by Olivia Rigal
I'm self-aware enough to realize that she's been on my mind a whole lot lately, but I can't quite figure out why. It's not the obvious stuff, either. Maybe it's got something to do with Chaser finding someone he feels comfortable with. When we split the living situation, at least it still felt kinda balanced, each of us doing our own thing. Now that he was in deep with Holly and I was either stringing Belle around or being strung around by her, it felt off. I find myself craving that stability. Or maybe I'm just jealous. Whatever.
It's not a long ride out to Point Lookout, and I keep well back from her car. When she unexpectedly turns into a real high class neighborhood, I pull back a little more, even going so far as to take the long way around here and there to avoid sitting behind her at any stop signs. On one of my rounds, I see her car parked up at some kind of mansion, so I just idle at the corner a block away, leaning over to look like I'm adjusting something on the bike.
She lingers in the car long enough that I start to wonder if she noticed me following me and is letting me know as much. I find out pretty quickly that it's not the case.
At nine on the dot, she gets out of the car and the front door opens. As Belle walks up the driveway, a young boy runs from the house, his arms outstretched and a huge smile on his face.
“Mommy!” They both squeal with excitement, and she scoops him up to spin him around, smile way wider than anything I'd seen from her. In moments, he's wrapped up around her completely, arms around her neck and legs around her waist, his face buried in her neck next to the voluminous ponytail. Their hair is just the same, and from a block away, it's pretty much impossible to spot where one ends and the other begins.
An older woman follows the boy out at a much more sedate pace, her hands clasped behind her back. When she comes to stand in front of Belle, she hands her a small backpack and they exchange a few words. Belle nods, and the kid snuggles up even tighter against her.
The old woman turns around and makes her way back into the house without so much as a wave as Belle brings the boy down to the car. She pats his head softly, urging him down, and he reluctantly releases her and she lets him down easy at the passenger's side door. She kneels next to him, peppering him with affectionate little kisses on his nose and cheeks, covering him as he giggles and squeals.
I feel like I'm watching a completely different woman. This isn't the Belle I partied with, the one I kissed, the one who was so wrapped up in me—this is another Belle, one who only comes alive on Sundays.
It dawns on me then, too, that this is exactly what Chaser, Peanut, and I missed out on. Right there, plain as day, is the image of the perfect, loving mother. Everything ours should've been, but weren't.
It's pretty plain to see that he doesn't live with Belle. Maybe his father? Could be. Who is the old lady? A nanny or grandparent? Why does someone else have custody?
A million questions race through my head as I watch her buckle him in and make her way around to her side of the car. It takes just about everything I've got to keep myself from riding up and asking her, but I wouldn't want to spoil such a perfect moment. This isn't the time or the place, for sure not with the kid around.
I spent the entire day watching them from a distance. It seemed like a wonderful time—a stroll through the park, time at the merry-go-round. When they're done there, Belle makes the short drive over to a popular picnic spot on the beach. Sure enough, she pops the trunk of her car as she gets out and pulls a large basket out for the two of them.
After they're done eating, they take a short little swim in the ocean, laughing and splashing each other. Finally, they stop in at an ice cream truck parked nearby and share a cone before making their way back to the car.
When they get back to the mansion, the boy seems more than a little reluctant to head inside, their pace slowing significantly. I park up nearby and make my way toward them on foot, careful to stay out of sight. As they near the door, Belle kneels in front of her son and wraps him up tight in an almost reassuring hug. The heavy oak door swings open, and the old woman makes her way down the steps. Belle and the boy seem to ignore her as long as they can.
Regret all over her face, Belle gently releases the boy and stands.
I've seen all I needed to see. Way more, even.
I turn to walk away, but I'm not quick enough to escape the boy's pleading screams for his mother. All I want is to run back to my bike and haul ass out of there. It's heartbreaking to hear, but it has to be a million times worse for her—having to walk back to her car every week while her son cries out for her. I can't imagine how she does it. Each scream must chip away a little bit of her heart, a slow emotional death.
On the way home, I can't stop thinking about them. There has to be a way to get them together. They can't keep going on like that, but I have to find out more before I can really do anything.
* * *
10
Another Friday night at the Florida Moon, and a new band's at the top of the lineup tonight. Instead of the usual music - both kinds, Country and Western - there's a proper classic rock style bar band. It's definitely more my style, but I didn't come for the music. I'm meeting Ice and a lawyer he knows. Friendly Persuasion, the PI agency the Iron Tornadoes apparently dug up all the info I needed. I gave them the mansion address and they got back to me with some basic stuff. With a little more digging on my own, I had more to present to Ice. I asked again if he knew anybody who could help.
Ice is already set up at his usual table, and it seems the lawyer is a lady—one the VP of the Iron Tornadoes is pretty damn close to, too. Unless, of course, it's some weird local custom to hold the hand of your lawyer while you're getting a consultation.
As I walk up, Ice makes the introductions. “Hey, Piston. This is Lisa Mayfield, my old lady.”
She rolls her eyes at him, then turns her gaze up to me. “It's good to meet you. I don't generally do family law, but when Ice told me about your friend's situation, I couldn't in good conscience pass this case up.”
The last chord of the band's first song rings out, the bar becoming a bit quieter until they pick up again. She apparently gets the importance of discretion, because she waits till they're playing to continue talking.
“Alright. Here's the story: young, gorgeous girl meets handsome rich kid with a drug problem. They fall in love, and after the kid dies of a drug overdose, the girl finds out she's pregnant. She hides it as long as she can, but when her own mother finds out...” She pauses, sighing softly before going on. “...ah, when her own mother finds out, she sells her daughter and the baby to this guy's parents, pretty much.”
“Wait, what the fuck? What do you mean, she sells her and the kid?” I try to hide my outrage and keep my voice down, but I'm not doing a very good job.
“It means that Belle's mother got a fuckin' lot of money for the kid, and Belle went along to live with them too. The poor girl was only 15 at the time, and if what I heard about her mother is right, she was probably better off living with... well, pretty much complete strangers.”
I nod slowly. “So... she moved in there with the kid, then.”
Lisa nods in return. Maybe she's right—if she got to stay with the kid, maybe it's not as bad as I thought. But it doesn't explain the custody situation, so I urge her to go on. “So, what happened after that?”
“It's not really clear, I'm afraid. I'm not sure how they convinced Belle to move out and leave the boy with them, but they did. What I do know, however, is that there has been no legal adoption of the child by the old couple—that is, his grandparents, the Carters. They have no legal standing, no guardianship.”
This only confuses me further. “Wait, you're saying that she could just pick him up from school and take him home instead of bringing him back to the grandparents' place?”
“Well... yes, and no.” Her answer pisses me off immediately. This is what I can't stand about legal types. It's always so goddamned hard to get a straight answer out of them. She reads my expression and mood easily enough
, and quickly launches into a proper explanation, her tone soft and soothing as it can be under the music.
“So far, no legal decision has been made depriving Belle of her legal rights. Yet, if Belle was to just take the child with her, it's quite likely that the grandparents, being as rich as they are, would fight to keep the child. The Carters are as close to royalty as you get in Point Lookout.”
I lean forward, crossing my arms on the table, resting on my elbows. “So... if I wanted to get the kid out of there and moved in with Belle, what would I have to do?”
Lisa tilts her head slightly, confused. “Mm. Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but why is it that I'm talking to you instead of any of the involved parties, hm?”
I immediately shoot back. “I want to know if there's really a chance, a legal chance to get them back together before I say or do anything to get her hopes up. Things are hard enough on her as it is. It'd be damn cruel to give her hope and then snatch it away.”
She considers it for a long moment before nodding.
“So, it's possible?”
Another quick nod. “Yes, it's possible.” Her mouth opens to go on, but she quickly closes it, giving a low hum of consideration before she continues. “Before you hire anyone or start trying to put together an iron-clad case for your friend, you have to be sure that she can defend herself against any accusations the grandparents could come up with. You have to ask her what she really wants. There's no use in stirring the pot unless she actually wants Christopher living with her.
I nod quickly, but I'm surprised. It never even crossed my mind that she might not want to have her son living with her. Am I wrong to take it at face value?
Lisa's well-shaped brow lifts. “You know, if I had kids, you'd have to run over my dead body to take them from me.”
Ice strokes her hand softly, reassuringly. The look he gives her sends a clear message—so long as he's around, no harm will ever come to her or her children.
She smiles at him before turning back to me. “Someone could see the situation differently. I wouldn't blame someone who had a horrible childhood or just grew up poor for deciding that their kid would be better off with somebody else. I mean, if she thinks she’s giving him the best shot at a happy, healthy life... can you really blame her?”
I'm guessing that's probably the line they fed Belle to get her to give the boy up in the first place. She's likely to think that it's better for him to grow up in a stable, wealthy house with two parental figures, that he's happier with them than he would ever be with her—but I know better.
Still, Lisa may have a point. I have to figure out what her preference really is before I move forward.
* * *
11
With Ice and his old lady gone, I scan the room for Belle. Holly promised me that they'd both be around, but I can't seem to find them.
I roam around a bit, my mind on everything but the music. The crowd has mostly moved up to the stage for the show, so it's not hard to spot Chaser, sitting alone at a table for four. I make my way over and take the seat across from him, leaning forward on my elbows to speak to him over the crowd and band.
As I open my mouth, he cuts me off. “Well? Were they able to help or not?”
“Yep. Well, I think, anyway. A lot of stuff going on there. But, ah... I haven't been able to find Belle or Holly. You seen 'em?”
He chuckles softly, giving a slight shrug. “Where do you think? Ladies room. Of course.”
I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. I always imagine it as some totally alien place, part planning room and part think-tank.
Before long, most of the band departs the stage, leaving only the lead singer and an acoustic guitar, belting out some lovelorn ballad, a stark contrast to the earlier material. Almost on cue, Belle and Holly arrive at our table.
Belle nearly jumps back when I turn to look at her over my shoulder, not expecting to find me there. She frowns hard, reflexively taking a step back, her eyes widening. Going straight to damage control, I decide to try to charm her to calm her. Damage control, Piston style.
I stand and step to her, approaching almost contritely, giving a low nod of my head. “Hey, Belle... would you have a dance with me? Please?” I reach out and touch her hand lightly.
She's less than receptive, pulling away from my touch—or, at least trying to. My fingers tighten at hers, holding her hand firmly in mine.
“Belle, please. I'm begging you. Let me explain, at least.”
Again, she yanks her hand back, managing to slip loose of my grasp. “Explain what. That you're a prying ass? I've already figured that out. Thanks, but I don't need your help.”
For some reason, I can't stop the escaping laugh. There's something oddly charming about her fighting back—especially because she doesn't seem to be all that serious about it. Just giving me the runaround.
I return my head to its low, bowed position. “No, ma'am. I was just looking for an opportunity to grovel and beg your forgiveness.”
She raises a suspicious brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that right?”
It's all I can do to keep from bursting into laughter as I muster my best puppy dog expression, quivering lip and all.
She's the one to laugh, then. “Come on. Does that ever work? I mean, it's pitiful, but it's not really helping your case. Anyone who even kinda knows you knows that look ain't genuine.”
“Tch. Come on. Didn't work? Not even a little?” I reach for her hand again, and she doesn't pull back, even when i intertwine her soft fingers with mine.
She grins devilishly, leaving one arm crossed underneath her ample breasts, clasped around the upper part of the opposite arm. “Come on. Show me how well you grovel.” She pulls me toward what would usually be the dance floor, and thankfully most of the crowd was pushed up near the stage.
I pull her in close, hands resting at her lower back and in her voluminous hair, my forehead pressed to hers. What she does to me... it's like nothing else I've ever felt. I finally understand all those songs about irresistible women, being helpless before beauty, turning yourself into a total sap just for a chance at connection with her type.
She's got me wrapped around her little finger, completely under her spell—and I'm all too glad to be there.
“I... I'm sorry, Belle.” I pull back slightly locking eyes with her.
I can't read her expression as her lovely lips search for the right response. “Just... how sorry?”
Before I can open my mouth to tell her why I was so affected by her sudden departure, a twinge of shame and anxiety runs through me. I never show this side of myself to anyone, and I definitely don't tell them what I'm about to tell her. This woman really is something special.
“So, so sorry. I overreacted when you just... up and left. I've got some serious issues from stuff that happened to me. I mean, everyone does I guess, but...” I heave a heavy sigh, working up the fortitude to tell her plainly.
“I was an orphan. My parents just up and left me, one day. It's left me with some serious abandonment issues. I took your leaving a lot harder than I should've. I, of all people, should understand that sometimes freedom is invaluable. To just hop on a motorcycle or whatever and just go. I get it. I just... I'm sorry.”
I move to shake my head, but find her warm palms on my cheeks, caressing and holding me. After a long moment of silence, her eyes obviously wet even in the low light of the club, she speaks.
“I'm sorry too, Piston. I should have told you that I needed to get home early instead of just up and running off like that.”
Something about her apology brushes away the anxiety, the guilt, the worry. I straighten up, feeling my confidence come roaring back in full force. “How about tonight? If I take you back to the compound, will you stay? Really stay with me, not up and vanish in the middle of the night? Will you come with me?”
Her answer doesn't really matter—there won't be any other civilians at the MC tonight, so no one else could even drive
her out without asking for my permission directly. Still, I ask, because I need to know that she's willing to come of her own volition.
She nods slightly. “Yes. I will.” Her tone is uncharacteristically soft, almost meek, as if she's submitted to me.
We finish the dance in silence, lost in each others' eyes. The moment the last chord is strummed, the crowd erupts into applause. We both seem to have the same idea.
I motion with my head back toward the table. “Grab your bag. Let's get going.”
* * *
12
There's something about riding a bike that no one ever seems to talk about. Probably because you can only understand it when you've got a modern steed between your knees and the world open wide all around you.
Sitting in a car or truck is an insular experience. You're separate from the world, the road, the other people in their own little steel boxes around you. On a bike, you become part of the landscape, as native as any squirrel in its tree or rabbit in its burrow. They belong there, and I belong here. This is my home. Well, this and the compound.
I can feel how closely Belle is nestled up to me, her arms wrapped loosely around my midsection in a soft squeeze. She's not holding on for safety, because she knows I'd never put her in harm's way. She's holding me because she wants me. Sometimes it really is that simple.
Her hands work dexterously at the buttons of my jacket, and soon she slips her hand just beneath my shirt and inside. Her fingertips trail lightly just above my belt buckle, teasing me. Trying to get me worked up. It's more than obvious what she's got on her mind, and I'm only too happy to oblige. She's getting it, and hard. Forgiven or not, I still owe her a little payback for ditching me the way she did. cv
Her soft fingertips dance lower, sliding over the smooth leather of my belt, giving soft pulls here and there. She probably thinks she's being sneaky. I grin hard and lean back against the rest, giving her all the access she could ever ask for.