MY PROTECTOR: The Valves MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  He lost himself in my eyes, and I saw him fighting to draw courage from me. I opened up as well as I could, smoothing my features, trying to offer him a safe place to talk.

  “It’s just…It’s my job,” he finally said, deepening the mystery more.

  “Daddy…” Ginger’s feeble voice reached us. I turned to go, but he stopped me.

  “I’ll go,” he said and I understood he needed the time to collect his thoughts, to ready his words.

  I nodded and remained alone, feeling strange and uncomfortable. What could it be about his job? Being a bouncer surely wasn’t the worst job and it seemed to pay for a decent life.

  That started me into rummaging through my unanswered questions, through my dreadful suspicions, but I didn’t have time to lose myself in thoughts. Ginger was crying and I could make out my name. I ran to her room and grabbed her extended arms. She was shaking and the fever had gotten worse.

  “I’m here, baby. Shh!” I murmured, rocking her gently. “What happened?” I mouthed silently to Dawson.

  He whispered “Bad dream.”

  “It must be the fever. We need to get her to a hospital.”

  And with his nod, our moment of truth had ended. I took her in my arms and he covered her with the blanket. We agreed in silence that his Harley wasn’t suited for this task and took my car. He drove us, fast, and we got to the hospital through a tense silence, like a physical block between us.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Today felt like one of the worst days in my life. It would have been a usual Friday if it weren’t for Dawson taken Ginger home himself. I had to drive alone and the ride seemed terrible. I was growing quite fond of coming home with her.

  When I had seen him at school, he seemed distant, in a hurry and my reaction was to crawl into my shell and not say more than two words. He didn’t seem to notice, which only made me feel even lonelier.

  Once at home, I felt too drained to do anything productive so I left everything as it was and turned the TV on. I couldn’t find anything worth watching and my attempt at an afternoon nap turned out to be futile, too.

  With less than half of a grain of motivation, I got out of the bed and walked into the kitchen. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I really didn’t have anything to do, but then desperation hit me. What was I to do to settle my wayward mind?

  On the fridge I had put a page from an old-fashioned cooking magazine. I remembered discovering it a few weeks back and liking the idea of salty caramel and raspberry on a cheesecake base. Excitement at a premium today, I decided to try the recipe anyway. How could it hurt? I checked for ingredients and learned I didn’t have any cream. I looked out the window, at the heavy rain and shivered.

  “What the hell?” I said, and grabbed my coat.

  I ran to the car and drove away. In the store, a moment of clarity opened my mind to the fact that everything around me seemed to slow down. From the moment I left home, starting the car with delayed motions, to my perusing between the aisles aimlessly, unsure of what I wanted. It seemed like some sort of physical sadness had engulfed me like quicksand, blocking my mind, slowing my life down. For a moment, I was unsure of why I had come to the store, then I remembered what I needed to buy. Still fighting my trance-like state, I grabbed the cream and left the store in a hurry.

  A weird energy was coiling inside me, in direct contradiction to my languid perspective. The result was unsettling and I needed to be busy soon, otherwise I feared I would break down.

  Too focused inwards, I almost bumped into Dawson, who was waiting for me by the front door.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked automatically.

  “Are you all right?” he ignored my question.

  I frowned. What was he talking about? “Yes. Why are you here?”

  “Are you sure?”

  I was noticing how he was in the habit of talking over me. It felt particularly annoying. “Yes! Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He regarded me pensively. “You look unwell, baby. Let’s go inside.” His voice sounded warm and sincerely concerned for me. Out of habit, he pressed the door handle before I could unlock the door and I discovered that, in my foggy state of mind, I had left the house unlocked. He looked at me again, questions in his eyes.

  I shrugged and stepped inside. He followed immediately and closed the door behind him. He didn’t say a word as I put the cream on the counter and started rummaging through my cupboards for the rest of the ingredients. I could feel his eyes on me and it made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t very good at awkward silences, especially when they came with a hefty side of personal concern.

  “I was thinking of trying a new recipe. Some sort of cheesecake, but without any cheese.” I needed to talk. He kept watching me. “I think I liked it because of the salted caramel, but I didn’t have any cream so I had to go to the store.”

  He shifted behind me, his uneasiness almost a physical object. “I’m sorry, baby,” I heard him whisper. I turned around to see him looking at me.

  “What for?” I had to ask. Another thing I was starting to notice and find unsettling was his way of confusing me with so much ease.

  “I didn’t do it right today.” Now I was completely puzzled. Before my mouth could form a real question, Dawson went on, “I’m not very good with surprises. I wanted to make it right between us and I thought something out with Ginger. Apparently she was right and I should listen to her more often.”

  “What on Earth are you talking about?”

  He smiled. “Your idea of dessert fits right in, actually. Now that we had to change our plans because of the weather.”

  I frowned at him, but had to acknowledge I was starting to feel better. He could barely keep from laughing under his own frown. “Would you like me to help you with those?”

  “What for?” Back to being confused.

  “We’re going at my place, of course.”

  Of course. “Naturally. What else?” I laughed.

  He came close, bent and kissed me, then grabbed everything in a pile in his arms and started for the door. “Are you coming?” he asked, looking back from the door.

  “I need to shower before I step out of this house again,” I argued.

  He didn’t budge. “You can do it at my place. I’m sure you can use some of my clothes.”

  The warmth I felt inside was more than enough of a reason to follow him in the now heavier rain. Drops were falling over us, weighing us down and soaking our clothes and hair in just the few seconds we spent in its direct line of fire.

  Once inside, we burst into laughter. Looking into each other’s eyes, we felt compelled to kiss. Not passionately, not grown-up kiss, but like a sweet stolen touch, like teenagers sneaking around. I felt my heart bursting with the sting of happiness and before I could voice my feelings, Ginger had broken us up with a very distinct “cuuute”.

  We both blushed and looked down, in keeping with the teen theme.

  “Tsk-tsk. Where were you?” she demanded.

  “Did you see that?”

  I noticed he was in the habit of talking over Ginger, too.

  I laughed. “What?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “I think she’s the only kid I ever heard saying that grown-ups kissing was cute!”

  I looked at Ginger and she frowned. “What do you mean?” she requested, visibly puzzled.

  “It’s just not what kids your age do, baby,” he said, trying to calm her.

  “What?”

  “They go more like ‘eww’ than ‘cute’, baby.”

  “But, why?”

  Ginger had taken an inquisitive stance, little hands balled up on her hips. I leaned on the doorframe, extremely amused with seeing Dawson being roasted by his five-year-old daughter.

  “What are you laughing at?” he turned an accusatory look at me. “Help me out!”

  I shook my head, reached for my supplies and took them slowly, one by one, from his arms, then strutted to the kitchen. One last look behind was enough to se
nd me into convulsive fits of laughter. Dawson was actually pouting, head down, while Ginger looked tall and proud, still frowning for clarifications.

  I took advantage of the situation and snuck to take a shower, changing into one of Dawson’s sweatpants and t-shirt. The scene between them was over before I got back and we were shortly reunited in the kitchen, each of us equipped with aprons and various kitchen tools. We had divided the labor fairly and each of us had something to do, something to pay for the deliciousness that we were to enjoy later.

  Dawson was still figuring out the old food processor he had to bring from my place. He had to go back twice since I forgot to lock the door again and the keys were still on me.

  Ginger seemed much more comfortable with her task. Besides graciously accepting the heavy burden of overseeing dinner preparations, she was also making cute little flowers out of vegetables. I was honestly amazed.

  Halfway through panfrying some tempting-looking fresh fish, I had asked about its provenience, which, in turn, got us talking about Dawson’s initial plans for the day. He intended to take me and Ginger fishing but the unexpected change in weather had ruined his plans. Both our reactions, something akin to a scrunch, told him the weather wasn’t the only problem with his plan. I, then, learned that Ginger came up with the genius idea of dinner making. She was the one suggesting we should make it look like a proper dinner, using the good crystal glasses and china plates. I kissed her with gratitude and we shared a moment of female bonding to which Dawson stood as a dumbfounded male witness.

  I loved every minute of the day. Where everything seemed so grim in the morning, he had turned it all around. Him and Ginger seemed to be my best source of happiness and I had forgotten about every dark thought or doubt for the moment.

  I loved them both and I needed to be near them. I reached my conclusion swiftly, without even realizing I was thinking about us. In itself, it looked like my fate was tied to theirs from now on and I relished in that feeling, taking in the laughter around me. One tear had run down my cheek and I left it there. There was no shame in being happy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dawson had just taken his daughter home and I supposed he was putting her to bed. I tidied up the living room and went to make some coffee. He was to come by shortly.

  Close to an hour had passed before I heard the knock on my door. I was starting to worry, so I jumped to my feet when he entered.

  “Did something happen to Ginger? Is she feeling unwell?” I asked, fearing her cold had come back.

  He smiled. “She’s just fine. She wanted a snack before bed, that’s all.”

  “But, she already had a snack here,” I said, thoughtfully.

  “And I bet it was quite a healthy one.”

  “Yes! Why would I give her something unhealthy?” I was thoroughly confused by his amusement.

  “Well, that solves the mystery, then. She wanted something sweet.”

  “What? At this hour?”

  “I gave her just a little. She wanted the pistachio flavour this time. Don’t worry, I’m not a completely irresponsible father.”

  My expression must’ve told him I had my doubts because I heard cascades of laughter behind me as I turned to pour him coffee.

  He sat on the same barstool he always did and sipped carefully, not to burn himself while I watched, captivated by the lines of his features. Even when he was making silly faces, like he tried to do now, for my entertainment, he looked amazingly handsome. I couldn't help but smile and when he winked, he made my core clench once again.

  He stood and I looked up, as he approached. Gently, he placed a hand on the small of my back and bent his head towards me. I anticipated the kiss with all my being when his phone rang. I frowned; he kissed me furtively and raised a digit to signal he needed privacy.

  He went into the living room to answer. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, as he talked in an especially low voice, but I did pick up on a change of attitude. He seemed harsh and mechanical and what piqued my interest was the undertone of malice permeating his words.

  He threw a louder word, still undecipherable to me, and went outside.

  The choice made me feel suspicious and I silently followed him, guilt tightening the skin on my body. I was still holding my cup of coffee and I grabbed it like it was my last hope and anchor when I heard what he was saying.

  “No, we need to get that money sooner. The old man skipped one payment already,” he said into the headset, pacing angrily in front of my door. “No, I’ll take care of it. Just…Make sure you collect the taxes from the Solentanos. That’s your job and I won’t do it for you.”

  I could hear myself gasp, as dreadful thoughts rushed through my head. He swung the door open and met my gaze. I saw something break inside him, his shoulders slumping, his feet frozen in place. I saw all that but I couldn’t help backing away. My face must’ve shown great terror, or the betrayal I felt, because he finally walked towards me, his steps bigger than mine. He caught my hand and stopped me.

  “Mari…”

  “No,” I whispered, unable to pull my hand back. My eyes related all the questions filling my head and I kept his gaze, but he backed down. Looking at the floor, he let my hand slip and sat on the couch. “What was that, Dawson?” I asked, when I finally regained my voice.

  He shook his head in defeat, never looking at me.

  “Answer me,” I demanded, standing in front of him now. I felt angry, and hurt, and suspicious all at the same time, and the strength of these feelings wasn’t something I had dealt with before. I thought that my eyes would bore holes in the back of his head as I repeated the question. Not from fury, but pain. I felt the dangers of hidden secrets hanging over our head and I didn’t want to lose what I had with him. I raised his chin, as gently as I could and sat down beside him. “What is it, baby?” I saw now the struggle inside him and I remembered every second he had this same expression before. I couldn’t see how, but he was hurt. Given what I just heard, I couldn’t understand the pain. I could’ve expected him to look guilty, but pain? He suffered for some reason and it resonated in me.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. I work for a loan shark; it’s exactly what it sounded like.”

  I hadn’t thought of that, but the discovery was as shocking as any other such disclosure. Maybe worse, since I had never even admitted the thought of him being a criminal. And now? He had just told me, clear as day. I couldn’t speak; not because my voice would’ve been shaky, no. I just didn’t know what I was supposed to say. A lack of any actual feelings had settled in a cold knot in my stomach as I stood there, looking through him.

  He helped me out by saying, “I want to end everything.”

  I opened my mouth, afraid I might say something wrong. How could I help him out of this impossibility? He looked at me and saw my shock.

  “No, no, baby. Not that. Never that. I’m sorry,” he said, hugging me tightly. “I meant I want to end everything I have to do with the Valves,” he followed, whispering in my hair.

  Hearing the name of the gang, I felt my skin crawling with fear and disgust. The Valves!

  “I…For Ginger?” I dared to say.

  He nodded.

  The Valves were a feared gang, renowned for being the most ruthless loan sharks in the region. “At least they don’t kill people,” I managed to whisper, squeezing my hand tight on his shirt.

  “Yes…”

  I felt something in his voice, something other than relief over their no-kill policy. I raised my head. “What is it?” I asked, trying to look into his eyes.

  He looked away and I felt his hands loosening around me. I watched him change expressions, from the struggle of the confession to guilt. A darker shade of guilt, the kind one feels for his entire life. The dreadful suspicions rose once again in my gut and I pulled back.

  “What is it?” I asked again, my voice shaking now. “Do they still kill people?” I couldn’t believe he could’ve been involved in something like this, something so
sordid and heartless. Not the man he was with me and Ginger, no.

  “No, baby. No killings.” His voice matched the guilt in his eyes and I sat silent, waiting for more. “I…this started because of me. Five years ago.”

  I smiled. “I knew you weren’t a cold-blooded criminal.” He didn't share into my gratefulness. I could’ve sworn the guilt in his eyes took a stronger tint hearing my words.

  “It’s…” he sighed heavily. “I killed a man. I had to; it was a job. It made me realize this wasn’t what I had signed up for. After that, I worked with all I had to change the policy.” The words came out like bullets, like he wanted to spit the out for the poison they were:. deadly torrents that swept everything in their way. It was hard for me to hear them, I was shocked in the darkest way, but his eyes screamed that it was more painful for him to utter them.