by Jc Emery
Before I know it, we’re at the clubhouse and Ruby and Aaron are out of the SUV, leaving me and Alex behind. I move to get out when Alex leans over and places her hand on my knee. I jump in place and try to calm myself down. It’s just Alex. She’s not trying to scare me. Damn it. I should be over this shit by now.
“Sorry,” she says and tucks her dark brown hair behind her ear.
“It’s okay.” I might not be over it just yet, but one day I will be. I have to believe that.
“My mom’s attitude isn’t personal. She’s having a hard day. She and Jim got into a fight last night.”
“Thanks for that,” I say. We get out of the vehicle and walk into the clubhouse. It’s quiet and well-lit, which is a far cry from how loud and dark it was the last time I was here. There are a few people walking around, though not many. Aaron has disappeared somewhere, but Ruby certainly hasn’t. A few of the members of the club are sitting at the bar with bottles of beer in their hands, and others are munching on cookies.
“Bar needs wiped down, fridge needs everything that’s expired or just looks nasty to be tossed out, and the floor needs to be swept and mopped. All supplies are in the closet behind the bar,” Ruby says. I’m careful to pay attention to what she’s saying. She’s not looking at me, but there’s nobody else in the room who’s going to actually clean something around here, save for maybe Alex.
“Got it.” Excusing myself, I walk past Ruby, who’s got a hand on her hip as she stares at the men at the bar. Her lips are pursed, and she’s got a severe pissed-off look on her face. Thankfully it’s not directed at me. Unfortunately I recognize the large body sitting on the stool that has her attention as Jim. Damn, that must have been some fight they had last night if she’s giving him a look like this and he’s ignoring her.
The bar is backed up to an exposed brick wall that’s decorated with a long shelf that holds a variety of bottles of liquor. Around the corner from the bar is a large room that’s mostly filled up by a pool table and a few pieces of random furniture. It’s tucked back from the main room, but not closed off. Just enough to separate the spaces. Around the corner from the back wall of the bar are three doors. One is open and appears to lead to a bathroom. The other two are closed, but one is missing its doorknob, so I narrow it down to the door closest to the bar.
Opening it, I find out I’m right. There’s little rhyme or reason to the mess inside, but I find the necessary supplies and pull them out, deciding I’ll start with wiping down the bar top. I spend more time than I need to poking through everything. The tension at the bar is just too much. Eventually, though, I give up and walk back to the bar with my supplies, keeping my eyes on my surroundings and not the men at the bar. Aside from Jim, I don’t even know who is there. With laser focus, I wipe down the back of the bar and try to keep my ears closed to anything going on around me. There are a few bottles lying around that I place on the shelf wherever I find room. The sink is full of dishes that don’t look like they’ve been touched in a week. Food is crusted on the silverware, and the odor emanating from the sink is pretty bad, so I decide to avoid it until I can’t anymore.
I’ve barely gotten the bottles of liquor put back on the shelf when a scuffle breaks out behind me. I jump at the sound of glass being slammed into the bar top and spin around with my hands clutching the counter behind me. Duke is beside Jim, and judging from the look on his face, I think he might have been the one to slam his bottle into the counter. His eyes slide to Jim, who gives Duke a slight shake of his head.
Ruby is still in the same spot she was when we first walked in. Alex is at the very end of the bar, up against the exterior wall, with a large hardback book open in front of her, the back flap tipped up so nobody can see what she’s reading. Even as the argument breaks out, she doesn’t move or acknowledge the noise. God, she must be used to it.
I want to move from my position, watching the chaos about to break out, but I can’t bring myself to. I’m frozen in place.
“What was that, Ma? I fucking heard you, so answer me.” Ryan says from across the room. His shoulders are heaving and he’s glaring at Ruby, who is valiantly ignoring him. Her eyes are still fixed on Jim’s back, but he’s still facing the bar—facing me—and sipping his beer like it’s second nature. At his age and for how long he’s been in the club, he’s probably able to open a bottle of beer from a dead sleep and suck the entire thing down without even waking.
“I know damn well that you can hear me,” Ryan barks. He takes a few steps forward and places his hands on the back of a wooden chair, leaning into it. Ruby’s jaw ticks, but otherwise, she doesn’t move. “Fucking answer me!”
Ryan’s yell startles Alex, and she slams her book shut and spins around in her chair to glare at him, and what a glare she has. Jim sets his beer down slowly and gives me a tired look. I force a smile to my face that I don’t even believe myself.
Ruby still doesn’t move—even as Jim slides his stool back and turns around to face his bickering family. I guess he has to address what’s going on—both as Ruby’s husband and Ryan’s father as well as the president of the club. He takes his time standing from his seat and closing the distance between him and Ryan. It’s only when Jim lunges at Ryan that Alex and Ruby react, which sets off a chain reaction in the room. I watch in horror as Duke jumps from his seat and rushes at Ryan. He’s followed by Bear, who was sitting next to him. Fish and Diesel, who were on the other side of Jim, follow suit, but they head for Jim. Diesel pulls Ruby back from the growing mass of testosterone while Fish tries to get in between Ryan and Jim. Diesel’s efforts are rewarded with Ruby turning and cussing him out and trying to shove him aside.
I can barely tell who’s helping who and who’s on whose side. The mass moves, and Fish gets shoved aside. He falls onto a nearby table with a heavy thud and a scream and then tumbles to the floor and lays there for a moment with his hands on his lower back. Shit. He looks really hurt. Quickly, I grab a nearby rag and frantically search for the fridge, thinking that maybe there will be a freezer and some ice in there. I jump into action when I find something better—an ice maker. It’s about the size of a dorm room fridge, but it’s plenty full. I pile the ice into the rag and rush around the bar to Fish, doing my best to avoid the fight. With my arms hooked under his arm pits, I try to pull him away from the crowd. He arches his back and screams out in pain, but I don’t stop. The crowd is getting shoved in our direction, with Alex on the outside, nearly falling on her butt as she dodges a wayward elbow. When I have Fish next to the exposed brick wall and far enough away from the crowd, I give him an once-over.
“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. His face is red, and a line of sweat is breaking out above his brows. He doesn’t look fine, no matter what he says, so I proceed with inspecting the way he’s lying and attempting to straighten his back out, though it’s of no use.
“Can you sit up?” I ask. He narrows his dark brown eyes at me and spits out a curse. He tries to move into a sitting position but stops and grunts in what sounds like pain. Frowning at him, I move around to his side, near his back, and place the rag full of ice against his spine. “Just tell me what I can do to help.”
“I said I’m fine,” he says on a shout. “I don’t need your fucking help.”
I don’t need this kind of abuse. Especially not from someone I can’t yell back at. Instead of making sure he’s okay, I stand and survey the scene before me. The crowd is bigger now, with people yelling all around. Through the crowd, I can see Wyatt on the other side, fighting through his brothers to get to the center. Ian’s even joined in, too. He’s got his arms around Jim, and he’s slowly making progress, dragging him out of the chaos. I was so busy with Fish that I didn’t even hear anyone else come in, but here they are. Grady is in the thick of the mess and so is Diesel. I see a flash of blond hair from the other side. Duke’s got Ryan around the neck and he’s pulling him back. It seems someone else has gotten himself in a fight with Ryan now since he’s still putting u
p a pretty hard fight despite the fact that Jim’s on the edge of it all.
From the corner of my eye, I see Leo standing in the entrance to the clubhouse. He’s got his standard-issue black suit on, and he looks as calm and cool as can be. He takes one step into the room before stopping. His eyes widen, and he turns his head to the doorway, speaking to someone I can’t see. Waiting a minute, and then stepping into the room, he heads my way. He’s followed by a younger man who has dark brown hair that’s parted on the side. There’s no gel in his hair, and he doesn’t wear a suit, but he has the same confident stride that Leo does. The young man’s olive complexion is set off by his gorgeous brown eyes and the slight widow’s peak at the top of his forehead, just barely off center. It takes me a long moment before I realize this must be the elusive Michael Mancuso.
Chapter 15
Michael stops in his tracks when his eyes fix on something, and his body straightens. His muscles bulge under the short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing to the point that I can see the veins in his arms clearly. Even mad, he’s a good-looking kid. And right now he looks downright deadly. Leo catches sight of whatever Michael’s looking at and moves to run in that direction, but Michael shoves him back and takes off running. My eyes follow his movement as he rushes to where Ryan is being pulled back by both Duke and Wyatt.
I take a step to my right and see Alex, who’s behind Ryan now and whispering in his ear. She’s trying to calm him down, I think, but it’s not working. She’s being pushed and shoved by the collective crowd, but she’s vigilant in her task. She takes a heavy black boot stepping on her foot and an elbow to her head, but she keeps on. It doesn’t look like any of the offending body parts belong to Ryan, but rather men who are trying desperately to avoid getting the crap kicked out of them.
Michael stands back a few feet, reaching out with his arms but then lowering them. Nobody besides me and Leo even seem to know he’s in the room. I know only a little about Alex and Michael and their history. I know she came out to California and he came after her to try and help but ended up hurting her pretty badly. Ian doesn’t bring either of them up, so neither do I. Until I have a better idea of where we stand, I can’t just go around asking about reappearing siblings and family squabbles. Even if I did know where we stand, I still don’t think it would be my place to ask. Everything I know, I learned from Holly. Holly says the club hasn’t allowed Michael to see Alex since he hurt her, which would explain the weird arm thing he’s doing right now. It’s like he wants to reach out and touch her, but he isn’t sure if he should. Like he’s scared to try to repair that relationship—a feeling I completely understand, but wish I didn’t.
A man stumbles back and right into Alex’s side. She falls backward and nearly hits the wall behind her but is saved by Michael stepping into action. The man who fell picks himself up and gets right back into the fight, but this time he seems to be trying to break it up by pulling each man out individually. I don’t even know how it got this big or violent, much less what it’s about.
“You’re okay, miele,” Michael says.
I move closer, around the crowd, so I can hear them better. I don’t know why, but I want to see this. I know Ryan doesn’t want Alex around Michael and that’s caused some issues in the club, so this is probably a big deal. It feels significant.
“Oh my God,” Alex says breathily and turns around in his arms. She stares at him with tears in her eyes and then throws her arms around his neck. He gives her a smile that feels too personal, like I shouldn’t be watching them. I don’t care, though. The confident man who walked into the room is now gone, and in his place is a happy little boy who looks like he’s been reunited with his favorite toy.
I’m pulled from Michael and Alex by the quiet that descends upon the room. The man who fell into Alex has effectively broken up most of the fight. Ryan and Grady are still bitching at each other but slowly come to realize that something else is going on around them. Grady pushes Ryan off of him and redirects his attention. Ryan’s quizzical look moves to what’s caught Grady’s attention. It’s Michael and Alex, being unwittingly reunited, that has the entire room falling into a hush. Ryan’s pained expression shocks me. He looks like he’s at war with himself, trying to keep himself in place, when he really wants to rip Alex out of Michael’s arms.
“Michael?” It’s Ruby. She sounds softer, quieter right now. I search the crowd and find her coming out from behind Ryan. He doesn’t move to stop her, but he does reach up and place a hand on her shoulder as she passes. When she’s out of reach, it falls back down to his side. The pained expression on his face gives way to a somber one, and I realize that what I’m seeing is more significant than I thought. Michael and Alex didn’t know Ruby is their birth mother until recently. They never even knew she existed until Alex got to town. The pieces start to fit together in my head, and I come to the conclusion that if Alex hasn’t been able to see Michael in almost a year, then that means Ruby likely hasn’t either.
Ruby’s eyes are filled with tears as she takes a wobbly step in the twins’ direction. Alex pulls back from Michael and moves to stand beside him. Her face is red and wet with tears as her eyes volley between her mother and her brother. Michael stands unflinchingly as he stares at the woman who gave birth to him. His eyes aren’t wide exactly, but they’re searching her face for something. Maybe recognition, or to see if he thinks he looks like her at all. I don’t know, but it’s difficult to watch. I barely know these people and I’m nearly moved to tears by being witness to their reunion.
“So, you’re my mom, huh?” Michael tries to smile, but it falls flat. The sheer magnitude of the situation appears to have hit him.
Ruby nods and tries for a yes, but it doesn’t really come out. She takes another step, this one even less steady, and places a hand over her mouth as a guttural sob rips through her. I want to do something, anything to busy myself from this intimate moment, but like everybody else in the room, I can’t stop myself from watching. Michael takes a small step forward and pauses. He goes to reach out to her but stops and lowers his arms. He’s both awkward and vulnerable, a combination I couldn’t have guessed he’s capable of.
Ruby’s knees give out, and she falls to the floor. Jim moves to crouch down behind her but doesn’t obstruct her view of her son. He whispers something in her ear and rubs her shoulders. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like forever as Michael takes one step after another and meets his mother on the floor. There are unshed tears in his eyes, and his chest is heaving. I can’t be sure, but I bet his heart is racing a million miles a minute right now. Mine is and this isn’t even my family or my moment. Ruby cries harder when Michael crouches down to her level. He barely has his arms open before Ruby throws herself into them and hugs him so fiercely I’m afraid she might break one of his ribs.
Finally I take my eyes off of mother and son and look for the man I know has to be watching this. This is Ian’s family and his history. I look around but don’t find him at first. Behind the crowd, I see him moving through the room with the pool table and toward the back of the clubhouse. I don’t even think about it as I’m following him. He opens a door and steps out into the bright sunlight, not bothering to close it behind him.
Outside, the sun nearly blinds me. It takes a few moments before my eyes can see normally again. I’ve never been behind the clubhouse, so I take a moment to look around. There’s a basketball hoop attached to the tall fence and a few picnic tables that look no worse for wear than the ones out front. Ian keeps moving, so I stop surveying my surroundings and get a move on. He walks through a gate in the fence at the very back and disappears from my line of sight. Just like out front, the chain-link fence back here has black privacy slats that are spray painted with white paint that reads WHERE SOULS SPOIL AND HEARTS ROT in bold lettering.
Through the gate now, I find that we’re standing near the edge of a cliff. The clubhouse sits on the ocean side of Main Street. Much of the coast is federal property, so I didn’t expect t
o be standing so close to the water back here. The chain-link fence the government has up to restrict access is a couple hundred feet away and partially shielded by the occasional redwood. I can’t imagine we’re supposed to be out here, but I don’t care. It’s gorgeous the way the jagged cliff looks with the blue-gray sky as a backdrop and the sounds of the ocean meeting the shore. The only thing that competes is the man standing on the rock, at the very edge, with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head hanging down.
“View’s better up here,” he says. A smile creeps to my lips. He knows I’m here and he doesn’t care. As much as I’d prefer to not plummet to my death via a slippery rock, I walk to him and move to step up beside him, but I’m stopped by his offered hand. I can’t resist his touch, so I take it and let myself enjoy the warmth of his skin wrapped around mine. It’s so little compared to what I want, but it’s a start.
“Thought about it a lot, what it’d be like for Ma to meet Michael,” he says. I’m on the rock now beside him, but he doesn’t let go of my hand while he shares this with me. I don’t know what it means to Ian, but it means the world to me. “Club fought about it. A lot. Talked it over. We couldn’t decide how to handle it.” He blows out a breath and gives my hand a squeeze like he needs the strength to get through this. “And this is how it goes down.”
I don’t know enough to know why he’d rather be out here than inside with his family, but it’s clear that he needs this time, so I don’t ask. I just stand here and try to give him whatever comfort I can.
“Say something,” he pleads. “You’re always talking except when I need you to.”
“I’ve missed you,” I blurt out. It’s the first thing I think of. “Your texts are pissing me off. If you want to boss me around, you’re going to have to do it face-to-face.”