Huck

by Jessica Gadziala

  It sounded like a logistical nightmare. But I had some ideas to try out. And if those failed, we could figure it out.

  "I have a high tolerance for bad days," I told her, shrugging.

  "Does he own a suit?" Jones asked, giving Harmon a knowing look.

  "A suit? In this weather?" I asked, sure they were fucking with me.

  "Yeah. Our family is, ah, extra," Harmon said, face guarded. "It's a dress-up thing when we all get together."

  So not only did she have to go through some fucked up routine to avoid getting in a car, but she had to do it in a dress and heels.

  "Alright. Well, I will dig out a suit," I agreed.

  "And tell them what? That you're her bodyguard?" Jones asked, brow raised.

  "You'll tell them we're together," I said, ignoring Che's gaze on me. "That will probably require less question answering than a bodyguard."

  "That's probably best," Harmon agreed, refusing to look at me.

  "When is this thing?"

  "Three days from now. One in the afternoon. Same place as always," Jones said, and I got the feeling he was deliberately keeping me out of the loop, that there was something they weren't telling me.

  "Okay. We'll be there," Harmon said, sounding like she was agreeing to a root canal without anesthesia.

  "Okay. I'll tell them," Jones said. "Are you sure you're okay here? You can come back with me. I can keep you away from all of this."

  "She's not going anywhere," I objected, taking a half step forward.

  "What? She has no say in her life now? "Jones asked, chin lifting.

  "She has choices. But staying here is non-negotiable right now."

  That stance made no sense. There was some logic to her going with her brother, getting away from the club.

  "We don't know how closely she's being watched. If she went with you and a group of men with guns showed up at your apartment door, how would you be able to protect her?" I asked.

  "Fair point," Jones agreed, even though it was clear he didn't like the fact that he couldn't protect someone he clearly cared about. "Do you need anything?" he asked, looking at his sister. "More oil? Joints?"

  "Jones!" Harmon snapped, looking around in a way that could only be called guiltily. As if anyone there would judge her for smoking. "I'm fine. Everything is fine. They've been good to me," she said, shaking her head. "And I haven't been bad," she added, voice going smaller, not liking bringing attention to her issues.

  "Good. I'm glad. Considering. I am going to need to hear from you, though, okay? Twice a day," he clarified. "Just so I know you're okay. Until all this is over."

  "Okay," she agreed, nodding.

  "Promise."

  "I promise," she said, rolling her eyes.

  "Okay," Jones said, glancing over at me. "Take care of her," he demanded.

  "I will," I told him, words like a vow.

  "Good. I will see you guys in a few days," he said, turning, walking away, his words hanging in the air like an omen.

  "Why does he make it sound like we're heading to a funeral?" I asked when he was gone, turning to look at Harmon.

  "Oh, don't be ridiculous," she said, snorting, making me feel a small bit of relief. For just a couple seconds. Before she finished her thought. "A funeral would be a lot more enjoyable."

  Fuck.

  What the hell was in store for us?

  Chapter Nine

  Harmon

  I was pretty sure that within an hour, Huck would have preferred getting gunned down by unknown assailants than having to be my date at a family function.

  I honestly was half-hoping to hear the rumble of a car and the rat-tat-tat of an automatic weapon as I stood in front of the mirror, putting my makeup on my face. But not the way I typically did it. The dramatic eye and the red lip would be considered garish. I'd needed to brush my hair into a low side bun behind my left ear, securing it in place with a white flower barrette my grandmother had once given me.

  I would normally already be in my outfit by the time I got to my makeup, but the blue A-line dress with its thick straps and demure square-cut bodice looked stiff and uncomfortable, making me want to limit the amount of time I would have to spend in it.

  Dread was a familiar thing, snaking around my throat, coiling tightly in my stomach, making me feel jumpy and breathless.

  I endured one to two events a year with the family, depending on how insistent they got, or how worried I was about my mother.

  Christmas was the most negotiable for me. Everyone knew my presence brought less joy to the season, so they were just as happy to leave me out unless they were having company, and needed to put out a united front.

  But the summer party, that was always the mandatory one.

  I went because if I didn't, I knew my mother would suffer because of my absence.

  So I dealt with the anxiety, I stripped away the layers of myself, put on the mask they expected from me, and I went. I endured. Then I spent a few months licking my wounds, trying not to let myself obsess over it too much.

  It got a little easier year by year, but I had yet to get to the point where, on the way home I didn't feel like someone had driven hot pokers through everything I was and would ever be.

  Shaking my head, I applied a small bit of mascara to my lashes, darkening them, but not making it appear like I had makeup on.

  Finished with that, I stood there in my panties and strapless bra, scraping the nail polish off my fingers, not having any acetone to work with.

  That was how Huck found me, as he walked into the bathroom in a white short-sleeve dress shirt and sand-colored slacks, looking a bit like a guy from a fifties gangster movie, big and intimidating, but dressed nicely.

  "What's this?" he asked, brows furrowed as he looked over me.

  "This is my ritual," I told him. "It usually takes me a few hours of pep-talking to get into a dress and shoes and out of the door."

  "It's that bad?" he asked, keeping his gaze on my face.

  "No. But yes. Somehow those two at the same time. You might not even notice it," I told him. "It is all very subtle. There will be a lot of pointed comments, jabs, that don't make any sense without context."

  "Tune 'em out," Huck suggested, shrugging. "If you can't tell them off, tune them out."

  "That's a lot easier said than done."

  "Maybe," he agreed. "But you'll have me there to run a little interference," he said. "Are you ready to play pretend?" he asked, the way his words dropped low and the meaning they had behind them making a little shiver of anticipation move through me.

  I hadn't been so wrapped up with the memories of all the ugly things my family had said to me over the years that I hadn't had more than enough time to fret over the fact that Huck and I were going to have to play the happy couple.

  Which likely meant his hands would be on me, something that I knew was going to be problematic to my system that already wanted him more than was wise.

  "Sure," I agreed, my voice coming out squeakier than I intended, stranger than I'd ever heard it before.

  "You know you're going to have to get within three feet of me to pull it off," he said, smile teasing.

  So he had noticed.

  I thought I had been pretty discreet about it, but I had been very careful over the past few days not to even brush him in passing. Because anytime he had his hands on me, there was a massive response in my system to his nearness.

  Hell, when he'd pulled me somewhat violently out of the pool, I'd felt a wave of unexpected desire wash over my confused system.

  Partly because being able to lift me out of water with one arm like that was impressive, but also because he'd been so protective in that moment that he had done something so extra, so alpha.

  The cavewoman part of my brain just responded to all that brawn, all that bravado.

  I'd felt overheated the whole rest of the day, anytime I remembered it.

  So after needing to slip my hand between my thighs in bed that night, to ease the a
che of need, I decided that I needed to stay away from him, to make sure we didn't even breathe the same damn air if at all possible.

  I'd been careful about it, getting up before he did to get my coffee, heading back to my room with it, losing myself for hours in my games, going back down when I heard him out back working out.

  When he did surprise me by coming into a room at the same time I was there, I found a reason to wedge myself next to Seeley or Che or McCoy, just so Huck couldn't move in at my side.

  It was over the top, but felt oddly necessary to be able to keep cohabitation without things getting complicated or messy.

  "I can fake it when the situation arises," I assured him, finding a little bit of my spine as I glanced back at my reflection in the mirror.

  I didn't miss the way Huck's gaze slid down my back, and over my ass, landing there for a long moment until he let out a deep breath.

  "So, you have anything you want me to know?" he asked, choosing to make the conversation move away from touchy subjects, knowing we had to spend the day together, and likely trying to make it easier on the both of us.

  "Ah... don't bring up my seizures," I said, shrugging.

  "Why the fuck not?"

  "It's a touchy subject with my family."

  "Some shit you can't control is a touchy subject for your family?" he asked, brows lowering.

  "It's a long story."

  "You seem to be full of those."

  "Yeah, well, it has been an interesting life, I guess. Okay, so, the walk is about half an hour if we hustle. And I checked the train... what?" I asked, finding his head shaking in our reflection.

  "We are going to try something different."

  "Different how?" I asked.

  "My bike."

  "Oh, ah, really, the walking isn't that bad," I assured him.

  "Maybe not," he agreed. "But why not try, right? Might make life a fuck of a lot easier."

  "Look, I just don't think—"

  "Why not try?"

  "Because I don't want to have a full-blown panic attack on a day that is already pretty damn anxiety-inducing," I told him.

  "Look, I get it. I won't push you like your brother. I'm just suggesting you sit on it and let me turn it over. If that goes alright, then we can drive down the driveway. If that goes fine, we can get down the street. No pressure. Just an experiment. Have you ever been on a bike-bike?"

  "Who hasn't been on a bike?" I asked.

  "Then you know the general feel of a motorcycle, minus the engine. I think you will be fine."

  "Except for the possible crashing and becoming splattered all over the highway."

  "We'll go slow. You allotted enough time for walking, so we can do a real slow cruise. You need me to do ten miles an hour, we can do that."

  He made it sound really possible, really reasonable, like something I maybe should have thought of years ago while I struggled to live a normal life while avoiding anything resembling a vehicle.

  "At any point between the clubhouse and the train station, you can tell me to stop, and we can walk. One of the other guys can pick up my bike. It's not a problem. We can just give it a try, right? No harm done."

  "I guess,"I agreed, still not convinced it was a good idea to try it on the day we needed to be somewhere, and I had to have my guards up.

  "All you gotta do is say stop, and it's over," he added, gaze holding mine in the mirror. Huck was not, from what I could gather, the kind of man who was prone to reassurances, so it was sweet that he was trying to give some to me.

  "Okay," I agreed, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "God, my family is going to love this. Me showing up on a motorcycle. What will the neighbors think?" I said, rolling my eyes.

  "I'm gonna take it that you come from money, huh?" he asked.

  "Yeah. Something like that. I mean, sort of. I can explain it more later, I guess."

  "Does Jones catch shit?" he asked. "You'll have a problem with your makeup how you like it, and dressing how you want and showing up on a bike, but he can be there with his hair like that and the ink and the piercings, and that's okay?"

  "You're going to notice a lot of double-standards today, Huck. And most of them actually don't have to do with me being a girl. It has to do with me not being one of them."

  "It's your step-family."

  "Yeah. No actual blood relation. And they don't exactly try to make me feel like I am part of the family, either."

  "Then why the fuck bother to go?"

  "I think you will understand more once we are there," I suggested, stomach getting tight and wobbly just thinking about it. I didn't want to dredge anything else up before the actual event.

  "Alright. I'll let it drop for now. Why don't you get that hideous fucking dress on?" he suggested, sharing a smile with me in the mirror before his suddenly fell, and his gaze was deep, intense, as he leaned down a bit, lips close to my ear while his gaze held mine in the mirror. "Otherwise, I might pull off these panties and fuck you right here, and we'd miss the whole party completely," he said, smirking when he got the reaction he wanted out of me.

  He stepped back, slapping my ass hard once, then walking out of the bathroom, leaving me alone to finish getting dressed, and try to convince myself that the flush I felt was because it was hot, and not because of the heated look—and the even more scorching words—he'd given me.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was in my ugly, uncomfortable dress, feet in strappy heeled sandals, standing in the driveway with the sun beating down on me, making sweat bead up immediately, making me start to hope the bike thing worked because the idea of walking around in the heat sounded downright miserable.

  "Ready?" Huck asked, standing beside his bike that, up close, looked a lot bigger than I'd expected.

  "I guess we will see," I said, suddenly wishing I'd doubled up my dose of my CBD oil, knowing that it likely would have calmed me down more. But it was too late for that now.

  "Alright, just get on behind me and scoot forward," he demanded, reaching to hand me a helmet that was likely going to undo the work I'd put in to perfectly styling my hair. If this worked, we would show up early enough for me to stop to tame it again before we showed up at my grandmother's place.

  "Alright," I agreed, taking a deep breath, checking behind to make sure no one was watching, then lifting my leg over the bike while trying to keep my skirt at least halfway covering my underwear.

  Huck was right. And wrong.

  It was like a bike-bike, but also completely different. It was more sturdy, more secure-feeling.

  "Babe, scoot," Huck demanded, making me realize I had been stubbornly trying to keep my body from touching his.

  But there was no way to sit back once he got moving. Sighing out my breath, I slid up against him, feeling my thighs meet the sides of his thighs, my crotch nestled right against his ass, and my chest pressed to his back.

  "See? Already better than walking," he said in a light, teasing tone. "Arms around me too, babe," he demanded.

  My hands moved out toward his sides, gliding over his ribs, wrapping around his chest. I swear it took actual effort for me not to lean forward, to rest the side of my head against his strong shoulders.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "We'll see," I said, legs and arms tightening around him.

  "If you need me to stop, just grab my leg, okay?" he said, turning the bike over.

  "Okay," I agreed, heart starting to trip into overdrive.

  My stomach felt like it bottomed out when the bike surged forward, but after the initial discomfort of unfamiliarity, I realized that I didn't feel like I was choking; my mind wasn't racing off to old, horrific memories.

  I wasn't having a panic attack.

  Huck drove us up and down the driveway a few times before pulling out onto the road, picking up speed.

  I must have tensed, because Huck's hand left the handlebar, going down to rest on my thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze, something that made the tight grip on my hear
t loosen, allowed me to sink into the sensations as we drove down the street that was only vaguely familiar to me since I'd only traveled down it twice since moving in.

  In the time that it would have taken me to walk to the train station, we were already pulling into Miami, the automobiles and foot traffic announcing themselves loudly, making me long for the long, quiet roads.

  Without even realizing what my intentions were, I leaned forward, pressing my head against Huck's back, squeezing my eyes shut, letting myself drift away, ignoring the sights and sounds around us, and, more importantly, giving myself a couple of precious moments where my mind wasn't consumed with the anxiety about the event.

  "Babe," Huck said, voice a smooth, sweet sound.

  "Hm?" I asked, feeling oddly light, almost buzzing. Like a meditation high without all the annoying meditation.

  "We're here, babe," he said, a chuckle in his voice, making me stiffen, straighten, my head whipping around.

  And, sure enough, we were on the street just outside the gates to my grandmother's estate.

  "These cars are fucking insane," Huck declared, pulling off his helmet, taking mine when I handed it to him. "I could make a cool half mill chopping these," he added as my hands planted on his shoulders, using him to steady my body weight as I carefully climbed off, making sure not to flash the couple that was making their way across the street. I didn't know them. They were just a couple more reasonably attractive people in designer clothes. New money, my grandmother would call them. You can always tell, she would add. And, damn her for making me see it, but you absolutely could.

  "I kind of wish you were still in that business," I said, giving him a smile as he climbed off the bike. "It would be priceless to see them all come out to find their cars missing," I told him as I reached up to fix my hair, hoping for the best since I couldn't see what I was doing.

  "I'm half-tempted to call the guys," Huck said, eyes dancing as he moved in front of me, reaching up to fix some of my hair.

  "Is it all in order?" I asked, running my hands down my dress, hoping nothing had gotten too wrinkled.