When Opposites Collide Boxset

by Kathy Coopmans

  I peer up at Zoe. Her eyes are so damn clear, so caring that it frightens me. I’ve done everything she’s asked me to this time. Without protesting or throwing a fit like a child. I’ve scrubbed my skin, trying, wishing to will all the old Amelia away. I crave to start over. I need it in order to breathe.

  “I’m scared,” I mumble quietly. My fingers tremble as I bring them up to my lips coated in a sheer gloss, reminding me of a young girl wanting to experience with makeup; it’s a brief flashback to my youth. Before it all started to happen.

  “Zoe.” I’m surprised she even recognizes her name the way my voice quakes.

  “What’s wrong?” She peers down at me with a caring look.

  Her words are foreign. But they do something to my insides. No one has ever asked me what’s wrong before. They’ve always taken. Controlled.

  “Do…do you think it’s too late for me?”

  She places her hands on my shoulders, slowly and carefully. Each movement happens in tenths of a second. This young woman is so graceful, kind, and caring. She has no idea the monster I’ve become, and even more important, she doesn’t seem to care.

  “Sweetie.” She squeezes me gently. “It’s never too late to find yourself. This world has an evil way of shaping us, but as long as you are here and breathing the sweet oxygen God has graced our lives with, then you have a choice. You always have a choice, Amelia. What you do with it is on you.”

  “Now, take a look again, Amelia.” She guides my chin upward toward the mirror. I close my eyes while I bring my face slowly closer. When I open them, they go wide.

  “Oh. My. God.” My skin tingles. I don’t know this woman gazing back at me this time. She’s stunning, except the scratches, the deep dark circles under her eyes, and the pout on her lips. Everything else about her is a vision I haven’t seen in a long time. Her words have made me see hope,

  “Thank you, Zoe.” I turn away from the mirror. Suck in a breath and hug her. This, too, is as equally strange to me as her being nice.

  When her arms circle around me, my insides flutter. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good about myself. It’s the beginning of a long road.

  “You’re welcome. I hope it’s the beginning to all the possibilities life can bring you.”

  My glossy lips crack into a smile.

  “Me, too.”

  33

  Zeke

  “It’s about Goddamn time you answer your fucking door. What the hell is going on with you?” Saxon barks out, brushes his way past me, and heads right to my kitchen.

  Damn, I’ve missed him. When I called him, needing to talk about all of this with my brother after all the shit went down with Amelia, he was out of town for business. Hasn’t been back since, and even though his reasoning behind what he’s really doing here tonight is the last thing I want to talk about, it’s good to see him.

  “It’s good to see you, too, little brother.” I close the door to my house, turn to greet him, and duck. “You missed, fuckface.” His aim was never worth a shit.

  I laugh, bend, and pick up the beer cap he flung at me. We’ve been flinging these at each other ever since the first time he came to visit me in medical school. Hell, he never left. Ended up moving in with me. We kept one another in line. That is, until one night we both stumbled out of a bar to find two men on the ground. One of them beating the life out of the other. I sobered up quickly. Saxon grabbed the assailant by his throat, shoved him up against a brick wall, and held him there, while I surveyed the damages to the guy who had half his face caved in. Pieces of his flesh splattered all over the cemented sidewalk. It was gruesome and I loved being able to slow down his bleeding until the paramedics came and took over.

  We met Curtis that night. The leader of the MC group Saxon works for. Curtis didn’t stay on that wall for long. My brother ended up being on the wall quicker than flies on shit. Roles reversed in an instant. I looked up from the dude on the ground to my brother having a gun to his head. A snarly motherfucker up in his face. Both of our lives changed that shitty night. Curtis laughed. Told us no one has ever interfered in his business. Long story short, the guy on the ground lived, and Curtis brought life back to my brother by offering him a job. He moved out shortly after and found a whole other family. That night saved his life.

  Saxon is four years younger than me. I missed the little shit like crazy when I enlisted in the Army. I had to do it for myself. I thought my parents would sober up and take care of the only kid they had left. No such luck. He got in more trouble than even I can comprehend.

  “I didn’t want to be alone tonight. Thought maybe you didn’t either.” Saxon’s eyes look as sad as the words coming out of his mouth. He opens my fridge, digs out a beer, and heads into the living room.

  I shake my head and heave out a sigh. I make my way to the bar that divides my kitchen and living room. Grab my half drunken beer off the counter and join him on the couch.

  “I’ve been keeping myself busy at the hospital. I should have called you. How you been?” I ask, knowing damn well how’s he’s been.

  He’s out doing shit I don’t want to know about. But he’s my blood. I love him, and I’ll do anything it takes to keep his ass out of trouble. He’d do the same for me. The problem is, the club is trouble. They are always on the wrong side of the law, but they take care of him and their own like no other.

  “Club business is hopping. Nothing new to tell there. I called Mrs.’ O’Grady; she said you already had her deliver flowers. Did you add the pink ones for me?” He takes a healthy pull from his beer, draining all of it in less than a minute.

  Christ, I don’t want to talk about this. I never do. Not with him. We end up choking back tears, getting drunk, and beating ourselves up every damn time. The wound will always be fresh in both of our hearts.

  “Yes. I always have your back,” I admit.

  The pain in his eyes resembles my own. It’s the anniversary of our sister’s death. The woman neither one of us could save. He was so young when it all went down. There wouldn’t have been a thing he could have done, and he knows it. I know damn well he does. He suffers in the same air as I do, because he loved her. But me, I was old enough. I would have killed whoever took her away from us. The dirty, rotten motherfuckers who haunt my wicked, fucked-up dreams.

  “Thanks. What’s up with the bald head? Nobody believes we’re brothers now; they sure as hell ain’t going to believe it when they get a good look at you now.” He tips the neck of his bottle in my direction.

  His brows quirk up as he lifts the bottle asking silently for a new one. His heavy beard is covering his thick neck. Hair as long as I’ve ever seen it. He’s a scary looking motherfucker.

  I chuckle. Saxon and I look as much alike as black and white, and that is the straight-up truth. Christ, do I love him. “Man, some shit went down a while ago. Scared the piss out of me. Took me back years while taking just as many off my life,” I respond.

  I grab the remote to the television and shut it off. Not in the mood to travel down this road, either. Hell, to be honest, I can’t seem to veer myself off it. There’s something about this woman that gets to me.

  “What the hell happened?” He looks perplexed. Frightened.

  “You're going to need something stronger than a beer if you really want me to tell you. It isn’t pretty, bro. In fact, it’s downright ugly.”

  “Well grab something, then. I ain’t going anywhere. Besides, this fancy-ass shit tastes like piss,” he jokes. He sure as shit won’t be joking when I tell him the entire story. I’ll be surprised if he makes it to the bathroom without vomiting all over my hardwood floor.

  I finish my beer. Take the empties and toss them in the trash. I reach into the liquor cabinet. Grab the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and inhale the rushing scent of hazelnuts and honey from one of the world's most famous whiskeys. No need for glasses. Not with him and definitely not tonight.

  I make my way to him, hand him the bottle, and let him have the fi
rst swig. He takes a good swallow, hands it back to me, and I chug, wiping the excess off my chin, feeling the burning tear apart my throat and eat away at my gut. No etiquette bullshit here tonight. No prim and proper doctor jargon; just me and the only person in this world I give a shit about. Until her.

  “Jesus, Zeke. How the hell can you stomach shit like that?”

  “You talking about my demons or the whiskey?”

  “The fucking whiskey. You need to slow down, brother. It can’t be that bad. For fuck’s sake.” He’s about to hear how bad it really was and still is.

  “It can’t be that bad?” I seethe.

  Everything inside me that’s been wound up so tight rushes out all at once. Anger, disgust, lust over a woman that’s so fucked up that the last thing she wants or needs is to have a man wanting to do anything to try and help her. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. At any male for that matter. She doesn’t trust us. She’s been ripped apart. Her life was stolen from her, and with everything that I am, I know it has everything to do with a man. That’s what drove her to live in the gutter. To damn near die in one. And I’m a sick bastard for wanting to turn her life around just to get one look at the beautiful woman underneath her fucked-up mess. I let loose on my baby brother.

  “Let me tell you how bad it is. It’s the nightmares every night from seeing the blood of a woman beaten half to death, attacked in some dirty alley. Degraded in a way no person should be. Wait, this is an everyday type of business for you, isn’t it?”

  Shit. I immediately regret those words before I finished saying them. I’ve fought day in and day out to keep Amelia from haunting my mind and soul. I have no fucking idea what kind of spell she’s put on me. Whatever is going on in my head, the last person I should be taking it out on is my brother. He loves that club. Those people are as much family to him as I am. I guess tonight is all about being honest, because every single one of them are family to me, too.

  “Damn it, Saxon, that came out wrong. I did not mean you would hurt a woman. I’m sorry.”

  The words themselves are hollow, because I damn well know if any woman double crossed the club, they’d have their consequences just like everyone else. My mind is a fucking mess. I take another swig of whiskey praying that all the puzzle pieces would link together and give me the answer to the one question that’s been dragging me down since the day I found her half dead. Why her?

  “I know what you meant. Not going to apologize for the shit I do. That club and my brothers in it are just as much my family as you are. The only difference is, we are blood, and I know my blood. You care about this girl more than you're telling me. Got some questions for you.” Damn. We may not look like brothers, but we sure as hell can tell what the other one is feeling and thinking. He snatches the bottle out of my hand, taking a long pull of the whiskey, then wiping his lips with the back of his hand. I internally laugh. Yup. He’s my brother, all right.

  “First one is, why the hell didn’t you tell me about this? You may not agree with what we do. But there is no way in fucking hell you wouldn’t want retaliation on these fuckers. Especially with what went down with our sister.” Truth. My skin stings. His words slice me wide open. I may as well tell him what’s eating away at the other half of my soul.

  I take another swig as I stand in front of him before admitting all of my wrongs and his rights. “You wear your soul on your sleeve, Saxon. I’ve buried mine deep under my degree. But this girl has brought every single fucking insecurity of mine out, and I hunger in ways I can’t comprehend to protect her.”

  Saxon nods as if he understands where I’m coming from. He doesn’t.

  “We couldn’t save our own blood, and I know this. This girl brought it all back for me. It hurts like hell, but then there’s such a hollowness in her pupils making me want to help her. I wear the suit coat of a doctor and the scrubs. The lines are black printed on white. I’ve blurred them for the club, but this girl makes me want to spray all sorts of colors on that fucking rigid canvas.”

  “Are you in love with her?” Saxon plucks the bottle out of my hands and grins before he downs more whiskey. Maybe I should have grabbed us some glasses after all. “You are feeling shit you’ve never felt before, brother.” More truth. This I’m not ready to admit to him. Hell, I haven’t quite figured out how to fully admit all of this to myself.

  “No, I’m fucking struggling. I know I should stay away, but I can’t.” I slam my hand down on my thigh. “Fuck, I already paid for all her surgeries and made sure she was safe in a rehab facility, and it’s taking everything inside of me not to go see how she’s doing.”

  It’s clear Saxon picks up on my fucking tension. “Christ, Zeke. That had to cost you some cash. Not that money is more important, because we both know it ain’t. What all do you know about her?”

  This question strikes me fucking hard in the gut. I take a seat and bury my face in my hands then rub my palms over my cleanly shaven head deep in thought. “That’s the problem. You hit the motherfucking nail on the head. I know nothing about her. Not one absolute fucking thing.”

  “Here’s an idea, dipshit, find shit out about her. Who she is, what she likes, and most of all, who in the fuck did this to her. And, if you’re really invested in that shit, you know you can call me, and I'll take care of it. If this is a fluke, then move on. Not rocket science, asshole.”

  “Dick.” Fucker knows me well. The same as I know what he means by taking care of it.

  That’s all my mind requires. Whatever kind of feelings I have for this girl doesn’t have shit to do with what went down with our sister. It has everything to do with the fact that I’m afraid she would crumble my walls. Be the one person who could make me strive to be a better man. To want something more out of life than fancy cars and clothes. A house too big for a single man to live in. Again with the why her? She can’t even see past her own shadow, let alone think about a future.

  “I know you have that fancy degree and all that fucking jazz, man. Don’t mean shit when you're living your dream alone.” He hands me the bottle, and I indulge. “But seriously...find out more and make your decision.”

  I take two long and very healthy gulps of the whiskey before I ask him a question. “You’ll really be there for me, for her, if needed?”

  I glance his way. Knowing that was the dumbest question I’ve asked him in my life. “Have you saved countless club members?” He pauses. “Did you save Katch? Create fake names for him and Caitlin? Put your motherfucking degree on the line for the club? And”—he leans into my space—“do you and I not have the same blood running through our veins? Blood that’s so thick with wanting to help others out that it doesn’t matter how we do it as long as it get done?”

  “Man, do you realize how screwed up that statement is? Your way of helping others out is by slicing their throats. The same throats I should be saving.” He merely shrugs. The little fucker.

  “Nah. I leave the slicing the throats to Curtis. I can’t stand all that blood. I rather shoot them between the eye and be done with it.” For shit’s sake. I don’t even want to know.

  A stale silence fills the room. I know for fucking sure he doesn’t need to ask any more questions. It’s a known fact. Saxon will be there for me, and I’ll always be there for him.

  That’s why my question stuns both of us.

  “I’ll deal with finding out who did this to her if you’ll talk to Katch and find out exactly who Amelia Moore is?”

  34

  Amelia

  I lie back on the mattress after my guardian angel leaves my room. The confusing part of my brain is asking me how words spoken by a young nurse could be what pushed me over the edge to admit I truly need help. While the addictive part of me is screaming like a bitch in heat that I should be going to the dining hall acting like a victim who is healing. You are one. I know I am.

  I should be heading down the hall to take my pills, playing the part. Or go with the option of simply walking out that door naked and res
ume my degrading life. Not a one of those feel like the right option for me. The bigger picture has now been painted before me, and it’s staring me down like a blank canvas in my mind.

  I have a choice.

  And I know it now.

  The first order of business will be admitting my wrongs no matter how painful it may be. And it’s going to hurt like a bitch.

  I make my way to the nurse's station, get my meds and swallow each jagged pill, feeling their edges slice my throat wide open. I don’t want to put any type of pill in my mouth again. Once I get through with what needs to be done first, I’ll be asking my therapist about this. I want a clear mind. A blank canvas. And no matter how bad it becomes, I’m determined to make it on my own.

  I walk back to my room, place the antibiotic ointment Zoe gave me for the scratches on top of my pillow as a reminder to apply it after washing my perfect, fixed face before bed. I have a choice to keep up with my hygiene, and it’s time to hold myself accountable. There’s no excuse not to when my personal bathroom is full of products. Change. For me.

  I fidget with my hands as I walk down the hall with my head held high, hesitating before I knock, turn the knob, and enter the cheery room for my session. Making sure the door stays open. That’s a fear I may never live without.

  Everything looks different in here this time around. The light-yellow walls with pictures of a sunrise so beautiful I fight back the tears. Not once have I sat and enjoyed the true beauty of a new day or the end of one. My life has been nothing but a constant storm setting over the horizon. It saddens me. The power I’ve allowed the evil in this world to have over me. They made me hate myself. Abuse my own body in the same way they did. And every part of me is screaming inside to let the real me out. Whoever she is.