by Voss, Deja
I was just hoping it would come in one of the moments that he wasn’t clinging to me, asleep or otherwise. Whatever the news is, I need to face it on my own. Sure, you want to hope for the best, but I’m no Pollyanna. I wish I had a minute to compose myself before I took this call, but that risks the chance of my ringer waking up my husband.
“Hello?” I whisper.
“Esther, it’s Doctor Larson’s office. We received the results for your biopsy. Dr. Larson would rather you meet at the office to discuss what’s going on. When is the soonest I can get you here?”
“Tell me,” I rasp.
“Mrs. Harrison, I think it would be better if Doctor Larson explained herself.”
“Just fucking tell me,” I say a little louder. I’m perturbed. I grew up in a motorcycle club. We don’t sugarcoat. We don’t dance around problems. “Is it cancer?”
I can hear the receptionist gulp into the phone. “Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
“Am I fixing to die soon?” I ask. Brooks stirs, and I run my fingers through his dirty blond hair, trying to sooth him so he stays asleep.
“I can’t answer that over the phone, ma’am. I’m not a doctor. Please, can I schedule you an appointment today or tomorrow so you can talk to a professional about your options?”
“Oh, I get options?” I say sarcastically, like I’m going to a wedding and can choose between chicken or fish. “How about you have the doctor call me when she has time.”
If this is it, I’m not wasting another day hanging out in doctors’ offices, getting poked and prodded. If she has a solid answer for me, if she can make me well again, that’s another story. Right now, I’m just talking in hypotheticals with some broad who knows jack shit about anything.
“I’ll see what I can do. Please, if you change your mind, call me. It’s very important.”
I hang up on her, untangling myself from Brooks’s vice grip.
I feel fine, I feel fine, everything is so fucking fine, I try and tell myself as I tiptoe across the bedroom floor, using the furniture for stability. Let’s go eat something! Maybe you’re just hungry!
I don’t remember the last time I was hungry. I could always try, though.
I start the coffee, grab a bagel and slip it in the toaster, and sit down at the island to rest for a minute. I should’ve been recovered from my surgery a week ago. One thing is for certain, nobody can see me like this.
Not our foes.
Not the club.
Not my brothers.
Especially not my husband. I dig out the bottle of pills from inside the ceramic cookie jar that we never use. My stock is dwindling. I’ve amassed a decent collection of random pain pills over the years, but now that I actually need them, I wish I would’ve hoarded more.
Yellow, blue, or pink? They’re all the same to me. I crunch down on a couple and make a list of shady contacts who might be able to hook me up. As long as I feel nothing, I can pretty much do whatever I need to do.
Including getting my affairs in order.
“Esther!” Brooks shouts, storming into the kitchen in his boxer briefs, clutching his phone. “What did you tell the doctor this morning?”
“Nothin’,” I say. I never talked to a doctor if we’re getting technical here.
“You need to get dressed. I’m taking you downtown.” Those sneaky little backstabbers. I wish I never would’ve put him on that sheet that said he was entitled to my medical information.
“Somebody tattled on me, I see,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Well, let’s do this shit, I suppose.”
He chucks his phone at the wall and storms into the bedroom.
I try to chase after him, but my meds still haven’t kicked in. I’m not as speedy as I used to be. “What the hell is your problem?” I shout.
“Why don’t you fucking care, Esther? Why don’t you want to take care of this? Why don’t you want to get better?” He’s slamming drawers, closet doors, throwing clothes around.
“Are you throwing a tantrum?” I laugh. “You wanna go? We’ll go. But this is all about you, babe. I’m only doing this for you.”
I feel suddenly light-headed. Maybe I should’ve picked just one pill. I forget how much weight I’ve lost. I used to be able to throw down beers like a champion, but now, two do me in. Guess I’ve turned into a cheap date in the throes of my illness.
“Why don’t you want to get better?” he shouts, again.
It’s not that I don’t want to get better. It’s that when you know, you know. There’s that little voice inside of me telling me that I don’t have much time. Hearing it out loud, from a doctor, putting an actual number on that time, everyone is going to treat me weirder than they already are.
“I’m not going to get better,” I say. “You know it. I know it. They know it. Can you just let me do what I want with the time I have left?”
“Quit being an idiot,” he says, tossing me a sweatshirt. It feels so heavy in my arms. A fucking shirt, a shirt that I’m supposed to wear on my body, the weight of it too much for me to hold. “You’re not a martyr, Esther. You don’t have any reason to be. You be as stubborn as you want about anything else. I’m putting my foot down here, though.”
He’s giving me a headache. I go into the bathroom and start to paint on my face. I’m up anyway. Might as well make the best of things.
I know he loves me. I know he wants the best for me, but I want what’s best for him. I want what’s best for the club. My life might not go on, but theirs need to. Spending months grieving, watching me die a painful death, the money it’s going to cost and the time it’s going to take away from more important matters of the club, I’d rather be a martyr. I’d rather just live my life business as usual one day, and be gone the next. As president of the club, he needs to see that. He can’t afford to be weak. His weakness will be the ruin of everyone.
I’ll humor him today, but I’m laying down the law tonight. I’m just his old lady. I’m easily replaceable.
“I love you,” I say as I join him in the bedroom. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. I don’t want to see him cry, especially on my behalf. It’s more painful than anything physical I’ve been experiencing lately, every heartbeat pumping more of this toxic venom through my veins. “This has nothing to do with how much I love you, you know that, right? You have always been so good to me, Brooks, from the time I was a little girl. You have always been the one.”
“I’m not letting you slip, babe,” he says. “I’m going to be by your side until the end. I just want that end to be fifty years from now. I live for you, Esther. I want you to want to live for me.”
I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, pressing my nose to his head, breathing in the smell of his hair. He has always smelled like a breath of fresh air, grass and cedar, all things good. He is goodness. He’s always been goodness.
This is the part where I realize that, even though we grew up in the same club, our upbringings are wildly different. He lives for me in the present. I live for him, knowing that how I spend the next few months could set him up for a better future. Is it better to be one way or another? Rational versus romantic? Would it hurt me so badly to indulge him in this Pollyanna fantasy for the rest of my days, even if they’re numbered? How can I be so callous, so selfish?
“I will do whatever you want,” I say. “This is about us. Not just me. Come on. Let’s go take care of business.”
He looks up at me, eyes bloodshot, gaze dark, and nods. All I can think of in the back of my mind is the fact that the clock is ticking now. My days are about to be numbered.
“We’re going to get sushi on the way home, though.” He scrunches up his nose, and shrugs.
“If that’s what it takes, I’ll choke down raw fish for the next fifty years.” He scoops me up in his arms effortlessly. “It’s going to be alright, babe. Just trust me.”
I close my eyes and try to hold back tears. I wish I had it in me to believe him.
Chapter
12
Present Day: Brooks
I’m pissed.
I’m beyond pissed.
I was so busy throwing down in the junkyard that I let her do this against my better judgment. Seems to be my thing. Too busy worrying about myself to protect the women who need me.
Helena doesn’t need me, though. At least, she didn’t until I took her sister. Even then, my selfish insecurities made me too blind to do the right thing and just hand her back. Now this broad is high as hell, blood spraying from her face, ugly green and purple bruises popping up on every inch of flesh that I can see. Ugly bruises on such a pretty girl.
A pretty girl who was just trying to help me.
I’m almost scared to touch her. She jumps every time I dab at her face with the wet cloth, trying to figure out if the blood is coming from the inside or the outside. I’m not trying to hurt her, but I don’t remember the last time I was tender with anyone. Maybe I’ve forgotten how.
“We should probably put her in the bathtub,” Micah suggests. The thought of him seeing her naked body makes me angrier than it should. She deserves a little bit of dignity, even if she is acting like a cat in heat.
“I like baths,” she giggles. “Will we all fit?”
“That’s just the drugs talking, princess. You don’t have to worry about us. We’re not trying to touch you. Micah’s got an old lady,” I say, taking her arms and putting them around my neck as I try to lift her from the bed.
“And Brooks has a ghost wife who follows him around and tells him what to do,” Micah says.
“Not necessary,” I bark, trying not to touch her anywhere she’s bruised. Everywhere I put my hands elicits a moan or a groan or a whimper. I carry her to the bathroom and set her on the toilet while I start to run water in the little white tub. I slam the door behind us, sending a clear signal to Micah. I don’t feel right about any of this. There’s a big difference between rolling around with a random slut and taking care of someone.
She’s struggling with her tank top and I pretend like I’m not looking. Even covered in welts, her body is perfect. Tight in all the right places, soft and curvy in all the others. I am thankful for that sports bra she’s rocking, because I’m pretty certain my dick doesn’t know the difference between injured woman titties and boner-appropriate titties.
“I’m sorry,” she says, hunched over the toilet, hugging her arms in her hands. She starts to cry, I mean, wail. She’s bawling to the point that she’s making herself dry heave, and I don’t even know what to do. I can only imagine how painful it is with the bruises on her chest. “I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve waited until you came with me. I thought I was so strong. I thought I had this all under control. I feel like such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” I say. I smooth my hand over the skin of her back, petting her like a damn dog, because I really don’t know how else to console her. Sure she deserves a man who can take her in his arms and make her feel all better, but that’s not me. After she gets well, she needs to get as far away as possible from me. Josie, too.
“I tried to get information from him,” she says. “I really did. It’s why I took the drugs. I figured he’d open up to me. He just rambled about how the police in this town are corrupt and he witnessed his boss murder someone, and now he was going to work for the FBI. I don’t know if he was telling the truth. I don’t know if he was talking about Esther. Holy shit,” she says, snapping to attention, sitting bolt upright. “Do you think he could be talking about Esther?”
She’s a fucking trooper. Even in her condition, her mind is still on the mission. Her and Esther probably would’ve been great friends if they’d had the chance to get to know each other.
“You sure he said all that?” I ask. It sounds too good to be true. Sounds too easy. What if she’s trying to trap us? She used to be a cop after all. What if all this is a setup?
There’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Keep this between us for a minute?” she asks.
I crack the door open slightly, and standing outside is Josie, Amber, and Gavin’s wife, Sloan.
“Amber told me what happened, and I figured this was a woman’s job,” Sloan says “She doesn’t need Patch poking all over her. I got this.” I’m slightly relieved the three of them can take over from here. I’m feeling all sorts of conflicted right now. I stare at Helena, hunched over the toilet, covered in bruises, and realize how useless I really am.
Couldn’t keep my wife safe. Can’t get Helena put back together. All I do is hurt. Josie squeezes past me, running to her sister’s side and dropping to the floor. She rests her head on Helena’s knee, and Helena reaches down and strokes her hair.
“Lena! Are you okay?” she asks. “What happened to you?”
“It’s alright, honey,” she says. “I’m fine. Just a little banged up.”
Sloan and Amber walk through the door, Sloan holding her doctor’s bag, and Amber nervously shoving her hands in her pockets, keeping a safe distance.
“I’ll get out of your way,” I say.
“Brooks,” Helena says, looking up at me, her eyes watery and her smile thin. “Thanks for your help. You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I’ll stick around,” I say. “Make sure you’re alright.”
I close the bathroom door behind me, trying to shake the vision of her in there from my mind. It’s a good thing Desmond is dead, because I would happily kill him with my bare hands by myself. Then again, is it such a good thing? Did he really know something about Esther’s death that I didn’t know? The local police are on our payroll. Hell, I know Esther let them run an open tab at the ranch, never charging them for anything and even giving them their own private lounges so that they could stay out of the public eye.
It seemed too easy.
That isn’t any of my concern right now, though. Right now, I need to do whatever I can to make sure Helena is going to heal up okay so I can send her on her way as soon as possible. Get her out of this mess before she finds herself killed.
I look around the room, and am immediately enraged at the scene it’s become here at camp. Goob and Clutch are standing in the kitchen chugging beers, and a thick fog of pot smoke has filled the room, strangling my lungs. Jasmine grabs for my hand, and I am immediately repulsed by her, offended that she even feels like this is somewhere she belongs. She knows better. I jerk away, turning to the bed, the white down comforter soaked in blood.
“What are you guys doing here?” I growl. “This isn’t a fucking gangbang. She needs quiet. She needs to be alone. Everybody get the fuck out now.”
“Jesus,” Austin says, rolling his eyes at me as he takes another drag from his joint, “you’re full of fucking mixed signals lately, brother. You want us to follow you everywhere except when you don’t?”
“Yeah,” I say, shrugging my shoulders, and getting to work stripping down the bed. Helena needs a clean and safe place to get better. That’s the only thing on my mind right now.
“Baby, let me do that,” Jasmine says. “I’m just here to help.”
“You would’ve already done it if you were just here to help. You’re just here trying to put your nose up in shit that doesn’t apply to you. Go home.”
“Brooks, stop,” she says. “You had a bad day. Come on, let me help you do that and we’ll get out of here. Get you home. The girls will take good care of her.”
“You’re not my fucking keeper,” I growl.
It hits me like a ton of bricks, staring at this gorgeous club slut who Esther so kindly selected for me before she passed away. I can’t stand the chick. The only reason why I keep her around is because it’s what Esther wanted. It doesn’t matter how many times I fuck this chick, how hard I try and will myself to want to take her as my old lady, it won’t bring Esther back to life. She’ll never be Esther. I’m being cruel keeping her around for my own sentimental needs.
Her lip quivers as the room grows silent. Her eyes are twitching back and forth like she�
��s looking for words.
“You’ll never love me, will you?” she finally asks, point-blank.
“I love you for how kind you were to Esther in the time you two knew each other. I love you for how you treated my wife in her last days. I love you for the patience you’ve had with me.”
“But you’ll never love me,” she stammers.
“Did you ever think different?” I ask.
“No,” she says, a calmness about her that just proves what a standup woman she really is. “I just needed to hear it out loud, I think.” I wrap her in a hug, the weight of the world lifting off my shoulders. “Is it her?” she asks, looking over her shoulder to the closed bathroom door.
“What?”
“I don’t know what I’m talking about,” she says, looking down at her feet. “Guess I’m just seeing things.”
“Everybody out,” I say, balling up the dirty blankets in my arms. “I’ll be up soon.”
Jasmine presses her lips to my cheek. “It’s been fun.”
As everyone begins to clear out, I almost wish I didn’t have to deal with this silence alone. On the other side of the bathroom door is a girl who put her life on the line to protect her family, to find out information for me. She’s beaten to a pulp, and I might as well have done it myself.
On my side of the door, I’m left with the reality that maybe it is her.
Not as in… Helena is the woman I love, the woman I choose to replace my dead wife with, but maybe she’s the one that I need. A friend. Someone a little removed from the situation to help me see clearly. Another brain. An outsider I can trust.
Maybe taking Josie was more than just an impulsive power move. It was a catalyst. It was a new beginning. I toss the dirty sheets onto the floor and root through the closet, digging out a fresh set. I make the bed, smoothing the sheets and fluffing the pillows. Nobody usually sees this side of me, but one of my favorite rituals Esther and I had was Monday afternoon cleaning day. It didn’t hurt that she liked cleaning in the nude. I didn’t mind messing up our freshly made bed.