Leave a Trail

by Susan Fanetti

  “Hey, little one.” In one long stride, he was at her side, bending down to kiss her cheek. “I’m glad to see you. Surprised, though. I thought you’d be with Shannon and Lilli, talking to the contractor again. There something wrong?”

  “We’re done with that. Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

  He cocked his head. “Of course. Come sit.” Taking her hand in his, he led her to the sofa against the far wall and sat down with her. “You sure there’s nothing wrong?” He looked at her belly. “You feelin’ alright?”

  If Show and Badger could take turns carrying her around on a satin pillow for the next seven months, Adrienne was sure that they would. She’d seen Show’s tender care of Shannon while she was pregnant, but it had still been something of a surprise—and not always a great thing—when he’d turned the same concerned eyes and hands on her. Everywhere she turned, somebody was fussing over her. Most of the time, though, she liked it, inconvenient as it was. And always she felt loved.

  “I’m good. The past couple of days, I’ve felt pretty normal.”

  “Good. Good.” He lifted her new necklace from her throat. “Pretty. Suits you.”

  “Did you know he bought it?”

  “Yep. I went with him. That’s where I bought Shannon’s rings. Got her a bracelet this time.”

  “I can’t even imagine what they thought when the two of you came into the store.”

  “We gave ‘em a shock, I’m sure. But Badge and I married fancy women and dropped ‘em into a shit life. You deserve some fancy every now and then.”

  “I’m not fancy.”

  Show chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

  A little offended, she made a face. He brushed his fingers over her brow and nose with a smile. “Easy, now. I meant it as a compliment. You and your m—Shannon—you class up the joint. She classes the fuck out of me.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes. “What d’you want to talk about?”

  “Badge. I’m a little worried.”

  Show’s face darkened with concern almost instantly. “What’s up? He’s not back on—”

  “No. No. I’m sure he’s not. That’s not what I mean. But he’s different. Distracted a lot.”

  “Well, you’re making him a father. That shuffles a man’s thinking. Trust me.”

  “It’s more than that. Usually I can get him to talk, but he won’t.” She looked into Show’s light blue eyes. “You’re different, too.”

  His expression shifted to a sort of tired understanding. “Ah. Did Shannon ask you to say something?”

  They’d talked about it, how Show and Badger both seemed weighed down since the new year, but no, Shannon hadn’t asked her to say anything. She shook her head.

  He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “You are a sweet little thing. I’m alright. If you’re worried about Badge for the same reason, then he’ll be alright, too. Things are different. It’s taking some time to get right with that. Isaac left a big hole. Len, too.”

  “Can they have visitors?”

  “Yeah. Eventually. There’s paperwork, and the Feds aren’t in any rush, I guess, to process it. But in a couple of weeks, I hope, I’ll ride Lilli, Tasha, and the kids up there for the weekend. That’ll help some. Seeing they’re doin’ okay.”

  Adrienne nodded and sat back, thinking again about what Lilli and Tasha were giving up. It made her feel a crushing loneliness. At the meeting today, Lilli had seemed fairly normal, focused on the swatches and sketches of the designer’s proposal. But afterward, when Shannon had suggested they go to lunch to debrief, she’d refused—just said, “No. See you,” and gotten into her truck.

  After a minute or two of silence, Show’s eyes on her the whole time, he asked, “What’s really got you sideways, little one? You know Badge is gonna be okay. Me, too. What’s goin’ on?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t like people going away.” Suddenly, her head was full of tears. She looked down and blinked until the threat that they would spill out had passed.

  “If you miss him, you should call him.”

  She looked up. “What?”

  “Your dad. You could call him. It’s been months. He’s had time to feel what he’s lost by now. He lost a lot. So did you.”

  Until Show had brought her ex-father up, Adrienne had had no inkling he was in her thoughts at all, but once the idea was out, she knew it was true. Charles Renard had been standing in the corner of her mind, leaving a shadow of loss and discontent. But Show was wrong. “No. I don’t want him back. I’ll never want him back.” She would never forgive him for erasing her from his life and driving away in an empty U-Haul. There was no coming back from that. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t forget him; she would never forgive him.

  “But you miss him?”

  She shook her head. “I miss my mom. I miss the way things were before she got sick. But maybe that’s not even true. If she hadn’t died, I wouldn’t know you or Shannon or anybody here. I wouldn’t have Badge. I don’t think I’d give Signal Bend up even if it meant I could have my mom back.” The horror of that thought brought her tears up and over, and she put her hand to her mouth to hold back the sobs.

  Show pulled her into a sheltering embrace, and she cried against his dense chest, tucked into the leather of his kutte. “Shhh, little one. I understand. Doesn’t mean you love her less. No matter how bad things get, it’s good we can’t go backwards. We deal with what life throws at us and find strength in what we live through. We make what comes next the best we can. If there’s no place for your father in your future, then that’s the way it is.”

  Sniffling, she sat back and looked up into Show’s kind, handsome face. “I have my father in my future. I have you.”

  He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Well, you know I’m glad to have the job. I sure love you. Lookin’ forward to spoiling that grandbaby you’re makin’ me, too.”

  “You were wrong about me and Badge, you know. About him being wrong for me.”

  “Wondered if you were ever gonna get around to tryin’ to make me eat that. But no, I don’t think I was. I think you were right for Badge, and that made him right for you. He’s a strong guy, been through more than most. But he needed a special person to show him his balance. That was you. Sometimes I look in your eyes and think I see something in you that’s older than time. You are something special. You look for the good in people. You bring it out of them. Badge is a lucky son of a bitch.”

  With a bittersweet sigh, Adrienne leaned into his hold again, resting on his chest, letting the deep, steady thump of his strong heart settle her body and mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Generally, presenting a Prospect with his new kutte was a matter of handing it to him with a handshake. Prospects were grunts, sentenced to a least a year of being the members’ bitch and doing the shittiest work they could find. The celebration came afterwards, if they made it through a patch vote.

  But Nolan signing on as Prospect was something else entirely. On his eighteenth birthday, on a sunny day in late April, the Horde threw him a party. He was still in high school, having promised his mother he’d graduate. There had been a lively discussion in the Keep about whether to wait until he graduated before they let him wear a kutte. A few of the Horde—Zeke was the most vocal—had trouble with the thought of a high school kid, even one with only a month left to graduation, wearing a kutte.

  But Badger, his sponsor, had argued hard, stressing the ways Nolan was already acting as a Prospect, the responsibilities he’d already taken on, his already tight bond to the club, and the vote had gone his way. He’d obviously not be allowed to wear his new kutte at school, but he was prospecting before he’d even graduated. Badger thought he might have to pay extra hard for that privilege. He’d seen the intent in Zeke’s normally inscrutable face: Nolan would be put to the test before he was brought up for a patch vote. Badger thought he’d do some testing himself. He was glad the kid was prospecting. He kn
ew Havoc would be busting his seams with pride. But getting that kutte so early would be the last special consideration Nolan would get. He’d have to sweat to earn his patch, prove he was worthy of it. There was no pride or glory in being handed an honor like that.

  Cory seemed conflicted, proud and happy for Nolan, but worried. Things had changed so much since the fall, though, that Badger thought she could take some ease. Signal Bend was quiet. The Horde’s work was entirely focused on the town—getting the B&B going again, as it had been now for a few weeks, running Valhalla Vin, taking care of folks’ troubles and disagreements, keeping order. The only ways they were crossing the line now were a few protection runs that might not be entirely squeaky clean and some black market runs for Tasha. The Horde made sure she had the resources to care for people the way they needed care.

  But even those were infrequent occurrences. They were running more legit than Badger had ever known them to be. Moreover, the new Sheriff had been close with Keith Tyler, and had taken on his mentor’s friendly feelings toward the club. So long as Signal Bend stayed off their dispatch, the Horde would not be harassed. So Nolan was coming into the club at a time when Cory could relax a little and feel as assured as anyone could ever be, regular citizen or outlaw, that her boy would be okay.

  Badger liked it this way—calm. He and Adrienne were starting a family. They’d bought a house on about fifteen acres, with a small barn, not far outside of town. He wanted their life to be a quiet one. They both had deep scars, inside and out, from the life the Horde had been living, and he felt that he’d had enough outlaw excitement in his life. He was only twenty-seven, but he felt considerably older. Now he wanted to work his straight job at the B&B, riding to work every day with Adrienne. He wanted to go home and spend the night with her, being married, fixing up their house, getting ready for their son, fucking in their bed, with Hector closed out of the room so he wouldn’t sit there and stare.

  He wanted to meet with his brothers in the Keep to talk about town business; he wanted to go on runs with destinations to look forward to—rallies instead of wars. He wanted to get drunk and party and not worry whether it would be the last time.

  Because it was Nolan’s birthday party as well as the day he became a Prospect, the old ladies and kids were there at first, too. There was cake, and people had brought presents. It was Lilli’s first time back in the clubhouse since the January day Isaac had gone away. In the few months since Show had taken the President’s patch and Isaac had gone away, Shannon had stepped into the role of clubhouse first lady, managing the women and events like this party. Badger thought he saw Lilli struggling a little with the new dynamic, no longer at the head of the women. Not in any overt, hostile way—she simply looked a little lost sometimes. She was a natural leader, unused to following. It was a good thing, he thought, that she and Shannon were so close. He had no idea what went on in the kitchen, and he didn’t really care to know. But he knew something about Lilli. She wouldn’t make a fuss, but she was having trouble.

  After the cake and presents—Nolan got a mountain of t-shirts with dirty sayings and jokey junk like that, as well as more serious gifts like mechanic’s tools and a vintage Harley sign—Badger checked on Adrienne, who was sitting with Cory and Tasha. She was content, and it would be another hour or more before things would shift into roughhouse gear, so he let her be. He waved his empty bottle at Candy. As he waited for her to bring him a fresh beer, he looked around for Nolan and didn’t see him. After he had a new cold brew in his hand, he went looking.

  He was in the bays, all the lights on, with Havoc’s Softail uncovered. That bike was so Havoc, all the way to the ape-hangers. It made Badger grin to see it, even as his stomach tightened.

  Nolan’s bike—the one he and Havoc had started and he and Badger had finished and brought here, to wait for his birthday, because he didn’t want to ride it until he had a kutte of his own—was parked right next to Havoc’s, also uncovered. 1972 Harley Sportster Ironhead, all black and chrome. Across the top of the tank, using airbrush skills he’d taught himself just for this project, Nolan had painted the words Wreaking Havoc in the vivid red that, with black and silver, were the Horde’s colors. The sides of the tank he’d left blank, hoping to have the privilege of adding a Horde tag to it someday. Maybe on his next birthday.

  Nolan was standing between the two bikes, a beer in his hand. He looked up as Badger approached.

  “What’s up, bud?”

  Nolan shrugged. “I don’t really like parties when they’re for me. Too much attention. It’s cool—I don’t mean to be a dick. Just got kinda freaked.”

  “I get that. I don’t think anybody noticed.” He huffed a laugh. “No offense.”

  “S’okay. I’m glad. I needed a minute.”

  Badger stepped back. “I’ll get out of here, then.”

  “No. You can stay.”

  “Okay.” They stood quietly, Nolan’s eyes on the bikes, Badger’s on Nolan.

  “I don’t think I want to ride Hav’s bike. Not even after I get patched.”

  “No?” That surprised him. That goal had seemed to drive Nolan—to step into Havoc’s place in the club, to try to fill the hole that had been left.

  “No. Feels wrong. This bike shouldn’t be anybody’s but Hav’s. Ever. He built the perfect bike for him. I never want anybody to think of it as mine.” He brushed his hand over the new leather of the seat on his own Sportster. “He bought this for me. This is the only bike I want to ride.”

  Badger looked past him at the row of Horde bikes. The row was too long—not only Havoc’s bike, but Isaac’s bike, and Len’s. Mikey’s, Omen’s, Dan’s. The bike of every Horde patch who had fallen or gone away in the service of the club, standing like silent sentries. Four patch deaths, not counting the traitors who would never count. Three Prospects, as well. In six years. Two men doing hard time.

  Yeah. Badger wanted a quiet life.

  “I think it’s right, Nolan. You know nobody would hold you up, once you’re patched, if you want to take on Hav’s bike. But you’re right. I look at that machine and can still see him on it, riding down 44, so fast his exhaust is practically on fire, grinning like a psycho.”

  “I miss him every day. Still. It’s been a year and a half, longer than I even knew him, but it still fuckin’ hurts.”

  “I know, man. I’m sorry.”

  Nolan shrugged again. “I don’t think I want it to stop. It’s kinda like he’s still around, he’s in my head so much.”

  Badger had no response, but he understood. They stood silently for a few minutes more, then Nolan sighed. “Okay. I guess I should go back out there before my mom starts to think I’m back in the dorm gettin’ laid.”

  “Are you? Not right now, I mean, but…you gettin’ laid?”

  Nolan grinned. “Dude. I hang out here a lot. I’m not a monk.” The swagger in that statement was compromised a little by his bright blush.

  “Good for you. And wrap. Every. Fucking. Time.”

  “I do. I will. I’m not a moron, either.”

  ~oOo~

  There was a time when a whole-club run to Los Angeles would have been the highlight of Badger’s year—hell, maybe even his life. That time had passed. Now, he had a pregnant wife at home, and even though this trip and what it meant was fucking awesome, a wide cord of worry bound his head up. No reason he should be worried. Adrienne was in her second trimester, and everything was going the way it should. But he was worried. What if something happened, and he was two thousand miles away?

  But this run was more important than his irrational fears. For the first time in its existence, the Night Horde MC was welcoming a new charter—Night Horde Southern California. That warranted a full-club run, and he was the VP, a thought that still floored him. Even the Prospects, including Nolan, had joined them, riding in the van behind their bikes, carrying, among other things, their gear, new kuttes for the SoCal charter, and a large metal Flaming Mane for their new clubhouse.

  Even
with the mother charter’s—that was them!—support, it had taken the SoCal contingent some serious time to get their shit straight and pull together the resources they needed to open a clubhouse and start a new bike business. Untangling from the Scorpions had been complicated, despite the vacuum created by the implosion of that mother charter. The Horde had withheld the patch until they were fully ready to go. But they were solid now, finding and rehabbing a property that easily housed both the business and the clubhouse. About forty miles east of the city rather than in Los Angeles itself. Apparently, that was a good thing, with a little more room to maneuver both physically and in terms of their business opportunities.

  Badger figured they knew what they were talking about, but to him it seemed crowded as hell from about a hundred miles outside the city. Holy fuck, there were a lot of people in California. And not a damn one of them paid any attention to what they were doing on the road. It would be bitterly ironic if the Horde ended up a giant grease stain on a California freeway, on their way to what would be, in the end, a fucking party.

  They made it to the clubhouse whole and undented. The Horde SoCal had a city block on the edge of a town in the LA suburbs. Their new custom bike business, Virtuoso Cycles, had opened that week, with a client list carried over from the previous business.

  As they rode up, Hoosier and Bart came through the clubhouse doors onto the sidewalk. Once they’d parked and dismounted, all the men embraced. As Show, Badger, and Dom clasped Bart, they all grinned maniacally. Even Show. Bart was coming back into the Horde fold. Years before, he’d given up his patch to save them. To have him back, even with Isaac and Len away, felt like the cycle of death they’d been stuck in was finally ending. Bart was back. Isaac and Len would come home eventually. And then the Horde would be strong and right.

  Hoosier led them all into the clubhouse, sending their own Prospects out to help Kellen, Nolan, and Thumper unpack the van. Taking in the brand new clubhouse, Badger stopped and laughed. Old or new, he guessed it didn’t matter. An MC clubhouse always looked like a rec room in somebody’s ratty basement. It didn’t smell right yet, but it would soon. The paint here was fresh, the walls blood red and the floor a kind of silvery grey, the woodwork black. There were no gouges in the walls or floor yet. But the furniture was thrift store and yard sale stuff, the shit nobody would have heartburn about if it got torn up, or puked on, flattened during a brawl, burned with a dropped cigar, or who knew what else. The décor was beer and motorcycle signs, neon or metal, and pinup posters—the pinups in this front room, at least, were sort of dressed. Pool table, video games, and, here in LA, a foosball table, and a stripper pole in one corner.