HORIZON MC

by Clara Kendrick

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever regain my memories,” I said. “But I have a lot of personal things in storage, in Rio Seco.”

  “Rio Seco?” Cheyenne wrinkled her nose. “Where’s that?”

  “New Mexico.”

  “Really? Never heard of it.”

  “Small town.”

  “But what’s in Rio Seco for you?”

  “My life now. That’s where I own the bar. I live there. Have a group of friends. We have a motorcycle club together.”

  “You had a motorcycle,” she said. “But I made you give up riding it when you wrecked.”

  “I wrecked?” I shook my head. “Sorry. I knew that. Well, I inferred that. One of the things I had in my possession was a beat-up motorcycle.”

  Cheyenne drew in a little breath, then laughed. “Stubborn. I was about to tell you off for keeping that junk, but it wouldn’t do much good. It’s…not your fault. You don’t know you did it. Is that weird, thinking about it that way?”

  “I’m the same old Jack Ryder,” I told her. “I mean, broadly speaking. I’m the same person. Just not with the same memories. If I don’t have those, though, am I really the same person?”

  She held her hands up. “Talk to someone in philosophy about that one. You look like Jack to me.”

  “Would it be too forward to tell you that I like you?”

  She giggled. “I hope you like me. We did just have sex last night.”

  “We could do that again, if you wanted to.”

  “I was sort of hoping you’d suggest that.”

  It wasn’t as visceral as it was before, taking Cheyenne’s face in my hands and kissing her, working my hand up the sweatshirt to cup first one breast, then the other, slipping my thigh between her legs and pressing upward. It was more comfortable than anything, and there was something special to be said for that. I’d never had the kind of sex when you took your time, assured of pleasure, at ease with the person you were with. Trusting, even.

  Or I supposed I had and just hadn’t remembered it, which was a pity. Cheyenne was someone who deserved to be remembered.

  She gasped as I moved the pad of my thumb around her clit, testing the right amount of pressure that would take to drive her wild.

  “Is that okay?” I asked her.

  “It’s…it’s great,” she said. “It just feels different.”

  I paused. “Different how?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “God, no.”

  I touched her until she was slick and trembling, drawing out everything from sighs to near-screams, heedless of patrons in the neighboring hotel rooms, focused only on making her feel good.

  “I want you,” she panted.

  “Are you sure?” Was it really me she wanted? Or was it the memory of someone who might not exist anymore?

  “Yes.”

  I didn’t think about it for too long. I was as eager for meaningful contact as she was, sinking into her, wondering if she felt this good to me before, reveling in the way she tossed her hair and raked her nails down my forearms.

  “You can take this off,” she said, plucking at my T-shirt.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Please.”

  “The scars, Cheyenne–”

  But her hand was beneath the cotton, learning by feel the new features I wouldn’t ever be rid of, souvenirs from a battle I didn’t remember anymore. I shuddered and thrust harder at the tickling, teasing, questing fingertips, tracing lines I didn’t even like to look at in the mirror.

  “I don’t care about the scars,” she said. “But if you do, I understand. I just want you to be comfortable.”

  I renewed my efforts to distract her. I’d been with women who had shrunk away from me the moment I took off my shirt, and I knew it wasn’t because I had a beer gut. I didn’t. Sure, I drank a lot, but I also tried to take care of my body. It was the only one I had. The scars were the culprit, and I didn’t want to scare Cheyenne away. Not when things were going so well.

  Thrusting into her seemed to do the trick, making her close her eyes and grip my biceps, move against me to get the level of friction she craved, and soon, even I wasn’t thinking about my scars anymore, or my shortcomings, blissfully distracted by the woman beneath me, and the miracle of running in to her again. I had to wonder at my motivations for coming to Colorado. Had I been hoping something like this would happen? That I would run into someone I knew, someone who could help me overcome the limitations of my own mind? I wanted Cheyenne to be the one who held the key to my memories. I wanted it to be her. I wanted–

  “Oh, fuck,” she gasped, and her muscles tightened around me, sending me spiraling into an orgasm of my own, driving into her until my muscles felt weak, until I didn’t think I could hold myself up anymore.

  “Okay?” I asked her, pulling out, sprawling beside her, pushing her damp hair off her forehead.

  “More than okay.” A tired smile, but still beautiful. “What time’s checkout? Think we still have a couple hours to nap? Or do you have somewhere you need to be today?”

  The idea of leaving Cheyenne right now was so repulsive to me that it literally turned my stomach. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to lose her. I wasn’t sure what this tryst had been. Some act of mutual desperation, maybe. Refusing to let go of a past that was now lost. But I didn’t want to believe that this was it – a final fling. An homage to memories, things that would never be again. I wanted this to be a thing. To figure out how to keep Cheyenne in my life, or how to stay in hers.

  The plan formulated quickly in my brain. I was thankful for that, at least. If I couldn’t remember this woman, I would have to find excuses for her to stick around in my life so I could get to know her. At best, she would finally jog something in my mind to release a trove of memories. It might work like that, and it might not. There had been specific moments in time that had triggered strange reactions, like a sudden aversion to fireworks, or the feeling I was watching myself receive a medal. More time with Cheyenne might reveal more. And at worst, I would have the opportunity to rebuild a relationship with someone I really liked. There was really no “worst” part about it. I liked Cheyenne, even if I didn’t remember being with her before. If I could manage not to screw things up with her, maybe I could have something with her again.

  “I’m just supposed to go back home, eventually,” I said. “We can definitely get a little more shuteye, though. This place isn’t crowded. I’m sure they would be okay with a late checkout.”

  “Perfect. I’m exhausted.”

  “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

  “No, no. I didn’t mean that, to blame you. I’m glad I woke up.”

  “Glad?”

  “So I could wake you up. So you wouldn’t have to have that nightmare anymore.” She shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “And the sex wasn’t bad, either.”

  I snorted. “I think it deserves a little more praise than ‘wasn’t bad.’”

  Cheyenne laughed. “Okay, the sex was amazing. I’m just afraid to wake up and find out all of this was a dream. That you were just a figment of my overactive imagination. That you never came back to Colorado to see me.”

  “Would you like to come to Rio Seco with me?” I asked in a rush, before I could lose my confidence. “Back to New Mexico? To see where I live now?”

  She was quiet for so long that I was afraid I’d made a terrible mistake. “You’d want to share that with me?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “There’s not some Mrs. Jack Ryder waiting for you there?”

  “No way.”

  “I find it a little hard to believe. You’re quite a catch.”

  “I’m pretty complicated for anyone who tries to get to know me,” I said. “I can answer basic questions. Where I grew up. What I used to do. But when they get more specific, like first kiss, what I wanted to be when I grew up, when I was a kid…that gets tougher. Then, we have to have thi
s whole conversation about the Army Rangers, and what explosions can do to the human mind, and the varying degrees of amnesia a person can suffer, and then a slew of hypothetical situations because it’s pretty interesting, if you’re on the outside looking in, if someone can’t remember anything from their past. It’s not as interesting on the inside looking out, but that’s just part of it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cheyenne said. “You’re as handsome as you’ve ever been. I just assumed you’d have someone.”

  “Do you have anyone?” It was a question I normally wouldn’t ask if I’d just slept with someone, but I was trying to deflect the focus. I hated being pitied. It was one of many things I didn’t tolerate well.

  “No. It was hard to get myself back on the market with everything.”

  “Everything” meant me. I didn’t have to ask Cheyenne for any clarification on that. It made me feel terribly guilty, that loving me had robbed her of whatever chance she had to pursue happiness – and normalcy – with someone else.

  “I mean, I’m glad I never started dating again,” she said. “Dating sucks. And I already knew there was someone out there for me. It just took you a while to come back. That’s all.”

  What was she saying? That we were going to start dating again?

  “I’d like to get to know you better,” I said. “Beyond a physical relationship, which I think we’re already pretty good at. Is that okay?”

  She smiled at me. “I like that idea.”

  “I’m sorry it has to be like that.”

  “I’m…not. Not really. I’m pretty okay with it.”

  We napped until it was time to check out, and then I followed her back to her apartment. It was an older house that had been divided up into a couple apartments. I never laid eyes on her roommate, waiting outside for Cheyenne.

  She packed a backpack with a few changes of clothes, spoke with her roommate for a while, and called her boss on her phone before climbing on the back of my motorcycle. It felt like we were fast-forwarding this, but I was kind of glad. I hoped it wouldn’t give her time to have second thoughts about things. I needed her in Rio Seco. I didn’t think I could let go of her now even if she wanted me to. She had swiftly become something precious to me.

  “I’m going to leave my car here,” Cheyenne said, looking longingly at it, parked in the driveway. “I had to throw it in to sweeten the deal of leaving my roommate on such short notice. I let her use it all the time, anyway.”

  “You’ll like riding the motorcycle,” I said, thinking about the miles ahead with her arms around me. “I’m a good driver. I promise.”

  “If you say so.”

  We didn’t talk much on the hours-long drive back to Rio Seco. I liked to think that she was enjoying the ride and the scenery, and not doubting all of her life decisions leading up to this point. Maybe she was thinking about the wreck I’d gotten in before. I tried not to go too fast, or swerve, or do anything to frighten her.

  I was a little relieved when we rolled into the city limits of Rio Seco. It was too far for her to jump off the back of my bike and make a run for it back to Colorado. We’d made it.

  “Not much to look at, but here’s where I call home,” I said over my shoulder as we rolled onto the main street of downtown Rio Seco. I always couched my love for this town in that gruffness, but I cared a great deal for it. I was happy that the historic buildings along the strip were getting renovations and new tenants, happy that the bar was anchoring the entire operation while offering people a place to escape the hardships of their own lives. Rio Seco was a town on the verge of blossoming again, and I didn’t care if I was the only one to see it.

  “It’s cute,” Cheyenne told me, but she was probably only being polite.

  “That’s the bar,” I said, pointing. There were quite a few cars parked along the street and in the lot beside it for this time of day, but people were probably just looking to stay warm. With the sun resting on the horizon, it was probably going to be a cold night.

  “The bar you own,” she confirmed.

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s doing pretty good business.”

  “Usually does.” I pointed again. “That’s the new park. Recently renovated after an Easter fundraiser we organized this spring.” It was deserted, but even on the coldest of days, parents put several layers of jackets and scarves on their kids and took them there. It had the latest in playground equipment, and all someone had to do was fire up one of the barbecue pits in the picnic area to give everyone a warming station. I was proud of the park. It had been in dusty shambles before, and the children of Rio Seco had nowhere else to play.

  “Who organized the fundraiser? The town?”

  “The motorcycle club. Horizon.”

  “What, you guys are a gang of do-gooders, or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I like it. A lot.”

  “And here’s my house.” I lived in an old place with a lot of charm just a block or two over from the bar. It helped on the nights when I couldn’t sleep, being so close to somewhere different from my bedroom, which contributed to my torment sometimes. I could’ve fixed up the house a little better, but I liked the patina everything took on when it was more vintage than new. My place had a history. People who used to love it.

  I parked the bike and helped Cheyenne off of it.

  “Feels good to stretch my legs,” she said, walking around, a little stiff.

  “You might be a little sore tomorrow,” I said. “First time going on a long-distance motorcycle trip?”

  “Yep.” She winked at me, cheeky. “I’ll probably be more sore from all the sex.”

  “Well, you know how to solve that, don’t you?” I gave her my very best leer. “More sex. Keep those muscles warm.”

  “Play your cards right, Jack, and maybe you’ll get lucky again.” Cheyenne grinned. “It was an awfully long way to be sitting on something that vibrates like that.”

  I couldn’t wait to get her inside, my cock already half-hard at the prospect that I was going to get some. I didn’t think I’d had very many repeated trysts with the women I’d brought into my life. Sad as it was, even if women didn’t think I was too complicated to keep, I usually only needed someone for a distraction. Something to curl up around and try to make the nightmares go away. I wasn’t perfect, but then again, neither were they. Sometimes, even if the sex was decent, the nightmares came anyway. And then the women realized just what they were dealing with. Someone who was broken. Me.

  I tried for a cheesy approach to mask my anxiety, letting Cheyenne inside my house.

  “So, this is where the magic happens,” I said, flicking on the light switch and then wishing I had left it dark. The dim evening light coming in through the windows at least masked some of the mess. “Sorry. I didn’t think I’d have anyone over. It’s usually cleaner than this. When, you know, I’m having company.”

  “It’s okay,” Cheyenne said. “You were never really a clean freak. I used to secretly hope being in the Army Rangers would turn you into one. I don’t know. I had that movie scene in my head where guys in basic training are scrubbing a floor with toothbrushes.”

  “If they taught me how to be tidy, it didn’t stick with me,” I said ruefully. “I’ll get this mess cleaned up right now. Just make yourself at home… If you can find space to.”

  Most of the clutter and trash were empty beer and liquor bottles, and I hated the impression that must have made on Cheyenne – that I was unhappy enough to be more than willing to drink by myself. I’d drink at the bar, but Brody got weird if he saw me there too often. They joked that I was a fixture there, but it was easier sometimes for me to be around people than to be by myself.

  “I can help you with those,” Cheyenne said. “My roommate back in Colorado isn’t much of a housekeeper. I’m used to it.”

  “No, no,” I said. “It’s my mess. I should’ve been taking care of the place. I usually – well, I sometimes do. Not terribly oft
en. But it should be cleaner.”

  “Jack, it really doesn’t matter to me. I’d love to help. Cleaning’s kind of…therapeutic sometimes. You know?”

  I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. “Let me give you the tour, first, though. Actually, first, let me dart through the house really fast and make sure there isn’t anything embarrassing laying out.”

  “What, like bodies? Panties? Sex toys?”

  “I keep all of those in a special place, so no.”

  She followed me anyway, listening politely to my spiel about the bedroom with its ensuite bathroom, the way I’d made some upgrades to the house after I’d first bought it, keeping the retro vibe on the outside but modernizing or paying homage to the architectural era on the inside with new materials and furniture choices.

  We paused in the bedroom, both of us looking at the bed, me about to ask several questions I almost didn’t want to.

  “You’ll be sleeping in here, of course,” I said.

  “Of course,” she agreed. “It’s the bedroom, after all.”

  “And I’ll take the couch.”

  She sucked in a breath of outrage. “You will not. It’s your bedroom. You’ll sleep in the bed with me.” A doubtful look. “Won’t you?”

  “If, um, you want me to.”

  “Jack, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve already shared a bed – the one at your hotel,” she said. “And we’ve shared many a bed before that, even if you don’t remember it. I’d be more than happy to share the bed with you – as long as you’re comfortable with it.”

  “I am,” I said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you. That you didn’t think I just brought you here for…well, you know.”

  “I most certainly do not know.” She tossed her hair. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t want you to think that I expect something out of this,” I said, well aware my face was burning red with this admission, with the discomfort of discussing this. “We had sex. Sure. And we used to have a relationship. I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting anything to do with me anymore. God knows it’s complicated. I’m complicated. I don’t know why you decided to come to Rio Seco with me, but I’m glad you’re here. I just don’t want you to think that I expect anything from you. You know. Anything beyond friendship.”