Hard Reality

by Debra Kayn

  Fuck.

  These men.

  Wayne, Chuck, Thad, Glen...they were his life.

  Nothing he said right now would get through to them. They held on to allegiance until death. The only thing he could do to push them away was to show them proof that they needed to let go.

  He lifted his boot off the floor, planted the sole on the desk, and pulled the bottom of his jeans up to his knee and looked at the faces around him.

  He no longer had the Notus Motorcycle Club tattoo like the rest of them. Instead, there was a five-inch black square on his calf that blackened his leg, and his heart.

  Chapter 14

  "Would it be bad if we put our ear to the door?" Erikka, Chuck's woman, dipped a chip into the layered taco dip. "I'm dying to know what the guys are talking about and get a look at Rich. The way he's revered within Notus, I'm expecting to see some god out of a mythology book with a sunbeam surrounding him."

  "Maybe if Zeus was an alcoholic biker," muttered Lena. "Glen said he was bad off when they first picked him up. Like, really bad withdrawals. Sick to his stomach, hallucinations, the whole nine yards."

  "That level of drinker is going to have a hard time staying dry," said Erikka.

  Sitting at the bar in her sister and Wayne's kitchen, Gracie rubbed her temples. Her time away from the house only made her want to go back home. The unsurmountable pressure to find out more about Rich for Notus only grew with the women's curiosity. Any of them would be a better person to help than her.

  "So, really, what's Rich look like?" asked Erikka.

  Ingrid hummed. "A cross between Sam Elliot and John Wayne."

  "Oh, my God." Clara snorted, covering her mouth. "Not at all. He's more like that wrestler...what's his name?"

  "Roman Reigns," muttered Gracie, agreeing with her sister.

  Rich had longer hair and a wilder beard, and probably a more intense personality than the WWE wrestler, but his lack of expressions was very Reign-ish. The only reason she could compare the two men was because Chuck and Wayne would often watch a match on television when they were together.

  "Yes, that's who I'm thinking about." Clara raised her brows. "No, not thinking about. But, who Rich looks like."

  "Oh, whatever." Lena waved her hand. "You can admit he's hot."

  All the women but Gracie laughed. They hadn't lived with Rich for over two months. He'd been a fall down, dirty drunk that turned into a solemn, untalkative man. He never thanked her for washing his clothes—which he had to wear Wayne's sweats until they were done. She exhaled loudly. Rich had no problem standing around with no shirt, no socks, no boxers on, and she was supposed to pretend that it was normal for a man who looked like Roman Reigns to be living under the same roof as her.

  "Gracie?" said Ingrid.

  She raised her gaze. "Hm?"

  "You're quiet." Ingrid tilted her head. "Everything okay?"

  "Sure." She picked out a tortilla chip and broke it in half. "Just ready to go back to the bar during the days and see you guys. I feel like I've missed out on everything and phone calls don't compare to face time."

  "Our phones have face time..." Ingrid raised her brows. "Just sayin'."

  "Like I want anyone seeing what I look like when I haven't stepped out of the house in days." She snorted. "Maybe I can put Clara's picture up, and you guys can think I have my shit together."

  "You don't look bad," her sister said.

  She rolled her eyes, wanting to change the subject. "So, what's been going on?"

  "Nothing, really." Clara filled up the glasses lined up on the counter. "Most of the time, the guys were out searching for a missing person."

  "How did that turn out?" asked Gracie.

  Clara shook her head. "It was called off. The family believes their daughter—that's who is missing, is in California with some guy from her past. Not much they can do, except tough love and hope she returns."

  "That's heartbreaking." Lena checked her phone. "Uh-oh. I'm going to have to leave. Thad's parents are babysitting Avi, and I told them to text me when she started getting tired. She's had the sniffles today, so I'm going to see if I can get her home and she can nap. Hopefully, with a good rest, she'll be able to fight whatever bug got her."

  "Poor baby." Erikka hugged Lena. "Give her a kiss from me."

  Gracie stood and hugged Lena goodbye. She, too, was ready to go home. Her impatience had more to do with what was going on in the garage than seeking comforts of her house. Would they stop requiring Rich to stay with her or would they let him leave?

  She needed to be alone to figure out why the thought of him leaving filled her with anxiety. It wasn't as if he kept her company in the house or they spent their time obsessing over Netflix movies together. She felt safer with him nearby, but that wasn't enough to put her on edge lately.

  Needing to keep busy, she stepped over and rinsed off dishes and put them in the dishwasher. A sharp slap on her butt made her jump. She turned and found Clara frowning at her. For as long as she could remember, she couldn't hide much from her twin.

  "Erikka and Ingrid walked Lena out to her car." Clara leaned her hip against the counter. "Tell me what's going on while we can talk privately."

  She rinsed a drinking glass. "Nothing is going on. I haven't even been to the bar in two weeks because Wayne's been bringing everything to me, and I do the work at home. I feel like I'm letting you and all the employees down."

  "You're the one who said it would be easier for everyone if you do the ordering and payroll at home." Clara placed her hand on her arm, stopping her from doing more dishes. "Do you want to go back to working a couple evenings a week?"

  She shook her head. "I just want...I don't know what I want."

  "Things are changing," whispered her sister.

  She nodded. "He's going to leave."

  "You always knew that. Wayne was upfront with you that this arrangement was temporary." Clara turned Gracie around. "Has something happened between you and Rich?"

  "No. No." She scrunched her nose. "It's all about having him there...in my house. It makes me—"

  "Feel safe," said Clara, finishing her thought.

  She nodded. "Maybe I need to make an appointment with my therapist."

  "Sis, you haven't seen a therapist for almost three years."

  Gracie smirked. "That doesn't mean I don't need one."

  "That's the truth." Clara laughed softly and grew serious. "I'm kidding. Say the word, and we'll make sure you get out of the house, go to the doctors, the bar, shopping, or even back here. Your room is always available. Wayne will just have to figure out what to do with Rich without your help. You come first."

  On impulse, she hugged her twin. "I love you."

  "I love you, too." Clara rubbed Gracie's back. "Say the word, and we'll help you."

  She pulled back and inhaled deeply. "I'll be okay."

  Erikka and Ingrid returned to the house. Gracie squeezed her sister's hand, putting the conversation to rest.

  "Hey, what do you guys think about having a party Saturday night." Ingrid lifted her hand, palm out. "Before you shoot down the idea because of Rich being here, let me say that I think Glen needs a reminder about what is important in his life. Maybe appreciate what he has and not dwell on what isn't working out like he thought it would."

  "Are you guys having problems?" Clara backed up to the kitchen cabinet and hefted herself up until she sat on the counter.

  "No, not us." Ingrid pushed her short hair behind her ears and fluffed up her bangs. "Glen's gone quiet. I think with Rich back and no happy reunion in sight, it's hit him that everything he's believed in for his whole life has been foolish. It's like he's angry at himself."

  Clara stopped swinging her legs. "Wayne's the same way lately. It didn't help that a missing person case came in during Rich's return."

  "Chuck's confused. He's angry. He's down." Erikka sat on top of the bar stool. "I'm all for getting the guys together. They can put away worrying about Rich for an evening and let lo
ose."

  Gracie took in all the talk. Nobody asked her how Rich was feeling. Even though she had no idea what went through Rich's head regarding Notus, it wasn't fair of them not to include how he handled being stuck with her at the house and the other guys only popping in to check on him when something happened. Sometimes, they didn't even come inside and talk with Rich or see if he was there. They only enquired about him through her, and she had nothing to say.

  She wished she had all the details. But, not for Notus. For her.

  The garage door to the house opened. The women quieted and glanced around at each other, prepared for anything. The meeting could've gone well or been a mistake. The men's moods would clue them in on how everything went between them and Rich.

  Wayne walked into the kitchen, zeroed in on Clara, and went to her, kissing her lips. Gracie swallowed at the obvious love between them. There was no jealousy that her twin had found a man who made her happy. She'd gained a big brother in the process. Wayne treated her like family and never stepped between her and Clara's close relationship.

  Ingrid stepped into Glen's embrace. Gracie looked away and found Chuck going to Erikka. After having spent so much time with Chuck, she picked up on his mood first. He was angry. The meeting obviously hadn't gone the way they'd all hoped.

  "Lena leave?" asked Thad hanging back at the edge of the kitchen.

  Since all the women were occupied, Gracie answered. "She went to pick up Avi at your parents' house."

  "Good." Thad hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm going to take off."

  Gracie waved and slipped past Wayne and walked into the living room. Rich stood by the front window. Apparently, no matter the house, he preferred to have a view of outside. She would've liked to have found out what kind of trouble he expected and who the man was outside her house, but nobody voluntarily shared the information, and she hadn't asked.

  If she were in danger, Notus would make sure she had the information she needed and take her out of the situation. She believed that one-hundred percent.

  Rich turned as she approached. Stopping at the couch, she held on to the back, and asked, "Are you okay?"

  "Yup." He looked back outside.

  She pursed her lips. If anyone doubted that Rich hadn't grown up with the other Notus members, they were a fool. He had the same non-communitive stubbornness they all shared.

  Considering it was the first time she'd asked about his mental state, she wouldn't ask again. He obviously wasn't up to sharing that part of himself with her, even though they'd been roommates for over two months.

  Wayne walked into the room. "I'll take you and Rich back to your house."

  "Let me say goodbye to Clara." She hurried into the kitchen, hugged and kissed her sister, and said, "I'll call you later."

  "Okay. Love you." Clara squeezed Gracie's hand.

  "Love you, too." She returned to the living room and followed Wayne and Rich out of the house.

  Squished between both of them in Wayne's old truck, she stared straight ahead. The short trip to her sister's house had been made in silence, and she expected the return trip to her townhouse to go the same. So, when Wayne began talking, she instantly looked back and forth between the two men.

  "I'll bring your motorcycle by tomorrow." Wayne turned off Lombard Street and continued driving. "Don't go back on your word."

  "I said I won't." Rich's nostrils flared. "That means I won't."

  "Yeah, well, you said you'd always be Notus and look what you did." Wayne's thumb strummed the top of the steering wheel. "We're done if you fuck us over."

  "Let it rest," muttered Rich.

  Gracie snapped her gaze out the windshield. The tension between the two men at an all-time high. Afraid one of them would swing out and hit the other, she pressed her back against the seat and sucked in her stomach. She hated being in the line of fire.

  Chapter 15

  The rumble of Rich's motorcycle outside the house filled the bedroom. Going by the sound of the engine, Rich noted the downshift and prepared for his Harley to shut off.

  He picked up his T-shirt off the dresser and slipped it over his head. He paused out of habit, looking for his vest. His chest constricted. Since he'd been eighteen years old, he hadn't gone without wearing leather, until Komoon stripped him of his armor.

  Wayne had promised the return of his bike if he agreed to stay in St. John's and let Notus help him get rid of Komoon Motorcycle club, and consecutively, save his life.

  The only reason he agreed was that he wasn't too fond of having his death hanging over Wayne, Thad, Chuck, and Glen's head. He'd protected them his whole life, and he'd go on protecting them.

  A truck engine idled from the front of the house and then drove away. Probably Chuck picking up Wayne after returning the bike.

  He walked out of the bedroom and glanced over at Gracie's open bedroom door. She rarely forgot to close it, preferring to lock herself in. Deciding to check on her, he stepped over and peeked into the room.

  Gracie stood beside the bed with her back toward him. She put her purse strap over her head and slipped the bag to her hip, bent over, and picked up a pistol out of the drawer of her nightstand. He stayed and watched the almost obsessive ritual.

  She popped the magazine out, looked it over, and shoved the clip back in the butt of the pistol. Then, she slid the weapon into her purse, leaving the zipper open for easy access. He'd never seen her without her purse. It wasn't until she decided locking her bedroom door was more important than having her pistol back that he realized she had another weapon at her side.

  Since then, he'd wanted to know why she carried a pistol in the house. Her fear was no longer about him. He liked to think she'd gotten over being nervous around him.

  Her leeriness and highly-tuned awareness of her surroundings were something he'd never seen before in a woman. She never drank or cranked the music full-blast while vacuuming or cleaning the kitchen. Her actions always remained routine and precise. She shared nothing about her life, yet remained polite when she spoke. Her meticulous house lacked any memories, except a picture of her and Clara together in front of Vavoom's Bar and a portrait of an older man he assumed was her father.

  Gracie turned and walked toward the door, raising her gaze. She stopped when he came into view. "One of the bikers arrived," she blurted.

  "Wayne brought my motorcycle over." He moved to slide his hands into his vest pockets and hit air at the lack of clothing, so he shoved his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans.

  Her neck muscles constricted and she tilted her chin. "So, you're going to leave St. John's again?"

  "I'm going—"

  "That's such an asshole move." She put her hand on her purse. "What about Wayne? Chuck? Thad? Glen?"

  His jaw ached, and he stopped gritting his teeth. "What about them?"

  "They've turned their lives upside down trying to find you for all these years." She shook her head. "You don't even care that those men love you. That at twenty years old, when they needed you most, you left them."

  He cared.

  The last thing he wanted was Gracie to ride his ass. He stepped back. "I'm going for a ride. I'll be back."

  He needed out of here. Away from the house. The memories. The threats. Most of all, away from Gracie, who had started to invade his thoughts. She had him wanting what he missed.

  "Hey, Rich?" said Gracie.

  He walked the few remaining steps on the stairs and then turned and gazed up at Gracie. She walked down the stairs, holding her purse steady.

  "Can I go with you?" She stopped in front of him. "W-we could stop at Vavoom's, and I could check in with the crew that's working. I haven't been there in weeks, and while we're there, we can eat lunch. I'm also willing to go for a longer ride with you if going there isn't far enough for you to enjoy the time on your motorcycle."

  She babbled. He studied her face. From everything he knew about her routine, he never pictured her a woman who would enjoy riding on the back of a se
at.

  "Have you been on a bike before?" He studied her in case she tried to lie. In the world he came from, women would say and do whatever they believed he wanted to hear.

  She nodded. "Many times."

  Her answer irritated him. "With who?"

  "Chuck." She lifted her chin. "You can call him and ask if you don't believe me."

  He dropped his gaze to her breasts. "Wear a jacket."

  She walked around him, opened the entryway closet, and took out a leather jacket and held up a helmet. He inspected everything for any sign of the Notus colors. The unadorned coat gave him her history. She'd never belonged to any of the Notus members.

  His need to get outside, check out the neighborhood, and try to find where Cross stayed had him agreeing to take her with him. While Cross hadn't made any move to trespass on the property since the last time, he had witnessed him driving past the house. Whether Gracie went with him or not, he needed to get his bearings in St. John's fast.

  Knowing Cross would not shoot him in plain sight in the daylight, Gracie would be safe with him. Probably safer than at home alone, where Cross could use her to get to him.

  Outside, his bike parked in the driveway was a welcome sight. He scanned handlebar to tires to duffle. There were no new marks on the frame, and the old ones were still there. He blew out his breath, knowing he hadn't skidded the asphalt when the cops picked him up and threw him in jail. That meant Komoon brought him and his bike to St. John's, and he'd been either drunk off his ass or doped up because he couldn't remember a single second of the trip.

  "If you turn at the stop sign, go two blocks, and then turn—"

  "I know how to get to Vavoom's," he said, throwing his leg over the seat.

  Her lips tightened. "Of course, you do."

  He'd run the streets of St. John's growing up. Even with the progression of time and the changes that came with the city developing, streets never changed. Hell, he ran the streets in his nightmares, every fucking night, always searching. Finding everything, but who and what he was looking for.

  Once out on the cross street, he rode out to Lombard, past the tattoo parlor, the Mexican restaurant, Jiffy Lube, and Taco Bell. The ornamental cherry trees lining the sidewalk were fully grown now and not a twig tied between two stakes. A light rail track—that was new— ran down the middle of the street, forcing him to ride farther to the right to keep his tires out of the dip.