Still Standing

by Kristen Ashley

  I drifted my fingers through my hair then touched the tips of them to my lips.

  I loved the taste of him, and I loved that he kissed my nose. And I loved that he ended a fight kissing me. And I loved that he took my diatribe and ended that by teasing me.

  I loved it all and I hated it all, and I wondered if he did the same with Nails and whoever else was in his life.

  But this was as good as I could get and I’d been so low, I reminded myself where I was now was a lot better than where I used to be.

  And anyway, I was Clara Nobody.

  What did I think I deserved?

  Grin and bear it, my mind reminded me.

  “Babe,” Buck called.

  One could say I had learned my lesson.

  So I looked at him.

  “Yes?”

  His tattooed arm came out and his fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling my arm to him, sliding down. His big hand enveloping mine, he gave it a squeeze.

  “I gave you all that and you didn’t even wince. Your ribs good?”

  And there it was.

  Thoughtful.

  Worried.

  Protective.

  All of that awesome.

  None of it really real.

  “They’re fine,” I told him the truth.

  “Healin’,” he muttered. “Good.”

  At least that was right.

  “We’ll find your girl,” he said gently, resting my hand on his thigh.

  God, I hated that I loved it when he was sweet and protective.

  Grin and bear it, my mind repeated to me.

  Yes, I was now a biker babe and that was what a biker babe would do.

  And I would be a biker babe until I needed to be the next thing I needed to be.

  One thing I knew.

  When I was whatever that next thing was, I’d have to grin and bear that too.

  12

  Gear

  I stood outside on Buck’s deck, drinking a margarita and trying to find calm.

  Buck had been right.

  The minute Gear met me, he started flirting.

  The minute Tatiana met me, however, she decided she hated me.

  Actively.

  Twenty minutes ago, we’d walked into his house and the kids were already there.

  After Buck gave his daughter a hug and a kiss on the top of her head and slapped his son on the shoulder, he performed the introductions.

  I saw that the kids were different than their pictures in his bedroom.

  In the pictures, they were more kid than adult.

  Now they were definitely more adult than kid.

  They both looked like him and this was more than a hint.

  Gear was Buck’s height, which meant, I guessed, he was six-foot, six-foot-one. His body had the same build, but it was different. His shoulders not yet as broad. His frame not as filled out.

  Gear also didn’t have the command of his body like his dad had. Gear held himself loose, and although not boyish, it was cocky.

  He had dark hair just like his father’s, those gorgeous brown eyes, but he also had an easy smile.

  Tatiana, on the other hand, was petite.

  I was five-foot-seven, but in my high heels, a lot taller.

  She was wearing flip-flops and had to be five-four, at most.

  She had her dad’s dark hair too, except long, cut in chunky layers—this more noticeable at the sides that fell in textured wisps from jaw to ends— and it flowed in waves down her back.

  She also had Buck’s dark brown eyes.

  But she had beautiful skin, peaches and cream and sheer perfection, not her father’s and brother’s olive tone.

  Upon meeting me, Gear looked me up and down, gave me a lazy smile and a handshake that lasted too long.

  Tatiana looked me up and down as well, her lip curled slightly, and after giving me a dagger glare, she avoided my eyes.

  Buck took my shopping bags to his bedroom while announcing he was making chicken enchiladas.

  This was met with a fair and surprising amount of excitement, and Gear and Tatiana instantly decided they’d bag on meeting their friends for food prior to the party and stick around for enchiladas.

  This sent me straight to the tequila and margarita mix.

  Both kids got out their cell phones and their fingers flew over the screens as they texted their change in plans to their friends.

  Buck came back from the bedroom and went direct to the fridge.

  I asked the kids if they wanted a drink, got Gear a Coke, pretended to ignore the fact that Tatiana ignored my question, and instead asked Buck if he wanted a margarita.

  His way of saying no was giving me a grin and getting himself a beer.

  Buck then started moving around the kitchen, doing things to prepare to cook while I made my margarita.

  The problem with this was, both his kids were on stools on the outside of the counter, facing the kitchen. I was in the kitchen, and it became apparent very quickly that Buck didn’t intend to let them in on the nature of our relationship gently.

  I knew this because, if he needed something around where I was working, his arm would curve around me, hand at my belly, front pressed to my back, and he’d lean into me to get it.

  Or, if he needed me to vacate the space, his fingers would span my hips, and he’d pull me away, grab what he needed, then those fingers would go back to my hips and he’d return me to where I used to be.

  This had two unfortunate results.

  It delayed my margarita and made my face feel hot.

  Finally, margarita done, my mind whirling to find some escape so I could regroup and come up with a plan, Buck sent Gear on the errand of getting tortillas and cheese for the enchiladas.

  I braved a glance at the two on the stools.

  Gear was smirking at me.

  Tatiana looked like she’d sucked a lemon.

  “Right, Dad,” Gear agreed, eyes on me. “You wanna come, Clara? You’ll get to experience my ride and my ride is dope.”

  I smiled a genuine smile because I had the feeling I would like Gear, and I lifted my glass.

  “No, but thanks for the offer. Today I endured a Biker Babe Ritual. It was grueling, so now I need to put my feet up and drink tequila. Maybe you’ll let me experience your ride another time.”

  Gear’s smile got bigger. Tatiana’s lip curled again. Buck’s hand came out of nowhere, swept my hair off my neck then his lips were there for a quick kiss.

  I froze and my eyes shot to Tatiana who looked about ready to vomit.

  “It’s a nice evening,” I proclaimed, side-stepping Buck after his lips left my neck. “I’m going to go sit on the deck.” I sucked in breath and offered to Tatiana, “Do you want me to get you a drink and you can join me?”

  “No, when Dad cooks, I help,” Tatiana replied, saying this like it was the eleventh commandment and I was a heathen that didn’t know this was set in stone by the divine hand of God. “And anyway, this is my house so I can get my own drink.”

  This caught Buck’s attention and his eyes narrowed on her.

  Though, fortunately, because I didn’t think it’d make me more popular with her, he didn’t call her on it.

  She slid off her stool, and ignoring her father’s narrowed eyes, she smiled a dazzling smile at him and offered, “I’ll cut up the chicken.”

  “Great, babe, thanks,” Buck muttered, his gaze on his daughter now no longer narrow but watchful.

  “I’m outta here,” Gear stated, grabbing a set of keys from the counter and heading toward the door. “We need anything else?”

  “Diet Coke,” Tatiana replied.

  “Clara?” Gear prompted.

  “No, thanks,” I replied, moving with him to the front door because it led to the deck.

  “Dad?” Gear went on.

  “A sixer of Coors and a carton of Marlboro Reds,” Buck answered.

  At this response, I stopped dead, turned my attention to Buck and was pretty sure my eyes bugged
out.

  He was asking his son to buy beer and cigarettes?

  His seventeen-year-old son, who, in order to do this had to have a fake ID, and Buck not only knew about it, but encouraged him to use it?

  And…

  Buck smoked?

  I’d seen the ashtrays littering the MC’s hangout, but I’d never seen Buck smoke.

  Though, I’d smelled it on him, but the smell was not like he did it. It was like he was around others who did.

  “Gotcha, on it,” Gear replied easily. “And while I’m out, want me to hit up our boy for a dime bag of weed?”

  “Sure,” Buck agreed.

  Oh my God!

  Then, when I glanced between them and processed the identical bad boy smiles they were giving me, I realized both Hardy men were teasing me.

  To which I rolled my eyes.

  This made Buck’s lips quirk and he finally gave his son a real answer.

  “No, Gear, I think we’re good.”

  Gear nodded, opened the front door, and muttered, “I’m gone.”

  Then he was.

  “I’ll be right out here,” I announced, followed him out, and as such, escaped.

  I stayed escaped while I stood out on the deck, gazed unseeing at the landscape, sipped my margarita, tried to find calm, and failed because I was also trying to think of ways to break through Tatiana’s dislike of me.

  I knew it was early days (or actually, early minutes).

  But even with Buck’s warning, I was unprepared for just how much she visibly, not-making-that-first-attempt-to-hide-it disliked me.

  In truth, what I wanted was to take off my shoes, my feet were killing me.

  But my shoes were the only thing that made my outfit even a modicum of cool.

  And by appearances, both of Buck’s kids had inherited his coolness.

  Gear even had his mysteriously cool styled-but-not-really hair.

  Thus, I decided, I needed to keep my shoes on.

  After I made that decision, I figured I was going to need more margaritas and wished I’d made a pitcher.

  I looked into the house and saw Tatiana standing, doing something at the counter, her back to me, her head turned and tilted back. She was smiling up at her dad, who was close and grinning down at her.

  She was very pretty when she smiled.

  Gorgeous.

  She said something, and he threw his head back and laughed, which made her smile bigger, and she leaned into him, bumping his chest with her shoulder.

  My heart skipped at the sight.

  It was cute.

  It was sweet.

  I liked that Buck could be like that with his girl. I liked that Tatiana had that because every girl should have that.

  At the same time, I was jealous because I never did.

  And the emotion wasn’t jealousy that I felt at knowing I’d never see a daughter of mine do that with her father. A father that was my husband, my man, my lover, someone I trusted and loved who I intended to spend the rest of my life with.

  No, that feeling wasn’t jealousy.

  It was something else altogether and that something caused not a small amount of pain.

  I decided against going in and making a pitcher of margaritas in favor of giving father and daughter more time.

  I walked to a teak deck chair that had thick maroon pads, dragged it toward the railing, sat and lifted my feet to rest the soles of my shoes on a lower rung.

  That was better.

  I sipped my margarita until there was nothing but ice and stayed outside, wondering if I was beginning to appear rude.

  On that thought, I saw a shiny, black car that wasn’t anywhere near new but was definitely cool growling loudly up the lane. I didn’t know the make or model, but I did know, whatever it was, it was awesome.

  Gear was home.

  Five minutes later, Gear with his can of Coke was out on the deck with me.

  I turned my head and smiled at him as he pulled a chair beside mine, sat in it and put his feet up on the same rung as mine.

  “Dad says grub’ll be up in twenty,” he told me.

  “Great,” I replied, my stomach roiling, suddenly not in the mood for grub because eating it meant being around Tatiana, and I still hadn’t come up with a plan.

  I felt his eyes on me, so I looked at him.

  “What’s with the shiner?” he asked, a grin playing at his mouth in an effort to take the nosiness out of his question.

  Though the grin didn’t hide the concern in his eyes.

  Really, so like his dad.

  “Long story,” I answered, saying it softly so he wouldn’t feel rebuffed.

  “That’s cool,” he muttered, letting it go and obviously not feeling rebuffed, which was a relief.

  “Was the drive down okay?” I asked, looking for something to talk about.

  “Could drive it blindfolded, done it so often.”

  “Right,” I whispered.

  He studied me only a moment before he announced on another grin, “You’re nervous.”

  My head jerked at this straightforward comment, then I couldn’t help it, I emitted a short laugh.

  “Um…yes,” I replied when I stopped laughing and I did it on a smile. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Totally.” He smiled back.

  “Bummer,” I muttered.

  “No, it’s cool that you’re nervous and all,” he stated. “But don’t get wound up about Tatie. She and Dad are tight, but she’s cool.”

  Again, straightforward.

  So like his dad.

  “Okay,” I said quietly.

  “She’s not good with women,” he informed me, and his open sharing surprised me, so I couldn’t quite stop myself from staring at him. “She and Ma…” He shook his head. “They butt heads. When Dad and Mom were together, it was all good. When we first moved up to Flag, it was okay. Then something gave, and now Mom’s a total bitch to her. They’re always fightin’. Tatie hates bein’ home, she wants to live here. We both like it here better than there. Me, because I hate Ma’s old man, he’s a dick. And sometimes Ma can be not-so-great with me either. Tatie, because Ma’s in her face all the time and because she thinks Knuckles is a dick.”

  “Knuckles?”

  “Ma’s old man.”

  “I’m sorry, that doesn’t sound good,” I noted carefully.

  “It isn’t, it sucks. So when Dad told us he got himself a woman, Tatie got pissed. She wants it to be just the three of us. She likes it like that. Reckon she doesn’t want to face the possibility of a female Knuckles here while she’s dealin’ with that dick back home. But, like I said, she’s cool. She gets wound up, like Ma, but in the end, that isn’t really her. It’s just what Ma and Knuckles make her, or maybe it’s that plus teenage girl stuff. Whatever. She’ll come around.”

  “That’s what your dad says.”

  He grinned. “That’s ’cause that’s the way it is.”

  I studied him. His face was expressive. He was honest and straightforward, and it was clear he was a good kid

  Maybe he could help me out.

  “Do you…” I hesitated, “have any advice?”

  His brows went up. “On dealin’ with Tat?”

  I nodded.

  He grinned big. “Just don’t be a bitch to her.”

  I smiled back. “I think I can do that.”

  His grin faded and he leaned into me to share, “She doesn’t have a lot of friends, Clara. She does here, the girls here like her, but the girls at home…” He shook his head again. “No. Don’t get that, she can be sweet when she’s not wound up. I think it’s ’cause girls, well…girls can be bitches. They’re jealous ’cause, she’s my sister and all, but there’s no denyin’ she’s hot.”

  I nodded again. “Yes, Gear, your sister is definitely very pretty, and you’re right, girls can be mean, especially to girls who are pretty.”

  He nodded back and went on, “So she’s got a ma who’s up in her face all the time, and the girls a
t school treat her like garbage. Fuck with her head, play with her. It’s freakin’ whacked. I try to shield her from it, but I can’t be everywhere all the time. No matter how hard I try to be that for her.”

  Trying to protect his sister.

  Truly…

  So like his father.

  “And girls,” he continued, “they don’t let much deter them when they’re set on bein’ bitches.”

  “No,” I agreed ruefully. “They don’t.”

  “So, you know, I reckon, a woman’s nice to her, eventually that’d break through.”

  I was a little surprised at the F-bomb dropping so easily from the lips of a seventeen-year-old, like it was nothing which was how his father used that word.

  But I didn’t mention that.

  I’d ask Minnie about it later.

  Though I suspected this was part of the biker life, what with them having a rulebook only with a couple of lines. I doubted they wasted one of them on teaching your children not to curse.

  But my take from all of that was good and even hopeful.

  Because I could be nice to Tatie.

  And maybe, if I found a way in, I could be a woman in her life that she liked and trusted.

  “Well, I can be nice,” I told Gear.

  “Then I reckon you’ll break through.”

  I smiled at him again. “Sounds like a plan.”

  He smiled back.

  I decided to change the subject. “Your car is very cool.”

  His smile grew huge. “Yeah, freakin’ awesome. Chevy Nova, 1972. Classic. Dad and I worked on it for a year. It was a wreck. We worked on it out back, in his old barn.”

  I had seen this “old barn.” I’d also wondered at its uses, since Buck, and now Gear, parked in the wide area by the side of the house where the steps up to the deck and front door were.

  Now I knew.

  “He never let on it was for me,” Gear kept speaking. “I thought he was fixin’ it up to sell it or use it himself. Then, on my sixteenth birthday, he drove up in it, Ink came with in Ink’s truck, and he gave it to me. Ma went nuts, but she couldn’t do shit. Not only is that car the freakin’ bomb, Dad and I worked on it together and it means freedom. For me and Tat. Best frickin’ present I ever got.”

  “You’re tight with your dad too,” I surmised.

  “He’s the shit,” Gear agreed on a mutter, looking out at the landscape.