by Bourne, Lena
I’m realizing something else too. There’s tension between us, the sparkling and crackling kind that can only be relieved by a kiss. I think Billy isn’t the only reason he’s helping me. I think he might have a little crush on me too.
He clears his throat like he’s uncomfortable and breaks the spell. I feel a little dizzy with all that tension suddenly gone, but I’m glad it is.
What the hell was I thinking?
The last thing I need—the last thing I want, to be honest—is kissing and sex. I’m done with men, and I doubt that will change for a good long while. I always choose the wrong guys, so I’m done choosing. The only thing I need to do now is recover and get to Mexico.
“Alright, well, there’s some food in the fridge, and you can take a shower upstairs, just mind how much water you use. It’s not unlimited up here. Look in the closet for a change of clothes, if you need them,” he says, and I get a flash image of a bunch of another woman’s clothes being in there. The sensation accompanying the vision feels a lot like jealousy.
“Your girlfriend’s clothes?” I blurt out.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “No girlfriend. Or wife, before you ask. But I’m sure a t-shirt of mine will fit you just fine.”
My cheeks are very hot, so I know they must be very red too. That tension that only kissing can break is back, sparkling between us as thick as a wall.
“Make yourself at home, in other words,” he says after clearing his throat nervously again. “But rest as much as you can. You still need it. I’ll be back in a couple of hours with some dinner and hopefully your luggage and your purse.”
“You’re just gonna leave me alone here?” I ask.
He looks confused for a second, but then holds out the truck keys to me. “If you need to leave, follow the dirt road we came in on to the main road, and make a left to get back into town. The truck has GPS, so you should be able to find your way to anywhere you want to go. But I think you’re better off sleeping today.”
“You’re just giving me your truck?” I ask, even more perplexed.
He shrugs. “I don’t want you to worry about being stuck here on top of everything else.”
“How are you gonna get out of these woods?”
“I’ll get a ride, don’t worry about it,” he says.
“Thanks, Matt,” I call after him once he’s already heading to the door. “I really appreciate all this.”
He mutters, “Don’t mention it,” and then he’s out the door, and I’m alone in this cabin that smells of wood and leather and fresh air, but dust and disuse too. I feel safer and more taken care of than I have in years, but I’m also kind of wishing Matt and me were kissing too. But I’m sure that’s just because of the concussion and the after effects of whatever painkillers they gave me at the hospital.
* * *
Doc
No one’s called me Matt in ten years or more, and I like how it sounds coming from her lips. She reminds me of what used to be, of the hope I felt back when my life was just a bunch of dreams of what I could do with it. Now those dreams became what they are, and a precious few lined up with what I thought they’d be back then.
Billy dying stopped a lot of my dreaming as only the death of someone close can stop dreaming. Lots of other guys and girls I was close to died since then, so many even that pain lost its freshness over time. But being with Anne feels fresh and new. It’s a lot like dreaming, if I’m honest.
Walking through the woods is good for thinking, though I don’t like the direction these thoughts are taking me as I make my way to the main road where Ink is supposed to pick me up. I hope he doesn’t take his sweet time like he did this morning.
I want to kiss Anne, I want to see her naked and I want to fuck her. That’s another uncomfortable truth I figured out on my walk. But I don’t need a woman in my life and I don’t want one, especially not the little sister of a long dead best friend.
Women are fun, but each one I’ve been with had an expiration date, and it was never longer than a year. I’m too old, too troubled, too set in my ways, and too angry to let anyone close, and the sister of my oldest friend in the world deserves better than me. The sum total of what I still want from this world is peace and silence, and being alone with my thoughts. And not thoughts of Anne, especially not the ones I’m having now—imagining her naked in the tiny bathroom in my cabin, where she’s probably taking a shower right about now. I already saw her long bare legs, and that skimpy hospital gown didn’t leave a lot to the imagination where the rest of her body is concerned. Just enough that it left me wondering about the exact shape of her breasts and the size of her nipples, and the precise level of the curve of her waist and her low back, and whether her ass is shaped like a heart or an apple. Both would work for me.
God damn it. She’s one woman—maybe the only one in the world—that I must not fuck and discard when I grow bored of her. And I will grow bored, I always do, because I’m not meant to share my life with anyone, never was. I figured that out a long time ago, and I like my life the way it is now. Simple.
Plus, she’s a danger to the club with her husband gunning for her. Running headfirst into danger is the story of my life, has been since I can remember, so I couldn’t care less about the danger her husband poses to me, as for the club and the brothers, that’s another matter. I can’t and I won’t risk their safety.
I wish Ink would hurry the fuck up and get here, because I’m sick of being alone with my thoughts. They’re not taking me anywhere good and won’t let me leave.
“About fucking time,” I bark as I climb into the car Ink came to pick me up in.
“Yeah, my bad. I got lost a couple of times,” he says. “This place of yours really is in the middle of fucking nowhere. For awhile there, I thought I’d gone back in time to the frontier.”
Leave it to Ink to say the weirdest shit at any given time.
“Where’s the truck I brought you this morning, anyway?” he adds.
“Never you mind about the truck,” I say. “Take the next left and the first right after that.”
“Yes, Boss,” Ink says mockingly. “So you left your lady friend the truck like only a true gentleman would? But is she giving it back?”
“Like I already said, never you mind about any of that,” I snap, adding more calmly, “The less you know the better, and don’t go telling everyone about these errands I had you running this morning either. It’s personal business.”
He smirks at me. “Alright, so what I’m hearing is that I should keep my mouth shut and keep driving.”
“Yeah, that’s a good summary,” I say and look out the window. “Take the next left.”
He does it without saying anything more and I keep my eyes peeled, searching for the spot where I came across Anne’s crashed car last night, hoping to see both it and my bike still there. But all that’s left of the accident is a set of black tire tracks on the pavement where she lost control of the car and slammed on the breaks, and a long, red gash in the tree trunk she hit.
“Take me to the police station in town,” I tell Ink once we’re past the accident site.
I didn’t expect her car to still be here, but I did hope to find my bike. I guess this whole mess is about to get messier still.
5
Anne
About half of the upstairs space in the cabin is taken up by the master bedroom, but there’s also a very small bathroom here, and a second bedroom that he’s using as a permanent storage space of sorts. It’s filled with cardboard boxes that are all covered with a thick layer of dust.
The rest of the cabin is very orderly with all the surfaces neat, and even the bed made just so. Must be old habits from his military past. But it all looks so empty and devoid of life too. There’s a layer of dust over everything, just nowhere as thick as on those boxes. I bet he put them in there when he moved in and never opened the door again.
All the rooms only have the bare minimum of essentials in them. Spartan, I’d describe
it, but there is a certain peace in having only what you need and no more. A simple wooden bed and closet in the bedroom, a leather sofa, a couple of armchairs, a coffee table and a credenza in the living room, and a kitchen with a simple table and just enough cupboards for the essentials. In the bathroom, there was one toothbrush, a single bar of soap, a half bottle of shampoo that I’m guessing he’s had for years, and a single coarse towel.
I did find more towels in the bedroom closet where I searched for something to wear after my shower. One of his shirts and a pair of sweats fit me reasonably well, but everything in the closet smells moldy and disused despite being perfectly, starchy clean. I’m willing to bet he’s never had a woman up here. The thought makes me happy, but I’m ascribing that to my concussion and the joy of bumping into an old friend, rather than the pervasive, invasive desire to be the only woman he ever has up here. The one that’ll end up staying for good.
It’s getting chilly now, as I’m lying on the downstairs sofa, covered by a clean, but moldy smelling rough wool blanket, and watching light recede back into the trees outside. I wish I knew how to start a fire in the large, open hearth facing the sofa. All the stuff I’d need to do it is neatly stacked next to it, but with my luck, and my lack of experience, I’d probably end up burning down this place and half the forest with it.
I’m calmer than I’ve been in years. Maybe it’s the smell of redwoods that the walls and windows don’t keep out, or the silence punctuated only by the calls and songs of birds. But it’s definitely a healthy sort of calm, and not the kind I’m used to feeling—the kind where I feel like I’m just floating through life, my body and mind wispy and as inconsequential as a cloud. This calm could just be from the two concussions I’ve suffered in the last day and a half. But it could also be because this is the first time I’ve felt safe in years. I wish Matt would hurry up and get back. I’d feel even safer with him here.
He could light the fire and we could talk about Billy and Sunnyvale and how easy, slow and pleasant life used to be. I’d like that. For some reason, talking to him about my brother didn’t bring the crushing sadness over his death that talking about it with anyone else always does. My family never fully recovered from his death. My dad drank and drank until he forgot it all, and my mother lost all her joy. And I moved as far away from anything that could possibly remind me of it all, as I could. But running into Matt showed me that I missed remembering how it used to be. More than I knew I did.
I wish he’d come back soon so we could remember together. Maybe he even has some old photos from home in one of those dusty boxes upstairs. I left everything I had in Seattle. To be honest, I don’t even know where my old photos are. I only took a couple when I left home, since moving on and forgetting was my main objective then. Memories of my brother and my family live in my heart, but it’s been a long time since I could feel my heart at all. I think I’m starting to feel it again though. Especially when Matt is around.
* * *
Doc
It took some explaining, including getting asked a bunch of questions about what I saw of Anne’s accident by a couple of officers I never met before, but I got my bike back from the police impound lot quickly after I asked to speak to the captain. He got shot seven years ago and I saved his life, since I was the only one at the hospital to realize that a bullet fragment had made its way into his bloodstream.
As far as him and the rest of the authorities in this town are concerned, I’m just an ex-army doc looking for a quiet life here. None of the MC members appear as anything but law-abiding citizens, despite our appearances. That’s Hawk’s doing. To the outside, the club is known as a perfectly legal private security firm, and we all carry IDs to that effect. The clubhouse in town is known as our HQ and no one knows about Sanctuary. In fact they think we keep them safe from the real mean bastards that reside up there, on Resolution Hill, which is considered a very dangerous place by all the civilians for miles around. Given the nature of the MC’s work, we’ve always laid low, but Hawk took it to new heights by giving us this legitimate cover. Hawk’s a wiz when it comes to computer stuff and covering our tracks—in short, he can do things I didn’t even know were possible with a computer.
I’m sure Hawk can give Anne a new name. Then even the feds won’t be able to trace her. Maybe he can even get her stuff back from the cops first. If her fed husband doesn’t know where to look for her, he won’t be a threat to us. I’ll ask Hawk to do it, Cross doesn’t even need to know. That reasoning sounds simple and good in my head, but the closer I get to Sanctuary, the dumber it starts to sound. What you don’t know can kill you just as fast as something you don’t see coming. I haven’t yet encountered an exception to that rule.
If push comes to shove, I’ll drive her far away from here myself, and give her the money to start over. It’s the least I can do.
Do I really want her gone though? A very loud part of my brain is yelling, “No”, in answer to that question, but the sensible part knows it’s the best way all around.
But asking Hawk for help isn’t the most sensible thing to do, I also know that. Yet, it’s the best way I see to help her.
Sanctuary is deserted when I reach it, and Hawk isn’t in his basement office, or anywhere else I know to look for him. I finally track down Ace tinkering with his bike in the garage.
“Where is everybody?” I ask.
“Doc, I didn’t expect you back for days,” he says, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. “Most of the guys are in Vegas. You know, dealing with the Russians.”
“Hawk too?” I ask.
“He was the first one there, from what I hear,” Ace says and chuckles like there’s more to that story, but I couldn’t care less about that right now. Fuck, I should’ve known Hawk would be in Vegas. Now what?
I nod at Ace and leave, veering off into the garden. I only pull out my phone to call Hawk when I’m far enough from the house not to be overheard. The fewer people who know what I’m gonna ask him, the better. Not that I’m planning on giving him a lot of info on the situation either. Especially not over the phone. He doesn’t like us doing that.
“Hawk, I need a favor,” I say once he picks up. “A friend crashed her car last night. All her documents and shit are still in it and the cops towed it. What’s the best way to get it back without too much of a fuss?”
“Whoa, dude, slow down,” he says mockingly. “What kinda friend? What kinda crash? Did she hit anyone?”
“No, she just drove off the road and hit her head pretty bad,” I say. “The only damage was to her and her car.”
“Well, then she should just walk into the station and ask to get it back. That’d be the quickest way,” he says with a clear undertone of, Why the fuck are you even calling me to ask this question?
That way isn’t the best option, but I’m at a loss on how to convey it to him without giving too much of the real problem away.
“She can’t do that, is that what you’re saying?” Hawk asks, catching on to that fact on his own.
“She’d rather not,” I say.
He sighs. “Listen, there isn’t much I can do from over here right now. I could make some calls, probably get the car out of the lot and into a garage of ours by tonight. As for her personal things, that’s gonna be tougher. Can you go through the hospital? Maybe they’ll release it to them?”
“Yeah, I can try,” I say, glad that Hawk is always so fast on the uptake. “Get me the car though, OK?”
“Alright, Doc,” he says. “I’ll call you when it’s done. Who’s this lady? Anyone I know?”
“She’s an old friend. Talk later,” I say and hang up, since that’s about the extent of what I can tell him about Anne. I didn’t mention getting her a new identity, since I realized that would take too much explaining as soon as I heard his voice.
Maybe just walking into the station to get her stuff would be the best thing to do. And hopefully, the guys at the garage can start fixing her car right away.
If she get
s her old identity back, she can use it to create a new one. Maybe she can even do that without having any documents, though I doubt it. And with her car fixed, she could continue on to Mexico like she planned.
It’s a good plan. I hope it works.
And after she’s gone, that voice in my head telling me I want her to stay will shut up eventually too.
* * *
Anne
An engine rumbling wakes me. It sounds like a plane is landing somewhere close to the cabin, and destroys the forest silence so completely it’s as though it never existed. My heart’s racing, my head pounding and my breathing is erratic, as I look out the living room window, clutching the keys to the truck so hard that the pointy end is digging into my palm painfully.
Did Benji find me after all?
The thought is making me nauseous on top of everything else.
But then a Harley materializes amid the trees, and seconds later, a rider. It’s Matt, I realize, and the bike suits him. It’s like an extension of his already forceful and confident manner, man and machine blending seamlessly like his body once did with the horses he rode back home. Right now, as he draws nearer, the bike seems as alive as the man riding it.
I open the cabin door and step out onto the porch while he’s unloading the saddlebags.
“Did I wake you?” he asks, his hands full of white grocery store bags which rustle as he approaches.
“That’s OK,” I say and almost walk off the porch to help him before I realize I have no shoes on.