“He’s not a soldier either, Mom.”
She jerked her head to the side. “He isn’t?”
I shut up again.
“You know,” she carried on, “in a perfect world, there are rules and everyone abides by them. There is good and there is bad and everyone understands which is which. There is dark and there is light and each person understands which they carry inside them. But this isn’t a perfect world, Rosalie, and it never will be. In every case, in every instance, in every nook and cranny on this planet, the lines are blurred. Each person has to decide their version of what is right and what is not. And so far, you haven’t told me anything that, according to my version, isn’t right about Snapper Kavanaugh or his Club.”
“I’m scared of losing him to this war,” I told her.
“And he’s deeply in love with you. How do you think he’s felt all these months you’ve been a part of an outlaw motorcycle club you’ve been informing on, Rosalie? How well do you think he’s slept knowing he couldn’t protect you every second of every day? And now, when what happened to you happened, living with how that might scar you and he’s powerless over that too.”
Not exactly.
He was so far really good at handling that last part.
That said, I’d never considered how Snapper might have felt about what danger I was putting myself in. I’d just pushed him away when worse came to worse and he was blaming himself and hurting for me and wanting to step up to take care of me.
Not wanting to do it.
Doing it.
God!
Now I not only had a messed-up head, I was a selfish bitch.
“Life is a risk, Rosalie,” she said impatiently, cutting into my thoughts. “And I totally understand you being hesitant after that pack of mongrels set themselves on you. But I hope I raised a daughter stronger than that. A daughter who can get herself past that and recognize what’s good for her, grab hold, and keep it close and safe for as long as God gives her the privilege of having it.”
I looked away and sipped coffee, right then worried that I wasn’t that daughter she’d hoped she’d raised.
The coffee was awesome, and as such fortifying, but nothing could be fortifying enough to pull my stuff together on this.
Mom’s tone was a lot gentler when she noted, “You say you’re in love with him.”
“I fell in love with him while I was with another man,” I told the nicked coffee table covered in spent magazines and used books for sale that had been taken from shelves, perused over coffee, and left for next time.
“Honeypot,” she called.
I looked to her.
“Do you feel guilt for not being loyal in your heart to Beck?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered tightly. “And Mom,” I went on when her face started to set hard, “it isn’t all about Beck, even if part of it is. It’s about wondering what Snap will think that I could do that to Beck when he might be up next.”
Understanding dawned on her. “Ah.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Ah.”
“So, along with healing after being gang-beaten, moved into a new space, worried what your ex’s club has planned for you, and concerned about the activities of the man you’re currently in love with, you’re also bearing the burden that if you try it with him, the way it started between you, he’ll never truly trust you.”
There was absolutely all that.
There was also the scar thing, but Snapper took care of that.
Gah!
“Yes,” I answered Mom.
“And what does Snapper say about all of this?”
“I think this is going to be our conversation tonight.”
All of a sudden, she leaned into me, latched her fingers around my forearm and whispered fiercely, “Be the daughter I raised and recognize what’s good for you, fucking grab hold, keep it close, and keep it precious, Rosalie, for as long as God gives you the privilege of having it.”
I stared at my mom with big eyes.
My father was a swearer. He could be working on something in the garage that wasn’t going right and let out a string of swear words that lasted five whole minutes that would make a sailor raise his brows.
My mother hardly ever swore.
So the f-word was huge.
But what she was urging me to do was even more huge.
“You like him,” I whispered.
She let me go, sat back, and said exasperatedly, “Oh for goodness sakes, Rosalie. Obviously. I mean, what’s not to like?” Then she sucked back an irate sip of her coffee, tasted it, and the irritation fled as the miracle of a serial-killer-but-not-serial-killer-looking barista’s artistry touched her taste buds.
“Mom?” I called.
She turned her eyes to me.
My eyes to me.
I loved my eyes. I loved my mother.
But I wished I got just a little piece of my dad.
“I miss Dad,” I admitted.
She leaned back toward me, her face melting into sheer beauty.
“Of course you do, sweetie. He was the kind of man who was always going to leave a huge hole in the world of those he loved when he left them. The kind of hole, honeypot,” she leaned even closer, “that feels when he’s gone like it’ll never get filled. Don’t try to fill it, Rosalie. Let it sit because it’s not empty. It’s filled to bursting with the love he had for you and the memories he gave our family. It isn’t the same as having him. It never will be. But it’s a treasure regardless. So learn to treasure it and do what he’d want you to do. Find someone to love you, to make new treasured memories with. And don’t let fears and loss hold you back. That isn’t the daughter I raised. But more, that isn’t the daughter your father raised.”
I stared at her, muttering, “Oh no, I’m going to start crying.”
“Okay, I have Kleenex,” she replied.
“Mom!” I exclaimed kinda loudly. “I don’t want to start crying.”
She looked perplexed. “Why in the world not?”
“Because…because…because…” I didn’t know why. “Because I’m seeing Snapper later. It’ll mess up my makeup and make my eyes all puffy.”
She waved her hand in front of her face, took another sip of coffee, got a fleeting look reminiscent of what she looked like after Dad was done with her, then said, “That’s why God made washcloths and Visine. Cold compresses take the puffy away and Visine rids the red. Walgreens is just down the street. If you don’t have Visine, we’ll get you some drops before you head home. And some condoms. I’m sure with the man Snapper is, he’ll come prepared, but just in case.”
I stopped wanting to cry and started smiling.
“Do you know how much I love you?” I asked.
She looked me right in the eye and answered, “Yes.”
Damn.
I felt like crying again.
Instead of crying, I jumped and looked up when the huge, serial-killer-looking-not-a-serial-killer, wild-gray-and-blond-haired, crazy-russet-bearded barista smashed two coffee mugs on the table before us and boomed, “Jesus Jones! I don’t even know what you bitches are talking about and you’re killin’ my mood. Suck more of that back and get over this shit. I got a new litter of kitties that came in last night I get to go home and play with. I don’t wanna be on a downer when I got new kitties.”
Mom and I stared up at him, agog, and I was pretty sure both of us didn’t know which part of his boom to be most agog about.
He retreated behind the coffee machine as the beautiful redheaded lady who owned the place took up the space he’d exited.
“Sorry about Tex calling you bitches, bossing you around, and freaking you out talking about kittens. He’s kind of a cat lover. And a crazy guy. The, uh…coffees are on the house.” She then took off on a stomp and did it shouting toward the coffee machine, “Tex, swear to God, the next customers you—”
“Zip it, sister!” the crazy man called Tex interrupted her on a bellow. “You’re not stealin’ my new kitty
thunder with your attitude either!”
“I’m not stealing your new kitty thunder!” she shouted back. “I’m trying to retain customers so I can buy that new pair of cowboy boots Lee says I can’t have because I already have fifteen pairs.”
“Like you’re hurtin’. This store turns over a shitload and your husband’s rollin’ in it,” Tex retorted.
“And like she cares Lee says she can’t have them,” Mom and I heard whispered from our sides, this coming from a pretty blonde lady who had a smile that made her a knockout. “She already bought those boots. She just wants Tex to pipe down and not freak people out.”
Mom and I looked in unison to the silent standoff Tex and the redhead were having with their eyes, but we looked back to the blonde when she spoke again.
“And it isn’t about his mood,” she said. “He’s worried about your bandage. It doesn’t look like it, but he’s a ladies’ man in the good kind of way, really protective, and he doesn’t like what he sees. He doesn’t know you but he does know people like his coffee, and since that’s all he can give, he gave it. So really, he’s just a big, crazy, kinda scary softie.”
She delivered that, then she swiped up a used mug that had been there when we sat there and took off.
“Don’t ya just love this place?” we heard from the table in the corner that was on the other side of us and our heads swung that way. “These people are freakin’ loco,” the woman there went on. “You never know the shenanigans they’ll get up to. Honestly, and I know this’ll say it all, I don’t actually come here for the coffee. That’s just the icing on the cake. I come here for the floorshow. It never disappoints.”
She lifted her foamy-topped latte our way and turned back to the book she was not-so-much reading.
I looked to Mom.
Her eyes drifted to me.
And then we burst out laughing.
In the midst of it, we heard boomed, “See! Look at those bitches now, Indy Nightingale! My work is done!”
So of course we laughed harder.
Chapter Seven
World
Rosalie
I was kinda embarrassed that I essentially watched out the window, waiting for Snapper since around five minutes after he texted to say he’d picked up the food and was on his way.
And when he arrived, still watching, I was totally shocked when he got out of his truck and went around to the passenger side to nab two plastic bags stuffed with stacked food containers.
There had to be enough food in those to feed six people.
I didn’t know what he’d read (and was beyond caring) when I opened the front door way before he got close to it. Snapper probably already caught me watching through the window (I’d be hard to miss) so it didn’t matter anyway.
But really, I was just glad he was there and I didn’t care he knew it.
“You should have parked in the garage, Mulder,” I told him when he was six feet away.
“I don’t have a remote, Scully,” he replied.
“You don’t have a remote to your own garage?” I asked.
He made it to me and I stepped aside for him and his two bags to get through.
And he did this saying, “It’s your garage, Rosie.”
“I don’t even have a rental agreement.”
Snap had no reply to that.
He just walked to the kitchen.
I closed the door and followed him, asking, “Is the whole Club coming over for dinner?”
He dumped the bags on the countertop, turned, shrugging off his cut to toss it also on the counter, revealing a skintight cream thermal that was drool-worthy, and grinned at me. “I wanted you to have what you wanted so I bought everything you said you liked, but before you get grateful on me, I had an ulterior motive since Indian leftovers are the shit.”
I loved the first part of that and he was right about the second part, so I smiled back.
He started undoing the tied handles of the bags while I decided not to get stuck on the fact that it was a hair down day for Snapper, and I liked it, as well as the fact that he was letting his beard grow in, though it was still longer at the chin, and the way the growth was progressing looked crazy-good on him.
Instead, I tore my eyes away from his unique brand of handsomeness and got out plates, cutlery, and beers.
“You have a good time with your mom?” he asked, taking out the containers, lining them up on the counter and flipping them open.
“We always have a good time,” I answered.
“She’s pretty awesome,” he murmured.
She was.
I was just thrilled to know he thought she was.
“She likes you too,” I shared.
His head turned my way and the expression on his face told me this sounded like a throwaway conversation, but it was anything but to Snapper. He wanted my mom to like him because he wanted a future with me.
“Good,” he said.
I tucked my hair behind my ear and grabbed some spoons, shoving them in the containers as Snap opened them.
We dished up, grabbed our beers, and headed to my couch. I settled in, ready to tuck in, feeling nervous and shy.
This wasn’t about the conversation we were going to have. Snap hadn’t left much in doubt that he wanted to go there with me. We had some tough stuff to get through, but Snapper had proved he was adept at handling me.
It was about after, when we’d go another there.
It was all well and good waking up with Snapper mostly naked in the bed he bought me in the house he’d given me after a perfect night.
But right then it was so much more.
If this conversation went well, this was going to happen.
And I knew it meant everything to him.
It meant the same to me.
So that other there we might be going to tonight had to go awesome.
Snap didn’t join me on the couch at first.
Instead, he put his plate and beer down on the coffee table and moved to the fireplace. He turned a knob on the side and the fire jumped to life.
He didn’t whip out his phone and set the speakers I’d noticed that were set in the ceiling to playing Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.”
But it still set the scene.
Oh yeah.
I was nervous and feeling shy.
I pushed some butter chicken into the center pile of rice and shoved it in my mouth.
Snap sat opposite me on the couch and grabbed his plate.
I chewed, swallowed, and asked, “Do you do the yard work?”
He looked to me. “Come again?”
“The yard.” I jerked my head toward the door behind us. “It’s all set for the winter. Do you do the yard work?”
“No,” he told me.
He didn’t expound.
Then again, he didn’t really need to.
I looked to the plate, shoved some chicken korma into the rice and ate that, still staring at my plate.
“What gives, Scully?” he asked.
I looked to him, chewed, swallowed and said, “Nothing gives.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re bein’ weird.”
“I am?” I asked.
But I was.
I was all the way across the couch, shoved into a corner, my plate in front of my chin like I hadn’t had food in six months and was intent to shovel it in, my body screaming, “This is my space, do not invade it!”
“We’re eating and having a conversation. I’m not gonna jump you on the couch through butter chicken,” he stated.
“You turned on the fire,” I pointed out.
“So? That fire rocks. It’s February. It was a pain in the ass to get that fucker in and I’ve never had the opportunity to enjoy it. So I turned it on.”
“It’s romantic,” I said softly.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m here. You’re here. We’re gonna sort our shit so I’m feelin’ romantic, baby. But I’m hungry and we got shit to talk about so before I do anything abou
t that feeling, I’m gonna eat and we’re gonna talk, and if we’re both there after, we’ll explore that feeling. Right now, it’s just nice to be sitting on a couch, just you and me, having dinner. We’ve never had that. So might as well do it up right.”
He did that all the time.
He always did it up right.
And he was very correct.
It was nice to be there, just Snap and me, for the first time.
It just sucked there was so much heavy we had to get through, hopefully successfully, before we could get past it.
I decided right then it was time to get past it.
“You know, you mean the world to me too,” I blurted.
He blinked.
I kept blurting.
“It’s just that I’m worried about losing you to whatever is going on with Benito Valenzuela and Bounty, because I’m guessing that’s dangerous. And I know Chaos are vigilantes and you patrol your turf and that makes me anxious. I also was with a guy but then started falling for you when I was with that guy and obviously you know I was with that guy so now you know that happened, and I’m worried that you’re gonna think I’m messed up, going from guy to guy to guy even when I’m with a guy and that might happen to you. The part, I mean, about jumping to another guy when I’m with you.”
I took in a huge breath and then kept talking.
“This house is beautiful and the bed is amazing but we haven’t talked about how much rent is gonna be so you’re not out money, looking after me. We also haven’t talked about how I’m gonna pay you back for the bed. And Mom pointed something out today that I feel crap about, knowing you had feelings for me and I was doing something dangerous, which probably worried you sick since you couldn’t protect me. And this makes me think that I’m all about me, or that you’ll think I’m all about me. Selfish and self-involved and not considering other people’s feelings.”
When I stopped talking and kept silent for a while, Snapper spoke.
“Is that it?”
He wanted more?
“Isn’t that enough?” I queried.
He nodded and said, “Just makin’ sure that’s all we got.”
“Um…do you have anything you wanna discuss?” I asked and finished apprehensively. “I mean, since it seems we’re setting the night’s agenda.”
Rough Ride: A Chaos Novella Page 13