by Nicole Reed
“Overindulge in college?”
“No, my old man was an alcoholic. That is why I was raised by my grandparents.”
“Oh,” I say to his honesty. I know a thing or two about that, but, of course, it is something I don’t share. I have to change the subject. “So how old are you?”
“Twenty-six. You know they say with age comes experience. I just want to throw that out there.”
“So what are you saying? That you have a lot of experience.” I emphasize a lot. “Is that equal to calling yourself a man-whore?”
He gives a loud whoop. “Damn, you really know how to sufficiently put me in my place. You certainly keep me jumping. But to answer you, I really don’t have tons of that particular experience. I am by no means a monk—I’ve done my share of playing the field. Now I am old enough to know the difference. I’m not saying I am looking for happily-ever-after, but I’m not looking for a one-night-stand either.”
I snort, not knowing if I entirely trust him. I don’t have tons of experience with players, as Ginger would call them, but I’m certainly not naïve enough to believe everything that a man says.
“You know with my witty sense of humor and your quick sarcastic wit, we are almost dangerous together.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, pulling my hand away from his. Something about his words throws a red flag up in my mind. Dangerous is right, but not for the reasons he believes.
“Here we are,” he says, luckily finding a parking space in front of the restaurant.
He turns off the truck and opens his door to get out. I don’t wait for him to come around to open mine.
“Whoa, hold it right there,” he says, approaching the passenger door.
I am still sitting on the seat, turned so that I can get out. As he comes near me, I am nauseous at the thought of him blocking my exit. Memories assault my mind: hands that pinch and the smell of sour breath. “Don’t touch me,” I whisper, holding my hands out to keep him away. My breathing rushes in and out in rough gasps of air. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him step slowly away from me.
“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” he says, his voice lowering as he talks to me. “Just tell me what you want me to do. You are in charge. Do you hear what I am saying, Keller?”
I hear him and nod. He isn’t my rapist. This is now. I am Keller. I draw in a deep breath, slowing my racing heart that threatens to explode out of my chest. This isn’t the first time something has jarred a memory that pulverizes me, but it’s the first time I have been around someone else when it happened.
“I’m okay.” I have to make up a lie to tell him something. “Sorry, I get these dizzy spells,” I say, smiling. I slip to the ground, straightening my dress so that I don’t have to see the questions in his eyes. As I glance up, I see that he looks suspicious. I compose myself the best way I know how. If I were to ask him to take me home now, it would only give him cause to think there is something different about me.
“Are you positive that you are alright?” He quietly asks, as he stands with his hands in his pants pockets, staring sadly at me.
I nod and smile. I start walking toward the entrance, his footsteps sounding on the pavement behind me. When I reach the door, he leans in to open it for me. The smell of garlic wafts sharply in the air, sharpening my senses. I take a deep breath, my mouth watering at the yummy scent.
“Man, that smells good,” Vin comments, before turning to talk to the hostess.
Within minutes we are sitting at a small booth toward the back. A deep baritone voice sings softly in Italian over the speakers. A waiter comes by to ask if we would like wine, which both of us decline, ordering sodas instead.
“What do you normally order when you eat here?” He looks over his menu at me.
“The eggplant parmesan is really great,” I say, realizing this is the first time I have seen him without some type of hat. He’s classically handsome, but he has this boyish charm that softens him, especially when he smiles.
“Vegetarian?” He gives me the stink eye.
“No, I eat meat sometimes,” I say. I can’t help smiling at his exaggerated expression of relief.
“Thank God. I was hoping I didn’t have to break up with you on our first date. That would totally suck. I’d lose my girlfriend and my tattoo artist in one fell swoop.”
“So that’s what it takes? I have been trying to get rid of you for weeks. If only I knew. Can I change my answer?” I jokingly kid along with him. It’s fun. He’s fun.
We spend the next hour talking about him. I can tell that he has learned to play my game of “let’s don’t ask Keller any personal questions.” He tells me about growing up on the bayou and helping his grandfather restore houses from the time he was little, igniting his passion for the same. The stories he tells of his college escapades have me almost rolling on the floor laughing. He has traveled all over the world and I intently listen to him describing places I will never get the chance to visit.
After dinner has cleared, I turn down dessert, but request a cup of coffee. Vin does the same.
“You know, you are breathtakingly beautiful when you laugh,” he says, catching me off-guard.
I shyly smile in answer. It has been one of the most enjoyable nights of my life. In so many ways, I don’t want it to end. Our coffee arrives, saving me. I take a small sip of the strong, hot liquid.
“I have a great idea. Come see what I do tomorrow—you can see my work, my art.” He leans back, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
This evening, the entire time he spoke of his work, I could see the pride and love he has for what he does. It piqued my interest to see for myself the art he speaks of. The question is—can I take this chance? I don’t know how much deeper I can delve and still keep my solitary existence intact. In all honesty, it’s already falling apart at the seams. Everything in my life is screaming at me to run, but yet a part of me wants to stay and build a life for myself, be a young woman for once, one who goes on dates to see where a hello might lead.
“Why not?” I answer. I can go see what he does for a living. Nothing more.
“Yeah?” He scoots forward in his seat, giving me that big, goofy smile of his.
“Yeah,” I say, laughing at him.
“Well, alright. It’s a second date.”
“It’s not a date. It’s simple curiosity about your art. Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.”
“When it comes to you, Keller, I’ll take what I can get,” he says, winking at me.
The sky shades many different colors of burnt orange as the sun rises above the water. It’s early morning, but the humidity is already sticky. I wrap my arms securely around my knees, laying my head on top of them. I watch two Northern Mockingbirds play tag across the inlet in front of me. I walk out here every morning to get away, so I can be by myself. Otherwise, I have to pretend to sleep, letting everyone finish their morning routine so they can leave and I don’t have to see their faces.
Now that summer has arrived once more, I have no idea how I will fill my days. So much has changed, but still so much stays the same. I turned a year older, but it didn’t alter my situation. My life irrevocably shifted that October day. After that horrific night—the official end of my miserable childhood—the next morning I stood looking in the mirror and promised myself that I would get out of here—alive or dead. They may have tattooed their brand on me, but I don’t belong to them. I can play their game until I find my chance to be free.
“Hey, kiddo,” Sage says behind me.
“Hey,” I say, glancing back at her.
“Mind if I join you?”
I shake my head. She comes to sit beside me with her cup of coffee.
“I love it out here in the early mornings; it’s peaceful.”
“Yeah.” I really want to add that it was very peaceful until she invaded my space.
“I wanted to talk to you about having Hold over for dinner tonight. Now that he lives at the clubhouse, I miss cooki
ng for him. You okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders while looking out over the water.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” She asks with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Well, where should I start? You didn’t talk to him for months until he moved out and since then you haven’t even seen him. Doll, shit went down that night and I get that you both needed some space to work it out. Hold received the brunt of your anger. I believed you would eventually stop blaming him and get your head out of your ass, but that doesn’t seem to be happening. Did you even call to wish him a happy eighteenth birthday? I’m going to take a shot in the dark and say no.”
She would definitely be right about that, but she has no idea what it was like losing him. I didn’t care about the little bit of childhood I had left—I lost most of it long before the fire. I mourned the loss of Hold. It was painful and I wanted to die. I didn’t sleep for months because of the nightmares that I couldn’t escape. Every single time he tried to talk to me, I couldn’t stand to hear his voice. It reminded me of that night, over and over. When I refused to talk to him, he started disappearing.
One day, Sage told me that he decided to move to the clubhouse. I felt a sweet relief at not having to see him every day. I had not attended school for a month. Sage’s doctor had been writing me excuses, saying that I had mono. When I did return after Christmas, I began riding the school bus, cutting Hold completely out of my life. And I didn’t see him again.
“I’ll stay in my room,” I say.
“Damn it, Hels! You certainly will not. I’ve had it with your shit. In this life we live, sometimes you have to take the bad with the good. There isn’t always black and white here. There are shades of gray that you have to deal with. You accept what you can’t change and roll with the punches.” Sage glances away from me, out over the calm water. “You know, your momma and me had some rough history, but I decided when Hold took a liking to you to let all that go. The good of the club always comes first.”
My mind races with questions about what she is talking about, but I don’t have the energy to get into it with her.
“Listen to me, kiddo: you are dealing with me now, but if you don’t change your attitude, you’ll have to deal with Ward. He’s had it with your behavior,” she says, her eyes narrowing on me.
I stay out of Ward’s sight. In fact, I go weeks without even seeing him. The time hasn’t come to leave yet. I am broke as a joke and have nowhere to go.
Sage lays her hand firmly upon my shoulder, turning me to completely face her. “I know how much you loved my son. Somewhere inside of you that love still lives. He didn’t betray you, so get over it. He handled a situation, protecting you the only way he knew how, the way his family expected him to. Do you understand me?”
I nod, because I do. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Hold is going through some shit. He’s lost, baby girl. You have always been his reason, so it’s time to put your big-girl panties on and be that for him. The club doesn’t need Hold hitting the bottle and weed hard right now. Ride this out with him. That is what he needs. He blames himself enough for the both of you. Can you please forgive him before he does something incredibly stupid?”
I glance up into her eyes to see a worried expression. “Hold wouldn’t do anything stupid,” I say.
“He’s not the same Holden that you and I knew, Hels. He’s getting mixed up in stuff that could be bad for the club. You are going to have to nail him down. Nail him to the fuckin’ wall if you have to. That is what a good old lady does. You need to put my son first, as he always has you, baby girl.”
I look back over at the water where I spent the only happy moments I had as a child. This woman was more of a mother to me than Paula ever was. She has always been kind to me. Hold loved me. He didn’t have to tell me that night, because I always knew that he did. What I wouldn’t give to redo everything. It was all my fault. I am the reason that guy died.
I know that I blame Hold for things that Ward ordered. No one stands up to him and lives to tell about it. My head tells me this, but my heart knows that Hold was never going to be the same after what he did. My Holden was gone long before he moved out. If it didn’t happen that night, it would have happened some other way. He had already decided to give his life over to the Hell’s Highwaymen. He chose his path when he quit school. I know now that he already knew what that included and had accepted that responsibility.
The question I ask myself is whether or not I am going to hate him forever? If I too am stuck in this life, never to escape, will I hate him every day of it? I don’t want to. I especially don’t want him to go do something stupid and never have the chance to tell him that I forgive him. Do I forgive him?
“I would die if something happened to him,” I say, looking at her with tears falling down my face.
She wraps me in her arms. “I know, kiddo. You just needed someone to remind you of that. Let’s you and I go in to town to pick up his favorite meal for tonight. What do you say?”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling back from her.
We both stand up to walk back to the house. I climb into the SUV to wait while she goes in to get her keys. In only minutes, she returns and we head to town. Sage makes small talk, but I only nod to let her think that I am listening. What is Hold doing drinking and smoking pot? He is going to get an earful from me, after I apologize for acting the way I did. I still blame him, but I also know that he had as much of a choice as I did, which was none at all.
Sage stops on Main Street in front of the florist shop.
“I am going to grab some fresh flowers for our dinner. You want to come in with me?”
I shake my head no.
“Well, then make yourself useful. Go into Hard Ink and give this to Badger. He owns the place. If he isn’t available, give it to his old lady, Diamond.” She hands me a sealed envelope.
I start to give it back and tell her that I don’t want to, when she gives me that look. The one that says do it or die. I have never been on the receiving end of that look, just witnessed it with Hold.
“You are going to get over what happened. It wasn’t Badger’s fault that you were tattooed either. He does as he is told. Every old lady has the same motorcycle surrounded in flames on their lower abdomen. Don’t think you were special or anything because he saw your cooch. He’s been tattooing for the club since he was fifteen and has seen everyone’s, including mine.”
“I don’t,” I say, rolling my eyes at her. I don’t point out how young I was and the fact that I wasn’t anyone’s old lady, because I can’t stand to hear her mouth anymore.
“Get your scrawny ass out of my car, and go,” she says, pointing out of the SUV.
I jerk the door open and hop out. My feet almost trip over the lines of the sidewalk as I march to the tattoo shop. I can see through the windows that it’s not really busy. The sound of music, blasting from inside, escapes as I open the door to walk in. My dad’s favorite band, Motley Crue, blares over the large speakers placed in the corner of the room. Memories of hearing this same song playing from his bedroom bring him clearly to my mind.
“I’ll be with you in a second,” a scratchy female voice calls from the back of the shop.
The buzzing sound of a tattoo machine threatens to collapse my knees. I place my trembling hand against my stomach when it flips at the sound. A million emotions swamp me. I cried for days over that tattoo. In my mind, it represented something that I couldn’t get away from, like always being stuck in this town. I thought about trying to shave the skin off, but when I dug the razor in, it hurt worse than getting the tattoo. I was also scared that even if I managed to get it off, Ward would just order someone to tattoo another one back on.
When I’m in my bathroom and I look in the mirror, the black ink motorcycle with matching flames kills me. It’s ugly. Why would people do this to their bodies on purpose? There is no beauty in it. One day, I looked on the computer at school and saw where peopl
e could pay big money to have them removed.
My eyes dart to the left and right, checking out the décor. Several old couches sit off to the right, but their condition looks too iffy to sit down on. Attached to the walls are these large poster boards covered in art. Some of the designs are beautiful. I step closer to see a drawing of an angel that looks a lot like my mom. I blink back the tears at the thought. I don’t have any pictures left of my family, but it looks just as I remember her.
My mom’s family died when she was young. She was raised by an elderly aunt who had long passed away by the time my mom married and had kids. I once remember her saying that my dad’s family was all degenerates who eventually end up in prison to die out. So I have no pictures of any of them, except some of Dad in the MC’s clubhouse.
I stare at that angel, my heart yearning for something like that to remember my mom. I wonder why people draw these incredible pictures to hang in a tattoo shop?
“Hey there, sugar. What can I do you for?”
A woman with bleached-white, spikey hair smiles at me. She can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, except for her exceptionally large breasts. She has on a black cutoff tank top and tight—super tight—jeans. I am mesmerized when I see that her body is covered in tattoos, beautiful color tattoos covering her arms and neck. I gasp when I notice different real-looking birds painted exquisitely on her skin. I read different quotes and dates. I want to ask her about every single one. Her body looks like a storyboard.
“Earth to Mars,” she says, snapping her fingers in my face.
“I am so sorry. They’re beautiful,” I say, still staring at her tattoos.
She smiles. “Well, thank you. I think so.”
I remember why I am here and glance over to her. “Um, is Badger here?”
“Who’s asking?” Her look turns leery now.
“Sage Dawson wanted me to drop this off to him or Diamond,” I say, showing her the envelope.
“Who are you?”
“Oh. I’m Helen.”