by Colt, Shyla
“Can you tell me why we’re making this list, Doc?”
“I want you to commit to at least one thing on the list, and the group once a week.”
“And if I don’t like it?”
“I ask that you give it at least a month. Then we’ll go from there.”
It’s four weeks. I can do anything for four weeks.
§
She walked into the apartment with Dr. Nimoy’s words marinating in her brain. They were finally taking the step, and moving toward life. The past couple of years had been a meager existence. She’d done the bare minimum—eating, sleeping when the nightmares allowed, and showering with a frequency most would find alarming. This year was different.
She unwrapped the black and white plaid scarf, hung it on the peg by the door, and took in her current living situation. The walls were a basic eggshell white devoid of any adornment. A tiny table for two rested against the divider which separated the kitchen from the living room. The dish towel that hung on the oven handle was white, and the pot holders hanging on hooks were black. It looked like she had just moved in when in reality she’d been there for nearly two years.
She walked down the small hallway to the bedroom and stared at the full-sized bed with its black jersey knit sheets, and black comforter. It was a lackluster existence. With her head finally above water she could see the emptiness surrounding her. Like a crocus peeking up through the snow, she was returning to life. The numbness had begun to fade along with the blinding pain. Now she was left with loneliness.
Walking to the mirror she studied her face. Her cheekbones were sharp enough to cut; her eyes were dim and her hair held no shine. Once her pride and joy, the waist-length blonde locks that had led Everett to give her the nickname ‘fairy’ had been sorely neglected. She studied the image that made a mockery of what she once was. She opened the drawer, picked up the scissors, and began to shorn her locks. Each piece of hair that fell to the floor felt like a shedding of skin which no longer fit. In the end she was all eyes, and curls to her collarbone. Breathing heavily, she placed her hands on the counter and bowed her head. If she was going to make a new life she was going to start from the ground up. The woman Everett loved had died along with him. She had to figure out who this new Estelle was without him.
§
Snake
He didn’t need a calendar to tell him what day it was—he spent three hundred and sixty-three days dreading it. He hadn’t always been on the path of an outlaw. It took one act of senseless violence to show him just how fucked up the world was. People go along blindly believing the law will bring them justice, but too many times things slip through the cracks.
Past
A loud crash yanked him from his sleep. Sitting up, he reached for the bat that rested in the corner beside the nightstand.
“X?” his wife whimpered. The moonlight flooding through the window highlighted her wide brown eyes full of fear, and her trembling dark pink lips. He cupped her oval-shaped face in his hand and ran a thumb over her high cheekbones.
When he placed a hand to her lips, he nodded. “Stay here, and lock the door behind me until I tell you otherwise, J,” he whispered, slipping from the bed in his boxers and a T-shirt. Their four-year-old baby girl, Jocelyn, was in the bedroom across from him. He strained to hear more as he slipped from the room and walked down to his daughter. Stepping inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. His heavy sleeper hadn’t budged. He saw no signs of tampering with the window above her bed.
The crunch of glass turned his blood cold. He lifted the bat, ready to swing if necessary. He moved to the hall and found the living room window in ruins. A brick wrapped in loose-leaf paper rested on the thick beige carpet. He glanced out of the gaping hole and spotted three hooded men all in white. This can’t be happening. A cross blazed on the front of his lawn—Klu Klux Clan.
“Son of a bitch,” he barked.
“We told you to get your nigga and half breed out of our town. Now we’re going to make sure you get the message,” one of them snarled.
He wanted to step aside and show them he wasn’t afraid, but that would leave his girls unprotected. His hands clenched around the smooth aluminum, and he gritted his teeth.
“You got nothing to say, boy?” one of them drawled.
When his father died and passed on the family store to him in Dawson Springs, he’d seen it as a chance for a new start. They’d been barely scraping by back home in Northern Kentucky, so he’d quickly packed up his small family and moved them deeper into the state. The resistance they received had been something he expected to blow over. Small towns rarely liked change, and he knew some of the older people might be prejudiced against Janelle. Still, they’d made a pact to stick it out, and see if they could make things work before they looked into selling the store. We should’ve left this shit hole in the rearview mirror.
“Well if he doesn’t want to come out, we’ll just give him a little motivation.”
Xavier watched, stunned, as they set the bushes in front of the house on fire. Making a decision, he pivoted and ran for the bedroom.
“J, get Joce, and get the hell out of here.”
He could hear the crunch of glass, and the sound of boots behind him. Turning, he swung. Bat met flesh with a loud thud. The impact made its way up the bat into his arms. The man cried out. The door opened behind him, and he blocked the path as his wife ran from the room to their daughter’s.
“Get that bitch,” a cruel voice cried.
The man in front of him tackled him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. They grappled, and he used his legs to kick out at the bastard. His wife screamed, and he saw red. He rolled over, beating the man beneath him into submission. Pushing to his feet, he ran toward the screams. The sight of Jade on her knees in front of a robed man, and a sobbing Joce in another’s arms stole his ability to reason. He fisted the handle of the bat and charged toward the group of men. The crunch of bone and cries of pain spurred him on until he was overpowered. On the ground, he balled up to avoid the blows rained down on his body. Coughing blood—with his left eye swollen shut, and his breathing labored—he was forced onto his knees. A hand yanked his head into position.
“This is going to be the last thing you see before you die, boy,” one of them snarled.
He watched as they wrapped a noose around Jade’s neck and the truck drove off. Screams erupted from his throat; a loud bang echoed in his ears. Pressure exploded in his brain, and the world went dark.
§
Present
The fuckers burned down his home, killed his wife, and nearly ended him. The bullet had entered the back of his head, and exited the front, missing the main areas and vessels. He’d been fucked up for months, but the hate that had planted roots in his heart kept him moving forward. The sheriff swore up and down they’d done everything possible to find out who had committed the hate crimes, but everything was destroyed in the fire. Not that he believed the prick.
He left the state with a chip on his shoulder, anger, and insurance money from the house. He hit the road with nothing more than a bike and the thought of revenge to keep him moving. When he hooked up with Big Mike one night when he was jumped at a bar, and Xavier stepped in to help, it’d been the perfect fit. He became a hang around, and not long after, a prospect. Mike had promised him when the time was right, he would get his revenge.
He hadn’t forgotten, but he knew he only had one chance to get it right. The past couple of years had been about cementing his place among the club, protecting his new family, searching for answers, and controlling his anger. People thought losing your loved ones was the worst thing that could happen. The fact was not knowing what happened or where their bones lie was worse.
“You going to be offline for the day?” Mike asked, drawing him from his thoughts at the bar.
“Yeah, unless it’s an emergency.”
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“Do what you need to, brother. I’ll hold the boys down,” Mike said.
“Appreciate it.” Snake pushed away from the bar. He didn’t go to the grief group weekly anymore, but right now he needed it. He’d damn near ruined himself falling into a bottle and trying to fight the entire world until he got right. Mike helped with that. He owed his President loyalty because he saved his life in a million different ways.
The ride to the meeting helped clear his mind. Nothing gave him more peace than the wind, the road beneath his tires, and the feeling of freedom that came with riding. He pulled into the church parking lot and killed the engine. St Mary’s Church had been good to him. They opened their doors to the support group and made each one feel welcome regardless of if they shared their story or not. His relationship with God took a heavy beating. He wasn’t sure if the man upstairs really existed anymore.
If he did, he’d be none too happy with the things Snake did. Still the group kept him grounded. There was something about sharing your sorrow with those who understood the intense pain that made it easier to bear. Walking into the large building, made his way to the small room off of the church where they held the meetings. There were the usual suspects who called out a greeting.
“Evening, Snake,” the facilitator, Bryan, said.
He nodded at the balding man with kind brown eyes, and a face worn by the sun and smiles. He exchanged greetings with the others seated in the fold-up chairs, and took his customary seat against the wall. It offered him a view of the door, and no blind spots. Old habits died hard. He’d lost his family and his dignity once because he wasn’t prepared. He’d be damned if that ever happened again. He narrowed his eyes as Jason walked in. He’d figured out the man’s game. The tanned, muscular, pretty boy preyed on the women who came in at their lowest. It turned his stomach, but it wasn’t any of his business.
“Okay, we’ll be starting class in a few minutes. I’m happy to see some familiar faces. Grief is a journey, and we all have our high points and low points. This group is here to be there each step of the way.”
The door pushed open, and his jaw dropped. A waif stood in the doorway looking like a fairy. Dirty blonde curls framed a slender, oval-shaped face. Bright blue eyes, which were prominent, added a fairytale surrealness to her delicate features. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and shifted uncomfortably.
“Is this the grief group?” she asked.
Her voice was melodic, yet filled with sadness. Her pain was fresh. He remembered the overwhelmed, desperate look that came with the start of the healing process. After you’d accepted the hand you’d been dealt.
“Yes, it is,” Jason purred. Fucking shark in the water. It was clear the suit wearing businessman saw an easy target.
Not this time. The woman seemed to shrink away from Jason. Interesting.
“It is, I have an empty seat you’re welcome to,” Snake said.
She blinked slowly. “T-thank you.” She scurried over and sat beside him, placing her slender hands in her lap.
He liked his woman with a little meat on his bones. It was all he could do not to offer her one of the cookies they had on the table against the back wall. Her bones jutted out in sharp angles. He could tell she hadn’t been eating properly. Everyone dealt with grief in a different way, so he wasn’t judging, simply observing. He stared Jason down, pleased when the punk turned away. This one’s off limits. He studied her again, and she shifted her weight in her seat.
Stop looking at her before you scare her. He forced his gaze back to Bryan.
“Welcome…” Bryan said.
“Estelle,” she whispered.
“Estelle, we’re glad to have you here tonight.”
“I was— Dr. Nimoy recommended it to me,” she said.
“Oh yes, Dr. Nimoy has helped many of us here. Since we have a new face, why don’t we go around the room and introduce ourselves?” Bryan suggested.
The meeting started up and he re-directed his attention to the others. He cleared his throat at his turn.
“They call me Snake. Most of you know me. I’m here because the anniversary of my family’s death is coming up quick. Always makes it harder to deal with. Otherwise, I’ve been doing a lot better dealing with things. I don’t think I’ll ever get closure. They were the victims of a hate crime.” He gritted his teeth, fighting against the desire to remain silent. Holding it all in led to explosions. That wasn’t safe. He had to keep his head on straight for his club. “They never caught who did it. The case is still open.”
When Estelle inhaled sharply, he turned to face her. She’d covered her mouth with her hand, and tears shone in her eyes. It touched him.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He felt something inside him soften.
“We’ve all lost here,” he said.
Murmurs of agreement surrounded him.
“Is there anything the group can do to make this time easier for you, Snake?” Bryan asked.
He shook his head. “Just listening is plenty.”
“I think it’d be wise for you to make sure you have a buddy right now. It’s something to consider,” he said.
Snake nodded.
“What’s a buddy?” Estelle asked.
“Someone you trust to call when you feel yourself becoming too overwhelmed. We all have them,” Bryan replied.
Estelle nodded. It was her turn. She toyed with the belt of her black trench coat.
Bryan smiled at her, a soft expression on his face. “You don’t have to talk tonight, Estelle. We’re here to support you and allow you to go at your pace.”
She glanced up at Snake, almost as if she needed reassurance. Snake nodded. He wasn’t sure why she was so fearless. Most women shied away from him. It felt…nice. That was a dangerous emotion to indulge.
As they wrapped the session, he stood and stretched. Jason hovered in the doorway, eyeballing Estelle like a dog in heat. Fuck.
“Can I walk you to your car?” Snake asked.
Her eyebrows arched. “I…yeah, sure,” she replied with a shrug.
“Be seeing you,” Snake said to the others, quickly ushering her out the door.
“Estelle, I wanted to offer myself up as your buddy,” Jason said.
“Oh—”
“She can’t. We already agreed we’d be each other’s check in point,” Snake said.
Jason scowled. “Is that true, Estelle?” he asked.
“Yes, sorry,” she answered.
Good girl. Snake placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the church.
“You didn’t seem comfortable around, Jason. It’s why I jumped in. I’m not the type to strong arm anyone to get my kicks.”
“I wasn’t. I appreciate you stepping in. I wasn’t expecting to deal with that at a grief meeting,” she admitted as they stepped out into the evening air.
“Most women flock to him.”
“Exactly why he made me wary. Men that are used to yes, and woman being interested in them tend to have over-inflated egos.”
“You got good instincts. He likes to hit women at their most vulnerable. It’d be smart to keep him at a distance, and let him know you’re not interested.”
Her brow furrowed. “I thought I did.”
“He doesn’t understand subtle hints,” Snake said.
“Just great.”
“Other than him, the group’s good.”
“Yeah?” She cocked her head to the side as she looked at him.
“It’s hard being new. But if you stick with it, that fades, and you find a group of people who can say they understand what you go through without bullshitting you.”
“Is that why you come?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“This is me,” she said, gesturing to the black BMW in the parking lot.
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br /> He whistled. “Nice ride.”
She shrugged. “It gets me from point A to point B.”
In style no less.
“Are you really going to be my buddy?” she asked.
“Do you want me to be?”
“I promised my doc I would be all in with this, so yes.”
“All right. Let me see you cell phone.”
He typed his number into her cell and called his own, saving her number.
“There you go. You get into a tight spot, and need to talk, call me.”
She nodded. “Same for you.”
He smirked. “Yeah, all right.”
He waited as she unlocked her door and slid inside.
“See you around, Estelle,” he said, tapping her hood as he walked over to his bike. He got on and pulled out of the parking lot knowing the refined woman would never place a call.
CHAPTER TWO
Estelle
I like bartending. She studied the quick pour the teacher demonstrated and did her best to emulate the technique as she counted silently in her head. The last thing she wanted to do was over pour and cut into the bar’s profits. She’d watched enough Bar Rescue to know that was a huge no-no. The highly addictive show had given her a crash course on what made a good bartender in the real world. School could only teach you so much, the rest was tricks of the trade and charisma. The thought of inventing a “work personality” appealed to her. Task completed, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at her accomplishment.
She threw herself into the classes head first. Recipes, ingredients, portion, and pours were logical. They made sense. She could wrap her brain around them. At the end of the day she felt a sense of worth. The class was full of people younger than her and friendly. They had no clue who she was or what she’d been through. Being anonymous rocked.