hand before bringing my eyes back to his.  “Just read them, Stan.  Read them all the way through and then we’ll talk.”

Before he released me, I witnessed a quick flash in his eyes before he lowered his brows.  Just a swift emotion that briefly flared.

One I might have given a name to if it had lasted longer.

Chapter Twenty Two

It was still early afternoon when Bishop pulled into his own driveway, the droplets of a sudden, soft summer mountain rain beading against his helmet as he parked and then shut down his bike.

A fucking long day that was only half over
, his mind intoned on a voice that he couldn’t deny.  One that had found him exhausted from all the emotions it had held as well as the bustle that had ensued. 

Or it might have been from his and Dory’s activities of the night before.  Something he hadn’t really had a chance to examine in the cold light of day.  There had too many other things that had occupied his mind.  Mainly about Dory’s reaction, or actual lack thereof, to his offer of a house.

One house in particular.

The one that he’d purchased from the gains of what he’d given Silo to invest, the money Dory had put in his name as payoff.  And the property that he’d had redone in order to make it into their dream home.

He pulled off his helmet and lifted his face to the sky in order to allow the soft wetness to prickle against his skin, to fill the gaping hole her lack of reaction had caused.  Because he’d imagined that point in time forever, of presenting her with the home they’d planned so many, many years before.  He’d fantasized about that moment, of how she’d immediately walk into his arms, pressing herself against him, into his neck.  Of how her eyes would shine with love the moment before she’d burst into tears of happiness at what he’d brought about.

And he’d loved the thought, of the imagined feel of her against him. 
Reveled
in that vision, if he were to admit the truth. 

But he’d been devastated when she hadn’t even recognized what he had accomplished, of all he’d done to make their dream a reality.

Instead, she’d provoked him about the documents Stephenson had filed, demanding to know if he’d read them.  Something he hadn’t done, not having either the time or the inclination to do so.  The attorney had been recommended by Trey, had done an interview over the phone while Bishop was still in the hospital and had filed with the court that same day.

He’d assumed that everything was in order.  But Dory’s question, her stupid-assed, motherfucking one sentence interrogation seemed to point out there were issues listed in the papers that he might not be aware of, but
that
would goddamn be rectified just as soon as he was inside the house!

After the first reading of the almost twenty-page document, Bishop was shocked at what was spelled out. 

So he read it again, convinced that he’d simply misunderstood the legalese, the words that Stephenson had used.  The second review, though, was no different than the first and found the biker throwing the sheets down on the couch cushion next to him and covering his face with both hands.

Christ! 

This was more than fucked up! 

More than a goddamn, simple clerical error!

It was…a declaration of war.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Of him declaring war on Dory, on proving that she was an unfit parent and wasn’t worthy of being in J.R.’s life.

Which was far and away different than what he knew to be true!

And that she’d received those papers after being tossed out of the Rosemont, after losing her rental space and then had let him take her and J.R. to the bar-be-que, on a house tour?

Fffuuuccckkk!

God!  What kind of man did she think he’d turned into?  Some kind of bastard that had been throwing her to the wolves, into situations that would prove, hands-down, that she was some kind of fucked up mother?

Good enough for a midnight fuck but not good enough to raise their kid?

Bishop reached into his pocket for his cell, calling Stephenson’s office only to be told that the attorney was ‘in conference’.  But that, yes, in order to obtain full-custody of a minor child, the custodial parent would be fully investigated and that all facets of said parent’s life would be uncovered.  That the probe would include all financial and police records as well as a profile of how the parent lived day-to-day.  It would, of course, include any and all school records of the minor and teacher interviews to ascertain if there was any history of abuse at the hands of the current guardian.

“Just goddamn have Stephenson fucking call me at his motherfucking earliest opportunity!” Bishop had bellowed into the phone before disconnecting the call. 

And then he went to number one on his speed dial.  Trey’s private cell number.  As soon as Trey answered with his, “yo’, Bish.  What’s doing?”, Bishop had gone off.  Yelling, waving his arms in the air as he tried to make his friend and club president understand how fucking far off course Stephenson had gone.   Bishop didn’t even realize when he’d stood so he could pace as he yelled, demanding to know just what the fuck the attorney had been thinking to file that kind of shit, in thinking that Dory wasn’t a good mother.

And Trey listened as Bishop ranted and raved.  Never said a complete sentence, allowing his friend to vent for as long as was needed and only encouraging him to continue with a few ‘okays’, ‘I see’ and the like.

By the end of it, when Bishop’s throat was raw, when he was more frustrated than blisteringly angry, Trey finally spoke.  “All I know, brother, is that you said you wanted full custody of your son.  There are laws about that and I know that Stephenson follows those laws to the goddamn letter.  If you don’t want to prove that Dory isn’t a fit mother, then get Stephenson to amend the filing to joint-custody or some such.  It ain’t such a big thing, amigo.”

Bishop covered his eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding his phone.  “But she already saw the
other
goddamn paperwork, already motherfucking
knows
that everyone and their sister is gonna be poking their noses into her life, finding every instance she’s fucked up.”  He swallowed deep and hard.  “But it’s not gonna show the
good
, Trey.  It’s not gonna show how she raised up a boy-man from a baby who knows his head from his ass, that is not only respectful but fucking funny as hell.  Who can make friends in an instant and goddamn worries about taking care of his mom.”  Bishop’s eyes prickled and he tried to suppress the hitch in his voice as he finished.  “I fucking caused this…”

“It ain’t nothing that can’t fucking be fixed, Bish.”  Trey’s voice held a surety that Bishop discounted because, knowing Dory, what he’d done would reside in her heart for-fucking-ever.  “Now are we done with the ‘Agony Aunt’ questions, because I’ve got a lot of fucking shit to complete before Dallas punches out.”

“Yeah, we’re done,” Bishop admitted, defeat front and center in his voice.  “Thanks.”

“Always have your back, amigo. 
Always
.”

And as Bishop disconnected the call after a quick goodbye, he knew Trey spoke from the heart.  Which was the only way the two men, both born and bred as Hellions, knew to speak to one another.

Bishop only hoped that the woman who he found he still valued more than ever would be as understanding as he searched through the cell’s contact list to find her number.

*.*.*.*.*

I felt my phone vibrate and glanced down at where it sat in my palm.  ‘Stan’ the screen read and I quickly shifted my eyes back to the realtor who was expounding on the retail space J.R. and I were currently viewing.

It was the third call in the last half-hour, one that had seen me walking into, then straight out of, Missoula Mousse which was looking for beauticians to rent their chairs.  But the décor had been tacky as hell, their clients solely in the one-step-up-from-Mega Cuts kind of customers and their receptionist was just down-right rude.  Not that I’d talked to her because I wasn’t going to give her a chance to treat me as she did the customer in front of me.  The middle-aged darlin’ who’d simply asked to have her roots touched up.

“Jesus, Claire!  I’ve tol’ you and tol’ you that you need to book up to two weeks in advance of coming in for that shit!  Damn!  Get it straight, honey!”  The little muffin behind the counter, who was wearing too much eye-shadow and rouge to be believed, had leaned over the counter.  “You are about an inch, an freaking inch, from being banned!”

Excuse me?  Banning a customer from your salon because she needed an emergency touchup (and there was no mistaking the woman did) without an appointment?

Oh hell to the no!

That was no way to operate what I’d heard was the number one salon in Missoula.

So a Luscious Two would definitely be in order and give that particular shop a run for its money!  I’d immediately called the number that Stan had given me for the realtor representing the retail space in question.  And because I had never worked in Missoula, I didn’t have the ban of not setting up a place within a five mile radius of any shop I’d previously worked in. 

Sweet!

Or it would’ve been if Stan would’ve just stop calling. 

But I knew why he was. 

He’d obviously gone home and done as I’d suggested, reading through what his attorney had filed.

But I couldn’t leave him hanging.  Mainly because that wasn’t my style.  And number two, I wanted to prove I was the better person in all of that was bubbling underneath the surface of our re-meet.  That I’d hauled my cookies from Casper at his request, introduced him to his previously unknown son and had been an absolute joy to be around in the time I’d spent in his fair city.  Okay, so the last was a lie but I had tried to be nice and not let my bitch side rule our every interaction.

So I handed my phone to J.R.  “Your dad keeps calling.  Call him back and let him know what we’re doing,” I instructed on a low tone, too low to interrupt the realtor who was experiencing his own brand of rapture as he described the retail space and how it could be outfitted to service beauty clients instead of catering to the vegetarian market.

But I’d already seen how it could be converted as soon as we’d stepped inside, so as he spoke on and on, pointing out this feature and that, I kept one ear on J.R.  “Yes.  We’re with the realtor now.  No, she hasn’t talked about the connection with the construction company.  Uhm, I’ll ask her when she’s done.  Negotiate?  Yeah, she’s good at that stuff so I’m sure she’ll get a good deal.  You will?  That’d be awesome,” were the parts I overheard and I tried to fill in the blanks but there were a lot of them that I wasn’t sure matched what my mind had provided.

“We have a firm that can do any and all refurbishments to your every request,” the young realtor announced.

Without thinking, because I was still tuned into J.R.’s conversation with Stan, I murmured, “that won’t be necessary.  I only use Hellion Construction on these sort of jobs.”

“Hellion Construc…” the realtor’s voice wound down but held a note of awe.  “They’re the best in the city.  The state!  And you have an in?  Do you know if they’re looking for people to represent them because while I don’t have a lot of experience, I’ve been told I’m very good at what I do.”

Seriously?  One utterance of the Hellion name and the realtor was practically groveling to see if I could get him a chance of working with them?  Interesting!  But I couldn’t play it, just didn’t have it in me to work the young agent up into believing that I, of any person on the planet, had any sway with the club.  “I’m sure you are.  Now how much is the monthly lease and how long is the term again?”

Which was only a rouse so I could tune back into what J.R. was saying.  “I’ll ask her about both, Bishop.  Yeah.  Oh sure, yeah.  Late.”  As my son came toward me, I caught his shining eyes and carefully hidden grin.  I held a hand up toward the realtor as a signal to stop talking and took my phone from J.R.’s hand with a canted eyebrow.

“He asked if he could take us to dinner.  A steakhouse.  And then if he could take me for a ride but told
me
to tell
you
that he’d bring the extra helmet.”  J.R. leaned closer and dropped his voice, shooting his eyes towards the realtor who I knew was listening in.  “Said to work the lease.  That it’s not worth more than three kay a month, although I don’t know what that means, and that the Hellions would do the refurb, another word I don’t know by the way, for fifty-percent of retail price including labor.”

Shit, shit and double
shit
!

I so wanted to hate Stan, needed to hate him and the goddamn papers that had informed me that I wasn’t worth
shit
in the whole scheme of him obtaining custody of J.R. but he kept doing things.  Amazing and wonderful things that showed him in a different light.

I’d been prepared to offer $3,200 per month as the rent but he’d told J.R. that it wasn’t worth more than $3,000.  Which meant I should start my portion of the negotiation in the $2,700 range.

And to get the best of the best in construction work for 50% of retail prices which also included the labor, of installation? 

Holy shit!

Even in my amazement though, I had to let J.R. know he’d done good in his first telephone call with Stan.  So I stepped towards him and snagged him in a one-armed hug, bringing his head close to mine.  “A ‘kay’ means a thousand, kiddo.  What your dad was telling
you
to tell
me
was what to offer.  And I have no trouble with you riding with him as long as you wear a helmet and pay attention to his every instruction.  Understand?”

At his nod, I smiled.  “Did he say what time dinner was?”

“Five-thirty,” came the reply but it was offered with a long search of my eyes.  Though I knew J.R. wasn’t clued into all that had gone on before, he felt the emotions that were being thrown out around him.  “It’s four-twenty now.  Maybe we need to go so you can get ready.”