What he doesn't see is how I crank up the AC in my bedroom so I can sleep in his hoodie. Nor does he see how I hesitate to wash it, every single time, even though it no longer smells like him at all. He doesn't see how I try to flirt with guys at The Wet Mermaid but never let it go further than that because they're not him.
One of my goals with Eva is to start dating again—eventually. Not now. Maybe not even during the scope of my treatment. Someday, though.
Not Cliff, either.
It wouldn't be fair to do that to him. Not when he's doing so well for himself.
I pull into the parking lot of The Wet Mermaid, groaning when I see how packed the place is. Mark begged me to work tonight and, being a Prospect, it's not like I can say no. I did tell him he had to wait 'til I got out of therapy. Not that I told him I'm in therapy. Only Lucy and Cliff know.
I take off my helmet and shake out my curls. Straightening my cut, I walk inside holding my head high.
I head toward the bar, but Trish stops me.
"Ravage said to have you meet him in Chapel."
"Did he say why?" I make an effort not to wrinkle my nose at her. Ever since I broke up with Cliff, she's been circling him. I couldn't blame him if he decided to go out with her. She's gorgeous—even if she doesn't know bottom shelf from top.
"You know they don't tell me anything, hon." She grabs a beer glass and pours a Guinness for one of our regulars.
Taking a deep breath, I stride toward Chapel. When I get to the doors, I throw them open. Might as well go in with a bang if he's going to fire me. I could just tell him the real reason why I cut down on my shifts, but I don't want to. It's bad enough the whole damn MC knows why I'm in therapy. I don't want them feeling any more sorry for me than they already do.
Even if it comes from a good place.
Because, damn it, I'm a Prospect and a woman. I have to work twice as hard to earn my way in because MCs rarely patch in women. We can be their queens but we can't go to battle next to them. I don't want to play the PTSD card. I want to prove myself.
So I throw the doors open with all the bravado I can muster, bursting into the room. I open my mouth to shout "Boom, baby!" but clamp my lips shut.
The whole club sits at the table.
I close the doors shut behind me. "You wanted to see me?" I ask Ravage, trying not to look at anyone else.
"A while back," he drawls, "we took a vote. We decided to take the club in a different direction—fighting for people who can't fight for themselves." He rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head.
I daresay he looks a little embarrassed. My eyes widen.
"We made a serious mistake, thinking you were one of those people. I want to apologize for stepping on your toes." His blue eyes meet mine, sincere and bright.
"Um, thanks," I manage, shocked. Ravage is not the kind of guy who ever apologizes. "Was that why you called me in?"
I need a cold bottle of water, and I need to text Lucy. She's never met Ravage, but I have to share this moment with someone. Since it can't be Cliff, it's gotta be her.
He shakes his head. "We just took another vote. If we're gonna do this—fighting for people who've been hurt, people who no one else wants to help—we're gonna need you."
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Well, you've got me. You make the battle plans, I'll pour the drinks. I know my place, Pres."
"Jesus, kid. Didn't you hear me? We need you, as in, all in. Especially if you're gonna keep making executive decisions. You might as well be in on the loop." He sighs, but the men around the table chuckle.
I run a finger along the PROSPECT patch on my cut. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Beer Can slides a RIVER REAPERS front patch and the rocker across the table to me. "Take those goddamn PROSPECT patches off," he says with a grin.
Tears sting my eyes. I blink them away, sinking into a seat. "Shit," I breathe. "I thought I was getting fired for being late."
Mark shakes his head at me. "We love you, Olivia. We'd never cut you loose, kid. C'mon."
"We want to help other survivors," Ravage says, his voice gruffer than usual. "Who better than another survivor to guide us through?"
"Well," I say, fisting the patches. My eyes meet Cliff's across the table for a fraction of a second, then I look away before I burn. "Let's hope we don't have to help anyone else."
"Let's hope," Ravage agrees. "We're still running that benefit. Beer Can. Where're we at with the ride? Everyone pay their fees?"
"Speaking of," Mark says, grinning at me. "I'm gonna need forty bucks from you."
"No problem." I can't help but smile back. My first benefit ride as a patched-in River Reaper will be in support of survivors like me. It's fitting.
Maybe next time I see Eva, I can tell her I'm happy and mean it.
59
Cliff
I fight the smile tugging at my lips, and lose. From across the table, I tip my chin at Olivia in congratulations. The vote was unanimous. I don't think she realizes how much everyone at this table loves her.
"Prizes, brother," Mark prods.
Stixx nudges me.
I shoot him a glance, wondering if he's really going to make us all spell his name with three Xs, now that he's burned his third house down. Someday I'm going to ask him where the second X came from.
"Yoo-hoo," he says, ice blue eyes boring into me.
"Right." I pull out the notepad I've been using to keep track.
Vaughn lets out a long, low whistle. "Wow. I knew you were old, but damn, dude. Even Ravage uses the notes app in his phone."
"Watch it," our President barks.
Olivia's lips twitch.
I yank my attention back to the paper. "Booze—check. I got a bottle of SoCo that's almost as big as a two liter bottle of Pepsi." I glance around the table for approval. The men nod—most of them, anyway. Stixx makes a gagging sound. "What?"
He shudders. "I hate Southern Comfort. It's too damn sweet."
"Not if you add cranberry juice and a lime wedge to it," Olivia says.
I bite back a smile. It's so good having her at this table. "I'll throw cranberry juice and limes in, then." She lifts her eyes to mine and my heart stops—actually stops—beating for a moment.
Mark clears his throat. "What else you get?"
I check my list, still not convinced this isn't some sort of test. "A few more big ass bottles." I rattle them off. "Jack, Cuervo, a giant skull of vodka . . . I grabbed a whole bunch of nippers. Stopped at Target and got some toys—the kids should be able to win cool shit, too. And then there's that other thing we talked about," I grumble.
"All set to go?" Mark asks.
"What other thing?" Olivia glances from me to Mark.
"It's nothing." I cross my arms.
"Just a date with our stud," Vaughn crows.
"And Trish'll probably be your highest bidder." Donny cackles.
I glare at them all.
Ravage taps the gavel on the table. "All right, already. So the teal deer of the thing—I'm not that old after all, am I?—is prizes are all set. Let's nail down the final details for the ride, then get the fuck outta here."
We spend the next half hour or so hashing it out, then Ravage dismisses us.
"I want you all here Saturday at 7:45 a.m.," he reminds us as we file out.
Vaughn groans, the sound stretching into a yawn. "I know it's for a good cause and all, but damn. There goes my beauty sleep."
"It wasn't working for you, anyway," Beer Can says as he moves past him.
I yawn, too. "It sure as fuck isn't working for me."
"Work running you ragged?" Olivia asks, her tone casual.
I glance around the Chapel. Everyone but us is gone. "Yeah." I scrape my hair back into a ponytail. "I've been picking up extra shifts."
She nods. "I've got to find out what's happening to my job."
"What do you mean?" I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, every muscle in my body aching to hold her.
I'm still working on the whole letting go thing.
"Am I still bartending? Or do they want me somewhere else?"
"I think your bartending job is safe. Trish is still mixing up bottles."
"I swear she does it on purpose, just to fuck with me," she mutters. Lifting her eyes to mine, she presses her lips together.
"What?" I search her face, wondering if the raffle for a date with me is making her jealous.
"Nothing. I've gotta take off," she says.
"You're not gonna ride with us?" I frown. She just got patched in. She should ride.
"Nah. I promised Lucy I'd help her put together the crib. Family first, you know?" She tightens the knot holding the hoodie around her waist. My eyes drop down, but only for a second.
We've gotten really good at ignoring it.
Turning, she heads toward the bar. "Be safe," she calls over her shoulder. A second later, she disappears.
Be safe.
She's never said that to me before.
Before I can start overanalyzing it, Donny calls for me. "I'm coming," I shout back. Then I join my brothers, hoping this ride will clear my head.
I've got to get her out of my system.
But somehow, I don't think even a full-fledged transfusion could do that.
* * *
I fill the time between Church and the benefit on Saturday with extra shifts. Practically every minute of my time is spent on someone else's clock. I pause only in five-minute increments. I've even got showers down to five minutes now. It's like I'm in prison again. The difference is, the week flies by, and my paychecks stack up nicely. I put everything that isn't for rent and bills into a savings account for Bunny.
Lucy didn't get a shower, partially because she waited so long to tell us, but also because her parents have been major dicks about the whole thing. I've been scouring Pinterest for ideas, and I think I'll run some of them past Olivia. I like the idea of a "sip and see," a party where people come to visit the new baby, bring gifts, and sip tea. Except, instead of tea, we'll drink whiskey.
Saturday morning, I roar into the parking lot of The Wet Mermaid wearing my cut and the teal River Reapers T-shirt that Ravage's ol' lady Shannon made all of us. Teal, I've learned, is the color for sexual violence awareness.
I line up with the River Reapers. We have a few minutes before the other clubs join us for the ride. Olivia pulls up behind me, her curls tamed under a rolled-up teal bandana. Even with the scent of oil and summer heat, her dark scent reaches me, making my chest hitch. I force myself to stay on my bike, to not cross over and plant a kiss on top of her curls.
This ride's gotta be emotional for her.
She sits atop her Street Glide with her head held high, her face the epitome of a warrior queen: eyes blazing, mouth set.
"Every benefit is important," Ravage says, shouting over the roar of nine motorcycle engines. "This one's personal for us. Let's make sure we conduct ourselves accordingly on the road. I don't want anyone getting pulled over for any bullshit. Let's show our town some pride."
As if on cue, several clubs from Naugy and the surrounding towns pour into the parking lot, some of them on Harleys, some on other bikes. My brothers nod at them in recognition and greeting. I nod, too, but I've got no idea who any of these people are. All I know is there here to support Olivia, to support us, to support Shannon's non-profit that helps survivors. My throat tightens, my eyes burning.
I don't bother hiding my feelings.
Every River Reaper wears the same expression, and some of the other bikers, too.
Shannon passes out T-shirts to all of the other riders. Some of them tuck them away in their saddlebags, while others put them on under their cuts. The few women riding with us tug them on over tank tops.
Our President revs his engine, snagging everyone's attention. "Thank you all for coming," he shouts. "I appreciate all our friends—and even our rivals—coming together with us."
I follow his gaze toward a cluster of bikers I don't recognize. He gives their President a nod, but none of them are looking at Ravage. They're all glaring at me. I turn toward my President, but his attention is already back on the crowd.
"Let's fucking do this!"
Engines rev throughout the parking lot. Shannon hops on behind Ravage, and I can't help but glance back at Olivia. I kind of wish she was riding with me. Not because I don't think she's strong enough to ride by herself, but because I miss being with her.
I suck in a deep breath, exhale.
What's important right now is this ride. Judging by everyone who showed up, we've raised a lot of money. I give my throttle a quick twist, joining the noisemaking.
Then, we take off.
We cruise down 63, a writhing, live teal ribbon. People in cars and on foot slow to stare at us. Some of them sneer. A few—those who get what benefit rides are all about—wave. Whenever it's safe to take a hand off, I wave back.
Every so often I glance into one of my mirrors for a glimpse of Olivia. Her face remains impassive, her knuckles white on the handlebar and throttle. At one point, I catch the long ribbon of teal trailing out behind her—the other clubs wearing today's color proudly. I capture the image, burning it into my mind to remember later, whenever I miss her.
My strong, beautiful queen.
We parade through the town, passing Gunntown Cemetery and Hop Brook Lake. Finally, we arrive at our destination: the Polish-American Club on Bridge Street. Motorcycles pack the pothole pocked parking lot. Some cars, too—including Ravage's ol' lady's. She carpooled early this morning with a bunch of her organization's volunteers and the women who hang around the club. Then Ravage picked her up.
All while guys like Vaughn and me caught up on our "beauty sleep."
A lot of outsiders think bikers hate women, that we beat them, hurt them in other ways. I used to think so, too—especially when I found out my father was one. I'm learning more and more that to a biker, a woman is a goddess to be appreciated and worshipped. If she's his ol' lady, she's his queen. Women like Shannon and Pru put in just as much blood, sweat, and tears into this club as the men do.
I line the Screamin' Eagle up with the rest of the River Reaper bikes, then swing off. Nodding to a few stragglers, enjoying cigarettes before they go in, I head inside.
The second I walk in, Vaughn and Abraham's playlist surrounds me, the melodic sound of A Perfect Circle calming my nerves. I scan the hall for Olivia and spot her near the makeshift bar, talking with Pru.
"Grab a drink, brother," Ravage says, clapping me on the shoulder.
I give him a one-armed hug. "In a second. I actually wanted to run something by you," I say, glancing at Pru again.
"What's up?" He follows my gaze. "You sweet on her?"
"Nah. Did you know she has a band?" I search my memory for the name. "Cervical Caves."
Ravage shakes his head. "They any good?"
"I've got no idea," I say, "but you and Mark should let them audition. Take over for Oh Vile Eye. I think it'd be good for all of us, push back some of that bad juju."
He laughs. "Did you really just say 'juju,' dude?"
"I did. I'm gonna go get that drink now." I rub the back of my head. "Think about what I said."
"Yeah." He lifts his drink in a salute, then ambles off.
I sort of stumble through the party. For the next four hours, I sip at drinks and pick at my food. There's an urgency in my blood, though I can't put my finger on why. I chainsmoke and try not to look at Olivia. She flits around the room, more lively than I've ever seen. It's like the past few months have cocooned her, then released her, a vibrant creature taking flight.
It's made me love her even more.
Trish sidles up to me, laying a delicate hand on my arm. "Hey, Cliff," she says.
"Hey." I take a swig of my can of Dr. Pepper.
"I've been saving my tips." She grins.
"Oh yeah?" I cast around for Olivia, but she's nowhere in sight. If Trish actually wins this auction, will Oliv
ia even care? Or did she stop watching how Trish interacts with me when we stopped dating?
"It's almost time. Where are you gonna take me?" Trish purrs.
I swallow. I know Mark is right. This auction will rake in quite a bit of cash. Women have always liked me. The problem is, I'm not interested, not even for charity. I've had weeks to get used to the idea, but the opposite has happened.
The music cuts out, saving me from answering. Mark climbs on top of a metal folding chair. "Can I have your attention?"
The chatter throughout the hall dies, heads turned toward our Treasurer.
"First of all, on behalf of the River Reapers, I wanna thank you all for coming out today. Whether you rode with us, bought a raffle ticket, or just bought food and drink tickets, we really appreciate your support." He clears his throat. "Speaking of the raffle, we're gonna get started with that shortly. We've got an auction to take care of first."
Someone whistles—probably Vaughn. Trish's hand tightens on my bicep. I bite back a sigh.
"Cliff, you wanna come up here?" Mark invites me.
I trudge over to him, feet heavy but my head held high. I've got to at least pretend I'm interested.
"As promised, we're selling off one of our fine specimens for a date with one lucky lady," Mark says.
A few of the ladies in the crowd Whoo! in response. I grin and duck my head.
"We're starting the bid at fifty bucks," he says. "Just raise your hand if you think this stud is worth fifty."
I play along. "Cheap date."
Almost all of the women's hands shoot up—the single ladies, that is. Shannon keeps her hands visible in her lap, a smirk on her lips. Some of the other ol' ladies nudge and tease their partners.
"How about seventy-five?" Mark asks.
A few hands go down.
Beside me, Trish pulls out a wad of cash, her arm straight in the air.
Abraham's hand goes up, too. "What?" he says to no one in particular. "This is probably my only shot."
A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 27