Crush

by J. C. Emery

  Earlier I had assumed she liked Jeremy because she’s been defending him for the last few weeks. But maybe it’s not that she likes him...

  Maybe it’s because she’s a slut and he’s a whore.

  And I’m an idiot.

  I turn around and walk as quickly as I can, and once I hit the parking lot, I run straight to Diesel. He slides his phone into his pocket, abandoning the game I bet he was playing, and rushes toward me. I slam into his arms and cry into his chest.

  Diesel’s deep voice reverberates in his chest as he says, “Baby Boy did this?”

  I nod my head and don’t even care that Diesel could really hurt Jeremy. He deserves it.

  But he’s not the only one.

  “He slept with Tracie,” I say. Diesel stiffens and unhooks me from his cut and the shirt underneath.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Follow me.”

  He’s off and walking as quickly as he can in the direction I came from. I walk behind him at a slow pace, not giving a shit what he does to them. I’m barely absorbing all of it, but it’s enough to make me bitter and vengeful and want to watch Jeremy get his nose broken.

  In the distance, I see Diesel walk up to Jeremy, and without missing a beat, he closes his hand into a fist and swings at Jeremy’s face. Jeremy ducks and weaves out of the way just in time, but Diesel’s screaming at him, and Jeremy finally screams back. Then he stands still while Diesel delivers a blow to his gut. Tracie screams off to the side, which sends Diesel in her direction. He grabs ahold of her by the back of her neck and is saying something to her that has her crying her stupid, lying ass off.

  As the school security guard rushes up through the thinning crowd of students, who all are trying to pretend they’re not watching but don’t seem to be moving away from the chaos, I realize there’s too many witnesses. Everybody is watching, so many people are seeing this play out. I hope Diesel doesn’t get in trouble for this. Then up walks Holly from the crowd with her eyes on me. I hope I don’t get in trouble for this.

  The security guard tries to get Diesel’s attention, but he ignores him and makes his way back to me. When we’re side by side and walking to his bike, Diesel says, “One of my bonus lives expired before I got to use it. I hate that shit.”

  A laugh escapes me as we climb onto his bike. I strap on my pink helmet and hold on tight as we leave Fort Bragg High School for the last time.

  “So you had a bad day, too, then?” I scream over the roar of the Harley beneath us.

  “Nah,” he says with a smile in his voice. “Violence makes me feel better.”

  I’m getting off the bike at my house when I say, “I’ll gift you my free life. I’m not going to use it. Best I can do to thank you for taking care of the trash.”

  He smiles and points his finger at me as he backs his Harley out of the driveway.

  “You’re a good woman, Cheyenne Grady.”

  And he’s gone. The moment I’m inside the house, Grandma is on me and hugging me like her life depends on it. I hug her back knowing that she’s talked to Holly, but I don’t care. I just need a Grandma cuddle to make everything a little bit better.

  CHAPTER 15

  February

  14 months to Mancuso’s downfall

  I tentatively peek my head out around one of the wide columns that line the front porch of the Jennings residence and wait until I’m certain that I don’t hear or see anybody coming. I’m not supposed to be here. Like really not supposed to be here. In the weeks following my departure from Fort Bragg High School, I have split my time between studying for the GED test and listening in on every conversation about club business that I possibly can. But that wasn’t enough, and that’s why I’m here.

  The best thing about your best friend betraying you and your not-boyfriend being a dirt ball is that it frees up a lot of time I would have spent socializing. Tracie’s sent me a bunch of text messages apologizing for the aforementioned betrayal, but I eventually got so tired of hearing about it that I blocked her number. That’s when she resorted to coming to the house. Dad was about to jump down her throat, but he couldn’t get there before Holly, who singlehandedly chased her to the curb. After the drama, I got some studying in for the GED, which I took yesterday. I’ll know whether or not I passed in a few weeks. So here I am. Today’s a new day, and I have nothing to do. My nails are painted, my hair is done, and I had nothing better to do after lunch than to put my detective skills to work.

  Though Mr. and Mrs. Jennings’ house is fairly close to the road, the wide columns should hide me well enough while I survey the scene before me. There’s a neat pile of newspapers stacked near the front door and a few package delivery notices attached to the door. I swipe my cell phone from my pocket and snap a few pictures of the door before stepping closer to take photos of the individual items. The oldest package pickup notice is dated as far back as several weeks ago. A few other notices stick to the door, but only just barely, while several more have fallen off and are crumpled atop the welcome mat. Two pieces of paper with bright red bands at the top hang from the door knob. One is a notice from the water company that the water has been shut off in the house. It’s from last week. The other notice dates back to the middle of December. The bill was overdue back then, and the company was threatening to cut the water. That was two months ago.

  With the water shut off and all the stacked up newspapers and the notices hanging about, I can’t imagine that the Jenningses have been here since then. Which is weird, because their son is still in the hospital and the news has reported he’s awake. The local stations claim they don’t know specifics about his condition and what he remembers, if anything.

  Once I have enough pictures of everything, making sure they’re all clear and show the dates, I stand awkwardly on the porch trying to figure out what to do next. The club needs to know about this. They probably already do, but what if, for some reason, they don’t? It’s awfully strange that Mr. and Mrs. Jennings haven’t been home in probably months now, and yet the news left that off the report. If Dad thinks the Italian mafia hurt Darren like I think he thinks they hurt Mindy, then how could he not know that Darren’s parents have left town?

  Frustrated and unsure what to do next, I cautiously head down the walk to the driveway. There are more scattered newspapers on the lawn that have deteriorated into the grass with the winter rains, leaving behind soggy chunks that look like they’re going to be a pain for someone to clean up. At the end of the drive is the mailbox. It’s one of those custom-made ones that’s shaped like the house—built in a colonial style with impressive columns that serve as handles to open it up and retrieve the mail. Pulling on the handle, I peek into the box. It’s stuffed full of envelopes, stray package notices, and even a small box. I take a picture of the packed mailbox and close the door.

  I take one last look at the Jennings’ home. Across the street is a chunk of land dotted with redwoods and sharp rocks. Beyond that is the Pacific Ocean. The salty ocean air is strong here, much stronger than it is in town. In one of Dad’s folders was some information on the Jennings family. I don’t really know what my house is worth, but the Jennings’ house seems awfully expensive on paper. Seeing it in person, I can understand why.

  The white colonial doesn’t really fit in the neighborhood but pays tribute to Mrs. Jennings’s Southern roots. At least that’s what the newspaper said when they did a feature on the family shortly after Darren’s beating. Most of the homes in this neighborhood are set far apart—so far, in fact, that you’d have to squint to see much detail about a neighbor’s house without a pair of binoculars. They’re all set far back from the road, too, and none of them are really very large. Nice, but not large. Yet the Jennings’ house sticks out like a sore thumb with its ridiculous columns and fancy-pants flowers everywhere. Not that the flowers are in great shape right now. Every inch of the property looks like it was well cared for and perfectly designed at one time. Now the grass is overgrown, and the weeds are out of control.
The flower beds would be worse off had it not been raining a lot recently. But nothing appears to have been kept up in the last few months.

  Without any major leads at the house, I’m kind of stuck. I don’t know what I was hoping to find, but an abandoned house is definitely not it.

  At the next house down, a woman is bent over what I think is her flower garden and working away. Her home is a one-story ranch with fresh paint and sturdy shutters. It looks a little bigger than Jeremy’s house, though it can’t be by much, but it’s definitely better updated. As fast as I can, I make my way over to the woman. The closer I get, the more nervous I become. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her or how I’m going to convince her to talk to me.

  “Excuse me,” I say loudly but without being too rude or invasive. The woman stops her work and pushes herself up from the dirt. She reminds me of Grandma in a way. She’s definitely Grandma’s age, and judging by her khaki pants and brightly-colored floral top, it looks like they probably shop in the same store.

  “Hello,” she says politely with a smile on her face.

  “Do you know where they went?” I ask, hitching my thumb toward the Jennings residence.

  “Oh, them?” Taking a step forward, she removes her gardening gloves and holds them in her right hand while slapping them into her left repeatedly. “No, I don’t.”

  “Okay.” I blow out a frustrated breath. I need something here—anything would help. “Take a wild guess—what would you come up with?”

  “I’d guess that man got himself into some trouble,” she says. “There a reason Forsaken wants to know?”

  I look down at my hoodie, realizing that she thinks I’m asking for the club. I guess I am, in a way. I just have to keep her talking as much as I can. I’m on eggshells over here. One crack and I might be done for. I can’t tell her the club is asking, because they don’t take kindly to people using them for their own gain, even if this is kind of for them, and I can’t try to bully her. She doesn’t look like she’s one to be bullied.

  “Forsaken is my family. The woman who was raped at Universal Grounds is my stepmom’s cousin and best friend. Nobody tells me anything, and it’s scary. I was just hoping that maybe Mr. and Mrs. Jennings knew something that might link what happened to their son to what happened to Mindy and Holly.”

  The woman’s face falls, and she sighs. When she nods her head, I know honesty was the right way to go. The only fib there was that Holly isn’t technically my stepmom. Yet.

  “I’ve told the police, but they blew me off like I’m a nosy busybody. That man built that god-awful house, and then he bought himself a Porsche. Then he bought his wife a new car. They redid the whole front yard and then got approval for some kind of man-made safari thing in the backyard. And do you know what they used on the soil? Pesticides.”

  Okay, once she decides to talk, she really talks. I nod my head and scowl in what I hope are the appropriate places. She doesn’t even seem to notice.

  “The homeowners association banned the use of pesticides, but that man paid somebody off to get that stupid safari plan approved. He had to. Nobody’s happy with them.”

  “So,” I say slowly, “do you know where they went?”

  “Oh, right.” She taps the index finger of her free hand to her lips. “No, I don’t know where they went, but I think he has a gambling problem. Don’t tell anybody that came from me. Anyway, they left early one morning and only took a few bags with them when they went. Why would they leave their son in the hospital like that unless they had to?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I say.

  She nods her head and then squints at me. “What’s your name?”

  Come on, Cheyenne. You know how to lie and how to be evasive, so figure it out already.

  “Um, maybe it’s best we don’t exchange names.” I give her a smile while making a hasty retreat. “Thanks!”

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket when it chimes, I read the message that awaits me. It’s from Jeremy. WHERE R U?

  Crap.

  OUT, I text back.

  I FUCKIN KNOW THAT. WHERE R U?

  I so don’t want to tell him where I’m at or what I’m doing, but he can be relentless. I think I need his help anyway, so I give him the address of the neighbor lady. I hope he doesn’t recognize the street name as the Jennings’ street, but knowing my luck, he will.

  DON’T MOVE, he says.

  ON WAY HOME. I hope this will calm him down.

  It doesn’t.

  DON’T FUCKIN MOVE, he says and finishes it off with, I GOT 2 HUNT U DOWN, I WON’T BE HAPPY.

  That makes two of us, dude. He shouldn’t be looking for me. He’s not on patrol at the house anymore since Dad caught wind of Jeremy’s antics about switching out detail with Diesel anytime he was supposed to be keeping an eye on me. If Dad sent him to find me, then I’m in even more trouble than I think.

  Oh well. All I know is that I’m fed up with running into one roadblock after another. I’m basically getting nowhere with everything I’m doing, and if Jeremy can shed some light on some of this, then maybe working with him won’t be so terrible.

  I shouldn’t want to share this with him, but I kind of do. For some reason, I trust that he won’t rat me out. I shouldn’t want to share anything with him, especially considering I’ve already shared him with the former bestie. The pain from that betrayal is still too fresh to think about without getting upset. Still, this is information the club might need, so I’m going to try to set my feelings aside. I’m not getting very far on my own, and Holly is too important to me to not keep trying. For Holly, I can be mature enough to work with that stupid idiot. I just won’t call him that to his face.

  CHAPTER 16

  February

  14 months to Mancuso’s downfall

  I’m waiting on the Jennings’ front porch when I hear Jeremy’s bike in the distance. I couldn’t very well have hung out at the neighbor’s house. That would have been awkward. His bike is loud, but not as loud as Dad’s bike or even Duke’s. I think Ryan’s bike is the loudest, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. Jeremy’s bike sounds a little rougher than the other guy’s bikes. It probably needs a tune-up and some work. I know Duke’s been teaching him how to take care of her, but he’s still a little green around the shop.

  When he pulls up, his expression is unreadable. My heart beats faster and faster the closer I get to having to talk to him, to really seeing him. The last time I saw him, I was so angry and then so hurt. He cuts the bike off and dismounts, then takes off his helmet and sets it on the seat of the bike. He’s wearing dark sunglasses even though it’s cold and overcast. It’s freaking February in Mendocino County for crying out loud. Why on earth is he wearing sunglasses?

  He strides up quickly, his jaw firmly set and his cheeks pinched in a manner that leads me to believe he’s tense. Underneath his cut is a black sweatshirt with the Forsaken symbol across the chest. I look down at my own black Forsaken hoodie and blush. Wearing the same thing is a little embarrassing for some reason. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of our connection—to the club—and that we’ll never really be able to go our separate ways and be out of each other’s lives. Not that I really want to be out of his life.

  “Hey,” I say and clear my throat, trying to get rid of the hoarse nervousness I hear in my voice.

  He doesn’t say a word as he reaches the porch, steps up, and turns toward me. His stride doesn’t falter the closer he gets. Wide footsteps close in on me, never slowing, and he is on me in a moment, his chest bumping into mine, pushing me backward. I stumble into the column behind me and am caught between the cool plaster and Jeremy’s warm, hard body. His tangy breath washes over my face, engulfing me in the sweet smell of whiskey. He doesn’t even look down at me—nothing. He just stands here like he’s shielding me from the world.

  Jeremy’s arm lifts at his side, and a hard object brushes against my stomach. The quiet click of the safety releasing tells me he’s pul
led out his gun. His free hand lifts, barely tracing the curves of my body from my hip up to my ribs to the sides of my breasts and up above my head as he slaps it against the column and anchors himself to me. His tangy sweet breath comes harder and faster on my face now. His chest rises and falls quickly. His heartbeat is so fast that I worry for him. Our torsos push together, letting me share his adrenaline. He’s been drinking and riding, and this isn’t what I expected.

  I don’t know what I expected.

  Reaching up, I place a hand over his heart. It’s stupid, but I just want to feel his heartbeat. I want to know he’s human and not entirely cruel. Still, he doesn’t look at me. He leans in and turns his head to the left and then the right. His skin is so close I can almost feel him. I want to feel him, and I hate myself for it.

  For every time Aunt Ruby showed me what it means to be a strong woman. For every intimate moment I’ve witnessed between Dad and Holly where I see who really wears the pants in that relationship. For how hard Nic made Duke work to earn her forgiveness, and for how strong Alex fought to have something with Ryan. They each took a chance on something they didn’t know would work out, but they did it anyway. I don’t have that kind of faith, so whatever I’m doing here is just torturing myself with what I want, but never will be.

  And I’m here letting myself get sucked into the beat of Jeremy’s heart and the way he smells, even now. I feel pathetic and weak. Dirty even. I should want nothing to do with him. But he’s here, covering me with his body, and it doesn’t feel scary or like he wants to hurt me. It feels like he’s guarding me. Why is he so intense? Why won’t he look at me?

  Carefully, I reach up and grab ahold of his sunglasses and slide them off his face. With the loudest voice I can muster, I say, “Look at me.”

  He doesn’t move, and for some reason, I feel even more determined at his refusal. I pass the glasses to my left hand and then place the thumb of my right hand on his chin and pull down until he’s forced to face me. His red, swollen eyes stare down at me blankly. His eyes are misleading because his chest still expands and compresses quickly.