by Huss, JA
“Right,” she snaps back. “And since Spencer can’t commit, I’m not on the team. I’m nobody, I’m—”
I cup my hand over her mouth because her last few words came out rather shrill and people are starting to stare. “Come with me or I do the crawl and make the call.” She huffs air into my palm and then mumbles something incoherent. “What was that? Was that a yes?” She nods her head and I remove my hand. “Great, I’m parked down here.”
I walk off and she follows, slowly, but she follows.
We get in the Bronco and slam our doors at the same time. She folds her arms against her chest and pouts.
“Buckle up. It’s the law.”
“Fuck you, Ford.” But she does buckle up and I back out and continue up College until I get to the turn off for Bellvue. Ronnie stares out the window the entire thirty minute drive to the shop. I park in my old spot under the carport and glance over at Rook’s custom Shrike Bike. Spencer made it for her last summer when she was doing his body art modeling campaign.
“He never gave me a bike you know.”
“No?” I get out and Ronnie follows. The weather is still fairly mild, but the clouds are really rolling in, the threat of a storm is over and it’s just about here. I look at the bike again as we walk past and then I code the lock on the back door and hold it open for Ronnie. “You know why, though, right?”
“Why what?”
“Why he never gave you a bike.”
She stands in the kitchen, her arms still folded in defiance. “Because I’m not important. Because he never gives me anything. Because I’m just another fuck-buddy to him. Because he has no feelings for me. Take your pick, Ford.”
“No, that’s not why,” I say back. “Because he doesn’t want you to ride it, Veronica. Because he’d go crazy with worry if he had to think about you riding around on a motorcycle. Because you’re his number one, he’s just caught up in some shit right now and he doesn't want you involved. And believe me, I saw his face last summer when you almost got killed. He didn’t even know how to process it.”
“Right.” She snorts. “He processed it just fine. He was on the road to Sturgis the very next day with you guys.”
“Yeah, but that was business. You’re not business, Ronnie. You’re personal. He’s totally in love with you.”
She just stares at me for a few seconds and then blinks. “What?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.” I walk into the living room and then head into the hallway towards Spencer’s office. “I don’t have the real code for this door, but I hacked it last summer when I was bored.” Veronica grunts behind me as I key in the codes. The door beeps and I push it open and wave her in.
She hesitates. “I’ve never been in here before, Ford.”
“I know, that’s why I’m taking you in here now.” I flip on the lights and she gasps, then walks across the forbidden threshold.
And gasps again. “What the hell is all this?” she asks, panning her arms wide.
I look up and try and imagine myself as her, seeing it for the first time. But I’m no good at that empathy shit, so it’s no use. “Well, Ronin and I call it pussy whipped, but you can call it the Veronica Vaughn Shrine.” I laugh privately at my joke as she takes in the walls. Every one is adorned with images of her as Spencer’s body art model. He stopped using her last year, then gave that last job to Rook, so none of these are recent. But she was his model for several years—they even went to some international contests and Spencer has all those awards prominently displayed in a glass case behind his desk.
“I don’t get it,” she says, perplexed.
“What’s not to get?”
“Why? Why the fuck does he treat me like shit!” She yells that last part and I wince. “Ford!” she says turning to me, her little hands clasping onto the front of my leather jacket. “Why. The. Hell? He lets me come around once a month, if that! He forgets to call me back, he snuffs me on our dates, he hasn’t fucked me in three goddamned months, Ford!” She’s shaking me now and I’m desperately trying to pry her hands off my coat before I start freaking out from her touching. “Three months! Do you have any idea how fucking horny I am! I’m gonna fuck that banker, Ford. The minute he asks, because my goddamned vibrator is broken and the fucking mall sold out of the fucking Hitachi model I like and won’t be getting any more in until after fucking New Year’s! I can’t even find them online! Not even on eBay!”
She finally lets go and turns back to the wall art.
Holy shit. Veronica is intense.
But she’s forgotten about me now and her attention is one hundred percent on the walls. There’s six life sized photographs of her. All in body art paint, which means she’s totally naked in every one of them. If it bothers her that I’m looking at her naked body, she doesn’t let on. But honestly, it bothers me.
I do not want to start picturing them together.
It gives me the shivers.
“This one,” she says pointing up at a photo, still a little bit hysterical, but calmer than she was about the lack of Hitachi vibrators at the FoCo Mall, “was in Austria. We won two prizes for it.”
She’s pointing to the one with her painted up as the cyborg chick that Rook loved so much last summer. That was Ronin’s favorite picture of Rook once the STURGIS contract was all said and done. Spencer is trying to talk Ronin into letting Rook be his model for Comic-Con this year. But even though Ronnie doesn’t see it yet, Spencer tells her no for the same reason Ronin will put his foot down this time as well.
No one wants their woman being displayed naked in front of thousands of men.
That’s just the facts. And even though this is such a fucking no-brainer to us men with even the slightest bit of protoplasmic possessive gene, for some stupid reason, the girls never seem to get it.
Allow me to spell it out.
“Ronnie, Spencer is a man. He doesn’t do feelings he does caveman. When he says ‘No, Ronnie, you may not have one of my custom Shrike Bikes.’ What he really means is, ‘Are you fucking insane? I refuse to spend every Goddamn night wondering if you’re dead in a fucking ditch somewhere. You may not have a bike and you will never get a bike with my name on it as long as I’m alive, so fucking help me, God.’”
“But he gave Rook a bike!”
“Yeah, because it made Rook happy and she’s got Ronin to reign her in when she talks about riding it. And after she took off to Illinois alone on that fucking Shrike Bike, you see where it is now? Sitting under the fucking carport out here in the middle of nowhere, being ridden by no one. Rook will never sit on that bike again, let alone ride it. Ronin put his foot down and it’s over. Now, do you need me to spell out why he refuses to let you model for him anymore? Because I will. I think you’re smart enough to figure that shit out on your own, but I’ll hold your hand tonight and not make fun of your idiocy because it’s Christmas.”
“Nice bedside manner, Ford. You really have a way with words.” She stays silent for a few seconds, mulling this over as she looks up at her glory days as a body art model for Shrike fucking Bikes. “I’m not ready for that to be over yet. I’m just not. I’m young, I’m pretty, I’m funny and I might have a little bit of freak in me with the blood phobia, but I’m not that far away from normal. I still want to have fun and I want to have fun with him. I’m not ready to just give that up yet.”
“No? I thought you wanted him to be serious. You can’t have it both ways, Ronnie. You can’t be the slutty model at the shows who attracts the buyers and lookers. You can’t be the reckless biker chick with no responsibilities. You can’t be the wild tattoo artist with red lips and black stilettos who will hygienically tattoo a penis if a customer walks through the door asking for it.”
“I’ve tattooed hundreds of people and only one of them wanted his penis adorned.”
I sigh. She’s so thick. “My point is… you can’t be these things and be the kind of girl Spencer wants to settle with. Because eventually, he will settle down and when he does, he wa
nts a wife.” I shrug. I know how it sounds, but fuck it. She needs to hear the truth. “He wants dinner and kids and all that shit.”
“He never said any of that to me Ford,” she replies shaking her head. “He’s never talked about a family at all.”
“Yeah, but we were raised up together, Ronnie. I know him. We all want the same thing, we just want it in different ways. Ronin wanted to settle down right away because his life has been one exciting event after another. Spencer wants to check life out a bit, explore his options, and then settle down.”
“Fuck that,” she says as she stomps out of the office. I follow, flicking off the lights and pulling the door closed behind me. “If he can explore his options, then I can explore mine, too. Go ahead and tell him whatever you want, Ford. I don’t care. He’s hurting me with these other girls he dates. Hell, dates? He’s fucking them and don’t try and tell me he’s not! So I’m done with him. I’m gonna call him tonight and tell him it’s over and then tomorrow I’m meeting that guy and having a late dinner with him. And you know what, Ford? He’ll probably bring me a present. Flowers or something. Spencer never buys me anything. Nothing! He might as well be you, Ford! Hell, if I was your pet at least I’d be getting fucked!”
I raise my eyebrows at her.
She winces and backs away. “Sorry. Too far?”
I nod. “Let’s go get my things from my apartment and I’ll drop you off at home.” I usher her out of the house and we get back in the Bronco and drive down to the shop. It’s not far, but I have a few boxes of stuff to load up, so I take the truck.
Ronnie sheepishly follows me upstairs to my apartment over the shop. It’s pretty bare bones. Just some mismatched furniture and my leftover boxes of casual clothes and personal items. Ronnie grabs a box and I grab two, then we go back down to the Bronco and load it up.
She is silent the whole time. And I know why she’s angry. Spencer is distant, but it’s got nothing to do with her. He loves Veronica Vaughn. I know this, I’ve watched him with her on many occasions. And last summer when she accidentally got involved in that con we ran on Rook’s ex, she almost got shot and Spencer was freaking out. That’s how I know he loves her.
But I also know he’ll never tell her as long as we have all this legal shit hanging over our heads. There’s too many risks right now. We’re all in this together—Rook, Ronin, Spencer, and me—until we know we won’t be killed or put in jail.
And if certain people knew how much Spencer Shrike cares about Veronica Vaughn, then her life might be in danger too. And it’s not fair to involve her. She’s got nothing to do with any of these illegal jobs we’ve been doing.
We ride back to Fort Collins in silence and I’m still trying to figure out if I should call Spencer and tell him when I hang a right on Mountain Avenue. Ronnie is the only female member of the Vaughn family—which consists of her, her four brothers, her dad, and her grandfather. All of whom are tattoo artists and have owned a shop in Fort Collins called Sick Boyz Inc. since the early Sixties. They live in a gigantic old house in the historic district right off downtown. If I had left her at the restaurant she could’ve walked home in five minutes.
I almost feel bad for Ronnie. Spencer is serious about not involving her in the business and that means he does generally ignore her. And he’s been especially aloof this past fall. But Ronnie has a point too. Why should she wait around for him if he’s not providing for her?
I slow down to gather my thoughts because what I’m about to suggest might be a betrayal to one of my best friends and it takes a little getting used to. But Veronica’s house comes into view and her brothers are all out in the front looking at one of their many cars, so I make a snap decision. “OK, look Ronnie. I won’t tell Spencer because I get it. You’re tired of waiting. I’ll even hint around that you need some attention. And you’re both going to Antoine’s New Year’s party, so you know for sure you’ll see him then.”
“I’m not even going as his date, Ford. Rook invited me, not Spencer! What if he brings a girl?”
“He’s not gonna bring a girl to a party you’ll be at, Ronnie. Don’t be ridiculous.” But in reality, Spencer is not all that astute when it comes to relationships. I might need to pull him aside and make sure he doesn’t piss Veronica off. “Just give it until the trials are over in the spring, can you do that? Just wait a few months until all this legal shit is behind us?”
“I don’t know, Ford. It just seems pointless.”
“Well, at the very least, don't call him up and tell him. If you keep it secret, I’ll cover for you. But shit, Veronica, if you push his buttons you know you’ll piss him off and the first place he’ll go is that guy’s house. So I hope that banker has a gun.”
She squints at me and then we’re at her house. Her brothers descend on the Bronco like a pack of wolves and open her door.
“Ronnie where the hell have you been?” Vinn Vaughn, her middle brother, asks first.
“Ford,” Vic, the oldest Vaughn brother says, “what the fuck are you doing with my baby sister?” All Ronnie’s brothers are tatted up like, well, tattoo artists. Veronica has no tatts and that always surprised me. She’s got a very strange blood phobia, so her continuing the trade never made sense. But she did get on board. She’s one of them. And it was her talented hands who created Spencer’s own body art. Every bit of it is Veronica’s work.
“I saw her out jogging, picked her up and gave her a lift. She had a cramp in her side. She needs to work on her endurance.” I look over at Ronnie when I say this. “Stamina, Veronica Vaughn. Slow and steady.”
She smiles sweetly and looks me right back in the eye. “Thank you so much Ford, how about you stay for dinner?”
The Vaughn family is serious about their dinners and once you get invited, it’s a done deal. You have no way out. Her brothers are on me like carrion. “Yeah, Ford. Come inside. The whole family’s here. We got a little party going.”
“Noooo—” But Grandpa Vaughn is already walking up to the Bronco waving at me.
Shit. How the hell do I start my day one hundred percent in control of this holiday and end up spending time with an old friend, buying presents from a cute kid, consoling my partner-in-crime’s almost girlfriend, and invited over for dinner with the Vaughn clan?
I put the truck in park and give in.
Screw it. I still got five hours until my pet date and a man’s gotta eat.
Chapter Six
Christmas Eve dinner with the Vaughn family is not some sit-down with turkey and stuffing. No. It’s a mass conglomeration of men and girlfriends milling about the house, drinking too much, smoking too much, and talking way too loud. Ronnie and I are the only ones with no dates. Even her grandpa has a lady friend over.
I think that’s cute.
Ronnie’s father, Vern, has the barbecue fired up and is cooking enough meat to feed a small village. I doubt there’ll be leftovers.
I get jostled around between the various first floor rooms, talking to her brothers and then her grandpa—who fills my head with the most gruesome war stories I’ve ever heard—and then eat and make a swift exit. Swift is relative since I spend a few hours hanging out here.
Ronnie shoots me the stink eye as I wave goodbye to them.
Yeah, Spencer needs to take care of this shit. Because she is not happy. At all. And I don’t blame her, he’s being a selfish dick. He could at the very least explain himself.
I take College down to Harmony and hang a left towards the freeway. My apartment complex is down this way and I want to bring my computer home to fuck around with tonight after the pet leaves. I’m gonna look that guy up Veronica was with anyway. Just in case. If I never need to tell Spencer, fine. But it’s better to have the info ready than be scrounging around for it after the fact.
There’s almost no traffic today and I hit every green light all the way down to my apartment. I turn into the driveway and park in my spot. The jog up the steps feels good after so much driving today and I hope the snow i
sn’t too bad tonight so I can run in the morning. Keep the routine. I like a routine.
The apartment is cold and empty. I never liked the place and if it wasn't for Spencer’s guns hidden away in the third bedroom, I’d clear it out and be done with it. Chalk it up to a failed experiment with normalcy. But Spencer thinks it’s necessary, so I paid up the rent for a year.
My phone buzzes in my jacket and I sift through the gifts and my new knife to find it. “Yes, Pam.” She’s my assistant in LA. Runs my whole life—from buying me clothes to setting up the pets.
“The studio called Mr. Aston. You’re expected to show up on January fourth and pilot filming commences in New Zealand on the fourteenth for six weeks. Do you want me to book a flight for you on the third?”
“Well, that’s good news, eh? We’re finally getting somewhere with this shitty career.” I sigh and take a seat on the couch as I picture leaving Denver for two months. I’m not ready to leave, to be honest. I’m not ready to let Rook go. I’ve enjoyed her too much and I’ve missed her even more this past month. I’ve barely seen her at all. Not since the last taping of Shrike Bikes. “Did we hear back from The Biker Channel on a Season Two?”
“Yes, sir. They said second week in March.”
“During the trials?”
“Yes, sir. I think they specifically scheduled it that way for ratings.”
“Of course they did. OK, well I’ll call you back and let you know about the flight.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Aston. If you need anything, I’m on call as usual.”
“Yes, thank you, Pam.” I press end and drop the phone on the cushion. Well, this is it. Life is changing. The only question is, what will I do with it?
I’m not sure yet. All I know is that I’m the only one of my inner circle that is spending this day alone.
Well, that’s not quite true, I’ve seen a ton of people today. But all of them are home or on their way home. I’m the only one who has nowhere to go.