Restless Excerpt
True love was a quixotic ideal, though a plausible desire.
For most, love was a
fleeting euphoria that either imploded without warning or slipped away in
drawn-out pain. And a love for the ages…? That elusive perfect love for
imperfect people? That was an exclusive club where only a select few had a
membership.
John “Johnnie” Donovan
learned the hard way he’d been denied admission. He had loved and lost and
loved again.
And almost lost
everything. His friends. His life.
His wife.
Kendall’s suicide
attempt sobered him. He’d sought perfection from imperfection. He’d based his
own frustratingly imperfect relationship on someone else’s impossibly perfect
marriage.
She’d been discharged from medical care and put into a psychiatric facility. Unlike times past, Johnnie made sure she was as close as possible. After three months, she was released. He’d never been so relieved or grateful, yet she insisted on staying in a guestroom.
When their kids moved
back in with them almost a year after Kendall’s near death, Johnnie convinced
her to return to the master bedroom. Upon her agreement, he’d thought she
wanted to share a bed with him again.
She hadn’t.
Instead, she’d sworn
if he didn’t move to a guestroom, she wouldn’t return to the master suite.
Mystified at why she resisted each one of his seduction attempts, he’d given
her the master suite. As time progressed, they became each other’s best
friends. He awakened with her on his mind and fell asleep with her in his
dreams.
They were like
teenagers, sharing secrets and spending every waking moment together. Once
Rory, Matilda, and JJ returned, Johnnie had never felt so complete.
And, yet, his sex life
was non-existent. Kendall denied him access to her body.
Over the next six
months, Kendall was slowly welcomed back into the fold of the other old ladies.
Megan, as always, was the first to forgive. She, with the help of Roxanne,
paved the way for the others.
For the first time
ever, Johnnie knew what real happiness was. He saw how it looked on Kendall.
She glowed and he floated. He’d never love anyone the way he loved her. Not
even Megan, whom he’d loved with everything in him. She’d been his first love
and he’d always hold a special place for her. Committing to help Kendall
through her near fatal suicide attempt forced him away from constant contact
with Megan. True, Rory, Matilda, and JJ lived with her and Christopher, but
Johnnie knew they were in good hands and refused to use his children as an
excuse to talk to his sister-in-law.
As his feelings for
Megan faded into sweet memories, he realized how much he truly loved Kendall;
she was his everything.
Exactly two years
after she tried to end her life, she finally welcomed him into her arms again.
The next day, Johnnie moved back into the master suite and slept by her side
from that day to this one. There were exceptions, of course, such as club runs
and business trips.
Kendall wasn’t perfect, so she had her moments, but neither was he.
And so that notion of
true love was a quixotic ideal. Real, constant love took work and care and
time.
It took understanding
and protection.
It was that last,
protection, that saw Johnnie in the passenger seat of a Mercedes, driven by the
club’s attorney, Brooks Redding.
For most of the
twelve-hour drive, Johnnie hadn’t said much. Understanding the wisdom of
remaining on Johnnie’s good side, Brooks kept his mouth shut.
As he turned into the
entrance of a wood and metal building, west of Salt Lake City, and paused at
the gate, a shaggy motherfucker wearing a denim cut, indicated he roll his
window down.
The biker knocked on
the window.
“If I have to die to
save my wife, then I will.”
Johnnie didn’t intend
to die, but it was a very real possibility. They were there without
Christopher’s— anyone’s—knowledge. Death was a very real risk.
“Johnnie—”
“Open the fucking window,” Johnnie and the
enemy chorused.
Brooks swallowed again. Heaved in a breath. Finally, he pressed the button.
“Who the fuck are you
and what the fuck do you want?” Shaggy Motherfucker demanded once the window
was rolled down.
High fences surrounded
the property, so Johnnie couldn’t discern if an army of motherfuckers trained
guns on them, ready to fire.
“Repeat your name.”
“Brooks Redding.”
“And the motherfucker
in the passenger seat?”
Johnnie leaned
forward, all the better to see fuckhead. “I’m Johnnie. Bash’s little brother,”
he said blandly. “Outlaw’s little brother.” Only by six months. Asshole didn’t
need a fucking family history.
The gatekeeper leaned
into the car and dropped his gaze to the patches on Johnnie’s cut.
Straightening, he backed away and opened the gate.
By the time Brooks
pulled into the parking space another biker directed him to, Johnnie had lit a
cigarette. Jamming it in the side of his mouth, he got out of the car and
slammed the door shut. Standing for the first time in several hours felt good.
His full leathers and steel-toed boots protected him from the January cold.
“It’s a full house,”
Brooks said, suddenly at Johnnie’s side, briefcase in hand, glancing around the
parking lot in wide-eyed fear.
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