by Beth Flynn
"What I told him to tell them. They didn't believe it, but they didn't have anything to go on. Me driving him to the hospital proved I wasn't trying to kill him, but I still did time for aggravated battery."
He looked over and finally answered what I was questioning in my head. "Your name never came up. I threatened to cut off more than his arm if your name was mentioned. And if I couldn't do it from jail, he knew enough about my father's history to believe my threat could be enforced. And I'm certain the money my family paid him to help in his recovery went a long way in keeping him quiet."
I shook my head in disbelief. Christian was the one who'd actually saved me that night, not Slade like I'd always believed. I winced inwardly when I remembered fawning over Slade for coming to my rescue.
"You went to prison." A moment passed as I breathlessly added, "For me."
"I'd do anything for you, Mimi. Anything."
He looked over at me and then back at the road. The words were out before I could stop them.
"Then who is Abby?"
He threw me another fleeting look and then raised his right arm and looked at the tattoo on his bicep. He didn't answer me at first and I wondered if he was going to. I can't say why, but everything seemed to hinge on his response. He may have hacked off a guy's arm for me, but he had another woman's name notably memorialized with a tattoo. It didn't make sense.
"My older half sister. You remember how we used to play at Abigail Ramirez Memorial Park when you came over to visit?"
"I don't remember the name of the park, and I certainly don't remember that you had an older half sister," I admitted, shaking my head.
"Abby was born years before my mother met my father, and she died when she was a baby."
Abby was a sister I'd never known about. The heat I felt spreading through my veins found its way to my chest and my heart gave a flutter.
"I thought maybe Abby was your girlfriend or something," I said, trying to keep the deep sense of relief out of my tone.
"I've never had a girlfriend," he admitted. I couldn't tell if he was being boastful or if his tone was one of regret.
"Why's that?" I prompted. I absentmindedly picked up my phone and scrolled through texts so I had somewhere to look other than at Christian.
Instead of answering me, he reached over and turned up the volume on the CD player. “Bad Time” by Grand Funk Railroad floated through my car speakers. The lyrics describing a bad time to be in love were almost as taunting as the texts I had scrolled through and chose to ignore from Lucas.
Chapter 23
Pumpkin Rest, South Carolina 2007
We found a small bargain store on the way and stopped to get Christian warmer clothes. I wasn't certain, but I could've sworn I detected odd glances from some of the male customers. I brushed it off, reminding myself that we were strangers in a very remote area and the local folk were probably wary of outsiders. I also noticed that unlike the men, the two women we encountered looked like they wanted to devour Christian. Giving them a dirty look, I sidled up closer to him and linked my arm through his.
He asked me if I was sure I didn't need anything warmer and I reminded him that I had long johns, sweatshirts, and a warm jacket in the laundry basket he'd retrieved from my trunk.
Back in the car, I looked at my phone again and let out a sigh.
"What's wrong?" Christian prodded.
“You know the friend from my camp that I told you was sick?” I blinked to ward off the tears and looked out the window. "He's not getting better. It doesn't look good for him."
Christian asked me for details about Josh's illness, the camp, and Bettina with the long blue dreadlocks from the gas station. Our conversation bordered on normal as he told me that he'd inherited his father's skill for auto repair, but preferred working on motorcycles. I told him about my college courses, my friends, and my part-time job at a used book store. Details he had to have already known from the P.I. but listened to again.
I was stunned when he told me the name of the person who'd filled in his P.I. about my dating habits. It was a girl I had roomed with during my junior year. We were in a couple of the same classes this semester and even had several study sessions together. She was a straight A student, a sweet and unassuming wallflower with a secret. Apparently she had a serious addiction to prescription drugs. Proving once again that everyone has their price.
After discovering the restaurant from Christian's magazine was closed due to a kitchen fire, we found ourselves pulling into the next place we saw. Sitting by itself in a gravel turnoff, Chicky's was housed in what looked like an old gas station that had been converted to a bar and restaurant. It was obvious by the addition that the business outgrew its original building. It was a pleasant-looking place with a sign that boasted the best wings and burgers in the Carolinas. There were two motorcycles and one truck parked out front. I was relieved that we’d beaten the dinner crowd.
Christian opened the door and waved me in. Once inside he gently grabbed my elbow and bent low to ask me, "Do you want to sit at the bar, a table, or a booth?"
I didn't answer right away as I slowly perused the inside of Chicky's. The far wall had a long bar where a lone bartender was obviously getting ready for the after-five rush. One man sat at the end by himself nursing a beer. A table off to our right housed two bikers who were having a heated, but what sounded like a friendly argument. The one facing me caught my eye and stopped talking. His friend turned around and gave us both the once-over.
"The bar," I told Christian as I walked toward it.
After taking our seats at the opposite end of where the lone drinker was perched, the bartender loudly asked us if we would be ordering food. He was an older man with long gray hair, a stocky build and a ruddy complexion. Christian nodded, and he approached us with two menus and a smile on his face, but his expression immediately changed when he handed them over. The look was one of curiosity or maybe recognition. But that was impossible, I told myself. This man wouldn't know us. I looked over at Christian who already had his face buried in the menu. Since he wasn't wearing his glasses he must've been having a hard time reading it.
"You folks from around here?" the man asked. His voice sounded gruff, but I got the impression that was how he always sounded.
Without looking up, Christian answered, "Just passing through."
The man nodded and asked, "Do you know what you're drinking?"
I ordered a water with lemon and Christian ordered a beer. Before he could leave to get our drinks, Christian laid down the menu and said, "I know what I want."
"Me too," I added since I'd already decided on wings after seeing the sign.
After ordering, I asked Christian if he thought the guy gave us a funny look when he first handed us the menus.
"Maybe. It looked like he thought he knew us and then realized we weren't who he thought we were," he replied as he reached for a bowl on the bar filled with assorted nuts.
I slid my hand into my purse and pulled out some red licorice.
"Dessert before dinner?" he nonchalantly asked, popping some nuts into his mouth.
I nodded and chewed on my licorice, admitting through a mouthful of red, "I'm a snack-a-holic."
I climbed off my chair and tugged at his arm. "C'mon, there's a jukebox in the corner. Help me pick out some songs."
He stood, reached into his front pocket and said, "Let me get some change first."
"You don't need to. I'm the change queen," I laughed, handing him the wallet I'd retrieved from my bag. It weighed a ton and I could hear him chuckling as he carried it behind me. After relieving my little purse of its load and filling up the jukebox, I told him to go first.
He picked "Feelin' Alright" by Joe Cocker. I punched in "Seminole Wind" by John Anderson. He pressed the buttons for "Run Through the Jungle" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. We had one more selection and I chose "Time Has Come Today" by The Chamber Brothers.
His hand found the small of my back and he steered me t
oward our seats. The same hand that had used a machete to hack off Nick Rosman's arm.
"Do you know what became of Nick?" I asked out of curiosity
He took a sip of his beer before answering. Swinging around to face me, he said, "He visited me in prison."
My eyes went wide. "What?"
"He said that he'd completely turned his life around after he met a man who'd found God while in the slammer." Christian rolled his eyes before continuing. "The guy was out and wanted to do something positive with his life. Something that would prevent boys from getting into trouble and winding up spending their lives incarcerated. Nick had the money, thanks to my parents, and the ex-con had the vision."
He reached for his beer and took another swig. "Nick was there to tell me that he forgave me." Christian's lip curled. "Like I cared."
"So he's okay? He fully recovered and is doing well?" I questioned reaching for another piece of licorice.
"Yeah, they opened up a camp or retreat for troubled teenage boys. I think he said it was called Diamonds in the Rough." He took another long swallow of beer and added, “Or something like that.”
The bartender was back, but not with our food.
"I wouldn't have recognized either of you if you weren't together. You're Grizz and Bear's kids, aren't you?"
Completely caught off guard, neither of us responded, but I detected a change in Christian's posture. The man's expression softened, and focusing on me, he said, "I'm sorry. It never occurred to me that you might not know that. You know...that Grizz was your father."
I shook my head slightly. "No…no, it's okay. I've known since I was twelve. But I'm more curious as to how you know them?"
He broke into a wide grin and looked from me to Christian and back to me.
"The name's Mike. I used to tend bar for Grizz at The Red Crab and Razors back in Fort Lauderdale."
I nodded, recognizing the names of Grizz’s places.
"How did you know who we were?" Christian asked. I immediately detected the annoyance in his tone and laid my hand on his knee.
"You're the spitting image of Bear, minus the eye color. And you," he said, turning to look at me, "could pass for Kit's twin." A moment passed before he added, "But I still don't know if I'd have recognized you if I hadn't seen you together. Something just clicked."
He left to check on our food and I turned my stool toward Christian. "This bothers you?"
"It doesn't bother you?" he asked stiffly.
Since Christian didn't know Grizz was alive, I couldn't share my concern with him about having someone from my father's past living only hours away instead of several states. But I also knew my father didn't venture far from home and when I saw him again, I would warn him.
"Not really," I told him. "It might be fun to hear some of Mike's stories."
"Whatever," he replied shrugging nonchalantly.
Mike returned with our food and even Christian couldn't resist laughing at some of the tales Mike shared.
"Your fathers were some clever SOBs," he said. "They had everybody thinking for years that they were enemies. I even thought it for awhile!"
Mike laughed and then his face turned melancholy when I asked him how he ended up working at Chicky's. He looked away and concentrated on wiping down the bar while he told us about the woman who owned the bar and named it after herself. I was no expert, but I would've bet a million bucks that Mike had been in love with Chicky. She was a waitress at the same bars where Mike worked in Fort Lauderdale, and she left Florida after my father's trial. She opened up her own place and married an older man named Ed. She'd traveled back to Florida and visited my father while he was in prison and on one trip, she made it a point to stop at The Red Crab to see Mike. She offered him a job and it only took him a week to quit the job he had, pack all his belongings, and make the move to South Carolina. Apparently, he didn't care that she was married. He even spoke fondly of Ed, and stayed on to work for the heartbroken man after Chicky succumbed to cancer. Eventually, Ed fell ill too, and left the bar to Mike since Chicky's grown daughter from a previous relationship didn't want it.
I changed the subject and started asking him questions that made him smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I could tell that Mike was a good guy and that his crow's feet weren't so much from age as they were from grinning.
Christian and I had both finished our meals and tried to pay our tab, but Mike waved us off, insisting it was on the house. I stood and was getting ready to excuse myself to use the restroom when I sensed a presence standing on the other side of Christian.
"If I'd known we'd be blessed with a big handsome hunk of a man like you, I'd have shown up earlier."
I immediately felt myself stiffen as I peeked around Christian to see who’d made the comment.
"You're late, Tina. As usual!" Mike barked, causing me to flinch.
I watched as Tina slowly moved her hand up and down Christian's left arm, and didn't seem the least offended when he shirked her off.
Who does she think she is laying a hand on my man while I'm right next to him? I thought.
Did I just think of Christian as my man?
I glared at the woman. She was tall, shapely and had rainbow-colored hair. Her big brown eyes were focused on Christian, and they weren't the only big things. To sum it up, she was drop-dead gorgeous. I gritted my teeth.
Before any of us could remark, we heard a deep but whiny voice behind us.
"'Bout time you got here, Tina. I've been trying to get Mike’s attention for another beer, but he's been too busy with Crazy Horse." His words were slurred, but that didn't stop him from continuing. "I didn't know they let them off the reservation. They need to stay on their own side of the border."
I was instantly transported to that day at the playground, watching a memory from my past unfold.
"So, are you and your squaw gonna live in a teepee?" the intruder sneered while swiping at his sweaty face with his arm. "Wait, she can't be your squaw. She's a pale face, and you're too dark."
I looked at Christian with a puzzled expression. He was staring hard at the older boy when I asked, "What's a squaw?"
"It's a dirty injun's wife," the boy laughed. “You are an injun, right?” he sneered at Christian. “You have a long braid and dark skin. Where do you keep your bows and arrows?”
"Hey, Sal!" Mike shouted, at the same time Christian stood up. "You're talking to biker royalty. Go back to your table and park it, and Tina can bring you another beer."
Mike's yell brought me back to the present as I skirted around Christian's barstool and poked Sal in the chest. "You,” I snapped, "are an ignorant, racist jerk!"
Sal didn't have time to reply as Christian's right fist connected with his face. The sickening crack of Sal’s jawbone was horrifying, and Sal was out before he hit the ground.
Tina giggled while Mike apologized for Sal's rude behavior and told us not to worry because Sal had it coming. He also told us we should probably leave before more regulars showed up. He didn't need to tell me twice. I looped my arm through Christian’s and headed for the door, aggravated that he didn't feel the same sense of urgency as I did. The man who'd been sitting at the table with Sal when we first walked in stood up, but raised both hands in the air and said, "Ain't lookin' for trouble. Just goin’ to check on my friend."
We'd only driven about two miles when Christian looked over at me, his eyes blazing.
"What did you think you were doing, picking a fight with that drunken slob?" he demanded.
"I needed to do something, to deal with it, so you wouldn't. I did it to protect you," I snapped, my chin jutting out.
"Protect me?" he shouted. "And poking him in the chest was your way of dealing with it?"
"Yes," I said defiantly. "I was giving him a warning. If he went for me, I would've broken your beer bottle over his head."
"If he went for you, I would've killed him," came his reply, his voice low and menacing. "Which is why I coldcocked him before he could retalia
te against your poke." His tone was mocking and I felt my face flushing with anger and embarrassment.
"Look," I huffed in exasperation. "Maybe I didn't handle it right. What I'm trying to say is that I know you just got out of prison so you must be on parole. If you had picked a fight with him and the police were called you would be going back to jail.”
He gave me a hard look and returned his eyes to the road. "You think I don't know that? And so you know, I was doing my best to control my temper. Not because I didn't want to get hauled back to jail, but for you." He banged his fist hard on the steering wheel. "I wasn't gonna confront the guy until you picked a fight with him, Mimi. I don’t care about jail. I care about you and I don’t want to give up the time we have left together."
I nervously twined a finger in my hair, and tried to ignore his last comment. It unsettled me in a way I hadn’t expected. Christian would’ve walked away if I hadn’t confronted Sal. And he only knocked Sal out because he knew he would’ve gone too far if Sal had reacted against me. Christian might’ve killed a man because of me.
Brushing the thought away in an attempt to not read too much into it, I muttered, "I guess it's a good thing you knocked the guy out and the law didn't have to get involved. Because if the police were called they'd be getting in touch with your parole officer and he'd probably lose his job for giving you permission to leave the state so soon after your release."
Christian narrowed his eyes at me and looked back at the road.
He didn't need to say anything. I saw it in the set of his jaw.
"Your parole officer doesn't know you're here." It wasn’t a question. I was giving him a stern look.
"He thinks I'm in Jacksonville applying for a job."
"Uh!" I exclaimed. "You didn't ask him if you could take a trip to South Carolina?"
He kept his eyes on the road, his right hand tightly clutching the steering wheel while his left elbow rested on the open window.
"I've already told you, Mimi. I don't ask."