Fight Or Flight (Tempted Series Generation 2.0)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Nice choice of words, kid,” Rob taunts.

  Before I can jump over the breakfast nook and kill the bastard, our dad enters the kitchen. He goes straight for my mom and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Brooklyn stares at them for a moment, before turning and grabbing the games. Hitching them under her arm, she smiles at me.

  “I suck at Monopoly,” she reveals. “But I’m a boss at Scrabble. Game on.”

  Game night was a success. In between me kicking Brooklyn’s ass in Monopoly and her kicking mine in Scrabble, my parents and her mom all took us on a trip down memory lane. Brooklyn wasn’t the only one learning things about her dad. I too learned some very interesting facts about mine. For instance, the leather clad hellraiser once wore ascots. Of course, I didn’t know what that was, but after a quick Google search, I discovered it was some fancy tie thing. Yep, you heard me correctly, my biker dad was once a posh nerd.

  When it appeared as though Joss was struggling to keep her eyes open, we all cleared the room to let her rest. Mom and dad started talking in code and before me or Brooklyn could decipher any of it, dad started chasing his precious kitten up the stairs.

  “I may not be able to commit to a career, but I can tell you for certain I want that kind of love. I want my future husband to chase me around the house and look at me like I’m the only thing that exists,” she said thoughtfully.

  In an instant, I wanted that too.

  I mean, I didn’t want to marry her or anything. I wasn’t that far gone. But let’s call a spade a spade, I was already looking at her like she was the only thing that existed, and I really wouldn’t mind chasing her around the house. In fact, I wanted to catch her, wrap my arms around her waist like my dad often wrapped his around my mom and kiss her until she forgot every worry.

  I really wanted to fucking kiss her.

  Since chasing her and kissing her wasn’t really an option, I asked her to come downstairs with me. She didn’t look like she really wanted to go to bed and I wasn’t ready for the night to end. To my pleasant surprise, she followed me down to the basement and into my new room.

  Ten minutes ago, I was happy to have her.

  Now, not so much.

  “We need to switch beds,” she declares, eyeing the pull-out I have been sleeping on for nearly two weeks. “At least for tonight,” she adds, spinning around to face me.

  “What? Why would we do that?”

  “Because it’s not fair.”

  Not this again.

  “Brooklyn…” My voice trails as she turns back to the bed. I watch as she pulls down the covers and then she completely blows my mind when she climbs in. “What are you doing?” I ask, but my voice sounds more like a shriek.

  This girl is going to kill me.

  “I’m sleeping on the pull-out tonight, Eric,” she scolds. “You have gone out of your way to make me feel comfortable. You’ve even hung out with my mom when I’m sure there’s like a hundred other things you could’ve been doing. You have been great, and I don’t know how to repay you for any of it. I don’t know how to repay anyone.”

  I haven’t gone out of my way to do anything. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done because I wanted to. Sure, in the beginning, a lot of my actions might have been fueled by guilt, but that’s faded. I don’t look at her and automatically see Bones’ daughter anymore. I don’t think of ways I can make it right that I took her dad from her. I don’t think of him at all, and maybe I’m wrong for that. Maybe I’m doing him an injustice, but I don’t care. I look at her and I see the one girl I want.

  Swallowing, I walk to the other side of the bed. I peel back the covers and stare into her eyes. Confusion mars her face as her brows pinch together.

  “Then I guess we’re both sleeping on the pull-out.”

  Not giving her a chance to protest, I climb in next to her. I’m fully aware I’m securing my spot in Hell, but whatever… I’m a fan of the hot weather. I settle in, fixing the pillow behind my head and reach for the remote.

  When she makes no attempt to move, I turn to her.

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “Nope,” she says, rolling on her side. “I hope you don’t mind a little snoring.”

  My gaze drops to her lips.

  “Bring it on,” I murmur.

  Thirteen

  Brooklyn

  Once it becomes clear neither one of us are planning on getting out of the bed, we start to talk. There is no flipping of the coin this time, and another realization dawns on me. I’m comfortable around him.

  I notice there is a tattered American flag hanging on the wall behind the television. As much as I don’t want to rehash his passionate pledge to serve our country, I can’t help but ask where it came from.

  “That flag looks like it’s seen better days,” I say hoarsely, watching as he lifts his head and stares at the flag above the television.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s a fair presumption.”

  “Is it yours?”

  He turns those baby blues to me.

  “It is now.”

  Intrigued, I roll back on my side and prop my head up with my hand.

  “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

  “Yeah, but it's not really my story.” He looks back at the flag. “The flag really belongs to Stryker,” he says. His brows pinch together as he turns to me. “I’m not sure if you’ve met him yet. He’s a member of the club, though.”

  I try to place Stryker, but over the last two weeks, I’ve met so many bikers. What I really need is a family tree or something. A diagram, perhaps.

  “Anyway, before Stryker decided to pledge his life to the club, he served in the Marines. It was back in the height of the United States war on terror, and he did a tour in Afghanistan.” He pauses, his eyes cutting to the flag. “He took that flag back with him when he was discharged and for a long time, it hung in his room at the clubhouse.” He pauses, then clarifies. “Before Kate’s the Knights had a compound back in the day, and most of the guys actually lived there. Your dad included.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “It blew up.”

  “Blew up how?”

  “A bomb.”

  My eyes go wide, and my mouth drops open in shock. I haven’t had a chance to give much thought to the whole motorcycle club lifestyle and what it entails. I knew there were different types, that some clubs were designed for leisure. But I think it’s safe to assume the Satan’s Knights are not one of those clubs. Especially if their clubhouse has been blown to smithereens.

  “Was anyone hurt?” I ask.

  He nods, a thoughtful expression painting his face.

  “War doesn’t discriminate. It’s not always overseas or in the desert. Sometimes it’s in your backyard. That flag not only survived Afghanistan, but it also made it through the worst attack on the Satan’s Knights too.”

  Apparently, Old Glory was a hurricane too.

  “After the clubhouse was destroyed the club operated out of Uncle Pipe’s garage. A lot of the guys were single and misplaced at the time and Uncle Jack, being the president back then, rented out a motel off the Staten Island Expressway. It’s actually a Ramada Inn now, but back then it was a shithole that eventually went on fire. But that’s another story.”

  Bombs.

  Fires.

  It’s really no wonder the guy wants to go to war.

  “Anyway, some of the guys took rooms in the motel, Stryker being one of them. Then he moved in with Gina and the flag hung in their house in a frame until they decided to renovate. He couldn’t throw it out and it really didn’t go with the farmhouse theme his wife was aiming for, so he brought it to Kate’s and hung it from the wooden rafters of the ceiling.” He pauses and smiles slightly. “I remember running into the bar as a kid and always looking up at that flag and when it was time to leave, I always looked over my shoulder, making sure it was the last thing I saw too.”

  The familiar ache in my chest returns and my throat grows dry as I
stare at him. The passion in his eyes is palpable, diminishing any hope that this decision of his is just a passing phase. Eric isn’t enlisting because he’s lacking options or drive. He’s not some misguided teenager who can’t decide what he wants out of life. He’s given this thought. He’s weighed his options. Some people, people like me, see a battered flag, but he looks at those red and white stripes and those stars and he sees life, liberty, and promise. He sees a future he can be proud of.

  I swallow hard, forcing the lump down my throat.

  “So how did you wind up with it?” I rasp.

  His brows knit together as he drinks me in for a moment before turning to the end table on the side of the pull-out and grabbing a bottle of water. Handing it to me, he asks, “Does your throat hurt?”

  I take the water and quickly unscrew the cap.

  No, my heart does.

  I take a quick sip and hand it back to him.

  “I’m fine. Tell me how you got the flag.”

  He eyes me warily before returning the bottle to the table. Then he folds his hands behind his head and stares back at the flag.

  “Well, about six months ago, the guys decided to give Kate’s a makeover. They closed the bar to the public and renovated the place. I helped them clean it out, and I asked Stryker if I could take the flag. He said yes, and the rest is history.”

  “He didn’t question why you wanted it?”

  He smiles.

  “Of course he did. How do you think I got in touch with my recruiter?”

  When he swore me to secrecy, I assumed that meant I was the only one who knew. I’m not only surprised but curious as to why Stryker hasn’t told Riggs. I may not have schooled myself on the politics of the club, but I observed enough to know those guys were tight. I mean, half of them never met my dad, and they rushed to help move our stuff from Connecticut simply because he once wore the same patch as them.

  “Let me see if I got this straight, Stryker knows that you’re enlisting, and he hasn’t told your parents?”

  Eric shakes his head.

  “No, he knows it’s not his place.”

  “But he hooked you up with a recruiter.”

  “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t he? I mean, I told him that I was seriously considering joining the Army, and he was cool. He listened to me and he didn’t treat me like some dopey kid. At one point he told some stories about his deployment and at first, I thought he was trying to sway me, you know try to change my mind, but he was just being straight with me. Stryker respected my decision, but he also wanted me to understand what I would be signing up for and I gotta be honest with you, the things he told me…well, let’s just say he saw some shit and still I came out of that conversation even more determined to serve my country. You know, he said something that really stuck with me… he said, a true soldier doesn’t go to war because he hates the enemy in front of him, he goes because he loves what’s behind him.”

  He reaches out and twirls a strand of my hair around his finger.

  “So that’s the story behind the flag,” he murmurs. “Now, are you going to go upstairs to bed or are you spending the night here with me?”

  I stopped myself from asking him when he planned on telling his parents that he had spoken with a recruiter because then it would be even more real, and I wasn’t sure my heart could take anymore. I had just found him, and I wasn’t ready to accept in a few short months, I’d be losing yet another person in my life.

  I totally get that what he’s doing is admirable and joining the military isn’t an automatic death sentence, but he won’t be here to crawl into bed with me. He won’t be here to make fun of the way I drive or tell me stories about my dad, and I can kiss the idea of ever beating him at Monopoly goodbye.

  And I swear none of this has anything to do with the fact that I woke up the next morning and found his arms wrapped around me.

  Nope, not a damn thing.

  Eric is just a friend.

  Albeit my only friend, but still just a friend.

  Nothing more.

  Nothing less.

  The pesky little butterflies I feel whenever I’m with him can take a hike.

  I really tried not to overanalyze what waking up with Eric meant or how it made me feel. After an awkward encounter which included me tripping on my way up the stairs and running past Riggs who was in the living room doing what appeared to be some sort of yoga pose, I spent most of the day with my mom. I read to her, played some of her favorite songs on the Bluetooth speaker, and when she fell asleep, I tried to write her a letter.

  I didn’t know how to say goodbye and time was running out. There was so much I wanted to say, so many promises I wanted to make her and dreams I wanted to share with her. I put the pen to the paper, but I couldn’t do it.

  I’d look at her and even though her organs were shutting down, there was still life inside of her. Sure, she looked sick, and she slept more than she was awake, but today, she had these crazy bursts of energy from time to time. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, that I was holding onto a hope that didn’t exist. The nurse explained that it was normal and part of the dying process. She called it a surge and encouraged me to make the most of these precious moments because they wouldn’t last for very long.

  “Why don’t you let me do your makeup?” my mom asks. “I can curl your hair like I used to when you were little too.”

  I would love that, one of my fondest childhood memories is when she and I would play dress-up together. I remember thinking I couldn’t wait to be a teenager and play with her makeup. I imagined her helping me get ready for school dances and the usual teenage social activities.

  Sadly, we never got around to any of that and if today is all we get, I won’t deny myself one last beautiful memory. After all, you are never too old to play dress-up.

  “Are you sure?” I ask hopefully.

  “Go grab my makeup bag,” she replies, treating me to a smile. It’s not as bright or even as big as the ones of my childhood, but nonetheless beautiful.

  I slide out of the bed and cross the room to grab her bag of tricks.

  “Help me put this thing upright,” she says as I reach the bed.

  I hand her the makeup bag and press the button on the side of the bed until she’s sitting upright. Patting the bed, she orders me to take a seat. I quickly gather my hair and pull it away from my face with a scrunchie as she gets to work on making me look beautiful.

  “You have your dad’s eyes,” she murmurs softly. “So big, bright, and full of unspoken dreams. Promise me you’ll find the courage to chase your dreams, sweet girl.”

  I may have lost the courage to say goodbye, but my mom hasn’t.

  She’s the true hurricane out of the two of us.

  The strongest.

  The bravest.

  The fiercest.

  “I promise,” I whisper.

  “Don’t be afraid to take chances either.”

  “I’ll embrace the detours.”

  The tears pool and spill down my cheeks.

  “That’s my girl,” she says hoarsely, and this time, it’s her who cries. But she quickly blinks those tears away.

  The strongest.

  Bravest.

  Most fierce hurricane of all.

  “Another thing,” she continues, pausing to grab another makeup brush. She dabs it against the eyeshadow palette. “Don’t be afraid of the love bug.” She brings her eyes back to me and smiles softly. “When it bites you, run with it, even if it scares the hell out of you. I promise you, sweet girl, life is short, and depriving yourself of love is a regret you don’t want to have. It won’t always be easy, but love is beautiful. In the darkest hours, when everything seems hopeless, love will blanket you. It will lift you and carry you to the light.”

  She brushes the tears from my cheeks with her thumb and leans forward, resting her forehead against mine.

  “I’ll be there for you, Brooklyn. When you’re too scared to tell him you love him, I’ll be ther
e. When he asks you to marry him, I’ll be there. When Lauren fixes your veil, and Riggs walks you down the aisle, I’ll be there. I’ll never leave you, not really.”

  But she is leaving me.

  “Quit crying,” she chides, pressing her lips to my nose. “You’re ruining your makeup and I’m too tired to do it again.”

  “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Actually, you are.”

  Confused, I pull away from her.

  “I overheard Eric ask his parents if he could go to a party tonight and I asked him if he wouldn’t mind taking you along. This way you can meet people your own age. Make some friends. Have a little fun. Be a kid.”

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  How embarrassing.

  “Mom! Why would you do that?”

  “Why are you turning red? It’ll be fun.”

  Before I can argue any further a knock sounds on the door and we both turn to see Eric standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and a small smile playing on his lips.

  “Hey, you almost ready?”

  No.

  Not at all.

  Fourteen

  Eric

  Befriend the girl living in your house, Danny said. It’ll be good, he said. Tell her about her dad. It will make you feel better, he said. Then a couple of days ago when I told him I wasn’t sure any of that was a good idea since I was crazy attracted to her, he told me to just go with it. See what happens, he said. There’s no crime in being attracted to her. Sure, buddy. Tell that to my fucking arms that just magically slipped around her in the middle of the night and held her tight. I don’t know who was more spooked this morning, Brooklyn, me, or my fucking dick.

  But we got past it.

  I unraveled my arms from her tiny body, and she slipped out of my bed like it was the most normal fucking thing ever.

  Sure, she fell going up the stairs, but what’s a minor slipup?

  I went to school and tried not to dwell on how empty my arms felt. I pretended like I wasn’t staring at the clock, counting the hours until I could go home and see her pretty face again. And when Danny told me there was a party tonight, I told him I’d be there—because as content as I was playing board games and watching movies with Brooklyn and Joss; the aftermath scared the living crap out of me.