by Zahra Girard
We’re parked in the driveway to her home, it’s been nearly a week since they released me from the hospital and about five days since Mack, Snake, and Blaze have come back in to Carbon Ridge. This time, even though I’ve spent most of it on light duty as I recover from my injuries, has been some of the most peaceful and rewarding days of my life. And the more time goes along and I get to know Violet, the more I realize just how fucking lucky I am.
“She did. But what you didn’t see were the two truckloads of stuff we took to the thrift shop the other day,” I say.
“It wasn’t that much stuff,” Violet says. “Just a few odds and ends. Like my old bed and couch. And some tables and chairs. And a few other big pieces of furniture. OK, so maybe it was a lot.”
“If you didn’t want to get rid of them, I could’ve helped you carry them, Aunt Vi,” Josie says.
“I’ll bet you could, Speed Demon,” Snake says, ruffling her hair. “You’re strong like the Hulk.”
Josie gets an incredibly thoughtful look on her face. “No, I’m not the Hulk. I want to be like Furiosa.”
“Who?” Kendra says.
“She is the one who rips Immortan Joe’s face off,” Josie says.
Kendra looks from Josie to Snake, shocked. “Excuse me? What did you just say, young lady?”
“It’s another Mad Max movie,” Snake says. “It’s actually a pretty feminist flick. Furiosa saves a bunch of women from a patriarchal society where they’re sex slaves and then she and a bunch of badass chicks — along with a bit of help from Mad Max, of course — kick a whole bunch of ass to save the day.”
“Mom, it was so cool. She drove this giant semi that was built like a tank and she blew up all these guys. I want to be just like her when I grow up.”
Kendra looks about ready to maul Snake, and Violet carefully steps between the two of them and puts a calming hand on her best friend’s arm.
“I think maybe we’ll be taking a little break from movie nights for a while.”
Kendra nods. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“But mom!” Josie wails. “We were going to watch Snake’s favorite movie tonight.”
“And what movie is that? Some kind of bloody zombie movie? Or one with serial killers?”
Snake lowers his voice and leans in. “Um, yeah, actually it’s Up.”
“Up? Seriously?” Kendra says.
“That’s a great movie,” Blaze chimes in. “One of my favorites, too.”
“Wait, really?” Violet says. “Are you pranking us right now?”
“That montage with Carl and Ellie? Where you see their love over the years? No man or woman can watch that without crying,” Mack says. “I watched it with Sofia and Matty a couple weeks ago. It’s probably the fourth or fifth time I’ve seen it and it still gets me every time.”
“Amen, brother,” Blaze says.
“You are all serious about this?” Kendra says, staring around at all of us like we’re lunatics for enjoying one of the most perfect movies of the last few decades.
“We are,” I say.
“You too, Crash?” Violet says. “Does it make you cry, also?”
“It does. And if it doesn’t get you, well, there just might be something wrong with you. There’re a few occasions in a man’s life where it’s OK to cry — at the funeral of a loved one, or over the loss of a good dog, and during the montage scene in Up are the main ones. That scene in Rudy is another.”
“Oh, when that hobbit guy gets carried around the field?” Blaze says.
“That’s the one,” I say. “Just so damn inspirational. Gives me chills.”
“This is just too weird,” Kendra says, throwing up her hands. “A bunch of bikers getting teary-eyed over an animated movie?”
“We’re human beings, Kendra. Not heartless monsters,” Snake says.
“Crash, as much as I love to stand around here hearing about how you and your friends love to cry at movies, we have to get on the road if we’re going to make it to Lone Mesa by tonight,” Violet says.
“Sure thing, babe.”
Violet’s in the truck beside me — because I’m still too messed up to ride — when Josie comes up to her door and bangs on the window like a maniac.
“Aunt Vi, wait,” she says.
“What is it, Speed Demon?” She says. She’s even taken up Josie’s nickname. In fact, lately, the only person who still consistently calls Josie by her real name is her mom, Kendra. And even she slips up from time to time.
“We have a present for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Wait here,” she exclaims. Then, quick as her nickname, she runs off to her mom’s car and comes back a moment later with a box tied up tight with a ribbon. She hands it to Violet through the window of the truck. “My mom found it in that van she came home in. I think Crash left it there.”
Violet opens the package, taking care to undo the ribbon — a ribbon that’s tied up in a slightly haphazard way that looks like it was done by an eight-year-old girl — and then she opens the box. There’s an audible gasp, and she looks from Josie to me in pure disbelief.
“Where did you get this?” She says, holding up the bottle of Pappy Van Winkle that she used to buy my freedom from Sheriff Cartwright.
“Stole it from the sheriff’s office. There’s no way a man like him deserves a bottle like that. Especially one that belongs to my old lady.”
Violet hands the bottle over to me and then hops out of the car, giving a bug hug first to Josie and then an even bigger hug to Kendra.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Kendra hugs her again, even tighter. “You take care in Lone Mesa. And don’t forget about us while you’re busy fitting in with everyone. The little Speed Demon and I will be a couple weeks behind you while Josie finishes up the quarter at school. And Teddy might come, too. We’re still figuring that out.”
I watch as she and Kendra exchange a few more words that I’m too far away to hear. My woman’s got quite a family around her, and soon all three of those strong women will join my family in Lone Mesa; the feeling of satisfaction that’s in my heart right now is greater than any I’ve ever felt before and puts to shame what it was like when I would focus on nothing more than the satisfaction I got from sticking to the job. If this is what it’s like to open my heart to something more, I’m in for one hell of a ride.
After a couple more minutes and a dozen more hugs, Violet climbs into the truck beside me, with an enormous smile on her face. God damn, is she ever beautiful. Then she leans across and gives me a kiss that gets my heart pumping like crazy.
“You ready?” She says.
I start the truck and grin at her. “I’ve never been more ready. Let’s go home.”
Epilogue – Violet
Violet
“Are you ready?” He says, his arm around my shoulder. His voice is steady, but I’ve known him long enough to know when he’s nervous and, right now, Crash is more than a little nervous.
I’ve been in Lone Mesa for three weeks now, two of which were spent unpacking, settling in to Crash’s place — a surprisingly nice home in the suburb area of Lone Mesa, with a big backyard, a patio made for barbecues, and enough space that it doesn’t feel cramped even with all my extra stuff put away. Apparently, real estate in Lone Mesa is a lot cheaper than in Carbon Ridge, which doesn’t surprise me too much, since Carbon Ridge is only a quick drive away from Aspen. And, for the last few days, I’ve been helping Kendra and Josie move in to their new place in town.
I’m tired, my arms, my legs, and my back are so sore that I’ve been popping aspirin like candy. But I’m ready. Even though my nerves are on edge, I’m ready.
“I am,” I say, and I adjust my grip on the bag I’m carrying. “Let’s not keep Stone waiting.”
We step into the clubhouse together, and from the second we enter, I feel my nerves soothe. I’ve been in here many times in the weeks since I’ve been back, and I’ve gotten to know a lot of the faces a
round here — Adella, Tricia, Samantha, Mack, Sarge, Tiffany, Stitch, Blaze, and so many others — and made some friends, too. Some women wear property cuts, which I’m looking forward to wearing soon myself, and some of them don’t; Sophia and Samantha, mainly — but Samantha’s still in nurse scrubs, fresh off of work, and has the hard-edged glower that is enough to chase off anyone foolish enough to make a move on her man. And Sophia, well, she doesn’t need a property cut because she’s got Mack’s name tattooed on her arm in some kind of intricate, heart-like design. It takes me nearly five minutes to cross from the entryway to the corner table where Stone is sitting. On the way, I give out plenty of hugs and end up picking up a pint of beer as I go.
I lost a lot coming here, my bar and my old hometown of Carbon Ridge, but I’ve gained so much, too. A network of family and friends that’s deeper and more tightly knit that I could have ever imagined.
And, with any look, I’m about to gain something else.
“Take a seat. You look like you could use it,” Stone says as we approach his table. We sit down, and he continues. “Crash tells me you’ve got some kind of business idea you want to run by me.”
I sit down with Crash by my side. He rests his hand on my leg and gives it an encouraging squeeze. Stone’s an intimidating man. He’s not as big as someone like Blaze, or as fiery as Mack, but he has this presence like he’s seen and experienced the toughest the MC life has to offer and he’s bent every challenge he’s come across to his will through sheer determination. My nerves surge again, even though I know Stone views everyone in the club as family and does his best to look out for them, and I’m grateful when Crash gives my leg another squeeze.
“I do.”
“Well, have at it.”
I swallow, hesitate, then feel frustration rise inside myself over the fact that I’m hesitating and feeling nervous; I’ve been through so much and I’m getting shaky over a business proposition? Still, I know I’m about to ask for a lot.
“I’m sure you heard from Crash and the others everything that happened in Carbon Ridge.”
“I did, yes.”
“And you know that, before it was burned down, I used to own and run the Timberline Tavern?”
“I do. Go on.”
“Well, what Crash might not have told you is that, before I ran that bar, I worked for a petrochemical company and that I have a master’s degree in chemistry. I’ve always dabbled in distillation and mixology — I made several blends and bitters for my bar — and I’ve always dreamed big and looked at times when I have to start over as an opportunity to aim higher and go bigger,” I say and I pause. This is my moment, where I can make everything happen or I can suffer yet another setback.
Breathe, Violet. You’ve got this, I say to myself.
I can feel Stone’s considering look on me. He’s weighing me, sizing me up, but I can sense encouragement coming from him, too. Like he knows where I’m going, knows what I’m going to say, he just wants me to have the strength and commitment to come out and say it. So, after a deep breath, I remind myself that I’ve faced much tougher challenges than giving a business presentation, and I take a folder out of my bag, open it, and spread out on the table the papers and proposition that I’ve prepared.
“Losing my bar was a setback, but it’s also an opportunity. I gained a lot of experience running it, mixing and blending alcohols, and learning the preferences of my more blue-collar local customers and the rich types who would come down from Aspen to enjoy a little more raw experience. What I want to do is start a distillery. Bourbon and whiskey, mostly, but vodka, too, because it can be brought to market a lot sooner since it doesn’t need to age nearly as long. And I want you to join as a business partner. If you can provide some capital — thirty thousand dollars — to match my own savings that I’m putting in, and some land that I can set up a distillery on, we can go into business.”
“You sound like you’ve done your research,” Stone says, looking over the facts and figures on the many papers I’ve lain out.
“California’s a great market for craft alcohol. The excise taxes are a little higher here than in Colorado, but they’re still pretty low, and California’s got a big market, plenty of people in big cities willing to pay good money for handcrafted, small batch liquor. The market is there, the environment’s right, all I need is some additional capital and some land to set up shop on.”
I finish and I wait, watching as Stone goes over the information page by page. It takes a while, and it passes by in silence, which sets me on edge. I know he’s a man who doesn’t rush in deals involving the club, but I didn’t expect him to go over every single sheet, line by line.
I finish my beer before he looks up.
Then he holds out his hand.
“You’ve got a deal.”
I shake it. With my free hand under the table, I give Crash’s leg a squeeze and end up squeezing it so tight I can see him grimace out of the corner of my eye.
“Thank you, Stone,” I say. I force myself to keep it just to that, though so much of me wants to get up, to celebrate, to drag Crash to the spot in front of the jukebox and force him to dance with me, to drink and cheer with him and every other member of the club until the sun sets and rises again.
But I settle for ‘thank you’ and a handshake.
Then Crash puts his arm around me. “Come on, let’s go get another drink.”
“Wait. I’ve got something else,” I say, suddenly remembering the something extra that I packed away in my bag — something I packed in anticipation of Stone agreeing to the business venture, but which also would work well as consolation if he turned me down. I reach into the bag and set a bottle of something very special out on the table. “I think it’s time.”
Stone picks up the bottle, turns it in his grip, and lets out a long whistle. “Violet, if you would’ve told me from the outset that you’d be popping this open if I agreed to your terms, there would’ve been no need for any of this paperwork.”
“Are you sure?” Crash says. “I know what this means to you. We’ve got plenty of good booze behind the counter. I’m sure Stone wouldn’t mind getting down some top-shelf stuff for the occasion.”
I shake my head, take the bottle, and open it. Then I wave to Tricia and hold up three fingers to call for three glasses. When they arrive, I pour out three generous pours.
“Crash, I got this bottle as a reward to myself for starting a new life. For being brave in chasing after my dreams. And I was going to open it when I felt like I’ve made it. Right here, right now, I think I finally have. I’m living my dream. With you.”
Crash looks like he’s about to say something more, but Stone cuts him off.
“Crash, let your old lady have her celebration. And I swear, if you try to get between me and that bourbon, you will have one hell of a problem.”
“Fine, fine,” he says, nodding. “Then let’s raise a glass to her.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “To family.”
“To family,” they both repeat.
We tap glasses and I take my first sip of the bourbon I’ve been saving all these years for just this very moment. It goes down sweet, smooth, smells like vanilla buttercream and tastes like ripe orange with a hint of chili pepper. It’s perfect, and as I take that first swallow, I break out into a grin I fear might split my face. I couldn’t ask for better company to share this moment with, and I couldn’t be more excited to be building a future with the man that I love.
Epilogue – Crash
Crash
Sweat drips from my brow, beads on my forearms, soaks through my t-shirt. It must be a million degrees out, and it feels even hotter in this concrete and steel building out behind the MC’s clubhouse. Just a quick walk away, there’s ice cold beer and air conditioning, both of which sound all kinds of tempting, but I wouldn’t miss a minute of this heat for anything.
Because, right in the thick of this fiery mess is my old lady, Violet. She’s directing Snake, Rusty, and
Blaze in the very sweaty work of lifting and setting up one of the several stills that’ll soon be making liquor for sale and distribution in the whole So Cal area.
This is the kind of job that leaves me with a lasting sense of pride. My Violet’s putting together a business that, when operational, will not only put out some damn fine liquor, but will bring money in to the club.
It’s the perfect mix of business and pleasure. And I feel damn proud to be a part of it.
“Blaze, I need you to lift and hold that still right there. Right there. Not an inch lower. Keep it there until Snake’s got it secured to the boiler, OK?” Violet says, circling around the group while they maneuver the still into position. “Now, Rusty, you need to get the condenser hooked up and situated. Don’t start slacking, we need to do this careful and we need to do this right. This is some expensive equipment, you got it?”
She moves like a drill sergeant around the men, directing them with sharpness and expertise.
“She’s sure getting into it, isn’t she?”
I turn and see Adella. She’s holding a big frosty pitcher of margaritas on a tray, along with six empty glasses.
“She is. It will sure be something once she’s got it up and running.”
“I brought you guys some refreshments since it’s so hot out and it’s such sweaty work,” she says. She’s talking to me, but I can see her eyes are elsewhere and, as I follow her vision, I spot Snake. His shirt’s soaked from the hard work and sticking to his lean, muscular body.
“Your dad know, Adella?”
“Know what?”
“About you and Snake.”
Her cheeks go bright red. “What are you talking about, Crash?”
“You’re looking at him with a kind of thirst that has nothing to do with how hot it is right now.”
“I am not,” she insists, indignantly.
“Right. It’s the same way I look at Violet. So, have you told Tricia or Stone yet?”