Falling For The Biker: The Vice President's Girl Chapter 90

Wren

I look out the window of the car, gaze fixed on the tall hospital building surrounded by flowers, and so many colors.

"Hey." Ezra touches my arm. "You good?"

My brows draw closer. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

He scratches the back of his head, then runs the hand down his face and exhales. "I'm just...I don't think this is a good idea."

"Meeting your mom?"

"Yes."

I frown. "Why? I'm not uncomfortable, baby. You know that."

With the way he's avoiding my eyes, something tells me he's been lying to me about this visit.

Two days ago, he came up with absurd reasons on why we couldn't visit his mom.

Same with yesterday. Talking about forgetting to inform them about our visit.

"It's not that-" he blows a breath. "My mom—us, as a family—we've been through a whole lot. We've been—" he chokes on his words, jaw tightening.

Placing my hand on his thigh, I'm grateful that I can now move my arm. "Talk me to me, what is it?"

"My mom...she's not crazy, Wren."

I nod, rubbing his thigh as I reply softly, "I never said she was."

"When people found out she had to be admitted, they called her crazy. Hell, they called us crazy. Crazy kids with the crazy mom." He looks into my eyes. "My mom's not c-crazy, birdie."

His voice cracks on the words, and for the first time I see his vulnerability. I see the stigma of that one word, how badly it hurt him.

My heart squeezes in my chest, and gently, I pull him into a hug over the console.

"She's not crazy," I whisper in his ears, soothing him with back rubs. "Your mom is strong, resilient. My scum of a father tried to break her spirit, but she's a fighter, baby. She's still fighting."

I don't know the extent of her mental health disorder, but from the little he's told me, it's more of depression and anxiety with suicidal tendencies.

And it's gutting. I can never understand how she must feel, or how Ezra and his family may feel...but I do know that what happened to Andrea should not have happened.

Not to anyone.

Tony Carlisle deserves to die a hundred times over.

"I'm the only one that visits her, you know?" He pulls away with a scoff. "Beth and AJ don't bother. But I get it, we're all dealing with it the only way we know how."

"They'll come around."

"Doubt it. It's been five years since we got her admitted. After the incident, she started deteriorating, zoning out. For two years, we hoped she'd get back on track...granted, you can't just move on from that but—"

"But you all wanted your mom."

"Yes. Since I was already at Raven Reapers MC, I wasn't home most of the time. Until I got a call from AJ, frantic. He said she tried to-to...there was so much blood...in the middle of the night, Beth found her—" his eyes blank, haunted.

"They saw the worst of it. I'm just glad the kids didn't witness it. It was horrible, Wren. So fucking horrible. Maybe if I was there—"

"Stop," I rasp. "Don't you dare blame yourself."

When I blink, a tear falls from my eyes.

My beautiful, perfect man.

He's gone through so much.

So much heart break, pain, and worse...guilt. He lives with so much guilt that I just need him to let go of everything.

Need him to see it was never and has never been his fault. Need him to understand that there was nothing he could've done.

I cup his jaw, a wobbly smile on my face. "You did your best, Ezra. You did the best you could at the time, and it was good enough. Do you understand me?"

He looks away, but I pull his eyes back to mine.

"You're an amazing man. And an even more amazing father, son and brother. We're lucky to have you in our lives," I say. "You love fiercely, selflessly, baby. So I won't let you blame yourself for something that was beyond your control."

His forehead falls to my shoulder and he breathes me in deeply. Sifting my fingers through his hair, I scratch my nails gently on his scalp.

Just like that, he relaxes. His muscles go lax in my arms, the tension leaving him.

We stay in the makeshift embrace for a while, the soft thrum of music plays through the speakers.

Subtly, I wipe my tears, thankful that he doesn't notice.

When we finally break away, he pulls me in for a hug and kisses my forehead.

"Thank you," he croaks. "You're perfect. And I love you."

I'll never get tired of hearing those three little words.

A small smile cracks on my lips, and he mimics it. "I love you, baby."

He pecks my lips and rounds the car to my side, holding the door open for me.

"Ready to meet the amazing woman that gave birth to me?"

Placing my hand in his out-stretched one, I nod enthusiastically. "I was born ready."

Hand in hand, we walk into the comfy looking building. There's friendly chatters at every corner, patients are either wheeled or guided around the premises.

It looks more homey, and less clinical with posters prioritizing and promoting positive mental health.

Nothing screams recovery than those posters and burst of colors.

The receptionist offers a warm grin when we arrive.

"Mr Jax." She stands, holding up two visitor passes. "Andrea will be happy to see you. She's been asking of you."

As if just noticing my presence, she waves at me. "Hi! You must be Wren, Mr Jax said you'll be accompanying him. It's lovely to meet you."

I nod. "Yes. It's lovely to meet you too."

"Sister?" She asks Ezra.

He snorts. "Nah. Wren's my girlfriend."

My heart skips.

I bite my lip, tucking my hair behind my ear as a flush creeps up my skin.

It's the first time he's addressed me as his girlfriend. And it feels almost as good as those three little words.

"Wow," the receptionist coos. "Andrea will definitely appreciate a new face. Also she's been asking about Beth? Ajax?"

Ezra tenses. "My siblings. Yea, I'll talk to her—and them."

"Alright then, you both can go ahead. You know where she is, her usual spot."

"Sure."

As we leave the reception, my grip on his hand tightens. Nervous butterflies fill my tummy, and my legs find it difficult to keep moving.

He looks down at me. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm a little nervous."

"You're gonna be fine. She'll love you."

"Even though my dad hurt her?"

"She doesn't know who you are. We'll leave out that bit until she's good to be dismissed."

I swallow thickly. "O-okay."

Ezra and I make a couple turns, and soon enough we arrive at an art room.

Artworks are hung on the walls, paint cans and brushes in a corner.

The only occupants in the room is a dark-haired woman—who's streaking blue paint across a canvas— and a nurse.

The nurse waves quietly at us.

"Andrea," she calls. "You have visitors."

The dark-haired woman stops, and she turns. She sees Ezra first, a wide smile on her beautiful face.

"Ezzy!" Her eyes widen, arms stretched out.

"Mom." Ezra smiles, walking into her arms.

But when she notices me over his shoulder, she stiffens.

Instinctively, my heart drops.

Our eyes remain locked on each other, cold sweat rolls down my spine. And I know she knows.

"Mom," Ezra says. "This is—"

"Wren Carlisle," she finishes.

I gulp.