The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 3 (MC Chronicles #3) (25 page)

That would be my guess too.

After all the brothers file back in the clubhouse, Gunz releases me, and we follow them inside. I know where the men were taking Big, and I don’t waste a second to make my way there.

In Big’s clubhouse bedroom, Tripper and Dallas sigh in obvious relief when they see me. They’re standing in Big’s attached bathroom, attempting and failing at undressing him. His bloodied jeans have been dropped and are now pooling at his ankles, over his dirty boots, belt still threaded through the loops. They somehow managed to have already removed his cut, and it’s now lying over the lip of the sink.

“We need to get the blood washed off,” Tripper explains, and I nod moving from the bedroom toward the bath.

I maneuver around Big who takes up a large portion of the bathroom and crowd around Dallas. This bathroom isn’t big enough for all of us to move about freely, not with Big standing smack dab in the center, looking even worse now that he’s in the light.

His eyes, which I hadn’t noticed in the darkened outdoors, look like he hasn’t slept in a week. They’re sunken and darkly circled. His skin doesn’t even look a normal. It’s dirty and discolored; his year-round tan is somehow gone, along with the light that was inside him.

Dallas moves as close to Tripper as he can, so I can come toe-to-toe with Big. Pretty sure he doesn’t even notice I’m here. And he if does, he isn’t showing it.

I rub my hands from his shoulders down his arms. His skin is ice-cold. “Babe, can you please help us take off your boots and jeans? We need to get you warmed up and in the shower,” I explain gently, lovingly, soothingly. I try to hide all other emotions except for the immense amount of love that seems to fuel me and push all my anger and pain to the side. I have to fix this now so we can handle the other shit later. There damn well better be a later; this can’t be permanent.

I stop rubbing at his wrists and curl my fingers around them. I step closer until our daughter is brushing against him. Maybe if I can’t awaken some part of him, she can. Lifting his loose arms by his wrists, I move them to my belly and place his palms flat on top. I hold them there. “Big, that’s our daughter, babe. You gotta snap outta whatever it is that’s goin’ on inside that head of yours so you can feel her.” I watch his face, checking for some sort of recognition, a twitch, a movement, anything. But there’s nothing. Nothing but a blank face, tired eyes, and blood smattered cheeks.

My heart fractures a little more. I bite my lip to reign in the overpowering emotions.

Moving his hands back to his sides, having given up on our daughter registering to him, I take a step back.

“Okay, let’s get him undressed,” I explain to the brothers, who have respectfully stayed quiet this entire time. I know they’re watching me. Like the rest of the family, they’re probably waiting for me to lose it. I’m not going to do that. Not now. Not until he’s back to normal, so he can pick me back up when I crumble. Until then I will lock it away. I can do it. I must do it for him.

Knowing that in my current state of hugeness I can’t maneuver Big properly without worrying about hurting myself or worse, Harley, so I swallow my pride and take a step to the side. Tripper and Dallas move front and center to undress Big. It takes a while for Dallas to lift Big’s heavy leg and for Tripper to remove his boot and his pant leg. When they get to his shirt, which is practically ruined, they don’t even try to take it off. Tripper pulls out a pocket knife and slices from the back of the neck down, then he moves to the front and does the same thing, leaving the shirt in two halves. They pull those halves down Big’s arms and let them fall to the floor.

Leaving him in only his boxers, they look to me and to the boxers, silently asking what they should do with them.

“Haven’t ya’ll seen him nude before?” I raise a brow at them both.

They both nod in return and proceed to cut off his boxers. Once they’ve discarded them, Tripper places the knife back in his pocket.

“I’m gonna get into the shower with him.” I explain, eyeing the door.

Both of their brows shoot up simultaneously. “You sure you should do that?” Dallas questions.

“Yeah, uhh…I dunno if that’s wise,” Tripper adds.

I place my hand on my hip, staring them down. “Thank you for removing his clothes. But I’ve got it from here….”

Not finished, I swing my finger pointing from one to the other, “If either of you went through this, your old ladies would see to it that they cared for you. I’m not worried about him hurtin’ me if that’s what you’re insinuating. I tame the beast,
remember
?”

Dallas and Tripper look at each other, then to me, and they nod, “Alright, Bink, but we’re gonna stay in his room just to be safe,” Tripper agrees.

I can accept that.

Shooing them from the bathroom with my hands, I shut the door, but I don’t lock it just as a precaution.

Moving around Big, I turn on the water and wait for the temperature to acclimate. While I do I remove my own clothes and lay them in a pile on the floor. Then I return to Big and grab his hand, tugging him toward the shower. At first he doesn’t budge but after a few good tugs, he gets with the program and shuffles his feet to the edge of the bath.

“You gotta step in big guy. I can’t lift you. You weight too much.” I pull his hand forward indicating to the shower. Something in his brain must register because he lifts his left leg and steps into the tub, then he does the same with the right.

I do a small victory dance on the inside.

Turning on the spray, it fleetingly hits him cold first, but he doesn’t flinch. I find this sad. Most people would make at least some sort of sound or facial expression at being temporarily doused with cold water. He doesn’t.

My face falls. So much for the small victory.

Stepping into the shower in front of him, I throw the shower curtain closed and revel in the hot spray. I move to the side a bit so the water hits him too. The water quickly turns into a mucky brown, reddish color as it washes the filth from his body and circles the drain close to my feet. I grab his body wash from the shelf, squirt some into my palm, and lather it up. Then I place my palm to his muscled, unmarred chest and begin to wash him. I work my way down, adding body wash as I go. I pay extra special attention to the boys and his flaccid cock that doesn’t even get a chubby as I rub the impressive length through my soapy hand. Big doesn’t make a noise from pleasure or move to touch me like he would normally. This knowledge somehow makes me even sadder. Even when a man is down and out or sick, he’s usually able to get hard from a woman’s caress. Not him, not now.

Kneeling in the tub and moving down his legs, I notice a set of bruises forming on the tops of his thighs. I carefully wash over those and slide down his calves to his feet. For a man, Big has beautiful feet. I know most people wouldn’t normally find feet attractive, and I wouldn’t either, if they were anyone else’s feet. But his are somehow very sexy to me. They’re huge but not fat nor skinny. They’re perfect. His toes are aligned like they should be, and his nails are somehow, once again, perfect. How a man who wears motorcycle boots just about every single day of his life has this nice of feet seems almost impossible. Seeing as though I am looking at them as I scrub the tops with my hands, I know they exist.

Once I’ve finished with the front, I stand and grab his hand that hasn’t moved from his side. Using his hand, I pull his arm across his chest and lovingly order, “Turn around for me, babe.” This seems to work because he does just that, and then I’m assaulted with the beauty of Big’s back. It isn’t like any other man’s back and behind. It’s like a marble sculpture. It’s magnificent. Even at his age, his cheeks are firm but bitable, and they even have tiny dimples. To put it in my terms, he has a
hot fucking ass
. His back is broad and thick and something to marvel at, especially with the canvas of tattoos inked across it. Big, bright, bold ones that cover it in its entirety. Where Big’s impressive chest and abs are tatted, they’re not wall-to-wall covered like his back. And that too is beautiful.

Shaking my head, I break from my fascination and focus back on the task of cleansing Big. I scrub him from top to bottom and carefully shampoo and rinse his hair. I don’t try to turn him back around because that will be too much trouble, so I move to quickly wash myself and turn off the water. I slide the curtain back and step out. To my surprise, Big doesn’t even need my guidance when he steps out onto the bathmat right after me. We bump into one another, both damp from water. It’s not lost on me how good his warmed skin feels touching mine. I quickly file that away to feel later, when it doesn’t hurt so much.

Using a towel I pull from the rack, I quickly pat myself dry and move my attention to Big. When I’m done with us and we’re both facing one another naked, I can’t help myself when I lunge forward and wrap my arms around him in a desperate hug. My cheek rests on his sternum and I inhale, smelling his fresh spicy scent. Big doesn’t reciprocate in any way, which I didn’t expect. Only dared to hope.

With a sweet kiss to his sternum I unlatch myself from his warmth and go to the door. Opening it, I peek out, hiding myself behind the rest of the door so the brothers don’t see me naked.

They’re both looking my way, silent, waiting for me to speak first.

“Big is washed and dry, but I’m gonna need some help getting him dressed and into bed. You think ya can do that?”

Dallas and Tripper approach the door, and I dash to grab a towel to wrap myself in. It’s too small but it’ll have to do. They knock before entering and I move to the corner of the small bath giving them the room they need to maneuver about. Both men take hold of Big’s biceps, and they guide him from the room and pull the door shut in their wake.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with Big now that he’s showered and getting dressed. I didn’t think that far ahead. Honestly, I didn’t think it’d take him this long to snap out of it. It’s not like him to do any of this. But it’s also not very likely for him to ride home after hours on the road, covered in blood with scratches on his cheeks. I’m out of my depth here. I don’t know what to do. I do know he needs to sleep, if that’s possible with his current state. And I just want to hold him. I want him to come out of whatever it is that he’s in.

I don’t have any clothes in the bathroom, so I kick Big’s messy ones to the corner to deal with later and crack the door again, peeking out. Dallas and Tripper have already gotten a pair of boxers on Big, and they’re putting him to bed. This time he’s kind of helping them. Not much progress but some is better than nothing.

Once I see that they’re done, I comment from the crack in the door. “Uh…. guys…. I need to come out to get some clothes. You’re free to leave us now. I’ve got it.”

Dallas is the first to acknowledge me, and he looks none too happy when his lips draw into a thin line. When Tripper looks my way, he doesn’t seem to be much happier. What did I say?

Tripper speaks first, shaking his head, and running a hand through his hair, “Nope, we’ll leave ya to get dressed but in Big’s state…”

Dallas cuts in, finishing Tripper’s sentence. “We don’t trust him. So we’ll station somebody outside the door for the rest of the night, should you need anything.”

“K, thanks,” I mutter and that seems to suffice because they both looked instantly relieved. It’s like they expected me to fight them on this. I’m not going to because I’m just as concerned about this as they are. Maybe even more so.

Tripper and Dallas exit the room, and I waddle out of Big’s bathroom heading straight for his closet, where I find a pair of knit shorts and an oversized tee for me to throw on. I’ll get better clothes tomorrow. Then I leave the closet and head straight back into the bathroom. I open up the medicine cabinet and grab the tube of triple antibiotic ointment. Taking that back into the bedroom, I hesitantly approach Big. He’s lying on his back, stiff as a board, head on a pillow, blanket strewn over his legs. His eyes are closed. He looks dead, and I would think so if he didn’t open his eyes as I draw closer, which not only startles me, making me jump a little, it delights me too. I love his ice-blue eyes and seeing them open. Even if they’re lifeless, it’s better than not seeing them at all.

Stopping next to the bed, I open the tube of ointment and apply it to the fresh marks on Big’s face. He doesn’t react in any way. Not to indicate they hurt or anything. He’s killing me with his silence.

Finished, I toss the tube on the floor, climb on the bed, and straddle Big. My knees rest on either side of his hips, like I’m riding him, and I place my palms flat on his pecs.

“Big,” I whisper, intensely watching his face for recognition. Nothing.
Dammit!

I keep going, “I don’t know what happened or didn’t, babe. But I need you to give me some sort of indication my man’s in there. If not, I’m gonna be forced to call the doc in the morning to have you checked out.” I reason with him the only way I know how. And I kinda lie because I was already going to call the doctor in the morning even if he does give me something to go on.