One day, about a week and a half after I had re-started my therapy with her, I came into the clinic for my appointment and was told by the receptionist that Eva was running a few minutes behind. I sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting room and stared absently at the muted TV that was mounted high on the wall in the opposite corner.
Under it, there was a children’s play area. A little girl of maybe four or five years old with cotton-candy blond hair was listlessly playing with some blocks that were clearly for younger kids.
After a couple of minutes, she got up with a frown and wandered over to the receptionist.
“Is my mom done yet?” she asked in a sad voice.
“No, honey, she’s got one more patient after this.” The receptionist, whose name was Adele, nodded toward me as she spoke.
I frowned in confusion. The little girl turned to me, her sapphire eyes meeting mine, and something clicked.
Holy hell. This was Eva’s kid.
In other words:
Holy hell. Eva had a kid.
The little girl wandered over to me, a curious expression on her face. “Are you my mom’s patient?” she asked.
I nodded. “Sure am.”
Her forehead scrunched up. “Well, can you tell her to hurry up and be done soon?”
I grinned in spite of myself. “I can tell her,” I said, “But I’m not sure she’s gonna listen to me. Your mom kind of does what she wants.”
The girl sighed. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I know. It’s irritating.”
I burst out into loud laughter; the receptionist threw me an admonishing glance.
The little girl’s eyes wandered to the intricate patterns that covered my arms. “What’s that?” she said, pointing to a stylized tattoo on my bicep.
“It’s a dragon,” I replied. I flexed my arm to show her.
Her sapphire eyes widened. “Like Toothless?” she asked in wonder.
I was lucky I even knew what she was talking about, but I remembered one of the MC brothers’ kids talking about a dragon cartoon with a character named Toothless in it.
“Yeah, exactly like that. He’s my dragon.”
“What’s his name?” the little girl asked.
“I dunno. What do you think his name should be?”
“Toothless!” she yelled.
I chuckled. “Okay. Toothless it is.”
She smiled shyly. “What’s your name?”
“Trig. What’s yours?”
“Zoe.”
“Pleased to meet you, Zoe,” I said, sticking out my hand.
“Pleased to meet you, too,” she replied, stumbling a bit over the words. She put her tiny paw in mind and we shook solemnly.
Her eyes wandered from my arm to my leather cut. “What are these?” she asked, running a curious finger over one of my patches.
“Those are patches. They say the name of a club I’m in.”
“Sto…nne…” she began, sounding one of the words out.
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “You can read?”
“Yeah!” she said, beaming. “My mom taught me. She used to read books to me every night, but now she makes me read them with her.”
“Okay, so. If the first word says ‘stone,’” I encouraged her, “what’s the second word?”
Just then, the door to one of the therapy rooms opened and Eva stepped out, followed by a young boy of around eighteen wearing an arm sling. She said a few words to him, then glanced over and noticed me with Zoe.
For a moment, she froze, her eyes growing wide. After a second, she seemed to remember where she was, and pulled her eyes away to focus on her patient.
“King!” Zoe was saying excitedly as Eva approached us. “I know that word from Cinderella!”
“What’s going on here?” Eva asked as she knelt down to Zoe’s level. Her tone was halfway between mad and confused.
“I think Zoe got kind of bored with the toys over there,” I explained, nodding toward the corner.
“They’re all for little kids, Mom!” Zoe complained. Her shoulders drooped dramatically. “It’s so boooring here!”
“I’m sorry, honey,” Eva soothed. “I only have one more appointment to go, though, and then we can go home.”
“Awww!” Zoe whined. “You take forever.”
“Zoe, that’s enough.” Eva’s voice was stern, but she looked toward the receptionist. “Adele, can you please set Zoe up with a movie in one of the treatment rooms?”
“Yeah!” Zoe cheered. I had to laugh. I wasn’t around kids very much, and this one was an emotional roller coaster.
Zoe trotted off toward Adele, and Eva and I went into the main exercise area. She started putting me through some preliminary stretches, as usual.
“Cute kid,” I said.
Eva shot me a suspicious look. “Thanks. You don’t really seem like the ‘kid’ type.”
I shrugged. “Depends on the kid.” The truth was, Eva was right. I definitely wasn’t the kid type. But Zoe was kind of funny. Plus, I was impressed she was already reading.
“How old is she?” I asked.
“She just turned five. She’ll be starting kindergarten this fall.” Eva was quiet a moment. “I had to bring her here after pre-K today because her sitter is sick.”
I nodded, and decided not to push it with any further questions.
We worked in silence for a while. Eva had moved me from what she called “gravity eliminated” exercises to “gravity neutral” exercises. Which, she said, meant that I was getting stronger.
It seemed like maybe she was right, but these “gravity neutral” exercises were a bitch. It didn’t take much for me to start sweating and grunting like a fucking weightlifter. So I just focused on my leg and tried to do better than I did yesterday.
Eva eventually broke the silence, which surprised me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I grunted as I finished up my final quad set.
“How’d you get the gunshot wound?”
I shot her a teasing grin. “I thought we made a deal about no personal talk.”
She looked down, embarrassed. “I know. But… well. You don’t have to tell me.”
I was silent for a moment. “Let’s just say… I didn’t know she was married.”
She shot a glance at me and frowned. “Are you serious?”
I winked at her. “Yup. I seriously didn’t know she was married.”
Her face flushed red. “That’s… Wow. Okay.”
A low laugh rumbled deep in my throat. “Hey, you asked.”
She made a face. “Yeah. I wish I hadn’t.”
I waited a few seconds. “So, can I ask you a question?”
Her brows knit together into a frown. It was obvious she didn’t want me to.
“Come on,” I chided her. “It’s only fair.”
She sighed. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“Where’s Zoe’s dad?”
Her lips pursed. “We’re divorced. He lives in Seattle.”
I waited, but that’s all she gave me, and I didn’t want to push it.
Her manner turned entirely businesslike then. “Okay. Let’s stop. I’m going to massage the calf a bit, and then I want you to ice the whole thing tonight when you get home the way I explained to you.”
I nodded. “Whatever you say, doc.”
The rest of the session passed with very little conversation. Eva had gotten very quiet, seeming almost angry. I wasn’t sure whether this foray into personal stuff had been a mistake, but she had started it, after all.
After a perfunctory five minutes of heat that she put on the muscles of my thigh and calf, she stood back from the table and nodded. “Okay. That’s enough for today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She left the room without looking at me.
As I stood and grabbed for the cane I had hung on the back of a chair, I heard her talking in a low voice to Zoe in the next room. Soon, I saw the two of them emerge down the hall, Zoe’s hand in her mom’s. Sh
e looked back at me. “Goodbye, Dragon!” she called.
I waved back as she flashed me a radiant smile that reminded me achingly of her mom.
12
Eva
For the rest of the night, Zoe talked about the man she called “Dragon” almost non-stop, no matter what I tried to do to distract her.
She would see-saw back and forth between asking me questions about him that I couldn’t possibly know the answer to (“What’s Dragon’s favorite ice cream, Mommy?”) and telling me how nice he was and that they were going to watch How to Train Your Dragon together. I told her a number of times that Dragon wasn’t his actual name, but she didn’t care.
At first, I couldn’t figure out why she seemed so obsessed with the tattooed enigma she had barely met for five minutes. But eventually, it hit me. Zoe had essentially no father figure in her life. David, her actual father, could barely be bothered to remember her at Christmas and her birthday.
Thankfully, he did manage to send his child support payments on time (through an automatic transfer to my bank), but he seemed to think that was the extent of his responsibilities to his daughter. More than once, I had had to text him on Zoe’s birthday to remind him to call her, and I had even taken to buying an extra present or two for her special days, to make sure I had something in reserve “from her daddy” in case he forgot to send her something.
Most of the time, I thought Zoe was doing fine without the constant presence of a father in her life. She never talked about her father, and had never openly expressed any sadness that she didn’t have a daddy at home like most of her playmates.
But sometimes, like today, it became glaringly, achingly obvious how much of a void there was in her life.
“Do you think Dragon would come play dollies with me?” she asked me over her dinner of macaroni and cheese.
“Honey, I don’t think Trig has time to come play with you,” I answered gently.
The look on her face was so crestfallen that I almost caved and told her that he would, but of course it would be even worse to promise her something that just wasn’t going to happen. Not only could I not imagine Trig playing dollies with Zoe in a million years, but there was no way I was letting him in my house. Even on the off chance he’d accept an invitation, Trig Jackson was staying firmly anchored in my professional life.
Zoe finished her dinner in silence, except for a couple of sniffles, and then got up from the table and asked me if she could watch a movie. Predictably, it was How to Train Your Dragon that she chose, which she watched while lying on the floor in silence, clutching her stuffed bunny Rex for comfort.
My heart was fairly breaking for my poor little girl, but I didn’t know what to do to soothe the ache for a father she didn’t have. Eventually, I cleaned up the dinner dishes and sat down beside her, pulling her in my arms so we could watch the movie together.
The next day, Mrs. Hayes called to tell me she was still feeling under the weather. It seemed as though her summer cold was getting worse, and although she assured me it wasn’t anything serious, she didn’t want to risk infecting Zoe. So, I prepared to bring her into the clinic again after pre-K.
Luckily, this time I was more prepared, and was able to fill her backpack with juice boxes, coloring books, picture books, and some more DVDs to entertain her for the three or so hours she would have to spend entertaining herself.
That afternoon, as I came out for Trig’s daily session, I found him sitting on the floor in the waiting room with Zoe, dwarfing my daughter like a giant.
Clutched in her hands was a stuffed animal I didn’t remember packing.
“Mommeeee!” she cried, running toward me. “It’s Toothless!”
“So it is,” I said in confusion as she thrust the plush dragon at me.
“Trig got it for me,” she said proudly, pointing at him.
I opened my mouth to admonish him, but he gave me a disarming grin that sent a warm electric jolt through me.
“Hey, she knows my name now,” he smirked, winking at me. “Progress.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say I didn’t consider my daughter knowing him progress, but I stopped myself. After all, he had been thoughtful enough to bring her a gift, even though I wished he hadn’t.
“Thank you for the thoughtful gift,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Zoe, thank Trig for the gift.”
“THANK YOU!” she yelled, running back and throwing her arms around him.
“You’re welcome, buttercup,” he replied. Looking up at me, he said, “She did already thank me, by the way. She was very polite.”
“Mommy, Trig is gonna come over to our house and watch How to Train Your Dragon with me!” Zoe cried with delight. “He said so!”
“What?!” I said in disbelief. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is that true?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but Zoe interrupted. “Yes! And we’re gonna watch How to Train Your Dragon 2, too! I even like that one better!” She was beaming with excitement.
“Zoe,” I admonished. “Trig isn’t going to be coming over to watch movies with you. I’m sorry. But he has other things to do.”
“No, he doesn’t!” Zoe cried. She looked at him pleadingly. “Do you? You’re coming over, right?”
Trig looked up at me helplessly.
“Honey,” I began as I bent down to pick her up. I tried to detach her from Trig’s neck, but she clung to him. “Honey, come here.”
Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be peeled away from him.
“We can’t always get everything we want,” I murmured as she looked at me with eyes that were about to spill over with frustrated tears. “Mr. Jackson doesn’t have time to watch cartoons with you.”
“But why?” she wailed. Her lip trembled and tears began to spill down her cheeks. “Why can’t he? He could watch with Toothless and me!”
I pulled her to me and she started to cry, burying her face in my neck.
“Eva,” Trig said softly as she sobbed. “Look. I…” he glanced at her. “I didn’t tell her I was coming over. But I can. If you want. I really don’t mind.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not a good idea. I can’t mix my professional and personal lives. I know Zoe’s not happy about it, but…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to say more with her right there.
“Look, Eva, it’s okay,” he said quietly. “I know it doesn’t mean anything.”
“You can’t possibly want to spend an evening watching dragon movies.” I couldn’t imagine a man like Trig spending the evening with a five year-old.
He shrugged and grinned. “Why not? It beats some of the evenings I’ve had lately with this bum leg.”
Zoe lifted her head from my neck and looked at me. “Please, Mommy? Please please please please please?”
Good God. What was I about to do?
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Okay,” I said reluctantly.
“YAYYYYY!!!” Zoe screamed.
Right into my ear.
Zoe made me promise three times that I wouldn’t change my mind, and then I sat her back down to play and took Trig back for his therapy session.
“I’m sorry,” I shook my head as we began. “It’s just, I think she really misses her dad. Or at least, the idea of her dad.” I huffed sarcastically. “The reality of her dad isn’t all that worth missing, unfortunately.”
“I get it,” he nodded. “My dad wasn’t around when I was a kid, either. It’s not always easy.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said softly. My mind wandered unbidden back to high school, and I found myself thinking about how I had just been starting to get to know him when…
Abruptly, I shook my head. “Okay. Today, we’re going to see whether you’re ready for some gravity-resistant exercises. First, though, let’s do warm-ups to ease you into it. How’s the numbness been?”
I listened with half an ear to him telling me how his pain levels were, how his numbness came and went, and how he was starting to feel ste
adier on his left knee. I could barely focus as he spoke. This man, who had hurt me more than anyone else ever had, was beginning to inch his way into my life in a way I should have been fighting with all my might.
I wished he’d never met my daughter, wished to hell that I hadn’t had to bring her into the clinic two days in a row. I wished that I’d been able to tell her no and make it stick when she begged to have Trig over.
But more than anything, I wished I could lie to myself about the fact that a tiny, tiny part of me was looking forward to it.
At the end of the session, Trig was fairly sore from some of the new resistance exercises I had put him through. I had him lay back as I massaged the fatigue out of his muscles, beginning with the large muscles of the thigh. As I massaged close to the wound site, a low groan rumbled from deep in his throat.
“Am I hurting you?” I asked, pulling back.
“No…” he groaned. “Not really. Feels mostly good.”
I continued to work on him, suddenly aware of the warmth of the body heat emanating from his skin. My touch softened slightly as I tried to concentrate on my work.
In the quiet of the room, I heard his breathing begin to speed up slightly. A swelling in the area of his groin told me the reason.
Suddenly, it felt as though the temperature in the room had risen by five degrees. It wasn’t the first time in my career that a man had had a physical reaction to a massage. But this was different. This wasn’t simply a physical phenomenon that was easily explained away. This was something more.
The air grew electric around us. I could feel my own breathing becoming shallow, my lips parting slightly as heat pooled between my legs. The contact of my hands on his thigh took on a charge that I could tell we both felt. My nipples hardened; I shifted slightly as an uncomfortable ache began between my lower lips.
“Okay,” I whispered, my voice cracking slightly. “I think we’re done here.”
STONE KINGS MOTORCYCLE CLUB: The Complete Collection Page 43