Blood & Bones: Ozzy by Jeanne St. James

Chapter Twenty-Two

Shay satcross-legged on her bed, staring at her laptop screen. With another swipe of her finger across the trackpad, she moved on to the next picture.

For a long minute, she studied one of Stella and Dodge standing behind the bar at Crazy Pete’s, then skimmed through all the photos she took at Tioga Pet Services. Some of those shots included Cassie, Easy and Shade, both individually and as a group. All wearing matching polo shirts.

At the time, she wondered how having to wear a simple polo shirt could make two grown men so freaking miserable.

The next one she came across was of Trip and Sig standing in front of their antique wrecker and their newer rollback parked nose to nose. Both men had shed their cuts for the picture used on the home page of the Buck You Recovery website but had crossed their arms across their chest. Their formidable expressions said they took care of business and took no bullshit when they did so.

She smiled softly at the photo of sweet Josie working behind the front desk at the motel. And also the candid one of Ry, Judge’s extremely tall, handsome son, smiling and offering a guest a cup of coffee.

She swiped past an exterior photo of Justice Bail Bonds and landed on a couple of fun photos she took of both Jury and Justice, the American Bulldogs. Also a few of Deacon, Jet and Judge. Some with serious expressions and looking every bit of the badasses they were in their bounty hunter get-up. Others included candid shots of Deke and Jet goofing around with each other. Shay had a lot of fun spending the afternoon with them and learning all about bail bonds and skip tracing.

Her lips curled up at the corners again as she came across the pics she took at Dutch’s Garage. Five handsome men dressed in mechanic’s coveralls stood in an impressive line in front of the business, all of them looking ready to repair your vehicle with expertise.

The next shot was of Reilly sitting in the office with the beautiful blonde’s huge genuine smile directed toward the camera. Shay also took a couple of candid photos of her and Rev together when they weren’t paying attention. At the time, the tangible love between the younger couple had warmed her heart, but now…

Now… It made that same heart ache.

A feeling of emptiness engulfed her as she thought of all the people she’d met and spent time with during that month in Manning Grove. People who’d been welcoming and quickly had become friends. Who might have eventually become family, too.

If she had stayed.

She skipped the remainder since the number of photos she’d snapped were in the hundreds and, taking a deep breath, she finally clicked on a folder that didn’t have anything to do with the Fury’s businesses or the websites she had created. She had made a special folder just for one subject.

Her throat tightened and she swallowed to try to loosen it as she considered the numerous thumbnail photos filling her screen. So damn many.

Every single one of them of the man who betrayed her. The one who split her heart in two.

If she opened even one photo, she was afraid his gray eyes might stare back at her and make her deal with the emotions she’d been pushing away.

She squeezed her own shut and simply breathed for a few seconds, the pounding of her heart rising from her chest into her thickening throat. The deep ache in her center radiating out and swallowing her up in sadness.

As well as heartbreak.

At the time, she had taken all those photos of Ozzy so she’d never forget him or that trip. But now she was tempted to delete them all. Every last one.

This way she could forget. Put it all behind her.

Heal.

She backed out of the folder, placed the cursor over it, and her finger hovered over the delete button.

One press. That was all it would take to rid him from her life.

No more reminders.

Just a simple click.

Poof.

Gone.

Just do it.

Do it, Shay.

Her hovering finger began to tremble, so she curled her hand into a tight fist and pinned it to her lap.

She knew deleting a folder full of photos wouldn’t do what she needed it to do.

What Ozzy wanted her to do.

Which was ignore the fact that the man who she’d been falling in love with—Who was she kidding? Fell in love with—had killed her father.

Took the life of the person who gave her life.

Stole him from her.

Forever.

How could she ever look past that?

How could she live with and love a man who was a murderer?

He had snuffed out another person’s life solely in the name of revenge.

Would that always be at the front of her mind when she looked at him, spoke to him, woke up next to him? Was intimate with him?

Could she ever get past that?

Even when she thought her father’s disappearance could be related to the MC, she never had an inkling he was one of them. Not once. He hid his involvement with the Fury that well.

Of course, it hurt that her father could also take someone’s life so easily… That wasn’t the man she knew, the man who raised her.

It wasn’t.

Ozzy hadn’t been the only one keeping deep, dark secrets.

If it was true what her father did, it was wrong. So damn wrong. She didn’t disagree with that point.

But what Ozzy did was wrong, too.

He took her father’s punishment into his own hands instead of letting law enforcement deal with it. It should’ve been handled with an investigation, an arrest and even prison time.

Handled the correct way, her father would still be alive, at least. She’d be able to see him, talk to him. Be there for him, even if he’d made a huge mistake and had to pay the price.

She should report Ozzy to Manning Grove PD since murder didn’t have a statute of limitations. He could be arrested, charged and put away for doing what he did.

But how would that make her feel better if she did that?

Would it change anything? Besides getting her own justice, her own revenge?

Or would doing that just bring into the public eye the crime her own father committed? Not only did Ozzy do the unthinkable, so did her father.

That revenge might not be sweet at all, but very bitter and leave a bad taste in her mouth. It could turn out to be more heartbreaking than the situation already was.

“Ham” had taken Ozzy’s mother from him. A woman who had been innocent and had done nothing to harm him. Had done nothing to deserve it.

Absolutely nothing.

Like Ozzy said, his mother had been collateral damage simply by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. With the wrong person.

Killed in her own kitchen.

And Ozzy, at only fifteen, had found her.

What she couldn’t imagine was how deeply that had to cut and how much of a scar was left behind.

No. She could. On the long drive home to Boston, she not only shed bucket-loads of tears, she forced herself to don his shoes and picture herself walking into his childhood kitchen at only fifteen years of age and finding his mother dead on the floor. Her life violently stolen from her simply because her relationship with the man she was involved with.

A mistake she didn’t know she was making.

A mistake she didn’t know she was making.

Ozzy didn’t know he was making a mistake, either, when he avenged his mother. His only goal was to make Ham pay.

And pay they did. All of them.

One single action by her father caused a ripple effect like a stone tossed into a pond.

How ironic. Two children who both lost a parent due to a related incident randomly found each other later in life.

Was it fate? Or bad luck?

She rubbed the back of her neck as she considered the photos in that folder.

The temptation to once again open it and look at each and every photo pulled at her.

Once again she found her finger hovering over the key.

She needed to decide...

Open it or delete it forever?

* * *

Her taste lingeredin his mouth.

Her scent in his nose.

Her breath in his lungs.

Her moans in his ears.

Memories of Shay swirled through his mind as he rode over six-and-a-half hours northeast to New England.

Thank fuck Jet had done him another solid by finding Shay’s exact address, since the one on her invoice to the club had only been a post office box. As soon as Rook’s ol’ lady texted him that info, he packed his saddlebags with his most important shit, hopped on his sled and turned it toward Massachusetts.

He had the location of her apartment scribbled down on a slip of paper, but he didn’t need to pull it out. He’d memorized it.

He hated riding in the city, so he was grateful when he learned her place was on the outskirts, where the traffic wouldn’t be as heavy and it would be easier to find a place to park his sled.

He didn’t know shit about Boston. And unless Shay wanted otherwise, he wouldn’t be there long enough to learn anything about it, either.

He wasn’t there for a tour, he was there to fight for her. To take back the woman who should be his.

Luckily, her small complex had its own lot. He was able to back his sled into a spot where he shared a space with a damn Yamaha. That crotch rocket might get the jump on his machine with the initial speed, but it was nothing compared to the rumble and ride of his 883 for the long haul.

He shut his Harley down and stared over his shoulder at the building for a moment, wondering which apartment was her unit and hoping it was one with lights on inside, an indication she was home.

With a deep bolstering breath, he swung his leg over the sled and walked right up to the double glass doors. He pulled on the handle first to see if it was locked. It was. A large speaker and one of those buzzer panels were attached to the brick to the right of the door. That meant he’d need to be buzzed in.

Shit.

What if she shut him out before he even had the chance to talk to her?

He would wait there. Right on those brick steps. Wait until she came out or had him arrested for harassment. Or for trespassing.

Whatever.

But he would wait until he couldn’t wait any longer.

He scanned the names on the panel and found Shay’s. DIGGS.

Fucking Darren Diggs.

Shay had loved that asshole enough to marry him, then the stupid motherfucker fucked it all up. Tossed her away like she didn’t fucking matter.

She mattered.

To Ozzy, she fucking mattered. He just needed to convince her of that.

He stabbed at the button next to her name.

Silence greeted him.

He jabbed it a second time and waited while the deafening sound of an invisible clock ticked in his head.

Still… no answer.

He glanced up and around to see if there was a camera and she wasn’t answering because she could see it was him. But if she did and wouldn’t even give him the courtesy of a shouted, “Go away and leave me the fuck alone,” then he would plant his ass right there for the duration.

For him to leave, he would need to hear directly from her that she could never forgive him. That she’d never get past what he’d done. Or she could never live or love him because of it.

Then, and only then, he’d mount his sled again and head wherever the road took him.

He didn’t care where.

Because no matter where he landed, it would never be where he wanted to be. It wouldn’t be where Shay was.

He stared at the panel again. Maybe the buzzer wasn’t working.

He pressed his finger to her button again, this time leaning on it. He’d ring that fucker until he left her no choice but to buzz him in or at least tell him to fuck off through the speaker.

After five long fucking minutes, he still didn’t get a response.

“Fuck!” he barked and dragged both hands down his face, trying not to lose his shit. If he began to bellow into the night like a madman, he would get arrested.

To burn off some of his frustration he jogged down the three brick steps and to the sidewalk out front, where he began to pace while he smoked a hand-rolled.

Twenty minutes later a vehicle pulled up into one of the numbered spots. He grumbled a curse under his breath when he saw it wasn’t Shay’s Lexus and a man got out carrying two large pizza boxes.

Fuck yeah.Something might be going his way. Finally.

Ozzy rushed to the door and offered to hold it open for him since the guy’s hands were full.

While the man buzzed himself in, he cautiously asked, “Are you here to see someone?”

“Yeah. Friend of mine. Waitin’ for her to get home.”

The man eyed up Ozzy’s cut. “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s against the building’s rules to let you in. For safety reasons, the person you’re visiting will have to do that. I’m sure you understand.”

Fuck. He figured that shit would happen. “Understand, brother. Just wanted to help you out.”

The tall man hesitated. “Thank you. Hopefully your friend shows up soon.”

Hopefully.

“Have a good one,” Ozzy said with a tip of his head and he released the door.

After the man turned to head toward the elevator at the other side of the tiny lobby, Ozzy stuck the very edge of his boot between the doors before it closed completely behind the guy. He twisted his body enough so if the guy looked back, it would only look as if Ozzy was leaning against the glass panel, patiently waiting for his “friend.”

Once he heard the muffled ding of the elevator, he snuck a peek over his shoulder to see the metal doors sliding shut. As soon as they did, Ozzy jammed his toe farther into the slight gap in the door, then opened it enough to slip inside.

Instead of the elevator, he found the emergency stairs and took them two at a time until he got to Shay’s floor. He just about died right there on the third floor landing. He bent over until he stopped wheezing and could catch his damn breath while he dug his fingers into his ribs in an attempt to relieve the sharp stitch in his side.

Once he could somewhat breathe normally, he yanked the fire door open and stepped out into the empty corridor. Only four apartments took up that floor. Within two seconds, he found Shay’s and, after a quick glance up and down the hallway, he used the side of his fist to pound on it.

After only getting answering silence, he pressed his face close to the jamb and called out, “Shay.”

He tried the knob, but, of course, it was locked. As it should be.

He pounded again and then put his ear to the door to listen.

Nothing. He heard no movement at all.

Fuck.

He pressed his forehead to the dark blue painted wood, took a couple of deep breaths, then turned. Smashing his back against the door, he slowly slid down it. He settled his ass on the floor since he might as well get comfortable while he waited. The fuck if he was going anywhere until he talked to her.

He was planting his ass right there and after a while someone might have to water him like a goddamn house plant so he didn’t die and begin to rot.

He tugged his beaded necklace out from under his thermal shirt.

Strength.

Protection.

Courage.

Those three words repeated on a loop in his mind as, out of habit, he ran his fingers over each bead one after the other. When he’d finish at the amulet, he’d start all over again.

About an hour later, he heard the ding of the elevator again down the hallway. Ozzy lifted his head from leaning it back against the door and glanced in that direction, quickly tucking his necklace out of sight.

He hoped like fuck it was her.

At this point, his ass was numb, his legs falling asleep and his muscles bitching at him. With a groan, he grabbed the door frame and pulled himself to a stand, waiting for the pins and needles in his legs to stop reminding him how fucking old he was getting and how sitting on the floor was no longer a good idea.

He heard the whoosh of the elevator doors as they opened and closed.

Then footsteps.

A bang and a curse came from around the corner.

Then she was there, coming toward him. Her head lowered and her arms full of folded cardboard.

With her eyes tipped down at her purse, she was grumbling to herself as she dug for something inside of it, trying not to drop any of her empty boxes.

Boxes.

Was she packing up her shit? Was she moving somewhere?

A noise escaped from the back of his throat before he could force it back down. When she lifted her head, she froze with the half dozen boxes tucked awkwardly under her left arm, her keys hanging from her right hand.

He never felt like a desperate loser before. Not until that very fucking second.

But the truth was, he was desperate. All because he couldn’t live without her.

He hadn’t been able to breathe since she’d left.

Every day had been a struggle.

Every fucking day.

She had to see that.

Take pity on him.

Something.

Anything.

Her gaping mouth snapped shut and her lips pressed into a slash. Her face had paled, her dark eyes had narrowed.

Making it very obvious…

She wasn’t happy to see him.

She wasn’t dropping everything in her arms and running to jump into his.

She wasn’t going to kiss him until they both couldn’t breathe.

She probably wouldn’t even invite him inside.

He didn’t want to do this out in the hallway. He didn’t.

But if he had to, he would.

He expected to be peppered with the obvious questions like, “What are you doing here?” Or threats of “You better leave or I’m calling the police.”

Instead, she said absolutely fucking nothing. She slapped on a blank mask and continued forward, her keys jingling within her fingers.

Without a word spoken between them, he remained stationed in front of her door because he was not letting her past him without going inside, too. This might be his only opportunity to get her to hear him out. So, it was now or never.

And for him, never wasn’t an option.

He was fighting like hell to rein in his desperation, to keep from dropping to his knees right there in the hallway and begging.

No, not begging. He wanted to jam his hand into his chest, rip out his heart and hand it to her.

He needed to return it to the woman it belonged to. Without her, he no longer had use for it.

The shine in her eyes was unmistakable as he plucked the keys from her fingers and turned to unlock the door. It gave him a sliver of fucking hope when she didn’t fight him for them. But her silence was killing him.

Normally, he would’ve grabbed the boxes from her and carried them in, but he was afraid if he did, she’d have the upper hand and lock him out, leaving him on the wrong side of the door, still holding those damn boxes.

He opened her door and as soon as he got his ass on the other side, he pried the boxes from under her stiff arm and put them next to all of the open ones lining the wall. All marked and partially full.

Thank fuck he came when he did, otherwise she might have disappeared.

She remained frozen on the other side of the open doorway, her feet still planted in the corridor.

He hoped to fuck she wasn’t afraid of him.

He would never physically hurt her. For fuck’s sake, he’d already hurt her enough to last a fucking lifetime.

He returned to the doorway and her eyes dropped to his extended hand. She squeezed them shut and he didn’t miss the slight sway of her body. Then her dark brown eyes opened and she tentatively put her hand in his.

Jesus fucking Christ.

That fucking simple gesture meant more than she’d ever know.

He took one deep inhale. Two. When she didn’t move, he pulled on their clasped hands to encourage her to step inside.

When she did, she released his hand immediately. He closed the door behind her and turned. He wanted to rush to her, but forced himself to remain in place. To give her space and not overwhelm her.

With her back still toward him, she whispered, “You hid it from me, Ozzy.”

The breach of trust and the disappointment was thick in her words, her voice… Fuck.

“Yeah, ‘cause I knew what would happen. Was bein’ selfish ‘cause I wanted more time with you.” He sucked in another breath and let it go. “Truth? Wanted forever.”

She nodded but stayed turned away from him. “So did I.”

Those three simple words were like a knife flaying him open.

But he didn’t give a shit that it cut deep, because that was what he was there for. To flay himself the fuck open.

“I don’t know what to do with any of it. All of it. I don’t know how to… deal with it. I don’t know if I can. I can’t say it’ll ever be okay because I’m not sure if it ever will.”

He moved away from the door, and stepped around her to stand in front of her.

Her head was tipped down, her hair hiding her face. He wanted to touch her, to put his thumb under her chin and lift it, so he could see her.

He wished he could take that confusion and pain away from her, but he couldn’t. Because he was feeling exactly the same.

Unsure of what to do with the past. Unsure of what to do with the future.

Unsure if things could be fixed.

“This is not something simple where you or I can sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. Because it did, Ozzy. It did and it affected both of our lives.”

“Sweetheart…”

She shook her head, still keeping her head down, then when he dipped down to see her, she covered her face with both hands. Blocking him.

He wished he knew the words that would make this better.

Fuck him, he didn’t.

After his mother died, he didn’t really care about anyone. He didn’t need anyone else. He only ever relied on himself.

Until now.

Until Shay.

But her shutting him out wouldn’t help.

He came here hoping she’d see how much she meant to him. If he had to fucking grovel to do that, he would.

If he needed to crawl over broken glass, he would.

If he needed to walk through fire, he would.

Whatever it took.

Whatever it fuckin’ took.

He dropped right there. At her feet.

Onto his damn knees.

For only the second time in his goddamn life.

The first time being when he did it in the puddle of his mother’s blood on the kitchen floor.

“Shay,” he whispered, but she didn’t uncover her face. Refused to look at him. Fuck it. He grabbed her wrists and forced her hands away from her face. “Sweetheart… Look at me. Just fuckin’ look at me.”

When she opened her eyes, a lone tear rolled from one corner and down her cheek.

“Look at me,” he whispered. The next word felt foreign on his lips. “Please.”

When she did, when she finally looked at him, he wished she hadn’t.

Because like that day in his apartment, the day he confessed, it made him feel so goddamn helpless.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Fix them.

Maybe he was wrong to come here. To come to Boston.

To even hope…

“Just give me a fuckin’ chance, sweetheart. I’m just askin’ you to put yourself in my fuckin’ shoes. What I had to deal with. How I fuckin’ felt. How seein’ that, seein’ her…” He grimaced.

Another single tear slipped down her cheek as she nodded. “I did, Ozzy. I put myself in your shoes. I imagined myself as a teenager walking into the kitchen of a house that was meant to be a safe place for your family. Only to discover your mother on the floor beaten and bloody. Lifeless.”

That lone tear dripped off her chin and splattered onto his hand while he still had both of her wrists in his grip. His desperate attempt to hold the fuck on any way he could. As if he let go, he’d lose her forever.

When she continued, her voice shook and her lips quivered. “A woman gone way before her time. That end not coming peacefully, either, but violently. I imagined how she struggled to survive, worried what would happen to her only son and how she suffered greatly in her last few moments. Consumed by panic, fear, terror. Her begging for her life falling on deaf ears.” Another tear slipping free. Then another. “So, yes, I did, Ozzy. I put myself in your place. I tried to relive what happened back then. I tried to imagine what you saw. How you felt. I tried to understand why you chose to do what you did.”

He held his breath.

“Did I become angry? Yes. Did I want whoever did that to her to pay? Absolutely. But, Ozzy… That’s where we’re so different. Where our minds, our hearts, work differently. I would be devastated but I wouldn’t hunt down the person who killed her. I’d let the law handle her justice. Because taking revenge into my own hands by killing her killer would make me no better than him.”

He slowly released his breath, closed his eyes, lifted her hands and pressed his forehead to them.

He didn’t know if it was her hands that held a tremor or his. Maybe it was both.

“I have a hard time getting past what you did. Honestly, I’m not sure if I can, Ozzy. I’m really not. I don’t want to tell you I can if that’s not true.”

He opened his eyes and lifted his face, not hiding anything on it. He let her see how her words affected him. He was done keeping secrets from her. He would be a goddamn open book. “Got somethin’ else to confess.”

The corners of her lips tipped downward and another tear fell free, the hot drop landing on his arm. Searing him. Burning him to his very core.

“I don’t know if I can take any more confessions,” she whispered.

This one was his fucking hail Mary. He would lob this admission, hoping it would change the game.

It might not, but he couldn’t not take it since he had nothing left to lose. He needed to risk everything because if he didn’t, if he walked away and never told her, he might regret it for the rest of his fucking life.

“Sweetheart…”

She shook her head. “Ozzy…”

“Never told anyone this before…”

She pinned her lips together and he could feel her hands tense within his, see her body go solid in preparation of more bad news.

“Need you to look at me and listen. Really hear me…”

“Please… just… just say whatever you’re going to say. Just get it out. Because I can’t—”

“I love you, Shay.”

Her body jerked so hard, he almost lost the grip on her hands. He squeezed them tighter and pushed himself to his feet, waiting for her to respond, for any other reaction.

Her mouth opened, then slowly closed again. When her face twisted and the tears began falling faster, his heart seized.

“You probably hate me,” he began, again feeling nothing but helplessness and hopelessness.

She shook her head. “I don’t hate you, Oz. I don’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

Suddenly, the flood gates opened. Tears streamed unchecked down her face, blending together, and she tried to muffle a sob, but he heard it.

It took him back to that day two weeks ago. The day she fell apart. The day she left Manning Grove. The day she left… him.

He pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as he could as she cried. He wished he could absorb her, her pain, her sadness. But he couldn’t. With her face buried in between his cut and pressed to his thermal shirt, her tears soaked the cotton.

He didn’t care. He was just so fucking thankful he got to hold her one more time. Even if it was the last time.

He had released her hands after pulling her into him and her fists were now pressed to his chest as he stroked her hair. He put his lips to her ear and whispered, “I love you, sweetheart. It’s true. Want nothin’ more than for us to move past this. Hope to fuck you can, but understand it if you can’t. Just tell me to go. Need to hear that you can never forgive me. That you’ll never be able to love me ‘cause of what I did. And not ‘cause of what I did to Ham but what I did to you. ‘Cause, fuck it, ain’t gonna lie to you, so I wanna be clear, my biggest regret outta all of this is how what I did affected you. Also promise to never keep a secret from you again. No matter what it is. No matter how much it fuckin’ hurts. Want nothin’ between us.”

Liz told him to give Shay everything and that was what he was doing. What he was offering. Every fucking piece of him, good or bad.

When she still said nothing, he had no choice but to continue. He wasn’t giving up. Not yet.

“Also gonna promise that I’ll never walk the fuck away from you. Never gonna get tired of you. If anythin’, you’re gonna get tired of me first.”

She pulled back and he reluctantly let her go.

“Sweetheart, just need one promise from you in exchange.”

“What’s that?”

“That you give me a chance. You give us a chance. A month, that’s all I’m askin’ for. If after that month you can’t stand to be around me, if you can’t forgive me, gonna understand. And I’ll let you go. No fuss. No fight. Not a goddamn peep to stop you.”

She turned her tear ravaged face up to him and seeing it just about knocked him back down to his knees. “What if it takes more than a month?”

He blinked. “What?”

“What if it takes longer than a month?”

Holy fuckin’ shit. He needed to be careful with what he said next. He couldn’t fuck this up. The best way to not do that would be to simply tell her the truth. “However long it takes, sweetheart. You’re worth the wait.” His heart was thumping, his ears ringing, and he quickly followed up with, “We don’t even gotta go back to Manning Grove if you don’t wanna. We can stay here.”

The fuck if he wanted to live in Boston, but he would. For her. He’d live anywhere she wanted just as long as she wanted him and didn’t tell him to fuck off.

He closed the slight gap between them, cupped her cheek with one hand and wiped away her tears with the other. “We could go anywhere you want to. Got nothin’ holdin’ me back.”

At least she’d stopped crying. Thank fuck.

“Yes, you do,” she said softly. “Your home, your club, your brotherhood.”

Yeah, he did. But none of that was as important as the woman standing in front of him. “Sweetheart, believe me when I say I’d give all that up for you in a goddamn heartbeat.”

What good was a heartbeat if he no longer had his heart?