Roustabout

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I sat down and pulled her onto my lap, running my hands over her bare shoulders.

  Her eyes were inquisitive as she leaned against me, gently stroking my chest.

  A warm bubble of happiness rose up inside me.

  “Tucker, did you mean what you said?”

  I swallowed, knowing it was time to tell her the truth.

  “I didn’t know what it meant,” I said, speaking so softly that she had to strain to hear me, “because I thought I loved Renee and this—you and me—it felt nothing like it. This . . . feeling . . . is painful when I’m not with you. So I didn’t know that it means . . .”

  I paused, unable to get the words out.

  “What does it mean?” she whispered.

  “That . . . that I love you.”

  She stopped breathing. Or maybe it was me who stopped breathing. Maybe all the oxygen had been sucked out of the world. I wasn’t sure.

  “And I didn’t want to be in love with you,” I continued, my voice rough, feeling as if my teeth would break on the words as I spat them out. “The people you love always let you down; they always leave you. That’s all I knew. But you . . . you kept coming back.”

  Tera blinked, then a slow smile spread across her face and her eyes sparkled.

  “You love me,” she said, raising her eyebrows as if she couldn’t believe it.

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So . . . what happens next?”

  I shook my head impatiently.

  “Why the fuck are you asking me?”

  Her eyes blazed with sudden anger, but then she burst out laughing.

  “What am I going to do with you, Tucker?”

  I grinned back at her. “Whatever you want, darlin’.”

  She laughed happily, then wrapped her hand around my arm.

  “Will you be my escort, Mr. McCoy?”

  “I’ll be whatever you want, sugar.”

  “Glad to hear it. And just for the record . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you, too.”

  Shock, relief, satisfaction, astonishment, disbelief, hope. Most of all, hope. So many emotions flowed through and over and around me. I drowned in them, drank them in, feeling unworthy, blessed, and determined not to fuck up.

  We grinned at each other like two fools.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” I asked. “Lose the stiffs?”

  She nodded, her eyes glittering with excitement.

  I took her hand in mine, feeling like the man, the proudest fucker in the Universe.

  In the parking lot, Tera stared at my new white Ducati with red trim on the wheels.

  “Another Duke, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “A Duke and a ball gown,” she laughed, looking down at the midnight blue silk that hid and revealed those mouthwatering curves. “What are we going to do now?”

  I helped her onto the bike, tucking the billowing silk around her carefully and passing her a helmet and my spare leather jacket.

  “Other than be together? Does it matter?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at me.

  “Guess not.”

  Tera

  My mother loved being of use. So I’m sure she was delighted that her determined, pointless, snobbish dislike of Tucker had opened my eyes. I was grateful to her. Between my mother’s glares and my father’s threats, I’d finally grown up.

  Maybe 27 was a little on the late side to become an adult, but I’d done it at last.

  I’d also given my two weeks’ notice at work and spoken to my landlord about breaking the lease on my apartment. I had a new job to go to in LA—still working in PR, but with the emphasis on entertainers not politicians, although there were definitely similarities.

  It hadn’t been a hard decision. I liked San Francisco, liked my job there, liked my apartment that Dad paid for . . . but I loved Tucker.

  Officially, he was still living in the RV with Kes, Aimee and Zef. Unofficially, he’d packed a small bag and slept every night in our bed at my new place. I’d told him he could bring all his things, but he’d just shrugged and said he had everything he needed. One bag—it made me want to cry.

  But it didn’t escape my attention that one of the things he’d brought with him was a small framed photograph of Scotty with a basketball, and stuck in the back, a scrawled letter thanking his Uncle Tucker for helping him.

  I asked Tucker about the boy’s father, but he just shrugged and said that Jackson wasn’t interested and didn’t care. I left it at that.

  As for Renee, I hadn’t forgiven her and I definitely didn’t like how she’d used Tucker, but I guess I understood. When you love someone, you’ll move mountains.

  Or just move.

  I’d rented a sweet little apartment in the small town of Whittier, 23 miles from Pomona. It took me half an hour to drive there, but Tucker could make it in 15 minutes on his new Ducati (for which I now had my own set of leathers and matching helmet, although I was still too chicken to let him go more than about 50mph with me on the back).

  I dreaded to think how much he’d be paying in speeding fines, but he was adamant that he wouldn’t get caught.

  I was also less than 20 miles from my new job in LA, and even though I hadn’t started there yet, I’d already brought them a new client: Donohue’s Daredevils.

  Kes had decided on a major rebranding for next year. It made me a little sad that he was finally dropping the Hawkins part of his name because it was something we shared—but it was the right thing for him to do. He no longer cared what our father thought; instead he wanted to honor his grandfather’s side of the family.

  So the Daredevils were finishing off their season with a huge display at Pomona Fairground, during the Thanksgiving holidays.

  I’d suggested that along with the new name, they change their racing leathers to a patriotic red, white and blue.

  “No fucking way!” laughed Tucker when I suggested it.

  “Why not?”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Because it’s totally douchey. Who’d end up with the white leathers? Fucked if I’d wear them!”

  Kes smirked at him.

  “They’d match the Duke: white trim and red wheels—are you saying that isn’t douchey?”

  Tucker scowled. “Make Luke wear the white leathers—he’s the newest.”

  Which was true: Luke was still in training, and although Kes was happy about how it was working out, there was no way Luke would be ready to perform for the last show of the season.

  Luke raised his eyebrows. “It’s a bit seventies, the whole Evel Knievel vibe.”

  Tucker laughed loudly. “Yeah, and isn’t it ironic that the colors red, white and blue are supposed to stand for freedom . . . unless they’re flashing behind you.”

  The guys laughed their asses off so I turned to Aimee.

  “What do you think?”

  “I like the black leather,” she said, her eyes sweeping along Kes’s body as he stretched out on the grass in front of the RV, grinning up at her. “But I think it would be a good idea for everyone to have a different color helmet so the crowd can tell them apart.”

  “I’ll take red,” Tucker said quickly.

  “Blue!” laughed Zef.

  “Guess you’re stuck with the white, Luke,” chuckled Zach.

  “That means you get all black,” I said to Kes.

  “How come he gets the cool outfit?” grumbled Tucker, looking at me like I’d betrayed him.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I whispered, resting my hand on his thigh, “I think black leathers and a red helmet is hot.”

  I leaned down to plant a scorching kiss on Tucker’s lips.

  Kes groaned and shot an angry look at him. “My sister, fucker!”

  Tucker winked at me and leaned back in the deckchair, hands stretched above his head a wide grin on his face.

  Hmm, Kes wasn’t getting over it, even though Tucker and I had
officially been together for some time now.

  Ollo sauntered over with Bo clinging to his back.

  “Gates open in ten; rubes are lining up.”

  Bo leapt down and scampered across to Tucker, stealing a slice of his pizza before darting to Aimee and climbing into her arms, chattering excitedly.

  Tucker muttered something under his breath, and both Bo and Aimee threw him a look full of reproach, which made me laugh.

  I looked around, happy in the warmth of my new family, my crazy carnie family. I wasn’t closing doors with my parents, but I wasn’t letting them dictate my life either.

  Ollo’s words had unleashed that familiar quiver of anticipation, an edge of excitement and expectation that clung to Tucker and the guys before a performance.

  I hated it because it meant that soon Tucker, my brother and Zef would be hurling themselves through the air, through flames, doing things ordinary humans couldn’t, wouldn’t and shouldn’t do.

  I shared a look with Aimee. She gave me a weak smile and stood up abruptly, murmuring about getting Thanksgiving supper ready. That was how she coped: doing something.

  Tucker threw me a knowing glance.

  “Come on, sugar. Let’s go get you some cotton candy.”

  He held my hand as we strolled along the midway, unembarrassed to show affection, perfectly at ease with the role of adoring boyfriend. He grinned down at me and winked.

  I knew what he was doing: he was trying to take my mind off the upcoming performance.

  I hadn’t seen this side of Tucker before. He always seemed so reckless, so free; but there was another side to him, a thoughtful, caring side. And I couldn’t help loving him a little more.

  “Want some funnel cake and a carousel ride, Tera?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t afford the calories, and you shouldn’t eat something so heavy before a show.”

  “No can’t with us, sugar. Do what feels good.”

  “I’ll get fat and you won’t want me anymore.”

  He chuckled quietly. “Just more of you to hold in my arms.”

  “Very smooth, Mr. McCoy.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Hawkins.”

  At that moment Jade walked past wearing the smallest shorts I’d ever seen and a strip of material covering her chest that might generously be called a bandage, maybe a Band-Aid, although I think it was supposed to be a tube top.

  She glared at me, threw a look at Tucker as if to say, see what you’re missing, then tossed her glossy hair over her shoulder and stalked off.

  “I can see your eyes swiveling from here,” I griped.

  “I was being polite,” he grinned at me.

  “What? How on earth did you work that one out?”

  “I only looked at the parts she’s got covered.”

  A reply floundered on my lips as I took in his amused expression.

  “Aw, sugar. She’s got nothin’ on you. I wouldn’t say her tits are small, but they’d be pointless without nipples.”

  I settled for tickling the life out of him, but he dodged away laughing.

  But then the PA announced that the Daredevils would be performing in an hour.

  Tucker sighed. “Gotta get going. Raincheck on the carousel?”

  The smile froze on my face. “Yes, of course,” I said, my voice strangled.

  Tucker’s gaze softened and he pulled me into a hug.

  “Nothin’s gonna happen to me, Tera, I promise.”

  I nodded numbly. God, would I ever get used to this?

  On the short walk back to the grandstand and the guys’ changing area, Tucker visibly shifted into performance mode. He stood upright and walked with purpose instead of his usual easy-going slouch. His eyes were bright and focused and I could see the adrenaline beginning to pump through him.

  He gave me a quick, wide smile, his eyes alight with anticipation.

  My returning smile was watery but I forced myself to put some steel in my spine; I wouldn’t be one more thing he had to worry about.

  Tucker began to distance himself from me mentally if not physically, reaching that place of calm and confidence inside himself.

  I’d seen this a dozen times before: each of the Daredevils found a quiet space to prepare themselves, speaking short sentences in muted voices.

  Tucker told me once that he visualized the whole show, running it through in his mind, seeing all the jumps landed successfully.

  That was the mental preparation. The physical preparation involved something that looked like a combination of yoga and Pilates stretches, and then 10 minutes before they were due to go on, pumping the adrenaline some more with shadowboxing, or in Zef’s case, kicking the hell out of one of those wooden mannequin posts that they use in Martial Arts.

  Encased in their leathers, they looked like gladiators, but I felt like the one going into battle. It was going to be a long hour.

  Giving me a swift smile, Tucker fixed his helmet in place, then pulled on his thick, leather gloves.

  Ollo was watching me silently with Bo in his arms. When the guys jogged out of the changing room, he followed.

  “You’re not staying for the show?” I asked, anxious not to be left alone with my thoughts.

  “Not tonight,” he grinned at me. “Bo doesn’t like the flames.”

  “Where are Luke and Zachary?”

  “Couldn’t tell you.” He jerked his thumb at the tiny monkey who was staring at me with wise round eyes. “I’m going to take him down to the Big Top. There’s a performing dog act there that he really likes. He’s friends with one of the stars.”

  “Oh,” I said, smiling. “Who’s that? Is it that girl with the curly brown hair?”

  “Yolanda? No, his friend is Maverick—the Golden Retriever.”

  Ollo laughed at my expression. “See you later, princess.”

  I sat alone in the changing room, then got a grip of my nerves and headed out to the stands just as the pounding music of Ramstein filled the speakers. I could barely make out the roar of the bike engines over the crowd’s screams and yells.

  Three charging motorcycles burst into the arena and thousands of people stood up and cheered.

  Pride flooded my chest, heating my whole body and slapping a huge grin on my face. That was my man out there. My man performing those harebrained stunts. My man who looked so incredibly hot in his racing leathers, so fearless as he flew through the air, a man adored by men, women and children, a man who would be in my bed tonight.

  My heart started to race and I cheered with the crowd as three motorcycles flew into the air simultaneously, missing each other by mere inches, or so it seemed. I screamed and screwed my eyes shut as Tucker took off again, performing a handstand midair, only daring to look when I knew he must have landed.

  Higher, faster, crazier stunts, through the air, through fire, my brother performing a complete somersault as Tucker and Zef freewheeled across the arena.

  Suddenly, a tremendous explosion sounded behind us making me jump, and a pall of gray smoke poured into the air.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zef fluff his landing, his bike skittering as he tumbled across the grass. Hardly anyone noticed, even though Tucker and Kes raced toward him.

  Zef sat up, shaking his head and holding his left arm. Then he gave a quick thumbs up and relief rushed through me as I forced my way toward the safety barriers.

  “Oh my God! The Big Top is on fire!”

  I turned as the woman next to me screamed the words.

  Shock. Complete shock. My heart thudded against my ribs. “Ollo!”

  Kes saw me waving frantically and rode over, sending up a spray of sand as he skidded to a halt.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” he yelled as he flipped up his visor.

  “The Big Top! There’s been some sort of explosion. It was so loud. Kestrel! Ollo is inside! He was going there with Bo to see . . .”

  Kes didn’t wait to hear the rest of my words. He signaled Tucker to follow him, and they both roared
out of the arena, leaving Zef kneeling on the grass while a First Aider talked to him.

  As thick, black smoke started to drift over the grandstand, panic rippled through the crowd. The ushers were trying to funnel everyone out through the emergency exits, but small fights were breaking out as people tried to push to the front.

  There was no way I could follow Tucker through the pulsing, angry mob. Instead, I climbed over the safety barrier and ran to Zef.

  He’d tugged off his helmet and the First Aider was gripping his arm and twisting his wrist.

  “Christ, Tera! What’s going on?” he growled, his face pale beneath his tan.

  “I don’t know! I don’t know! There was an explosion—someone said it was from the Big Top. Ollo was going with Bo. Tucker and Kestrel, they’ve gone over there but I don’t know what they can do.”

  The First Aider manipulated Zef’s wrist again. “It’s sprained, not broken. You were lucky, Mr. Colton.”

  “Thanks, man,” Zef muttered as he stood up.

  “Wait! I need to tape that for you!”

  Zef shook his head. “Later.”

  Then he turned to his fallen bike and heaved it up.

  “I’m coming with you!” I yelled, running toward him, ignoring his look of frustration.

  “Fuck, okay! Sit on the seat and I’ll stand on the pedals. Don’t let your legs touch the exhaust or you’ll get a burn. Hold on—it’s going to get bumpy.”

  I could smell hot leather and bike fuel as he climbed on in front of me and sweat trickled through my hair and down my neck, but my body was cold and tremors rippled across my skin.

  I gripped the handlebars as hard as I could, my knuckles turning white, and Zef kickstarted the bike again.

  We skidded out of the arena, but it was soon obvious that we couldn’t get through the streaming crowds.

  “We’ll have to go the long way around,” Zef shouted over the noise of the crowd.

  He took off again, skirting the rivers of people and heading behind the Big Top. The wind whipped my hair and I could smell acrid smoke that stung my eyes and caught in my throat. I could hear the sirens of fire engines and police in the distance—too far. Too far away.

  Weaving and bucking, swearing at everyone who got in his way, Zef finally managed to get as close as was safe to the Big Top. Red and yellow flames roared loudly and the air was thick and choking.