by Freya Barker
“Scores better than the rickety old double I have in my room at the club.”
He rolls on his back and scoots up so he’s leaning his head and shoulders against the simple wooden headboard.
“That’s why I got rid of my old bed in Denver. My parents bought it for me when I went to college, and I hung on to it all those years. Never even replaced the mattress. I figured moving to a new place was as good a time as any to invest in a new bed.”
“Was a good buy. I slept like a log. How about you?”
He reaches for me and I willingly snuggle up to him, my head on his chest.
“I actually did too. More than I thought I would anyway.”
His fingers play with the short hair behind my ear and I snuggle in deeper, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest. He feels like an anchor, solid and strong enough to keep me afloat should I need it.
“When will we know?”
The question is matter-of-fact and requires no clarification.
“Maybe two weeks.” I never thought I’d be discussing my periods with a tattooed, rough-looking biker, but then I never thought I’d end up in a relationship with one either, and here I am. “That’s when I’m supposed to get my next period.”
“Okay, two weeks,” he repeats, cool as a cucumber.
Then he suddenly rolls me on my back and lands on top, hands planted on either side of me.
“Ever hear the expression: don’t borrow trouble?”
“Yes,” I respond a little breathless.
“We’re gonna deal with whatever the outcome is, but until we know, no amount of fretting or worrying is going to change anything.”
“Easy for you to say,” I grumble.
“No, it isn’t. I told you, I’m in this with you. If you need to talk, talk to me, but don’t spend the next two weeks tied in knots. It’s not healthy.”
He’s right, it isn’t healthy, but it’s not so easy to shut down a mind used to working nonstop. I appreciate the offer to talk things through with him, but he’s a big part of what’s been on my mind.
I need to talk to my sister.
“I’ll try.” Knowing myself well, that’s as much of a promise I’m able to make.
A corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smile before he lowers it to mine. His kiss is gentle, and like last night when he kissed me goodnight and simply held me, I don’t feel any pressure. It’s like he knows I need some time. Surprising, since I’m pretty sure his testosterone levels far outmeasure most other men’s.
“I’m gonna grab a quick shower. Get some coffee going. Why don’t you try and catch a few more winks?”
Another brush of his lips and he rolls off me, swinging his legs over the side and giving me a perfect view of the artwork on his back.
“Tse?” I reach out and trace the broken chain. “Do these have a special meaning?”
I know he had a troubled childhood and I wonder if the question is too personal when he stays silent. I withdraw my hand and am about to apologize for intruding when he speaks up.
“Which one?”
Encouraged, I touch his back and run them over the tattoo, feeling a ridge under my fingers.
“This one. The chain.”
“Freedom,” he answers right away. “First tattoo I got. Ouray took me to a friend of his, a tattoo artist in Cortez. I’d just turned seventeen.”
I sit up and lean closer, now able to see the long scar the ink conceals. I press my lips against his skin.
“They hurt you. Your last family.”
He doesn’t answer, which in itself is answer enough.
I move on to the next one.
“And the compass?”
“For guidance, direction. That’s what the club gave me.” There’s no hesitation this time. “The arrow stands for a path to follow. I got that one when I was officially made a club prospect.”
“What about the feather?”
“It represents courage. My brothers got that for me when I patched in.”
I notice now that the four smaller items appear a little more faded than the large bird that spans his back. I use the fingers on both hands to measure its full width.
“I thought this would’ve been there first, but you got this last, didn’t you?”
He looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes smiling.
“Yeah. I’d started covering my arms and chest with shit I liked the look of, but my back was reserved for things that had meaning, that I was proud of. Then twelve years ago, when the club had changed its direction, I had the Thunderbird added.”
“And it means?”
“Power, protection, and strength. The power to make a difference, the protection of innocence, and the strength to stay the course.”
I close in behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist as I press my cheek between his shoulder blades.
“The older ones are your journey, but this last one is your destination.”
What appeared at first a haphazard collection of ink; now makes all kinds of sense. His past and present connected on his back.
The protection of innocence.
However this man presents himself to the world, what he stands for—what his club stands for—runs deeper than his skin.
He covers my locked hands on his abs with his own.
“Yeah,” he simply confirms.
Then he loosens my grip, gets to his feet, and I watch his naked ass walk into the bathroom. Instead of lying back down, I hop out of bed, pull on some clothes, and snag my phone from the nightstand before heading downstairs.
“What’s wrong?”
It’s the first thing my sister says when she answers.
I’m curled up in a chair on the deck, watching the morning fog lift from the trees in the warmth of the morning sun.
“Nothing. We always talk on Sunday morning.”
“Baloney. I call you, not the other way around, and this is the second Sunday in a row you beat me to it. So I’ll ask again, what’s wrong?”
My sister…I don’t know whether that sixth sense is something she always had or whether it developed with motherhood, but I can tell from her tone she means business. Good, because I really need to unload.
I tell her about Tse, about the trip to Moab, about the things he says, and the way he makes me feel.
When I’m sure she’s already halfway in love with him from what I’ve described, I hit her with the rest of it.
“Pregnant?”
By the time I hear the sliding door open behind me and Tse steps out, all that’s left of the long-distance tears I shared with my sister are a few wet stains on my shirt, but my heart already feels lighter.
Tse
It was clear she’d been crying.
I figured she was talking with her sister when I came down the stairs and saw her on the phone outside. Giving her some space, I turned to the kitchen where I was able to find the makings of a pot of coffee, and checked the fridge for breakfast food.
The coffee was passable but the eggs were rubber and I’d burned the bacon, but she’d eaten everything I piled on her plate without complaint.
I didn’t ask, and she didn’t volunteer, but it’s safe to guess she talked about what happened yesterday. I try not to let it bother me she didn’t talk to me, but I get it. If I had a sibling I might’ve called them too.
Instead I’m on my way to the clubhouse, where I’m hoping to catch Trunk.
I park the truck next to the shop and stick my head in when I see Brick working on a car.
“Morning.”
He looks up from under the hood.
“Morning’s almost over.” I grin at his grumbling response. It’s like he needs to get his licks in everywhere else since Lisa and the kids all have him wrapped around their little fingers. “Bedroom door’s been open the past couple’a days too,” he adds with a pointed look. “That girl is like a daughter to me. I find you’re fuckin’ around on her—”
I cut him off, my grin instantly gone.
&
nbsp; “Hold onto your suspenders, gramps. First of all, I was with her—not that it’s any of your goddamn business—and second of all, fuck you. If you’d been paying any attention last weekend you’d’ve seen it’s not like that with her.”
He turns his attention back to the engine he’s working on and I’m about to turn my back when I hear him say, “Don’t want her gettin’ hurt. Just lookin’ out for the girl.”
“My job now,” I bite off. “And don’t call her a girl, she’s all woman.”
I start walking toward the clubhouse and throw back a last glance, catching him watching after me, a grin on his face.
Asshole. I let him get under my skin.
I spend a few minutes chatting with Nosh and he directs me to Ouray’s office, where I find him and Trunk in conversation.
“Come in.” Ouray waves me inside. “We’re talking about Ravi.”
“Why? Something else happen?”
“Close the door and take a seat.”
I kick the door shut but instead of sitting, I perch my ass on the edge of the large conference table.
“The boys are talking,” Trunk volunteers.
“What do you mean? Talking about what?”
“Turns out for the past year Ravi has managed to get up before anyone else to take his shower.”
The showers in the dorm are set up like a locker room. A bunch of showerheads and nothing but a pony wall to separate them from the lockers where the kids keep their shit.
My mind immediately goes back to the campground and Ravi’s reaction when he saw there were separate shower stalls. He’d even commented on the locks. That should’ve been a clue and I missed it.
What was a suspicion before turns into a certainty.
“And?” I ask sharply, almost defensively.
“The other kids noticed. It apparently became something they teased him with. You know how kids are.”
Yes, I can imagine. I heard most of those myself twenty-six years ago, when I first came to Arrow’s Edge.
I avoid looking at Ouray because he’d remember. It was the reason he’d taken me to get a tattoo. Said we’d give my dorm mates something to look at. That’s when I got my chain.
“The night Maska got hurt he wasn’t sleepwalking. He and Elan got up when Ravi snuck into the shower. Followed him, wanting to give him a hard time, but then they saw scars all down his backside.”
I hiss sharply, still not prepared, despite already knowing the truth. Trunk’s eyes snap to Ouray, who calmly nods, even as his eyes stay focused on me.
“Ravi flew past them straight for his bed. When Maska tried to apologize, putting a hand on the kid’s back, Ravi swung around with the crowbar he’d pulled from under the covers.”
I lean forward, my hands on my knees, as I focus breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. I hear Ouray continue.
“The older boys decided to pretend Maska had been sleepwalking when it happened.”
“Did you have a word with them?” I direct at Ouray.
“Or two,” he confirms. “Problem is, what they did is no more than boys do in a group setting. They tease, they rib each other, they initiate newbies, none of it good, but all of it fairly innocent.”
“Tell that to Ravi,” I snap.
“Brother,” he says calmly. “There was no way for the boys to know. Heck, I was thinking back on the times I’ve seen him without a shirt and realized I never have.”
“Me neither.” This from Trunk.
That should’ve been another clue, even when we swam or fished while camping, the other boys would whip off their shirts, flexing their baby muscles, but never Ravi. At the time I figured it was because he’s so scrawny.
“Or me,” I admit.
“The moment they saw the state of his back, they could guess and they regretted it immediately,” Ouray continues. “And after I talked to them, trust me, they regret it even more.”
“The problem is Ravi. He won’t talk. He’s closing off even more than he already was, and according to Shilah, he’s not sleeping,” Trunk explains. “Not sure what to do if he won’t talk, brother.”
“First of all, get him out of the dorm. He needs to feel safe, and unless he has control he won’t sleep. I bet he hasn’t had a shower in the dorm since. Give him my room; he’ll have his own bathroom. I’ll get my shit out.”
“Tse, man, we can’t do that. It sets a precedent. The boys go in the dorm, that’s the way it’s always been,” Ouray says pointedly.
He’s right. That is the way it’s always been. I stayed in the dorm but I wasn’t alone, I had Manny—who had my back—and I had his. Besides, I was one of the oldest kids at the time.
“You know this isn’t the same. Unlike me, Ravi has no one to stand up for him. No one he trusts enough.”
I feel the energy in the room change and look at Trunk, who suddenly narrows his eyes on me.
“I’ll be fuckin’ damned,” he swears. “That’s why the boy’s drawn to you. He senses a kindred spirit. Shee-it, brother. It all makes a fuckload more sense now.”
“Don’t waste your psychoanalysis on me, focus on the kid.” I turn back to Ouray. “Fuck precedent. We’ve had kids sick stay in the clubhouse before. Ravi’s no less in need of special care.”
I start pacing the room while Trunk, who appears to be siding with me, convinces Ouray to let Ravi have my room.
“Where the fuck are you gonna stay?”
“I’ll be fine.” It’ll be a good excuse for me to stay with Sophia, but my brothers don’t need to know that.
“Not gonna help him form any bonds with the other kids, though,” Ouray mentions. “If anything, it’ll set him apart.”
I don’t disagree with that, but I’ve already thought of that.
“Ravi asked if he could work with me on Paco’s house, instead of the project Brick had in mind for the kids. Let me see if I can’t win his trust first.”
“Are you gonna tell him about you?” Ouray asks.
“I might, if I feel it helps any. Once he’s comfortable enough with me, we can ask the older two kids to come help out a day here or there. One at a time.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Trunk admits.
“Good, I’ll tell Paco to bring him along in the morning.”
I walk out of the office and cross the hallway to my room. The only bag I have is still at Sophia’s, but I peel off the pillowcase to use for my clothes, and can get a garbage bag for whatever else I need in the short term. This’ll just be temporary, at least that’s the way I’ll sell it to Sophia.
“You okay?”
I turn to find Trunk in the doorway.
“I’m fine. I’m good. Don’t need anything.”
He raises an eyebrow, which causes wrinkles all over his bald scalp.
“Actually,” I change my mind. “I could do with some advice.”
“Anything.”
He crosses his massive arms over his chest and leans against the doorpost.
“Pregnancy. How much do you know?”
CHAPTER 14
Tse
“SHEE-IT.”
I’m still grinning at Trunk’s reaction a couple of hours later.
He’d kicked the door to my room shut and sank down on my bed, spending the next half hour asking questions and giving me a chance to unload all my insecurities. Because as much as I’m keeping a confident front around Sophia; I’m scared shitless.
Turns out that was all I needed, the reassurances from a brother who had his own insecurities about fatherhood, as it turns out. Trunk and Jaimie have two kids now, three-year-old River from Jaimie’s first marriage, and Eden, who is a year and a half and her father’s daughter. Trunk was forty-six when they had her.
If Sophia turns out to be pregnant, I’ll be forty-three when I become a father. The thought doesn’t nearly make me as lightheaded as it did before my talk with Trunk.
I spent some time with Nosh, feeling guilty because I haven’t been around much l
ately for our nightly chats. He said he was fine with it, more time to watch the old westerns he’s become partial to in his old age. It doesn’t seem that long ago he would go on runs with us, and for the longest time he ran the club’s shooting range, but he handed that over to Honon.
He’s become an old man since Momma died last year and that hurts to see. Where he once was the driving force of the club, now he simply hangs out there, like he’s biding his time. It’s sad; he deserves more but doesn’t want it. I won’t say Nosh was always a good man, but he certainly had a good heart.
I managed to corner Paco, explained Ravi would be taking my room at the clubhouse for now, and asked him to bring the kid to the build tomorrow. On my way out I popped into to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of good food, where I got slapped on the hand by Lisa when I tried to steal a taste of the stew she had simmering for dinner.
By the time I get to The Backyard it already has a decent dinner crowd. I don’t see Sophia when I walk in, but Mack cocks his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the hallway. I find her in her office, and as usual, she’s so engrossed in what she’s doing it takes a minute for her to clue in I’m standing in her doorway.
“Hi.”
“How are things?” I ask her, walking over to drop a quick kiss on her lips.
“Busy. I’m trying to finish up my orders for Tuesday’s delivery before I get out there.”
I grin down at her.
“Is that your way of telling me to get lost?”
She raises both eyebrows, bulging her eyes, and I bark out a laugh.
“Okay. I may be thick but I know when I’m not wanted. Have you eaten?”
“Mandy brought me something earlier.”
She points at the empty plate on the corner of her desk and I pick it up.
“You finish up. I’ll be keeping Mack company,” I tell her with a wink before walking back to the bar.
“Kaga mentioned I might see quite a bit of you around here.”
Lea, Kaga’s wife, is by the bar waiting for a drink order.
“I swear, the older the brothers get, the more they turn into a bunch of old maids with their gossiping,” I grumble to Lea’s amusement.