My parents were a bit overprotective.
I sighed and made my way downstairs. I came into the living room where my mother, Rose, and my father were sitting. He was snuggled close to her and she had the brightest smile on her face. I watched them for a second, drinking in their love and devotion to one another. My father smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. He tucked it behind her ear before kissing her forehead. My heart leapt at the sight of them. At their love for one another.
I wanted something like that in my life.
“What’s up, guys?” I asked.
My father whipped his head around as my mother graced me with her bright smile.
“Your father and I were thinking about going into town and getting some dinner. You know, to celebrate your homecoming. You want to come?” my mother asked.
“Honestly, I’m a bit tired. I just got done unloading, and I really need a shower,” I said.
“Told you,” my father murmured playfully.
“We could wait for you to take a shower,” my mother said hopefully.
“Oh, come on, Rosey. Leave the girl be. We’ll go out and get some dinner, then bring her back some food. We’ve got dessert in the fridge we can all split later. After all, it’s been a while since you’ve taken a ride on the back of my bike,” my father said.
I grinned. “Yeah, Mom. Been a while since you’ve taken a ride on Dad’s bike.”
“Hey, now. You stay out of this,” she said, giggling.
My father tickled my mother and she fell apart in laughter. I watched them with a bright smile as my mother squealed and laughed and finally gave into my father’s demands. He stood up, helping her up off the couch before wrapping his arms around her. And as he drew her in for a deep kiss, I looked down to give them some privacy.
I was jealous of my parents for what they had. The only encounter like that I’d had was when I lost my virginity back in high school. I hadn’t experienced anything since then, and I wanted to so badly.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” my mother asked.
“Go, Mom. I need to do a bit of unpacking anyway. I’ll be here to eat when you guys get back,” I said.
“If you want dessert first, I picked up a tiramisu for all of us to split tonight. You can carve yourself a piece out before we get back,” my father said.
“Oh, you know I will,” I said, smiling.
My father came over and cupped my cheeks. He placed a kiss on top of my head, and I closed my eyes. I took in his warmth. My father had always been a comforting presence in my life, despite his build. He was intimidating. Six-four, three hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, and tattooed from head to toe. He was a burly, hairy man. With a trimmed beard, a bald head, and arm hair so thick I swore I heard monkeys calling out from the depths of the brushes sometimes.
But he was my father. The one man in my life that had always been devoted to me. And I loved him with all my heart.
“We’ll be back soon,” he murmured.
“You two have fun. I’m going to go unpack,” I said.
I waved my father and mother off, and I saw the look of guilt on her face. I hoped she didn’t make herself feel too guilty for going out with my father. The two of them never spent enough time together. My ribcage rumbled as my father struck up his bike, and the two of them rode off into the distance.
I locked the door after closing it, then started my way back up the stairs.
The whole point of all this was to figure out what my next move was. I had graduated four days ago with a bachelor’s degree in History with an Education concentration. At the time, I wanted to be a teacher, but those jobs were hard to come by in Yuma. Especially for History teachers. Even though there were a few job applications I put in over the course of the past month, none of them had taken off. No interviews, no callbacks. Nothing. No one reached out to me, despite the fact that I updated my online resumes to signify the fact that I had graduated.
I was saddled with debt and I didn’t know how to pay it off.
I started my journey around the house, looking at all the pictures on the walls. Pictures of my parents from their wedding day. Pictures of me on the day I was born. My eyes scanned the walls and looked at the propped-up pictures on random side tables scattered throughout the main level of our house. My eyes worked their way up the wall beside the staircase, taking in the collage of all my grade school pictures. I smiled at them as I clocked my phase with braces. My phase with glasses. My phase with pimples and my fuzzy hair that was neither curly nor straight. I walked slowly up the stairs, digesting all the memories before I stopped at the door to my bedroom.
But then, my eyes peeked over at my parent’s bedroom door.
I tore away from my boxed-up life and pushed slowly into their private space. It had never been off-limits, per se. But they were always respectful of my bedroom, so I had been respectful of theirs. But something drew me to that space. Into that room. And as I turned on the light, I smiled at the pictures hanging on the walls. The pictures that adorned the top of the dresser and both of my parent’s nightstands.
I walked over and picked up the one on my mother’s side, gazing down at it.
My fingertips ran softly over the picture. My mother, smiling through that stern brow of hers. She had flowing brown hair with red highlights, like mine. She was thick and stout, like I was. She had a soft jawline, though. Delicate, like a woman’s. I had inherited my father’s jawline. Sharp. Prominent. A jawline I could slice through paper with and high cheekbones that sent my eyes tilting upward at their corners like a cat’s. My mother had beautiful eyes that changed colors. Sometimes, they were hazel. Other times, green. Very rarely, they were blue. But it happened if she wore the right clothing or if the sun caught her eyes just right.
I had her same color-changing eyes.
I went to set the picture back down, but it tumbled to the floor. I missed the edge by almost half an inch, and I prayed I hadn’t shattered the glass of the frame. I scrambled to pick it up, trying to put the back of the picture where it belonged.
And suddenly, something slipped to the floor.
“What’s that?” I murmured.
I quickly put the picture back together, then set it on the nightstand. Then, I picked up the piece of paper from the floor. Only, it wasn’t a piece of paper. It was a picture. A picture of a young woman with beautiful features. Wondrous auburn hair. Piercing blue eyes. I picked the picture of my mother and me back up, studying the two pictures side by side.
Funny. The young woman looked a bit like my mother.
Curiosity set in and I began digging. I opened up my mother’s bedside drawer and rummaged around. I ignored all the things I needed to. Things I didn’t need to know my parents used. I tucked in the awkwardness of it all and ripped open drawers and dropping to my knees to look under things. I came across random pictures. Baby pictures that weren’t of me. A newspaper article picture of the same woman in the picture I initially found, but the article wasn’t attached to it.
Who is this woman?
I scrambled to put everything back in their place, but I slipped the initial picture into my pocket. I wanted to keep it. Something told me to keep it. I made my way out of my parent’s bedroom, trying to make it look like as if I had never been there. In a way, I felt as if I had invaded their privacy. And in another way, I felt as if I’d just stumbled upon something I deserved to know.
I didn’t know whether to be worried or upset.
I didn’t have the stomach to unpack. Instead, I tried distracting myself with a shower. A ten-minute shower turned into an hour-long shower, and by the time I was dressed and ready for dessert? My parents were back.
“Freya! We’re home!” my mother exclaimed.
“At your mother’s haste,” my father added.
I heard the two of them giggling and kissing downstairs as I drew in a deep breath.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
I made my way down the sta
irs, my hair still wet from my shower.
“Of course. You can ask me anything. How did the unpacking go?” she asked.
“Actually, I didn’t really get to it,” I said.
“Oh?” my father asked.
“I was just walking around and looking at pictures of us. You know, our family and stuff. Reliving memories,” I said.
“You always did enjoy doing that,” my father said, grinning.
“I told you she wouldn't unpack,” my mother said, giggling.
“You—wait—what? Never mind. Look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn't have gone into your bedroom, but I was looking for a specific picture. You know, that one of the two of us where the sun is kind of in the camera’s way?” I asked.
“That’s my favorite picture of you two,” my father said.
“Well, I kind of broke it,” I said.
My mother came over, cupping my cheek. “Sweetheart, it’s fine. We can get any old picture frame at the dollar store or something.”
I slipped the picture out of my back pocket. “This fell out, when the back came off.”
My mother looked down at the picture and I watched her face pale. I looked over at my father, whose eyes darted sharply up to mine. I went on my guard. Became defensive as my mother slowly ran her fingertips over the young woman in the picture.
“Who is that, Mom?” I asked.
“No one,” she said softly.
“Maybe we should talk about this another time,” my father said.
“Or, we could talk about it now,” I said.
“No,” my mother said curtly.
I tried taking the picture away from her, but she snatched it back.
“Give it back to me, Mom,” I said.
“This is my picture. It’s not yours to begin with. You aren’t getting it back,” she said.
“Dad, what’s going on?” I asked.
“Rose, maybe we should tell her,” my father said.
“We aren’t telling her anything, Asher,” my mother hissed.
“Tell me what!?” I exclaimed.
The room fell silent around us. My heart slammed multiple times against my chest. Tears rose in my mother’s eyes as she leaned back into my father, seeking some sort of comfort from him. He wrapped his arms around her as tears rushed down her cheeks. He kissed the top of her head, over and over. Comforting her, instead of me.
I wish someone was there to comfort me.
“Who is that?” I asked.
My mother wiped her tears away before she sighed.
“She’s just… my daughter. From another marriage,” my mother said.
I paused. “Just?”
“Freya, take a breath,” my father said.
“Take a—what?” I asked.
“You can’t go looking for her. I’m serious. I can’t have any contact with her father whatsoever,” my mother said.
“Why? Is he abusive or something?” I asked.
“Not… exactly,” my father said.
“I have a half sister out there somewhere, and you don’t want me to go looking for her?” I asked.
“We have our reasons, Freya,” my father said sternly.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“It’s not important,” my mother said.
She choked it out, as if every single syllable of that statement killed a piece of her inside.
“Your other daughter isn’t important?” I asked.
“That’s not what I meant. I just meant that they have their own life and we have ours,” my mother said.
“Freya, promise us you won’t go looking for them. It’s dangerous,” my mother said.
“Well, will you tell me about her? What she’s like? Why you didn’t tell me you were married before?” I asked.
“Because it’s none of your business,” my mother said curtly.
“Sweetheart, calm down,” my father said.
“Tell me something! Why can’t I go looking for them?” I asked.
“Because they have their own life in San—”
I paused. My eyebrows hiked up onto my forehead.
“San Diego?” I asked.
My parents stayed silent as my mother wiped her tears away.
“They have their own life in San Diego?” I asked.
And when they didn’t answer me, I knew what I needed to do. I knew how I needed to fill my time until I could figure out what to do with the rest of my life. I had six months to defer my student loans before they’d come due. And with my resume updated on every online site I could think of, the only thing I could do was twiddle my thumbs and keep submitting it as jobs popped up. Which was something I could do from my phone.
In San Diego.
“Don’t you dare,” my mother said.
“Why not?” I asked softly.
“You’re staying here, and that’s final,” my father said.
“I’m going to San Diego,” I said.
“No, you are not!” my father bellowed.
“Yes, I am!” I shrieked.
“You have no money. No place to stay. And if you find them, it’ll put both you and her in grave danger. I’m begging you, Freya. Please don’t go. If you need adventure, you can find it here. In Yuma. Or back in Phoenix. I’ll let you go back to Phoenix. Just, please—”
“I do have money,” I said.
My parents paused, their eyes darting to look at one another.
Might as well come clean.
“How?” my father asked.
“The money you kept sending me in college to convince me not to take a job? I saved it. I did very little while I was on campus, other than sleeping, eating, and studying. I saved up as much as I could, and you sent a lot more money than necessary,” I said.
My father gawked as my mother’s eyes widened.
“I’m going to San Diego. And if you don’t like it, then I’ll take my stuff with me. But there’s nothing for me in Yuma. There are no jobs. There is no future for History teachers here. Maybe in Phoenix, but maybe San Diego might have some opportunities,” I said.
“Honey, you can’t be serious right now,” my mother said.
“I have no options. Not here. And if you aren’t going to tell me about my half-sister, then I’ll go find her and ask her these questions myself,” I said.
And as my parents yelled and bickered after me, I rushed up the stairs to pack my things. Innocent or not, I had a sibling out there. A sister who probably didn’t know I existed. And if she was in some kind of trouble, or in some hurtful situation with some man or something, maybe I could convince her to leave. Come with me somewhere. At the very least, show her she had family that cared.
Either way, it was something for me to focus on. So, I was running with it.
All the way up to my bedroom, where I could easily pack grab a bag since I hadn’t unpacked yet.
Three
Bronx
“Fuck it, I need to say something.”
Texas’ voiced stopped all of us as we headed for the door. Church had been dismissed, but from the look on Texas’ face, I knew there was something else bugging him. And rightfully so. He had both Ella and Keva to protect, even though they were on a protected vacation he had arranged for them.
Apparently.
“What?” Stone grumbled.
“Do you mean to tell me we’re really gonna walk out of this lodge without a solution to our issue?” Texas asked.
“We all just need some time to process,” I said.
“Fuck that. We’re being hunted by some pig in the force. I’m with Texas on this one. I don’t think we should be leaving until we’ve got a plan in place,” Notch said.
“Fine. You got any ideas? Because I’m fresh out for the moment,” Stone said.
“An apt statement from our president,” Notch said.
Stone slowly turned around as Texas and I fell silent. His eyes burrowed into Notch, the newest member of our group. I kept my mouth shut. I knew when Stone was two ticks away from k
illing someone, and he had a lust for blood in his eyes. Stone slowly stalked toward Notch, and the man put on a good facade.
But not good enough.
Texas stepped in front of him. “Notch is snarky, but he’s right.”
Stone growled. “Ideas. Go.”
“Is the lodge fortified in case the Chinese come after us?” Notch asked.
“I already took care of that. And Texas made sure the bunker was restocked and cleaned,” I said.
“Well, how are we going to deal with the police? I mean, we know the force has told Detective Woolf to start up a new case. But for all we know, he could make us a special project in that home office of his,” Texas said.
“And if you asshats let me go so I can go talk to his damn daughter, I’d have a better light to shed on that shit,” Stone said.
“I don’t think it’s wise to start plans for building a new bar until this settles down,” I said.
“Right. See? We can’t even get our new source of income going because we’ve still got too much heat on us. I mean, I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t have a savings or shit like that,” Notch said.
“Not my problem, youngin’,” Stone said mockingly.
“That’s true. Not his issue. You’ve got someone who’s apt at finances right here. Wouldn't take me but a second to draw you up a budget and—”
“Shut up, Bronx,” Texas hissed.
“The fuck you say?” I asked.
“I said shut the fuck up Bronx,” Texas said through gritted teeth. He stood up and got right in my face.
“What the fuck is your problem Texas?” I yelled.
“Enough with the goddamn numbers Bronx. No one gives a shit,” he said.
“Well someone has to give a fucking shit about them, otherwise we are fucked. But if you don’t think that we need someone watching it then that is fucking fine by me. See what the fuck happens with the cops when you just think you can get away with shit without fucking being smart about it.”
Bronx: The Lost Boys MC #3 Page 2