Nowhere but Here

by Katie McGarry

  A part of me sinks with so many revelations. Several weeks here and I’ve never asked what Izzy does or if Oz has had any other part-time jobs. I’ve made assumptions. Lots of assumptions and I need to stop. “I’m sorry.”

  “I should have told you which way to jump. This is on me.”

  “Not for that...for never asking about you.”

  Oz’s eyes meet mine and the surprise in them causes the guilt to fester. “I am sorry.”

  He shrugs off my apology and focuses on my shin. His hand still rests on my leg and I wonder if he notices, because I notice. The warmth of his palm seeps through my skin and into my blood.

  “I’ve mostly been a dick to you and I’m sure that hasn’t helped,” he says. “Being thrown into this mess has to be hard. No one here is the type to bend easily. Not even for you. Considering the circumstances, you’ve done good.”

  Pride tingles through me with his compliment and I smile. Oz’s mouth edges up and it’s the most endearing gesture he’s given me yet. Oz is the epitome of sexy wickedness, but this is the first smile that doesn’t make me empathize with a mouse the cat’s been toying with. It’s one that makes me feel included.

  “Hey, Oz,” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you remember the conversation we had that night on the porch?”

  “You mean the one where you sucked at running away?”

  I scowl, he chuckles and I pick up my other foot and shove his shoulder with my toe.

  “Yeah, that night,” I answer.

  “What about it?” he asks.

  “Do you remember how I said I didn’t know if I liked you?”

  “Yeah?”

  I glance down because shyness overwhelms me. “I like you.”

  “Hey, Emily.”

  I force my gaze to his and when I do, he performs another heart-stopping brush of his fingers across my leg and the world fades away except for the two of us. “I like you, too.”

  A strong wind bends the trees. My hair blows across my face and Oz scans the sky. “We need to go. I’ll get everything together. You stay here and then I’ll carry you to the bike.”

  Without waiting for a response, Oz grabs the medical kit and heads back into the cabin.

  He likes me. Oz likes me.

  As a friend. Just how I like him because I totally meant it as a friend and not as anything else because anything else would be stupid because he’s trouble and I’m leaving soon and he lives hundreds of miles away and I have a plan and a life and he has a plan and a life and we don’t belong in each other’s plan or life and I sort of want to squee because Oz likes me.

  I lift my head as the happy feeling fades. The tree. Olivia said I needed to look for a tree. Placing more pressure on my good leg than my bad, I stand and then redistribute my weight.

  Nope, not broken, but it throbs. I count over two spots from the oak tree and I hobble past the first tree then pause. Wow. That’s a lot of names for a trunk of a tree. One rotation of a dizzying circle and my world becomes distorted. Oh my God, it’s not just one tree. It’s several and stacked one upon another is name after name.

  “Two spots over,” I whisper. This tree isn’t as towering as the others. Its bark is white and peels off in sections. The leaves aren’t as big. My eyes shoot to the top of the list then frantically search down. Some are first names. Some are initials. Most of the names don’t make sense. The world grinds to a halt as a cold clamminess overtakes my body. MZN...Megan Zoe Nader.

  It’s not possible. It’s not. I stumble back from the tree and into Oz.

  His glare pins me to my spot. “I told you to stay put.”

  He did, I didn’t and now I’ve plummeted down the rabbit hole Oz warned me about.

  “If I asked you a question would you tell me the truth?” I ask. “Because we’re friends now and that’s what friends do.”

  Oz hardens. “It’s my job to watch over you.”

  “Yeah, I kinda assumed that, but we’re friends now, right?” He didn’t outright say it last night, but he suggested it and I have a hard time believing there isn’t some sort of connection between us—even if it’s just friendship.

  He reaches down to his hip and extracts his knife from the sheath. “The tree we’re using is over there. Let’s get going before the storm blows in.”

  He walks away and I have my answer.

  Oz

  WIND SHAKES OLIVIA’S CABIN. It’s been standing for over a hundred years and I can’t imagine any storm blowing this house down. We’ve heard a few rumbles of thunder. Heat lightning flashes in the dark overcast sky, but the front that we were promised never arrived.

  The air is thick with humidity, with expectation. Each night we go without a storm only builds the electricity. The air is practically crackling with the shit.

  I sit on the steps of the porch and nurse a beer. Emily’s muffled voice drifts out of her window. It’s ten at night, which means she’s either on the phone with her parents or her friends. Chevy said that Stone told him that she and Violet talk on the phone. According to him, they discuss girl crap: clothes, hair, colleges in Florida. Violet better be keeping her mouth shut about the club to Emily.

  Lights glow from the open bay doors of the clubhouse across the yard. A group of five guys hang around in a circle talking and smoking cigarettes.

  The summer crickets are quiet. So are the frogs. Even the voices from the garage don’t carry right. The clubhouse should be exploding with people and noise and the silence gives the place an eerie mood.

  My instincts scream that something’s wrong. That we’re teetering on the brink of a moment so huge that if we topple it’ll lead to a downward spiral straight to hell.

  My phone buzzes. Ten fifteen on the dot. Eli hasn’t missed a check-in yet.

  Eli: Give me an update

  I take a long draw from the beer then set the empty bottle on the porch.

  Me: Emily’s in her room talking on the phone

  Eli: We’ll be back tonight.

  They’ve been gone for over two weeks. Longer than expected. It’s eaten Eli up to be gone this long from Emily. From what I understand, Cyrus is also close to losing his mind with the distance from Olivia, but business is booming with the security firm and we need the money to pay for Olivia’s treatments.

  I pop the cap off another beer. This will be my last one for the evening. After two, I get my buzz on and I can’t buzz since I have a girl to protect.

  Eli: Anything happen I need to know about?

  I should tell Eli that Olivia gave Emily the picture, that Emily’s asking about Honeysuckle Ridge and that today she saw visual proof on a tree that her mother has been around the family more than Eli claims.

  Emily saw her mother’s initials. She begged me for the truth and I walked away. An unseen wall divided us after so many layers had appeared to be peeled back. For a few minutes, I had connected with Emily and with three letters carved into a tree, that connection was shattered.

  Fuck it. It was destroyed because I’m doing what needs to be done: keeping Emily in the dark. I take another deep swallow of beer. Why it bothers me that Emily withdrew, I don’t know. Attraction. That’s what’s between us. Just attraction.

  Me: Emily scraped and bruised her leg today, but she’s fine

  She’s fine. Fine enough to barely look at me when she went in to take a shower. Fine enough to eat dinner with Olivia and make conversation with her and not acknowledge me. She’s fucking fine without me.

  Eli: We’ve run into trouble with the Riot over the past two weeks. Bad tonight. Keep vigilant. We’ve heard reports of the Riot 30 miles out. Too far south for them. I don’t like it.

  This latest trouble with the Riot is news to me and the entire text causes me to pause.

  A roar of motorc
ycles and the gun on my back radiates heat. The guys near the clubhouse spread out and it hits me that they aren’t visiting for shits and giggles. They’re here because we’re on the verge of nuclear warfare.

  They’re here because Emily—the girl who has lit up my life like a fireworks show—is in danger.

  And I’ve gotten lazy. Been so focused on getting to know her and on my problems with Olivia that I’ve lost sight of what could lay in wait for Emily in the shadows.

  Me: No one will get past me to Emily

  EMILY’S LIGHT FLIPS off. I pour out the rest of my beer on the ground, rise to my feet and then settle down on what’s been my bed night after night for the past few weeks: the bench outside of Emily’s window. Except tonight, I won’t be sleeping.

  Eli: I’m counting on that

  Emily

  I JERK AWAKE and my heart pounds hard. At the end of the bed, Lars picks up his head and groggily assesses me as if I’m the one out of place. Stupid dog. “I didn’t invite you on the bed.”

  He huffs and lays his snout on my ankles.

  “There was a noise,” I say as if the dog could explain what ripped me out of a deep sleep.

  The curtains near the window billow out in the strong wind and the fine hairs on my neck stand on end. I sit up and listen. The wind through the trees makes a noise similar to waves crashing along the beach and it’s an ominous sound.

  It’s three in the morning. The witching hour. At least that’s what a friend of mine called it at a fifth grade slumber party. This is the time that the evil spirits of the world frolic and play. Should have thought of that weeks ago. Then maybe I would have stayed in the motel room and I’d be home in Florida.

  Another powerful gust and a heavy vase on the dresser pitches over and rolls. Almost every window in this house is open and stuff is probably falling everywhere and banging to the floor.

  I yank my feet out from underneath Lars’s head and slip onto the floor. The breeze is a blessing because of the heat, but a curse if I want to sleep. I ease across the floor to the window seat and set my fingers on the window to push it down.

  Large clouds fly across the dark sky at unnatural speeds. As I go to close the window, a black form demands my attention and a rush of panic instantly paralyzes me. The shadow sitting on the bench outside the window inclines its head in my direction and I exhale in relief. It’s Oz. He looks me over and I wonder how much he can see.

  My hair’s in a messy knot. Because I was hot, I stripped to my tank top and my boy shorts. Oz turns away from me, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. My eyes are drawn to the way the muscles in his arm flex with the movement and my mouth goes dry.

  My lips part because I feel like I should say something. Maybe ask why he’s there or if he’s slept. To start some sort of conversation to return us to the easiness the two of us had shared before he caught me at the tree with my mother’s initials.

  A bulge on his back along the edge of his jeans stops me from speaking. It’s shaped like a holster and a holster usually contains a... Oz glances over his shoulder at me again. I shut the window and the curtains collapse over the glass.

  Adrenaline shoots through my veins. He has a gun. Oz has a gun. No, I was mistaken. It’s something else. Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know. I...just don’t know. Dad said I’m not in danger. I’m not. He wouldn’t lie to me. Everyone else might, but he wouldn’t.

  It’s like ants are crawling on my skin and I can’t remain still. I pull on a pair of shorts and head for the bathroom. A cold washcloth should help with the heat and to clear my head.

  Not a fan of the dark, I’m slow tiptoeing down the hallway. I move around the corner and a clink from Olivia’s room causes me to pause at the bathroom. A dull light floods her room, she lifts her head off the pillow, and our eyes meet.

  A sudden drop of my stomach disorients me. The typical scarf that covers her head is missing. Exposed is the dark hair shaved close to her scalp and a crescent-shaped scar near her ear.

  “Are you okay, Emily?” she asks, and the question sounds sincere. Reminding me of how my mom spoke when I used to drag James the Elephant with me into her room when I was younger and had a nightmare.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Just hot. I was going to get a washcloth. Do you need anything?”

  “Come here.” Olivia waves me in. Not what I was hoping for, but I go in regardless. I stand at the foot of the bed and twist my fingers behind my back, feeling like a pauper in front of royalty—which is strange, but maybe not. Everyone treats her as if she’s the queen.

  Olivia pats the empty space next to her. “Turn on the window unit and sleep in here.”

  “I’m fine. Really. I’ll go get—”

  “Emily,” she cuts me off. “Unit on, get in the bed, I won’t eat you, but I will tear you a new ass if you don’t do what I say.”

  I have never met anyone so rude or demanding in my life. Wait, I’ve hung out with Oz. I press a button on the window unit. Air blasts from the machine, and then I sit on the empty side of the bed. One leg on. One leg off. “You’re not used to people telling you no, are you?”

  “No. If you’re going to be here for any length of time, you better get used to it.”

  While her room is hot, what’s weird is that Olivia wears a long-sleeve shirt and is buried under a quilt. My other foot hits the floor and I reach for the air conditioner. “You’re cold.”

  I push the off button and search the room for another blanket. How the freak can she be cold? It has to be in the high eighties in the house.

  “Emily Star, turn that back on!”

  “You’re cold,” I say.

  “And you’re hot. There isn’t much I’ve been able to do for you for fifteen years and, because of the cancer, there isn’t a ton I can do for you now so please let me do this.”

  There’s a fierceness in her eyes. A warrior’s soul in a body that appears frail tonight.

  I press the unit back on and cold air once again roars into the room. I return to the empty side of the bed, but this time I draw both of my legs up and lock them to my chest. Olivia snuggles deeper into the blankets.

  I peek at her from the corner of my eye and she adjusts onto her side to face me. “Eli will be home soon. You should spend the next couple of days getting to know your father.”

  A twinge of resentment snakes its way up my spine. “I know my father.”

  “Jeff’s a good man,” she says. “And so is Eli.”

  That’s up for debate. I visit Eli once on his home turf and I may or may not have been almost abducted by a rival motorcycle club. “Eli seems nice. He visits me once a year.”

  I say it as if she’s out of the loop because, well...there’s the possibility that conversation between us could get thin.

  “I’m aware,” she says in a short way that makes me wish I could claim I was mute. Very long pause and she speaks again. “Everyone keeps reminding me that you aren’t the child I knew and as much as I hate it, you’re not.”

  I’m not and for some reason this honesty causes me to be uncomfortable. I point then relax my toes. “I found Mom’s initials on the tree, which, according to Oz, means that she jumped from the rope swing. So now that I figured it out, will you fill me in on my mom’s past?”

  “Tell me the significance of Honeysuckle Ridge and then we’ll have a different conversation. How did you get Oz to tell you about the rope?”

  “He had me jump.”

  Pure surprise softens Olivia’s features. “You jumped?”

  I gesture to my bandaged leg. “I jumped wrong and hit the rocks.”

  Olivia traces the outline of her lips and stares off into space. “Oz had you jump.”

  “He explained it’s a tradition and how everyone who comes to the pond has to do it.”

  “No. It�
�s what we have the people we care for do. Most of the names there are club members, but not many of those names belong to women. That’s a rarity.”

  “I’m sure Oz had me do it because I’m related to you.”

  She shakes her head halfway through my response. “That’s not how our world works. The only females on those trees are old ladies.”

  My mind stretches in two different directions and the resulting aftermath is a brain freeze.

  “There may be a few exceptions,” she admits, “like Violet, but overall, it’s a privilege granted to few.”

  “Which one was my mom?” Which one am I? “Why was her name on there?” If asking me to jump, if carving my name into the tree meant something special, then why did Oz share it with me? Or is it because I’m an exception, like Violet, or was Mom an exception?

  “Why do you think your mother’s name was on there?” Olivia asks.

  All the possible answers spin so fast in my head that the world tilts. “If Mom was an...”

  Old lady. It feels wrong to refer to her that way. “...Attached to Eli then why not tell me? If they knew each other before she got pregnant it still doesn’t change that Eli didn’t want us.”

  “He wants you,” Olivia whispers.

  I snort. “Because that’s how people feel when they give up their custodial rights.”

  “There’s more to the story,” Olivia counters. “More you need to know.”

  “More what? No one will tell me and my patience is running out. What I don’t understand is why everyone is so damn secretive.”

  “Speaking of secrets,” she says, “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it from Eli that I’m supplying you with information. Keeping your past from you is important to him and I stand to lose a lot if he finds out I’m denying his wishes.”

  “I’m not a liar,” I say.

  “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you to not mention it.”

  Great. I’m officially a secret keeper. “What do you have to lose? Isn’t everyone in this town your minion?”

  “What you see is respect, but the power you believe I have, I don’t. The club is what rules. The rest of us figure out our positions around it and make the best of it. You know, the club would give you the same respect they give me if you let them.”