CULVER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel

by Jackson, Meg

  See? It was a stupid story. It wasn’t even very funny. But laying there, in his arms, I thought it was the most charming thing anyone had ever said to me. It was my first time indulging in ‘pillow talk’. I was smitten. If you’d asked me, right then, if I loved him, I’d have said yes as loud as my voice allowed me. After all, like I said, oxytocin is a powerful drug.

  We lay there on the sandy beach for three hours, nodding in and out of conversation, never quite falling into sleep. He told me more about his gang, which he referred to as his family. The way he spoke about them, I could feel how passionately he truly cared for each man in the crew. He didn’t get into the gritty details, for which I was thankful. Being reminded of his shady past, his dangerous life, would only have ruined the moment, reminded us both of the reality of the situation.

  I, in turn, told him about my life in Missoula. My summer job at an ice-cream parlor. Stories about Alicia and Becky and our other friends. The time we went cliff jumping, and I felt like I was flying. The time Alicia got drunk, got pulled over on her bicycle, and wound up getting pancakes with the cop. A time when Becky and I were little children at church and dared each other to drink holy water. Random, silly stories that I would never have told if I hadn’t felt so comfortable, so open, so free to be myself.

  The warm air held us like a cradle. Finally, I realized, it was getting late, and I needed to get home. My parent’s hadn’t been happy about me going out in the first place, and if I strolled through the doors the next morning they’d be livid. Pulling myself up, I brushed sand from my skin.

  “I have to go,” I said, leaning over Boon’s body as he lay still. His eyes opened, peered into mine.

  “No, you don’t,” he said, reaching up and pulling me down, on top of him. He wrapped his strong arms around me, my face pressed against his chest, the taste of his sweat on my lips. I giggled as he squeezed me.

  “No, no, I do, really, I have to,” I said, my voice muffled. Gradually, he relented, releasing me. I leaned back, drawing myself onto my knees. Looking down at him, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay forever in his embrace.

  “What now?” I asked, blurting out the question that had been lingering between us since we’d collapsed on the ground together. Boon propped himself up on his elbows, looking out onto the still lake.

  “Well, I guess I’m screwed,” he finally said. My brow furrowed.

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Well, I can’t stay, your daddy made that clear. But I can’t leave, either. Not after…that,” he said, actually sounding sheepish. I felt myself blushing.

  “Was it that good…for you?” I wondered aloud, not really believing that a guy like Boon, who could pretty much have his pick of girls, would really be blown away by a virgin like me. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled up at me.

  “Darling, that was….resplendent. You’re dangerous. You should come with a warning,” he said, and I felt a swarm of butterflies released in my stomach.

  “So…so what do we do?” The question hung in the air. Boon leaned up more, coming to a sitting position. He took my hands in his, looked into my eyes.

  “Come away with me. Come to California – or no, let’s go to Maine. Let’s go east, as far east as we can get, far away from my dad and your dad and everything. We can be together, and start new lives…” his voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying, and who he was saying it to. I shook my head, tears tickling my eyes.

  “I can’t do that, Boon. I mean, I really…I really like you. A lot. Like, a lot. But I can’t just leave. I have…I have a life here. A good life. I have my friends, and my parents, and I’m going to be starting school…I’m not like you. I can’t just pick up and go somewhere. And I don’t want to! I want to stay here. I love my life. It could only…well, the only way I could like it more is if you were in it.”

  “I know,” he said, head hanging. “I know. I could never really ask you to do that. God, Samantha, you’re so young, and so good. I can’t…I can’t try to change that. I’m no good. I’m trouble. You deserve everything life wants to give you. And I can only give you…bad news.”

  I squeezed his hands.

  “Stay. You’re not trouble. Maybe your father is, maybe your friends are, but you’re not. You’re good; I can see it. Stay. I’ll talk to my dad. He can help you! He’s the sheriff, he could get you a job, help you get set up with a new life, one where you can be you, the good you. It can happen, I promise. Just let me talk to him…”

  Boon was shaking his head, resigned.

  “You’re his little girl, Samantha. You don’t know what fathers will do to protect their daughters. He’s not going to help me. He’s just going to chase me out of town.”

  “Let me try. Please, just, stay at the motel, a few more nights. Let me try. That’s the least we can do,” I said, trying to catch his eye. He looked at me. I sensed his hesitation.

  “Okay,” he finally said, his voice rough and low, no louder than a whisper. “A few days. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up, little sister. I certainly don’t have very high hopes myself.”

  I could have fucked him again right there and then for even giving me the chance to talk to my dad. He was right to be pessimistic, but he was also wrong: my dad could be understanding, could change his mind. And even if my father couldn’t, my mother could certainly help change his mind for him.

  I leaned forward, throwing my arms around Boon’s shoulders, pushing him back onto the sand, pressing my lips against his. We giggled through the kiss; his hands came to my waist, held me in place. Finally, he pulled back.

  “If you’re gonna go, you better go now, or I won’t be able to let you leave at all,” he said, releasing my waist. I stood up, slightly wobbly, and let out a short cry when I felt Boon’s hand suddenly smack against my ass. I blushed, laughing, and hopped over his body to my white dress, which had been laying in the sand. I watched him watch me get dressed, enjoying the feel of his eyes on my moonlit body.

  “I’ll call you,” I said as I began to walk towards the path that led back to the house.

  “Samantha,” he called after me. I stopped and turned to him. “Just, be careful. Don’t…don’t get your hopes up.”

  Too late for that, I thought to myself as I slipped into the woods. My hopes were already living up there in that star-filled night. If they were going to fall, it was going to be one hell of a crash.

  ~ 22 ~

  Mom and Dad, mercifully, hadn’t waited up for me. I guess that even with their misgivings about Boon, they knew I was an adult and needed to be treated like one. I slipped quietly up the steps and into my room, leaning against the door and trying to collect myself. The drive home had seemed to take forever, and I’d tried my best not to think of anything as I drove. The last thing I wanted or needed was to end up in a ditch because I let my mind wander.

  Now, bathed in the soft light of my bedroom, I thought I’d be up all night, trying to figure out a way to talk to my dad about Boon. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I woke to sun streaming through my window and birds chirping. I’d underestimated the narcotic properties of mind-blowing sex and passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  I actually had work that day, and I could barely believe that after everything I’d gone through the past two weeks, I was actually going to don my silly pink-and-white striped uniform and dole out ice cream to families on vacation and kids on summer break.

  I spent my shift in a sort of haze, my mind constantly bouncing back and forth like a pinball. What to say to my father, how the many ways this could work out, my possible future with Boon, my possible separation from Boon.

  I’d spent a lot of time preparing my meeting-Boon-at-the-lake speech, but the speech I wanted to give my father would have to be a lot more professional and compelling, and I had a lot less time to rehearse it in my mind.

  I wanted to talk to Dad that night. If Boon agreed to stick around for a few days, and if Dad needed some time to come a
round to my way of thinking, then the sooner the better. As I scooped up cones of strawberry ice cream, I thought of the many ways I could approach the subject. We hadn’t even mentioned the incident since it took place, and I knew that what I was going to say wouldn’t be easy for my father to hear. It had to be perfect.

  When I got off work, my heart and mind were both racing. I knew Mom and Dad would both be home by the time I got there. Should I just get it over with as soon as I got in? Should I wait until dinner? After dinner, when we were all watching TV together?

  The question was answered for me. As soon as I stepped through the door, I knew something was off. Mom and Dad were sitting in the living room without the TV on. That wouldn’t have been weird if they were talking, but they weren’t. They were just sitting there. I knew Mom was usually on the treadmill or doing laps at this time, so that was a big red flag, too.

  “Um, hi,” I said, standing in the hallway and looking in at them. Their faces were…concerning, to say the least. Mom looked uneasy; Dad looked downright distraught. I threw my purse onto the floor and walked to the loveseat, sinking in.

  There was no use trying to avoid whatever they were about to say. For a moment, I wondered if this could have nothing at all to do with Boon: maybe something else had happened. Maybe Mom lost her job. Maybe we were going to need to move. Maybe my Aunt Hilde died. I didn’t want any of those things to be true, but I also didn’t want to have a conversation about Boon unless it was me coming to them.

  I noticed the matchbook Boon slipped me sitting on the coffee table and my stomach dropped. There was no question about it: they knew.

  “I’m guessing you want to talk to me,” I said, deciding that it would be best if I took control of the situation as much as possible.

  “Damn right we do,” Dad said, his voice harsh. I flinched. I hated disappointing my parents, and I realized for the first time how much I really had betrayed their trust by seeing Boon. I got that sick feeling in my stomach that I only got when I’d really screwed up and had to come clean to my parents. Guilt and shame mixed together. I consciously reminded myself that while, yes, I’d definitely gone behind my parents’ backs, I had a pretty good reason, and that this time, maybe, just maybe, I was in the right.

  “Why is there a ladder hidden in the backyard?” Mom asked, glancing at Dad with concern. Oh, shit, I thought. We’d forgotten the stupid ladder. In all the drama and running around, Alicia, Becky, and I had all totally forgotten we’d hid the ladder at my house. Mom always played ref between Dad and I, and I knew she was trying to keep Dad from just blowing up before the whole story came out and I had a chance to defend myself.

  “I…I…we…”

  “And where the hell did this come from?” Dad said, picking up the matchbook and holding it in front of me, waving it in my face. I started to feel something else stirring inside me: anger.

  “Well, actually, Dad, it came from my room,” I said, realizing that the only way Mom and Dad could have found that is if they’d gone into my room. That would have been fine if I was still 12 and needed Mom to do my laundry and put my clothes away, but I’d been taking care of my own wardrobe for years, and there was, generally, no reason for them to ever go into my room when I wasn’t there.

  “Don’t get smart with me! I know where this came from, and I know who’s staying there,” Dad said, throwing it onto the table and leaning back in his chair, his eyes shaking with anger.

  “Maybe it came from the hotel originally, but you found it in my room, which means you went through my stuff, which you have no right to do! I’m 18 now, I’m going to college this fall, I don’t want to have to lock my door just to keep my parents from snooping!”

  “It’s my house, young lady, and as long as you’re living here, I have every right to do whatever the hell I want to your room or with your stuff,” Dad shot back.

  “Okay, okay, everyone calm down. Samantha, the only reason Dad went through your things is because we found the ladder. We weren’t born yesterday, Samantha, and we both thought you were being awfully quiet the other night. All this stuff just confirmed what we already suspected,” Mom said, trying to act as the voice of reason.

  “Well, so what? So, you’re right, I snuck out, so what? You can’t ground me anymore! I’m not your little girl that you can just tell what to do! I can make up my own mind about who I want to see,” I said, aware that my voice was louder than I meant it to be, my tone defensive.

  “We can do whatever we need to, if you’re making decisions that are going to hurt you!” Dad said, his tone and volume matching mine.

  “He’s not gonna hurt me! He’d never hurt me! He’s not who you think he is, Dad! He’s a good guy, he really is, and he wants out! He doesn’t want to be like his father, he wants to be better, he just needs a chance,” I shouted, tears coming to my eyes. They were angry tears, the sort of tears that you fight like hell to keep inside because you don’t want to show weakness.

  “Like hell! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Samantha, and you’re neck-deep in trouble if you think….”

  “You don’t even know him! You never even gave him a chance! You just judged him based on what his dad did, you don’t know. He’s sweet, and he’s smart, and he came here to try and escape his life, try to make a new life for himself, and you just want to shove him back down, back to a life he doesn’t want, just because…because…because you’re…because you’re mean, and petty, and close-minded!”

  My last words seemed to echo through the house, bouncing off the walls. I was breathing heavily, my father and I caught in a staring contest, tears falling down my face. Dad leaned back, studying me, anger still etched on his face. My mother was looking back and forth at us.

  “Everyone needs to stop screaming,” she finally said, breaking the silence. My mother’s calm voice made me ashamed of losing my temper; my father must have felt the same, because we both dropped our eyes to our laps at the same moment.

  “Dad, did you ever…did you know that he was there? Boon was there, in the room, when his mother died. And it was that cop who shot her. And he was crooked, he was helping Boon’s dad. That’s why he was there, Dad. He was there to get one last cut before the raid.

  And Boon watched it all happen from the closet. He’s not bad, Daddy, he’s really not. He didn’t choose this life. His dad did. And he wants to get away from it all, put it all behind him, but he can’t do that if…if…if people are always going to be judging him based on his father.”

  “Who told you that? About Giordino being crooked? Did he tell you that? That’s a serious allegation about a cop who was nothing but loyal to…”

  “Does it matter? Does it really matter, Daddy, why Giordino was there, or why he was shot? Boon didn’t do it. Boon didn’t shoot him. He was 12. He was just a kid.”

  Dad leaned back in his chair, his face dark. Mom and I watched him as he sat there, turning over everything in his mind.

  “Was it Alicia? Did Alicia help you get out, with the ladder?” Mom suddenly asked, turning to me. I was a little taken aback by the question, only because it seemed so irrelevant to the rest of the conversation.

  “Becky, too. I think it was actually Becky’s idea,” I said, almost relieved to be able to provide a straight answer to a straight question. Mom looked at Dad pointedly, an “I told you so” look. Dad saw and threw his hands up.

  “Well, Becky Armstrong is not the goddam high priestess of good judgment!” Dad said, exasperated. It dawned on me what was going on, and it almost made me laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation: my parents had their doubts about Alicia’s ability to make good decisions, but they pretty much thought Becky could be President of the United States.

  If I wasn’t sure if Mom and Dad would let me go to a party or show, all I needed to do was tell them Becky was driving, or would be there, and they immediately relaxed a little bit. Obviously, if they thought Becky had met Boon and supported my decision to see him, it gave me a little more cr
edibility. I thanked God, not for the first time, for my best friends.

  “I’m just saying, Bill,” Mom replied. She turned back to me.

  “Samantha, we are very, very disappointed that you would sneak out without telling us anything. That’s dangerous, no matter what the situation. But I, for one, think I understand. And I’m not going to speak for your father, but I think you have a valid point,” Mom said, speaking slowly and clearly. I could have tackled her for a hug at that moment. For the first time, she was looking at me almost as an equal, instead of as her daughter.

  “Jillian…” Dad said, his face clouding over again.

  “No, Bill, that is my opinion, and Samantha deserves to know that. She’s right. She’s not a little girl anymore, and she needs to make her own decisions. I know you want me to just agree with you on everything, honey, but that ain’t the woman you married, and I know that you don’t want to raise a daughter who’ll just agree to anything her husband says. Now you can say your piece, if you want. I’ve said mine.”