by Geri Glenn
A body slams into mine from behind, then a pair of arms wrap themselves around my waist. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I watch the smile fall from Ellen’s face and the crinkles around her eyes smooth out as she looks over my shoulder. Turning, I paste on a fake smile and pull out of the unwanted embrace, taking my intruder by the hand so I can move her away from Ellen. “Everyone, meet Tammy.”
I don’t want them to meet Tammy. I want Tammy to disappear. I want that happy look back on Ellen’s face.
She yanks her hand from mine and narrows her eyes at me. “It’s Tawney. How is it you let me suck your dick five fucking minutes ago, but you can’t even remember my damn name?”
Shit. “Tawney… right! That’s what I—”
The sound of her open hand striking my cheek is barely heard over the noisy din of the bar, but everyone at that table hears it. Before I know it, Tawney’s gone, and everyone’s staring at me. They’re all silent for a beat, but then they all burst into laughter.
I lock eyes with Ellen, who isn’t laughing. It’s quite the opposite, she looks disgusted.
Raising my hand, I press it to my lip and check for blood, but there is none. The only thing wounded here is my pride, and most likely, my shot with Ellen.
“Looks like you pissed Tammy off,” Ryker chokes out through his wheezing laughter.
“Fuckin’ priceless,” Reaper snorts. “First time I ever saw a bitch pissed at you, Jase. It’s like fuckin’ Christmas!”
The three of them continue to cackle like a bunch of hyenas while I grit my teeth. Fuck them. This shit isn’t funny. I look over to Charlie, and the disappointment on her face makes my stomach tighten. Then I look back to Ellen, but she avoids meeting my eyes.
“I’m gonna grab another beer.” I walk away, thankful for any excuse to distance myself from them. Fuck. That bitch totally fucked up any chance I might have had with Ellen tonight. And what the fuck did she hit me for? I’ve never been slapped like that, ever.
Shaking my head, I order my beer and wade back through the sea of people to Ryker’s table.
The first thing I notice is the empty seat. I look to Charlie, who just shakes her head and looks away.
For the first time in my life, a feeling I’ve never felt before threatens to overwhelm me. I slump down onto Ellen’s abandoned stool, which is still warm, and my face heats as I realize what that feeling is.
Shame.
Looking up, my eyes meet Ryker’s. He’s watching me closely, fully aware that I’m upset. Well, fuck that, and fuck everyone else too. I didn’t do anything wrong.
What’s so bad about having a good time? Grinning, I shrug my shoulders and raise my glass.
No need to get worked up over it anyway. What’s done is done.
Ellen
I toss the phone onto the couch with enough force that it bounces right off and onto the floor, the backing and battery pack scattering in opposite directions. Damn it! They should have been here two hours ago. I knew this was a bad idea.
This is the first time that my eleven-year-old son, Bryce, has ever had an overnight visit with his father. Paul had not been happy to find out I was pregnant and had ignored me up until about a year ago. Bryce had just turned ten when Paul met him.
I don’t know why Paul suddenly came around, wanting to get to know Bryce, but who was I to turn away a father figure for my son? It’s only been me and Bryce from the very beginning. After my parents had found out I was pregnant, they’d tried to force me into getting an abortion. When I refused, they’d turned their backs on me. They kicked me out of their house, telling me to never come back, and I damn well never did.
Thank God for my friend, Julie, and her parents. They’d taken me in, helped me get on my feet, and taught me all the right ways to be a parent. But they moved away a few years later, and even though Julie and I are still great friends, she lives in Toronto now. We see each other a few times a year, but that’s it.
About a year ago, Paul had looked me up on Facebook and sent me a message, saying he would like a chance to get to know our son. I didn’t know what to say. I’ve never lied to Bryce, and he always knew that his father was out there, but that we were teenagers when he was born, and his father wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. Bryce had always taken that for what it was, and never asked questions.
I was worried that if I let Paul come around, after a while, he’d lose interest. How would that affect my boy? Or what if he decided that he wanted joint custody of Bryce? I couldn’t deal with that. Every decision I’ve ever made, since the moment I saw those two pink lines on that pregnancy test, has been for him.
I’d reluctantly agreed, and we’d taken things pretty slow; slower than Paul wanted to take it. Over the past few months, I’ve let Paul take him out of my home, unsupervised. We started off with trips to the park, or lunches at McDonald’s. Last night was their first overnighter, and I’ve been a wreck since the moment his big F-350 pulled out of my driveway.
Bryce has never stayed anywhere overnight besides his friend Jimmy’s, whose mother I know and trust. For the first couple of hours after they left, I got some housework done. Then I tried to relax, but I couldn’t. The house was too quiet. That’s when I’d called Charlotte, or Charlie, which is the name everyone calls her by. She’d suggested I meet her at the Pig’s Ear and take advantage of having a night to myself. I’d taken her up on it, just to get my mind off of whether or not Bryce had eaten a decent supper, or remembered to brush his teeth before bed.
Looking back, I wish I’d never gone. Part of me went because I knew Jase would be there. He’s easily the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. He’s also very flirty, which does wonders for my neglected ego. I’ve never had any intentions of pursuing him, but we’d had a moment last night, however brief it was.
When his date had practically attacked him from behind, immediately ending our moment, I could tell he was embarrassed—especially when he’d forgotten her name. Who the hell forgets the name of the girl they’re with? When she began talking about their little hook up in the bathroom, Jase’s eyes were on me, and I’d watched the blood drain from his face.
It had felt like a slap to the face. I don’t even know why I’d been so bothered by it, or why I’m still bothered by it now. I had a pretty good idea of what kind of guy Jase was, but the proof being right in front of me was more than I could handle. She’d slapped him, and he deserved it, but I found myself wanting to claw her eyes out for it.
So the first chance I got, I left. I just wanted to be alone. I was tired. I’d always thought that the Kings of Korruption were cool and mysterious, but now that I’ve gotten to know a few of them, I realize that they’re just regular people, and Jase is just a player. I haven’t allowed myself to be played since Paul all those years ago, and I’ll never let it happen again.
The front door slams against the wall as Bryce bustles in, carrying his backpack and a giant red foam finger. “Check it out, Mom. We went to the hockey game last night!”
I raise my eyes to see Paul coming in behind him, a wide smile on his face as he watches his son. Looking back to Bryce, I force a smile. “That’s awesome, Bud. Sounds like you had fun.” I reach out and tousle his hair as he beams up at me. “Why don’t you take your stuff to your room? I need to talk to your dad alone for a minute.”
The smile fades from Paul’s face and his eyes narrow. “Okay,” he says slowly, giving me a look that can’t be mistaken for anything other than what it is—a warning.
Once Bryce is in his room, I turn to Paul. “Why didn’t you answer my call? I was worried sick!”
His body straightens and he barks out an amused laugh, but I don’t miss the angry edge to it. “Jesus, Ellen,” he snaps. “We were having a good time, even with the phone ringing every five goddamn minutes. You need to cut the cord, woman. You’re smothering the kid.”
I jerk my head up. “Is that so?” I struggle to keep the anger I feel fro
m making my voice quiver. I lift my arm and point down the hall towards Bryce’s room. “That little boy down there, the one you say I’m smothering? He’s eleven-years-old, Paul. I’ve been taking care of him all by myself his entire life, without any help from you.” He sighs and opens his mouth to interrupt, but I continue, “Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he still has nightmares. When that happens, I go into his room and play with his hair and help him think of something happy to replace the scary images in his head.”
Paul closes his mouth and stares at me. “Last week he fell off his bike and scraped up his shin. He came into the house, bloody and crying, and the only thing that could calm him down was a hug from his mom. He’s a little boy, Paul. You can’t even come close to knowing him as well as you think you do. So, I suggest you keep your parenting tips to yourself, until you’ve actually spent a lot more time being one.”
His eyes narrow until they’re nothing but slits, glaring daggers in my direction. He closes the space between us in an instant, grabbing my upper arm roughly. His fingers squeeze and dig into my skin through the sleeve of my shirt. I don’t even have a chance to react before I hear Bryce bustle back into the room.
“Mom! Did you get tha—” His eyes widen and lock onto the place where his father grips my arm. “What’s going on?”
Paul releases me and takes a step back. “Nothing, buddy. Your mom and I were just talking.” He walks over to Bryce, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I gotta go. Talk to you later, okay?”
Bryce nods, and without looking back, Paul leaves.
CHAPTER TWO
Jase
I poke my head into Gunner’s office, peering around the door. “Hey, Prez. You got a second?”
Gunner looks up from his computer screen and pushes back from his desk. “I do. Anything to get me away from looking at this fuckin’ financial bullshit.”
I step inside and hurry to the chair directly across from him, my movements short and jerky. I never dreamed I’d be so nervous talking to Gunner about this. He raises his eyebrows and motions for me to speak.
“I wanna open up a shop,” I blurt out.
Gunner frowns. “What do you mean? You have a shop out there already.”
I take a deep breath and sit up. “No. What I mean is, I want my own shop. I want to use the back bay garages to start up my own custom chopper shop.”
Gunner’s eyebrows creep impossibly high on his forehead. “That’s a risky business, Jase.”
I nod and swallow hard. “I know. Trust me, I know, but here’s the thing. In the last six months, I’ve built three bikes by myself, and I sold them all to rich guys wanting to look badass when they’re out riding.” Gunner doesn’t speak, but motions for me to continue. “The last chopper I sold was for more than sixty thousand.”
“How did you find a buyer willing to part with that kind of cash?”
“He saw me riding it. He liked what he saw and made me an offer.”
That’s when I notice his apprehension fade. Now he’s seeing dollar signs. “What have you done with the profits?”
“So far, I’ve used it to buy more tools, and I’ve put a big chunk of it towards building my next bike. I’ve already gotten three more orders for custom made choppers that I’ll start after I finish the one I’m working on now. The problem is, it’s just me, and I only have one of the bays. If I had all three, I could hire one or two guys to help me, and we could work on a few projects at once. More space and more hands equal more profit.”
He leans back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “It sounds like a great idea, but opening a shop like that isn’t a game. What happens when you get bored and decide you wanna try something else?”
My body tenses. “What do you mean, ‘When I get bored?’ I’ve been wanting to build choppers all my fucking life.”
Gunner lets out a long, weary sigh. “Jase, I’ve known you since you were a kid. In all those years, not once have I ever seen you get serious about anything.” My stomach tightens as I see where he’s going with this. “I can’t let you open up a business just like that, with the club’s backing, so you can play Orange County Choppers. It would be a waste of money and resources.”
I sit forward in my seat and look him right in the eyes. “I’m serious about this, Prez. I can make this work.”
He looks at me cautiously. “I’ll tell you what. You show me what you can do on your own with one more bay. If you can sell three more bikes in the next six months, we’ll look at the numbers and go from there.”
I feel empty—drained of purpose. I’d been nervous to pitch this idea to Gunner because I knew he’d be skeptical, but I never imagined he had such little faith in me. Never serious about anything? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I give him a half-hearted shrug. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Without another word, I turn and walk out of his office. Anger washes over me. Does every motherfucker in this club think of me this way? Do they all think I’m just some screwup who can’t stick to one thing?
I stalk down the hall towards the exit, my fists balled tightly at my sides. Gunner’s words play back inside my head. I’ve known you since you were a kid. In all those years, not once have I ever seen you get serious about anything.
Letting out the low growl that’s been building in my chest, I turn towards the wall and slam my fist right through the drywall. It doesn’t make me feel better. Reaper’s head pops around the corner with his eyebrows raised when he sees me yanking my arm from the fresh new hole in the wall.
“Everything cool, Jase?”
That’s when I make a decision. Gunner wants me to get serious, so I’ll show him how fucking serious I am. He wants me to sell three bikes? I’m gonna sell four, and I’ll do it without any help from this fucking club, or it’s money.
Ellen
“Bryce,” I call. “Supper’s ready.”
I move to the fridge to pull out the milk and butter. It’s been three days since Paul dropped Bryce off, and it’s time my son and I have a little chat. His attitude the last couple days has been off, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.
Poking my head out the door, I look into the living room and find Bryce still sitting on the couch, playing his video game. “Bryce! It’s supper time.”
I can practically hear his eyes roll. “God, Mom! I’m playing a game. I’ll get some later.”
I don’t give him another chance. Marching into the living room, I hold my finger over the power button to his PlayStation. “Now.”
He scrambles up to the edge of the couch, eyes wide. “Okay, okay. Jeez.” I give him the couple of seconds he needs to save his game before I press the power button. Bryce drops the controller onto the couch and walks by me, eyes narrowed in a hateful expression that I’ve never seen on his face before.
Following him to the table, I take my seat and spoon out some mashed potatoes onto my plate. Bryce’s face is pinched and narrow as he starts plating his own food. “How was school today, Bud?”
His nostrils flare as his lips barely move. “Fine.”
The hatred I feel rolling off him cuts me to the bone. I know something’s going on. This isn’t like Bryce. He’s always such a sweet kid. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he growls, not meeting my eyes.
“Something’s obviously going on. You don’t act this way, and you’ve never been so hateful to me. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
His fork lands on the table with a loud clink before he pushes back his chair and jumps to his feet. “Jesus, Mom. Nothing is wrong, other than the fact that Dad was right. You are a nosy bitch.”
I don’t know who’s more shocked at his words, him or me. We’re both frozen, eyes wide as we stare at one another. I’ve never hit my child, but right now, it’s taking every bit of willpower I have not to slap his filthy mouth for talking to me this way. My voice is low and my eyes are hard when I say, “You need to go to your room, right now.”
He doe
sn’t argue. He quickly leaves the table and rushes off to his room, quietly closing the door behind him.
I don’t know what to do. My entire body shakes with adrenaline as I try to figure out how best to deal with this.
Bryce and I have always been close. I’ve rarely ever had to discipline him because he tends to always be thoughtful and well-behaved. So why is he suddenly being so hateful? Well, I guess I have my answer. Paul’s getting into his head by bad-mouthing me.
I take a moment to pull myself together before I get up from the table and head towards his room. I don’t bother knocking before I enter.
He’s sitting on his bed, his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
I close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath. “We’ll get to that in a minute. I want to know what else your father has said about me.” Bryce’s eyes drift off to the side, but I don’t miss the fear in them. “Now, Bryce.”
“He said that you baby me too much, and because of it, I’m never gonna turn into a man. He said that you’re a nosy bitch that wouldn’t know a good time if it jumped up and bit you in the ass.” His eyes swing back to me and fill with tears. “And he said that you’re an Ice Queen, and that’s why you haven’t managed to trap someone into marrying you.”
Using the most carefully controlled tone that I can, I ask, “Do you believe those things are true, Bryce?”
His eyes widen and his head swings from side to side. “No.”
I concentrate on my anger. I can’t let the rage I feel towards Paul get the better of me. “Do you believe you have the right to say those things to me and call me the names your father has taught you?”
His chin quivers as he shakes his head. “No.”
“I want you to collect your iPod, your PlayStation controllers, and your Wii remotes, and I want you to put them on my bed.” His face falls, but he does as I ask. Taking his electronics away is like certain death to this kid. “Bryce?” I wait until he gives me his full attention. “I love you so much, but I will not tolerate you speaking to me that way. It won’t happen again… are we clear?”