by Lena Pierce
“Why do you even care?” I break out. “You fucking left, Willa. You don’t get a say anymore.”
She lurches at me, clutching onto my hands and pressing her body into mine. The feeling is so damn good—it feels like home, belonging—that for several seconds we just stay like that. “Don’t do this,” she begs. “You don’t have to do this. I’ve been reading the news. I know you’ve been doing it, Diesel. Why do you think I didn’t come to you? But now that we’re together, I’m begging you. Do not do this! You don’t have to be this person.”
Her words puncture my chest, hitting deep. “I do,” I say.
“No, you don’t!” she snaps. She lets go of my hands and grips my face instead, looking into my eyes. Night after night, I’ve seen those brown-flecked blue eyes in my dreams. They weaken me. “I want to have a baby with you, Diesel. I really want to. I know it’s crazy. I know it makes no sense. But it’s what I want. I can’t be with an arsonist, though. I just can’t.”
“You want to have a kid with me?” I whisper.
The impossible life, the dreamed-of life, the second chance … She’s offering it to me right now, everything I’ve ever wanted. A child, and a woman worthy of raising the child. A life that doesn’t rely on causing pain, on tearing stuff down. I could build something up. I could make something instead. And that’d mean we’d get to try to have a kid together. I look at her tight body again. In the back of my head, Grimace watches, waiting for me to push her away and get on with my work.
“A child,” I say, unable to believe she means it.
She kisses me on the cheek. I don’t know when she started to cry. “I told myself I wouldn’t come to you, Diesel. I can’t take it. If you go now I’ll have to move out of the California just so I never see you again. I can’t be with a man who chooses fire over love.”
“Fire over love,” I repeat, wondering at the phrase. I’ve never thought about it like that before.
She smiles through her tears, rolling her eyes playfully. “I was going to write a novel once. I think I mentioned it.” The smile vanishes. She kisses me on the chin. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this. You have a choice.”
I swallow. My throat is dry. “Let me take you home,” I say. I nod at the bag. “I’m guessing you don’t have anywhere to stay.”
She shakes her head. “No,” she admits.
“Okay, come on, then.”
I fix her bag to the bike and give her my jacket and my helmet, and then climb on. Her hands pressed against my belly feel perfect. The engine growls and she lays her helmeted head between my shoulder blades. For a few minutes as I ride through the city, I forget about Grimace and the club. I forget about my responsibilities. All I know is Willa. All I want to know is Willa.
I hold her hand as we walk up the stairs to my apartment. Inside, she goes to the kitchen and looks at the cupboards, still just as I left them the day she walked out on me. “Where do you eat, Diesel?” she asks, sounding like an annoyed mother. If any other girl talked to me in that prissy tone of voice, I’d get away from her as fast as possible. But with Willa, I welcome it.
“At the club, at bars, or I’ll just grab a sandwich from the supermarket.”
“This won’t do,” she says quietly.
“Does that mean you’re staying?” I ask.
She turns on me, smiling, and then letting the smile drop. “I don’t know,” she says. “I want to stay. I guess it all depends on you.”
“On the fires,” I mutter.
“On the fires,” she confirms.
“Tonight. You’re staying tonight, though?”
She nods. “I have nowhere else to go. So as long as you don’t sneak out on me, I’m exhausted and I wouldn’t mind lying down.”
“Come on.”
I take her by the shoulder and lead her into the bedroom. She drops her bag on the floor and looks at the bed, a strange expression on her face. “I’ve missed this,” she says, dropping onto the mattress. The bed is unmade, so she has to reach across to pull the blanket over her. “Although I’m pretty sure these are the same sheets I was sleeping in, Diesel.”
I grin. “I never claimed to be housetrained.”
She shoots daggers at me, but there’s a playful glint in her eye. “We’ll have to see about that. Will you sit with me?”
“You want to make sure I don’t go out.”
A clock tic-tic-tics in the back of my head. Soon Grimace will get word that the apartments aren’t burned down. Soon he’ll be raging in his office, kicking and punching the walls, roaring my name. I feel some of my childhood fear at the thought, but then I push it down. I can’t be that kid anymore. I have to stand by what I want, and what I want is this, to sit beside Willa and not have to worry about turning buildings to black powder.
I sit on the floor, resting my head against the wall. She lies on her side so that we’re watching each other.
“I’ve missed you,” she says. “I don’t believe in fate or whatever, but I’m glad we ran into each other at the bar. I don’t think—” She hesitates, and then goes on. “I wouldn’t have come to you on my own. I wouldn’t have let myself.”
“Because I’m a dirty fuckin’ criminal.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it.
“Pretty much.” She tries a smile. It comes off as forced.
“So what now?” I ask.
“I sleep,” she says, “and you don’t leave this apartment no matter what. I think that’s a good plan for this evening.” Already, her eyes are falling closed. “It’s odd. I haven’t been sleeping very well. And now I’m lying in an unmade bed in old sheets and I can’t seem to stay awake.”
“You can go to sleep if you want,” I say quietly.
“I have something I need to tell you, though,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with sleep.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m …” She begins to snore.
I watch her sleep for a long time, her eyelids fluttering, her nostrils flaring and then closing, her lips slightly parted, her tongue sticking between them. Her hair falls across her forehead, partially covering her eyes. She looks like the sort of woman that’d make a man forget the devil he used to be. I watch her, and I promise myself: I won’t burn. I won’t, never again. I’ll be better than that. I’m sure I can be better than that. Staring at Willa’s perfect face, it’s easy to make these promises. She’s worth it. She’s more than worth it. But a man like me …
As if sensing my doubt, my cell buzzes. It’s Grimace.
I take it into the living room and stare down at it, wondering if I should just let it ring. Something makes me pick it up.
“Diesel?”
“Boss.”
“This is Diesel, right?” he asks. His voice sounds raspy as though he’s been shouting. “This is the man I saved from the streets, who I saved from getting shanked to death in prison, right? This is the man whose life I saved?”
“This is Diesel,” I say stiffly. It’s one thing feeling like I owe the man. It’s another to have the man throw it in my face.
“I’ve sent out a couple of guys to the apartment building, and it’s … it’s a well-built building. Nothing could knock that building down. What’s happening? Are you busy? You were meant to sort out the survey.”
He thinks I might be working with the police, I think in disbelief.
“I’ve killed four men,” I tell him. I give him the dates, the places, the times, the circumstances. Two were sick fucks who tried to rape me when I was sixteen. The other two were sick fucks who were trading women like cards in Rider territory. “Do you want more information, Grimace? I can tell you about all the illegal shit I’ve done if that’ll prove I’m not a fucking rat.”
“Okay, Diesel, calm down.” He sighs down the phone, that raspy noise making it sound like the reception is breaking up. “What’s going on with you? I can’t send anybody else. I don’t trust them. We need to send a message. We don’t need police sniffing around. We need you, Diesel. You’re the onl
y one I trust not to hurt anybody. Otherwise, Chino’ll keep—”
“Wait,” I say, gears turning in my head. “You’re telling me that if I stop burning down these buildings, you’re fucked. You haven’t got anybody else who could do it, ’cause they’d mess it up and bring heat down on the club. That’s what you’re saying to me.”
“Yes, so why don’t you get your ass down there and—”
“Give me Chino’s address,” I say. “I’ll take him out tonight. I’ll end this. And then I’m done, with the life, with the club, with everything.”
“What are you talking about?” Grimace growls. “What’s got into your goddamn head? We don’t know where Chino is. Why do you think we’re screwing with his assets?”
“I’m not working tonight,” I say. “That’s my final decision. If you’ve got a problem with it you can send as many men down here as you want, and get as many corpses back. I’m not fuckin’ working tonight.”
He sighs again, crackling the line. “I care about you, boy. I don’t know if you understand what you’re sayin’. It could mean the end of your life in the Riders.”
I look into my bedroom. I can see the outline of Willa’s leg in the blanket. “I understand it just fine,” I say. “I’m not burning tonight.”
“He killed our men. He killed our men and you want him to just walk away.”
“Tell me where he is. We’ll end this.”
“I don’t know where he fucking is!” Grimace roars.
“Then that should be our strategy, boss,” I say. “Not burning down innocent people’s homes.”
“I could have you taken out for this,” Grimace says. “You know I could. One phone call and half a dozen men’ll be there. One phone call.”
“I know.”
I hang up the phone and then turn it off, tossing it onto the couch.
When I go back into the bedroom, I brush the hair from Willa’s forehead. I have no clue if a life like this, trying for a baby, being with a woman, can work for me. But I know I want to try.
Chapter Nineteen
Willa
I wake up with Diesel sleeping on the floor next to me, his head resting against the wall, and his knees propped against his chest. He looks cute and huge sat like that, like seeing a fully-grown adult sitting on a kid’s playset chair. I think about waking him up and telling him about the baby, but it’s almost eight and I need to get to work. Life hasn’t stopped just because I ran into Diesel.
I creep across the room and search through my bag for a change of clothes, taking out some jeans and a T-shirt and then going through into the bathroom. I find a packet of toothbrushes in his bathroom cabinet, brush my teeth, and splash water on my face. When I emerge, as clean as I’m going to get, Diesel is sitting on the couch.
He smiles at me when I walk in. “Howdy,” he says. His dark green eyes flit with worry. I can tell that he’s wondering if I’m going to suddenly flip on him, turn from the affectionate woman I was last night into somebody who doesn’t have time for him.
I return the smile. “Howdy,” I say. “Except I don’t remember when we became cowboys.”
He shrugs, and then jumps to his feet. He walks across to me and places his hands on my shoulders. They feel so good, I just sink into him. He wraps him arms around me, holding me close. “I chose you last night,” he says. “I chose you instead of the club.” A note of wonder enters his voice. “I’ve never found someone I’d rather be with than the club. Now the club seems so petty. I just … I hope you really do wanna be with me, Willa.”
“I do,” I tell him, disentangling myself. “But I might still want to be a proper journalist one day. I need to get going.”
“Want a ride?” he asks.
I think about it, and then nod. “If you drop me off down the street,” I say.
“I hope I don’t always have to drop you down the street,” he replies. “But yeah, it’ll probably be best for today.”
He hands me his jacket and a helmet when we’re outside, and then we’re speeding toward the station as we did countless times before. I clutch onto his rock-hard belly, my body already excited just by touching him, by his ridged abs. I wish I hadn’t been so tired last night. I think about later, a whole night with Diesel and nothing stopping us now. As long as he doesn’t go back to his old ways, we can screw, screw, screw until we can’t move. He drops me in the same spot he used to, and I climb from the bike.
Handing him the leather and the helmet, I say, “See you later, Diesel.”
He grins, revving his engine. “I’ll be here.”
“Oh.” I nod. “That’d be nice. Yeah.”
Then he reaches into his pocket and hands me a twenty.
“What’s this?” I ask. “Pocket money?”
“Lunch money,” he says.
I watch him ride away, my pussy aching at the thought of tonight. But first I have to get through today. I take a sip from my bottle of water, telling myself I don’t feel sick, I won’t let myself be sick, that women are pregnant all over the world and somehow manage to keep their food down. My belly growls at me, reminding me that keeping your food down means actually having eaten. I get a sandwich from the van outside using Diesel’s cash, and then head into the station.
I know something’s happened when Joseph, the security guard, walks over to me, smiling widely and nodding so that his chin hits his chest. “Congratulations,” he says, offering me his hand. “You must be so pleased. What lovely news. What fantastic news! I am sorry for being so forward, but sometimes life can be so—so swell!” As if to prove the point, he swells his chest up. When I don’t take his hand, he glances down at it and then at me. “Oh,” he says. “I … uh … I better get back to work.”
It’s just like the day my apartment building burned down. When I stand in the elevator, I can feel eyes on me, even if nobody makes it obvious. The elevator is dead silent, as though everybody is afraid of speaking near me just in case I guess something’s up. What they don’t know is that this is way more suspicious than anything else. When I arrive on my floor, I’m intercepted by a woman I’ve never spoken to before.
Her name is Molly—I think—and she’s worked here for a few years—I think—and she’s married to one of the TV reporters—I think. She’s the head of human resources for this department. She’s a short, redheaded woman with a mole the size of a bottle cap on her left cheek, which she’s tried to cover with powder. Despite that, she’s bubbly-looking, fun-looking. At least she usually is, the few times I’ve seen her walking through the office or talking with people near her cubicle. Now she stares at me with wide, amazed eyes. I vaguely remember hearing something about Molly losing two children to miscarriages.
“Is it true?” she asks.
“Um, is what true?” I reply, though by now I can guess what’s happened.
She bites her lip. “I don’t want to be rude,” she says. “I just want to say that I’m so, so happy for you. I know we haven’t spoken much. But I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t be friends, right?”
“Sure, Molly,” I mutter.
Her face lights up when I use her name. “Great!” She all but punches the air. “That’s just fantastic.”
She lingers, watching me. I don’t know what to say to her so I just stare back at her. Eventually she smiles, nods, and retreats.
“Mad, isn’t it?” I’ve spoken to Kenny a couple of times. He’s the mailman who often hangs around the office for a few minutes after making his deliveries. He’s tall, black, and handsome in a clean-cut kind of way. He’s standing by the water cooler as I pass him.
“What’s crazy?” I ask.
“A simple thing like having a baby, and everybody goes kooky.” He smiles kindly. “I’m not saying it isn’t special. Just … have I made a complete fool of myself? My wife and I have three little ones. It’s an amazing thing, a blessing.” He smiles again, this time a little shaky. I guess it’s because I’m looking at him like he’s just grown another head. “Anyway
, congrats.” He hurries away.
I march across the office to Brittany, prodding her in the arm and walking toward the hallway. She’s wearing an oversized blue dress, which for some reason makes me want to slap her across the face. It’s so pretentious, but that’s Brittany, doing whatever she likes with whomever she likes, whenever she likes.
“Is this where we always have to meet, Willa?” She waves at the storage cupboard, her sleeve billowing as though in the wind.
I struggle to keep my voice at a reasonable level. “Why does everybody know I’m pregnant?” I ask as calmly as I can. “Why is that, Brittany? Why should the whole damned station know that I’m pregnant?”