by A. J. Downey
“We do,” he said, nodding his in understanding. “I don’t know what you’ve heard,” he said. “But your stuff needs to be set up, so do you think we can table this just for right now? You could let me help you, and we can discuss it after the movers and my brothers are gone?”
“What did you do?” I asked. “I mean, why are they here with my things like this? Where are they even from?”
“They’re from Atlanta,” he said. “Tracked your things down to the warehouse there and set it up to get it here sooner.”
I frowned. “Why would they do that?” I asked.
“Because I asked them to,” he said, and he rubbed his chin.
“Just like that?” I asked, confused.
“Just like that,” he said, and his hazel eyes searched my face. “Maybe hear me out?” he asked.
I chewed my upper lip as my thoughts raced through the possibilities and he smiled at me. It held an edge of sadness and its own sort of disappointment.
“Maybe consider we aren’t all as bad as the headlines make us out to be?”
“I definitely have questions,” I relented softly, and he lost a bit of the smile but nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do to get you answers,” he said and raised a hand to touch me. I let him, because ever since that kiss, it seemed like it was all I wanted now… even with this little revelation.
Part of me rationalized that Ben, by all appearances, had been the perfect man – hardworking, a provider, if not the best father due to what we all thought was his being a bit of a workaholic – but Ben had been anything but, now hadn’t he?
And yet, here Jared stood, clearly all-in with what society had branded a criminal organization, but he had done more for me and for Marc in the last two or three weeks than Ben had in years. My heart was already mourning the possibility of losing out on that because goddamn it… Jared was present.
Fuck.
“We’ll talk,” I said softly as his fingers drifted lightly against the side of my neck and his thumb caressed my jaw as though he were memorizing its line.
“That’s all I ask,” he whispered, stepping just a little bit closer. “Just hear me out.”
I nodded and dropped my eyes, both of us jumping as my teenager thumped against the inside of the door and springing apart before it opened.
“Mom,” he said. “There’s a biker at the back door and the movers are – oh, hey, Jared. That explains that. Never mind!” He pulled back into the house and shut the door. Jared and I exchanged a look and both laughed a bit nervously, but the tension of the moment before sort of released and began to drain away.
“Let’s go put your house together,” he said gently, and I nodded.
“Okay.”
He reached past me and opened the door for me. I slipped through, Jared following right behind me.
“Yo, you Glass Jaw?” the biker in my kitchen, who was the one who’d met me at the front door, asked and I looked back over my shoulder at Jared. I felt my brow crush down even as an eyebrow went up.
“You two don’t actually know each other?” I asked and the biker in my kitchen grinned.
“Explain later, babe,” Jared said, and he lifted his chin in the direction of the other man. “Yeah, I’m Glass Jaw.”
“Right on. I’m Slugger and the brother out there getting the movers going is Miner.”
“Good to meet you, brother,” Jared declared and held out an arm. They grasped each other’s forearms and pulled each other into a manly hug. I smiled politely, very much on the outside of whatever greeting ritual was going on and trying my best to hide my confusion amidst the white chaos bubbling about to fill my empty house with boxes and blanket-wrapped furniture.
“This is my lady, Cadence,” Jared said, and I stepped up and shook Slugger’s hand. I tried not to be as intimidated as I was by his sheer size. The man was as broad as he was tall, bearded, and had long hair. Your quintessential bedraggled biker, I guess you would say.
“Right on,” he repeated. “Nice to meet you, Cadence.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I said, Jared’s introduction ringing in my head. My lady, Cadence.
I was slightly unnerved at how much I liked the fact that he wasn’t afraid to ‘claim’ me so-to-speak.
God, my marriage had been so broken… so, so, broken. Ben forgot to even introduce me by name half of the time. Usually just keeping it at ‘this is my wife.’
“We’re ready to get started when you are, Cadence. You just point and we’ll shoot,” Slugger said, and I nodded.
“Okay, thank you.”
The outdoor storage unit off the back porch had been cleared out, thanks to Jared. So that’s where I chose to stage the boxes for now.
Furniture wise, we started with the dining room, which is when I discovered that a good bit of my furniture maybe wouldn’t be arriving in one piece.
“Yeah, when we got to the warehouse, these were like this as they were being loaded onto the truck,” Miner said.
He was tall and lanky, and resembled the pirate from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies with the wooden eye, except he most certainly had both of his – a watery blue and red rimmed. I was a bit nervous about him. I couldn’t tell if he suffered from allergies or if there was some sort of illegal drug use at play.
I got my answer an hour or two later when he asked me, “You wouldn’t happen to have any antihistamines I could bum off of you, would you? Something up here is straight murdering my face.”
I felt instant guilt, just add me being a judgmental basket case even after these two men rode along with my belongings all the way from Georgia.
“Sure.” I turned to my son. “Marc, honey, since you’re going inside, get under my sink in my bathroom and grab the box of allergy medicine for me, please?”
“Sure thing, Mom!” he called from the opposite end of one of my living room display cases.
“And a bottle of water if we still have one in the fridge!” I called a little louder.
“Got it, babe!” Jared yelled back from the back step.
“Oh, God. Thank you so much,” Miner said, sniffing hard.
“It’s no problem. I wished you would’ve said something sooner,” I told him. “You look absolutely miserable.”
He laughed a little and waved me off, and went back for the next dolly of plastic totes to roll into the storage shed.
The truck’s driver came over with paperwork and he looked more than a little nervous.
“You, uh, got a minute to go over this with me?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said, while the two movers he’d brought with him, the three bikers, and my son toiled away, unloading and setting things up inside the house.
I appreciated Marc so much then, as he took the weight off of me having to direct where everything was supposed to go. He knew, and he directed with aplomb. He was such a good kid, so much more confident than me. Definitely the best parts of me and his dad both. I was so proud of him.
“We’re supposed to charge a seventy-five-foot fee,” the driver said, and Slugger cleared his throat from nearby. “But on account as you’ve got your own help with you, I’m just going to go ahead and waive that for you,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, and I knew my smile was a bit brittle, but I’d already been massively overcharged up for every roll of tape that they’d used to wrap moving blankets around my furniture when they came to pick my belongings … to the tune of over five hundred dollars.
To now have a bunch of my dining room chairs broken and my grandfather’s rocking chair that he’d rocked me in as a baby broken as well? I was trying not to cry about that one. That was definitely the most upsetting, seeing as it had traversed the country to Georgia via the freaking mail the first time and had come through unscathed.
I listened patiently to the driver as he explained how to go about making a claim with the moving company for any broken or destroyed items. Something I was on the fence about doing after being cursed out a
nd screamed at on the phone by Boston Joey.
“Thank you,” I finally said quietly but politely when the transport driver was through with his spiel.
“It’s no problem, pretty lady. I’m happy to help,” he said, and I nodded.
It only took the five men and my son an hour and a half to unload a lifetime of belongings from the back of the truck. With assurances that the bikers and my boy could and would take it from there, they sent the two boys and the truck driver on their way.
“It’s your time to shine,” Jared declared, grinning at me. “Show us where you want this stuff and how you want it set up.”
I nodded and said, “Let’s do it.”
It took a considerable amount of time to set up the living room, bedrooms, and find all the totes for the kitchen.
Jared had bid farewell to Slugger and Miner, giving them directions to the club and telling them they’d be set up with a place for however long they chose to stay.
Once the furniture was set and things were manageable between just me and Marc. Jared, of course, stayed and continued to work alongside me and my son.
By the time all the furniture was in place, the area rugs laid, the beds made, and the dining table clothed, etc., I was ready to throw in the towel.
“Hey, Marc,” Jared called over to my son, straightening from where he set down a tote or two of Marc’s things from the storage outside.
“Yeah?” Marc asked.
“You mind if I take your mom out for a bit?” he asked and I blinked, surprised and even a little touched that he would ask my son for permission and include him like that. It was… sweet.
“Yeah, go ahead. She needs to get out of the house.”
I frowned at my kid. “Hey!”
“It’s true,” he said, rolling his eyes.
I sighed.
“Fine, you’re not wrong.” I gave Jared a look like, and we do need to talk… He nodded and what I said out loud was, “Can I at least get a shower and a clean change of clothes first?”
“Absolutely,” he said back. “Brought some clean shit of my own. You mind if I go after you?”
“Sure.” I nodded.
“Good deal. You go first.”
I nodded and more than slightly dreading the conversation ahead, I went in and found some clean things to wear and took a hot shower to wash the sweat and grime of the day down the drain.
Jared went next, and Marc came down from upstairs while I settled at the kitchen counter on one of the tall kitchen stools to look over the paperwork the driver had given me.
“Hey, Mom?” Marc asked as he closed the fridge, one of his sports drinks in his hand.
“Yeah, baby?” I asked.
“For what it’s worth… I really like Jared. You should give him a chance,” he said, wandering back to the doorway at the bottom of his stairs.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“I know you, I’m your kid,” he said. “I know you don’t like the biker stuff, but he’s been really good to us, and I like him.”
I pursed my lips and considered what my son said to me.
“You’re a good kid, you know that?” I asked.
He grinned. “That’s because you gave birth to a legend,” he said, blowing on his fingernails and polishing them against the shoulder of his tee shirt.
I laughed, shook my head and said, “And there you go, ruining the moment.”
“Love you, Mom.” He tossed the frosty bottle in the air and caught it, disappearing up his stairs.
“Love you, too, kid,” I murmured and sighed.
I heard the water in my shower cut off a moment later and sighed again, feeling like it was time to face the proverbial music.
12
Glass Jaw…
I had that low-level thrum I got from the ride going through me as I opened the bathroom door, a bag of my sweaty shit dangling from one hand. The vibration going through me didn’t have shit to do with my bike, though. It had everything to do with the solemn woman sitting at her kitchen counter, the struggle in her expression setting hope and fear at war with each other in the center of my body.
I could see it written all over her, this desperate need to make good choices and everything about her citizen upbringing screaming at her to run in the opposite direction from the big bad biker.
Only problem? This wolf had her scent, and I wasn’t about to give up without a fight. Everything in me screamed to pin this gorgeous creature against the nearest wall and to kiss every one of her doubts about whether this was wrong or right away.
Except that wasn’t how things worked anymore and my baser instincts needed to sit bitch until the time was right and that time certainly wasn’t right now.
“Hey,” I said, and she looked up from the pink legal-sized slip of carbon copy paper in her hands.
“Hey,” she echoed back softly.
I stood feet apart from where she sat and we just looked at each other, roaming one another from head to foot, just drinking each other in with our eyes, and I had to say she was better than a cold beer for my parched soul. Sweet, ripe, those green eyes cut right through me.
“Let me take you for a ride?” I asked, my voice a little rougher than I meant for it to be – but shit, the things this woman did to me.
“Excuse me?” she asked, those green eyes widening.
I cleared my throat and felt a rush of something like embarrassment, except I didn’t let myself get embarrassed.
“On the bike, you dirty girl.”
“Oh!” She blushed and somehow blanched at the same time, looking slightly stricken and I laughed.
“Is it safe?” she asked, looking worried and I knew her first thought was for the boy upstairs.
“Ain’t no place safer when it comes to me. You ever ridden before?” I asked.
She shook her head mutely.
“First time for everything,” I said and held a hand out to her. She stared at it for just a moment and then reached out, meeting me halfway, taking it and slipping to her feet.
I smiled and led her through the archway into the living room and to the front door, stopping at where she’d stashed her jackets and the like in the entry closet once I’d hung a rod in there for her.
I pulled down a jean jacket, the most rugged thing she had, and handed it to her.
She put it on without any argument and called out, “Marc!”
“Yeah?” His voice came faint from above us, filtering down the stairs across from us.
“I’m leaving!” she called.
“K!” he called back, and she rolled her eyes.
I laughed slightly and opened the front door. With my hand to the small of her back, I guided her through.
My Harley sat at the curb, flat black skin, chrome gleaming under the sun which was getting a little low in the afternoon sky.
“Where are we going?” she asked, moving her phone with its little silicone wallet attachment to the case from her back jean’s pocket to the pocket of her denim jacket.
“Thought it might be nice to go down by the water,” I said, stashing my shit back into one of my dusty leather saddlebags. I buckled it closed and stood back up. “You sure you’re good to do this right now?” I asked and she looked up at me, her green gaze going a bit flinty like she had something to prove. I think maybe she did, but certainly not to me.
“I’m good,” she said, and I smiled. She was soft with a core of steel to her, and I liked that about her. I liked that a lot.
“Okay, this is what I need from you…” I ran her through the safety shit, pulled a spare helmet out of the saddlebag on the opposite side of my bike and helped her put it on.
I got on the front of my bike, sticking the key in the ignition, and giving it a twist, thumbing the ignition switch and revving the engine if for nothing else than for the fact that I loved that purr, loved to roar my pride and joy out when I gave her a little throttle on startup.
I turned and gestured for Cadence to get on, the buzzing of my nerves
turning to butterflies taking flight at the prospect of having her on the back of my ride.
She settled on behind me and wrapped her arms around my chest. Without thinking, I reached behind me and gave her ass a slight squeeze, pulling her to indicate she should get closer, and she did, sliding along the seat and pressing up against me and aw, yeah… that was the stuff right there. I checked to make sure her feet were on the passenger foot pegs and she wasn’t going to melt the soles of her Tennie’s on the exhaust pipe by accident and then with a turn of the handlebars, a grip of the clutch, and a twist of the throttle, I pulled us smoothly away from the curb and glided us up the street, leaving her house behind us.
I kept it to surface streets and a decent cruising speed, rolling us up out of Federal Way and North Tacoma, along Pacific Highway toward Saltwater State Park and Des Moines. I wasn’t sure where I was going to wind up taking us, but it wasn’t about the destination at the moment. It was about the journey and making sure she had a good time.
I wound up cutting left and dropping down onto First, sliding at a sedate pace along the stretch of boulevard that bordered the sound along Redondo Beach, past Salty’s. Cadence squinted out over the water, and I smiled to myself, thinking about stopping someplace to get her some sunglasses for those delicate, lightly colored eyes of hers. My own were on my face, lenses dark, retrieved from the deep recesses of one of my inside jacket pockets.
We slid along the beach in the clean salty air and climbed up the other side, making the turn to head down past the school toward the final turns down into Des Moines where there were more shops and places to eat that were a lot less pretentious than Salty’s. I ended up parking the bike on the street in the block between Des Moines’ main drag and the marina. I tapped the outside of Cadence’s thigh, and it took her a second, but finally she realized and leaped up for me.
I backed the bike against the curb and cut the engine. By the time I had my lid off and hanging off one of the bars, Cadence was handing me her own.