Zale

by Brynn Hale

  I spin my stool and my head spins after the movement. “Whoever called her, you’re officially on my shit list!” I call out. “Okay, Cece, let’s get this over.” I stand and start a song on the jukebox.

  Stronger by Kelly Clarkson. Seems fitting.

  Three

  Zale

  “She okay?” Slater asks as I sit at the table with a glass of beer. I normally don’t drink when working, but Thursdays are slow, and honestly, I need to take the edge off.

  “I think so.”

  He leans forward. “I’m sorry for Vice’s attitude. He’s got some… issues with domestic violence.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “Her old man a piece of shit?”

  “Actually, Ella’s divorced. I’ve only met the ex once, but he seemed like a great guy.”

  “Yeah, they all seem, until they’re not.”

  That is probably true. I grew up with parents who love each other to their souls. And I think it’s one of the reasons I’m cautious when it comes to love. That and if a woman accepts me, she has to accept that I come with a medical problem that I can’t do anything about. It’s a long story that started with a bat and a very misdirected ball, ironically.

  “Here’s the deal. You find out who it was and we’ll take care of him.”

  I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Slater. “What do you mean ‘take care of him’?”

  A large hand lands on my shoulder. “Hey, Zale.”

  Hemi, my best friend from high school, and the guy I got into trouble with the most, hovers over me.

  He flips a chair around and sits next to me. “I don’t think you need to answer that, Slater.”

  “You know each other?” I ask.

  “Kinda,” they say in unison and I set my glass down with a thud.

  “How kinda?” I stare at Hemi, but he’s closed lipped.

  Slater clears his throat. “That’s not important. Just know that our group will step in when needed and make sure this guy—I’m assuming guy—makes better choices.” Slater stood. “Hemi, give my number to Zale. If she needs us, let us know.”

  “Needs you for what?” I’m a dozen kinds of confused.

  Hemi stands and does some sort of fancy handshake with Slater and a tattoo on Slater’s arm holds my attention. The skin on my neck stands up. I know what they do and who they are.

  Graffiti Street Guardians MC.

  Hemi had talked about them about three months ago when Cece was having problems with her ex and that he might be calling in a favor from someone. Thankfully he didn’t have to do that and everything worked out for the best.

  From what I know, and that’s very little, the GS Guardians aren’t like regular motorcycle club. They only go in when it isn’t something the police can do anything about. They don’t like the term “vigilantes.” They prefer the phrase “peacekeepers.” But I don’t see much distinction between the two terms.

  “You want Slater’s number?” Hemi asks, pulling me off to the side.

  “I really don’t know. Wait!” I shake my head. “And why would I need it? Wouldn’t Ella need it?”

  “It’s time Zale.” Hemi crosses his arms and his right eyebrow rises slowly. “We all know.”

  “Time for what and what do you know?”

  I shouldn’t be afraid. This guy has known me since I was in diapers, and he was the same. We chased tail together unsuccessfully for four years in high school. Part of that was because he was hung up on Cece and partly because I looked like I was twelve up until my twenty-first birthday. And that was nine years ago. Hemi and Leif are the only two in our group who know my medical situation. Hemi because I needed him to pick me up after surgery five years ago, and Leif because part of his program is honesty and I decided if he was making the effort, I would too.

  Hemi’s perfectly manicured goatee flickers with amusement. “Cece saw how you watched Ella that very first night that they were both here and how you act around her. And how you create drinks especially for her and let her have the first drink of the concoction, listening for her opinion. Dude…it’s time.”

  I’m not going to deny the truth but doesn’t mean that I have to own up to it. Not yet. Ella is the one who needs to know how I really feel. Hemi is going to give me a little shit because he can and that’s what we do to each other. It isn’t about making anyone feel bad. It’s our way of showing that we’re there for each other. That we care without saying that we care.

  No matter what.

  “Do you know who did this to her?” I ask after a few seconds of silence. That is what is important.

  “I have an idea, but only because Cece let it slip that Ella’s boss was sexually harassing her. Jack Conklin’s his name, of Conklin and Sons Law Firm.”

  My blood slithers a serpentine path through my body. I don’t know the asshole, and I rarely hate anyone, but this dude is now on a list I start in my head.

  “Did you see her?” I rub the back of my neck after taking the last swig of my beer. Before I know it, there’s another one in my hand and Rissa walks away.

  Hemi nods. “I’m just hoping that she got a good one in on him.”

  I haven’t thought about that. Maybe he looks worse than her. I could see Ella giving as good as she got. And I’d love to hear that she made him scream. But there is something about her silence earlier that tells me what happened doesn’t have a great story behind it.

  The door to my office opens but I seem frozen where my boots press to the concrete.

  My woman is hurt and I’m going to do something about it.

  Ella

  “Who called you?” I plop into Zale’s desk chair. It rocks a little more than I thought it would and I let out a little shriek. “Shit. Like I needed that.” My heart bounces around in my chest like a cricket.

  “Cray did but Leif was hot on his heels to call me, too. You’re not going back there.” Cece paces the room.

  “I can’t quit my job, Cece. I don’t have enough savings to even last a month.”

  My ex-husband and I have joint custody. I stretch pennies so I can to have things that make the kids happy. Our nine-year-old twins, Rebel and Roxie, deserve that much. Don’t get me wrong. My ex is a great guy and he does his best as a long-haul trucker. Our problem was we didn’t know who we were when we tried to be what the other needed.

  Now I know I need someone who will be there for me. I have to see them daily to believe in us. And that wasn’t Walker’s issue. It was mine. Two years of therapy showed me what I’d done right and wrong. And I hate that I feel like I did more wrong than right.

  “Then you’re going to find a lawyer and sue his ass.” She gets into my face.

  “And a lawyer costs money. Lots of money. I know…I work for one!”

  “One that gave you a black eye!”

  I smile wickedly. “I’m imagining he’ll have the same tomorrow.”

  She stills. “You got him, back?”

  “You think that I’m going to not get a good right hook? I’ve been taking Muay Thai for too long to make that not happen.” I might have an ass that won’t quit, but it doesn’t mean I don’t work out. I like to eat. Speaking of…

  I stand and round Zale’s desk. “Come on. I’m hungry Cece and tonight’s the last night of the buffalo chicken pizza special. I don’t need your compassion or your insistence that I need to do something. I need food. I’ve got the lead on a couple of jobs, but right now I only need food.”

  “Can you at least call in tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think he’ll be coming in tomorrow or for a few days. I promise, he looks the worse of the two of us.” I reach for the door handle.

  She huffs behind me. “I don’t condone violence, and I’m still fuzzy on what happened, but I’m hungry, after all, I’m eating for two.”

  Her news stops me, and I turn back to her with a gaping mouth. “And you didn’t start with that!”

  “Because my best friend has a fucking black eye!”

 
Our screaming is probably pretty un-nerving to the guys out there, but maybe the walls are thick enough so they can’t hear us and there is the music playing.

  I touch her stomach. “I’m so happy that you’re happy.”

  “But when will you be happy, Ella?” Cece grabs my hand and squeezes. “Zale.”

  “We’ve been over this a thousand times. I’m not his type. The last girl I saw him walking around Kildare with was practically see-thru, Cece. See. Thru.”

  Cece and I have never been small girls. In high school I was her thin friend and now she’s mine. Having babies and just maybe liking food a little too much has given me more shape than I had back then, but I also have an ass that won’t quit and I’m quite proud of.

  “He likes you,” she says quickly.

  I still with my hand on the doorknob. “What?”

  “I saw how he watched you the first night you brought me here. You were the only thing he looked at.”

  “Maybe he was disgusted or maybe I had a booger.”

  “Stop! Ella, there’s life after divorce! There is life after having kids and a divorce. I know.”

  I shake my head and don’t face her. “You and Hemi are the exception to the rule, my beautiful friend. Hell, Hemi liked you back in high school, so this is your second chance when you never took the first one.” I glance back over my shoulder. “I know all the rules, and this is one that men never break. If they like skinny, they don’t like…” I point to my body. “This.”

  Four

  Zale

  I return to behind the bar as Ella slides onto a barstool. “What can I make you?”

  “Buffalo chicken pizza and this week’s drink, please.” She looks up at the board. “What the hell?”

  I set a shaker on the ledge. “We sold out of the buffalo chicken yesterday, so chef Darren is substituting a Cubano pizza.”

  “Oh. That actually sounds good.”

  “It is. I had one for lunch.”

  “Then the special drink and one of those.”

  “How about I make you an extra-special special drink?”

  Her round cheeks lift and she perks up, leaning forward until her breasts are almost resting on the bar. “Your next concoction for the specials board?”

  “Maybe…”

  I place her food order and pull out a chilled martini glass. I start with a half an ounce of lilac simple syrup in a shaker from a batch I made when I visited my grandparents in Nebraska in May. My grandmother used to make violet syrup for our pancakes when I was a boy and it was delicious—more like a spread that melted into the soft pancakes. I figured that lilacs would be similar. After making sure I wouldn’t poison anyone, I simmered lilacs for a few minutes in sugar and water and I was right and wrong. It was better than the violet syrup and even Grandma was impressed.

  She watches my every move and I make sure the show is worth it, throwing a bottle behind my back and twirling the metal jigger in my fingers.

  After the lilac syrup, I add an ounce of light rum, half an ounce of Crème de Violette, a squeeze of lime. I shake for a few seconds to blend the flavors, then pour into the martini glass and top with just a splash of soda water for a dash of magical fizz and a tiny white violet from the fridge below the counter.

  She lifts the lavender-colored concoction to her pouty mouth, always so bright with a hot pink lipstick that I can imagine staining my dick the same color. It would be a sacrifice I’m will to make.

  The throaty moan she releases after one sip instigates my first session of Zale-has-to-stay-behind-the-bar. She closes those sparkling, denim-colored eyes on the next drink, and I lean forward so that my arms are on the bar top. I’m less than a foot from her face.

  She opens her eyes and stares into mine. “Hey.”

  “Ella, what happened to you?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay, baby.” I reach out and slide my fingers down the side of her face, avoiding the area, but her eyes still clench closed. “I don’t like that you’re hurt.”

  She shivers at my touch. “I’ll be fine.”

  I whisper, “I care about you, Ella.”

  “You do?” Those usually crystal eyes cloud with confusion and she swallows slowly. “Zale, I—”

  “Hey boss, we need more of the fuzzy yellow beer!” Rissa calls from the wall of taps, but when I motion my head to Ella, she waves me off. “You know, don’t worry about it. I’ll change out the keg.”

  “What were you saying?” I ask.

  “One pizza for the amazing Ella Tremble.” The kitchen runner sets her meal in front of her.

  The time has passed.

  I pat her hand and her lips rise into a small smile. “Go ahead and eat. We can talk later.”

  She seems to want to say something and part of me wants to hear it. If Hemi’s right, then this is the start of…us.

  But then there’s the part where I have to tell her the truth about me and I think I might need a little while longer.

  “I’m sure. I’m going to drive you home tonight.”

  “Oh, really?” She takes her first bite of pizza.

  “Yes, really. I need to know you’re okay.”

  “Believe me, Zale, the other guy probably looks worse than I do.”

  I chuckle. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you, Ella.”

  I watch her eat and clean the bar.

  Ella already has two kids, but maybe she’s not willing to be done. She’s young. We’re young. It’s just not fucking fair. I’d like to have a kid, too, but that won’t happen. She’s allowed to be happy and want more kids and I’m willing to walk away to ensure she is.

  A couple of the Purple Blossoms—my woman named it perfectly—and Ella’s not feeling any pain. And I’m definitely driving her home. I know where she lives because she lives two blocks away from Hemi’s old place and maybe I’ve driven by a couple of times.

  Close to stalker status, dude.

  We leave early and Cray and Leif promise to stay until midnight to close up and walk Rissa to her car.

  “The kids are with your ex?” I ask and her glassy eyes flicker.

  “Walker.”

  “What’s Walker going to think about your black eye?”

  “I don’t have the kids until next Friday so hope it’s healed by then. But if he saw me, he’d be… probably upset. But it’s my kids that would be most upset.”

  I am, too.

  “How do you know where I live?” she asks.

  My gut rolls. “Ummm…oh yeah, Hemi pointed it out when we drove by once.” Smooth. Not.

  Her brow furrows and then she nods. “Oh, that’s right, he lives over on Bancroft. Or lived. Did you know that Cece and Hemi are gonna have a baby?”

  “I didn’t.”

  She smiles. “I’m so happy for them. Babies are so amazing.”

  I pull into her one-car driveway. These houses are older than we are, but when they build it right, it stays right forever.

  “Okay, I got it from here.” Her voice is steady and part of me believes her because I want to. But when she can’t get the door on my Ford Mustang open, I’m right there to help her.

  I reach out a hand and she slips her long fingers tipped in hot pink fingernails into mine. She stands slowly and soon we’re only inches from each other. That perfume of hers saturating the air—sweet and floral, almost a juxtaposition to her strength. I inhale deeply. I can’t get enough of either. She entwines her fingers in mine while her other hand starts a slow ascent from my mid-chest, her eyes shutter closed slowly as she moves up and around my neck, and does a little tug that tells me what she really wants.

  “Ella… babe… fuck I want to kiss you, but I also want you to remember the kiss in the morning.”

  Her eyes open and when she stares at me, everything in me turns to liquid, hot molten lava. “Believe me, Zale, I’ve waited two long years for this kiss. I’m damn sure that I won’t forget it.”

  I
claim her mouth and throw away my doubts that I should wait. Sometimes there’s not tomorrow. Today has always been the day.

  Her body leans into mine and I don’t fight her knowing what she does to me. Everything inside of me is a blaze. Blood pumps riotously through my veins like a wildfire rages inside of me. My cock hardens and pokes into her stomach, my jeans doing nothing to hide how she affects me.

  Her mouth opens and I don’t wait for a verbal invitation to seek her tongue and deepen the kiss. Soon I’m drunk on the flavors of the Purple Blossom. Ella is sweet on the inside, but so resilient and strong on the outside. But is that a façade to protect herself or is she magical? Able to be what others need, instead of what she needs.

  I slow the kiss, not wanting to stop, but fully believing that this cannot continue in her driveway. Both to protect her good name, and because every moment of June in Nevada is hot as the surface of the sun, even after sundown everything radiates the days rays. Her ass will definitely burn if I lift her onto the hood of my ‘Stang.

  I draw my lips from hers and she sighs a content little mewl.

  “Babe, let’s get you to bed.”

  Her eyes pop open and she smirks. “And you, too.”

  “Ella… I’m not sure we should—”

  “Oh, I’m sure Zale. I’ve been sure since I walked in Graffiti Street and saw you standing there with a bottle of Fireball in your hand. Please. I don’t care if you ignore me tomorrow. If you go back to those skinny girls. If you pretend we never happened. Just let me have one night. One night to feel like I deserve you.”

  What the hell?

  I’m fuming on the inside that she would ever compare herself to any of those women. Those women, albeit nice for a night, were never the one I was going to settle down with. They were a settle for situation, and believe me, I hate to even think that, but sometimes a guy just needs to get in, get off, and get out. And if there’s a willing body—sober willing body—then that’s all that matters.

  But Ella’s not like that. She’s more. More than I ever thought I’d get this close to. She’s smart, funny, sexy, fucking sexy, really fucking sexy… and I want her from the tips of my spiked hair to the ends of my toes.