Beast: Learning to Breathe Devil’s Blaze Duet

by Jordan Marie

  I decide to change the subject to something safer. “The hospital gave me your name when they were going through my papers. Connor Michael Jameson. It’s a beautiful name. Is there a reason you go by Michael rather than Connor?”

  He grunts. Hmm...I have no idea what that means. I thought talking about his name would be safer than his scars or voice. My new friend is going to be difficult to get to know if this is any indication. I decide to give up and just stare out the window. He wants silence. I can appreciate that. Sometimes holding a conversation takes too much effort.

  29

  Beast

  “I don’t go by either name. Michael is what my bitch of a mother called me,” I tell her finally, if for no other reason than to stop her from staring out the window and ignoring me. This might have been a mistake. I should have dropped her off at home, made sure she had food and left. I was just thinking that the child needed food and set about making sure she got it. Protecting this child might come with quite a few complications. Most notably, her mother.

  The waitress brings our food and for a few minutes Hayden is preoccupied with arranging her plate, drink, and then making sure the cheese is melted correctly on her sandwich. It’s very strange watching her. When she reaches for the salt shaker, I take it from her.

  “What?” she asks, confused.

  “Salt’s bad for the baby,” I explain, proceeding to use it myself. I practically pour it in my ketchup. I’m not ashamed to admit that if it was possible, I would totally be addicted to salt. That said, I’m adding more than usual, because each second that ticks by Hayden’s mouth opens a little more, and her eyes widen with shock.

  “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think that much salt is good for anyone,” she finally answers. Her voice is a mixture of sarcasm and exasperation. It could almost make me smile...yet again. Hayden is a very strange creature.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not carrying Maggie,” I tell her, and fuck if I don’t let loose a chuckle, when this time she grunts at me.

  “If you don’t go by Michael or Connor what do people call you?” she asks, taking a bite of her sandwich when she finishes her question.

  I think about not answering her, but then she’d probably take to ignoring me again and looking out the window. “My club gave me a road name,” I tell her, reluctant to share with her what it is. She looks up at me and a look comes over her face that I don’t like. I’m not sure how to describe it, but I know that mixed in with it is fear.

  “You...you are in a club? Like...A biker gang?” she says, her face going noticeably pale. She’s even pushing her chair back as if she’s getting ready to run.

  “It’s a club—not a gang. And I used to be. I’m not anymore,” I growl. I never thought she would be so judgmental. She doesn’t have a right to judge. Has she looked in the fucking mirror.

  “Were you...were you part of the Dwellers?” she asks, and it’s then I notice her hands are trembling.

  Suddenly, I’m clued into the fact that this is more than my being part of a motorcycle club. No, this has much more to do with the Shadow Dwellers in general. I gathered she used to be a hanger on or a plaything to the Dwellers. They’re a twisted fucking bunch that’s for sure, and I have to wonder how Hayden didn’t wind up one of the girls they sold. Now I’m starting to wonder exactly what Hayden’s full story is. I’m going to have to make her tell me. It’s not because I want to know more about her. No. I’m being logical. I need to protect the baby. That’s the only reason, I need to know. That’s all this is.

  “I’d slit my own throat before I’d join any brotherhood with the Dwellers,” I tell her with frank honesty.

  Her face jerks up and she looks at me, her steely eyes wide. She studies my face for a few minutes before she nods in agreement. Slowly, second by second, her body releases the tension that has gathered into it. She still looks unsure however, and for some reason I find myself wanting to reassure her. Which pisses me off. So, instead I go back to my food—ignoring her.

  “Does that mean your...club was different than the Dwellers?”

  “As night and day,” I confirm. I may not be a member of the Blaze anymore, but I don’t like my brothers being compared to a bunch of inbred ass-fucks.

  “What was your club like?” she asks, and I don’t want to answer. If I answer, I have to think about my brothers and the life I had once. I shrug it off instead. Swallowing down my answer, I pretend interest in my food, which has suddenly become dry as sawdust. They were like a family. I want to tell her that.

  I don’t.

  30

  Hayden

  “I’m sorry. I get the feeling I offended you, I didn’t mean to. My views are jaded when it comes to bikers,” I tell him, hating that I caused him to withdraw. For a second, I felt panic threaten to overtake me when he mentioned he was part of a club. It was a crazy reaction considering I had already assumed at least in my head that Michael was a biker. It stands to reason that he belongs to a club...or according to him belonged to a club.

  “You were Dwellers’ property,” he says matter-of-factly. So calm and quiet he says those words. He doesn’t have a clue to the misery and pain those simple words hold. He may not know, but they inflict enough pain that I want to get up and run out of the diner. Run and never turn back.

  “I’m no one’s property,” I say in a soft whisper that I hate. I’d rather growl out my words with such strength that no one could ever see me as weak again.

  I sneak a glance up at Michael to see how he takes my declaration. He’s not making fun of me or laughing, which I thought might be a distinct possibility. When I look up at him, he’s nodding in agreement. Something about that warms me as nothing else could. It’s an agreement, but more than that. It’s an agreement from a man I like, and I think...respect. Because of that it feels like there’s a healing inside of me. A warmth that coats over the jagged hurts that have been inflicted on my soul. He doesn’t know that. No, he would probably think I was insane if I told him. It’s there just the same.

  I take a breath, wanting to push the conversation in a different direction—needing it to. “What did they call you?”

  He stops mid-bite to look at me.

  “Beast,” he says, putting his burger back down. I’m frozen for a second. Beast? I mean it could certainly fit. He’s so tall sometimes I get a crook in my neck staring up at him, and I’m not exactly short. He’s also broad, his body so impressive he could make three of me. He’s a beast of a man, so I can see it. Yet, for some reason it shocks me. The more I think about it, however, the more I want to giggle. He looks up at me and studies my face. I’m still unable to hide my amusement. “You find that funny?”

  “I’m just wondering how many women volunteered to be Beauty,” I tell him, giving up my fight and giggling—especially when the shocked look of surprise covers his normally taciturn face.

  “You’re a strange woman, Hayden,” he answers, shaking his head. This time however, there is no doubt. He’s smiling and that makes me feel good.

  “I can’t call you Beast. I think I’ll stick with Michael. Maybe I’ll call you Mikey,” I tell him, grinning, then sneaking my fry into his mound of salty ketchup.

  “You will not call me Mikey. No one has called me Mikey and lived to tell about it,” he says sternly, but his eyes are twinkling at me. “And put that fry down. That’s too much salt for you and Maggie.”

  “Can I call you Mikey?” I ask, with a smile.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely not,” he says—still unyielding, but his eyes are still twinkling in their dark depths.

  “Then I’m keeping my fry,” I tell him with a shrug, popping it in my mouth. The salt explodes in my mouth. He didn’t just over salt the ketchup. No, he has what is equivalent to the largest salt mine in the United States. I cough, even though I try to suppress it. I cough again and again, gagging on the salty taste that overpowers everything. “How do you eat that?” I ask, in between coughing and spluttering. I reach for my glas
s and take a huge drink. It takes two more drinks before I’m able to stop coughing, but it doesn’t matter. I barely notice. All I notice in that moment is Michael is laughing. It’s not a loud laugh and it didn’t last particularly long. But he laughed.

  He laughed.

  31

  Beast

  “Hi,” Hayden calls out, drawing the word out as she climbs the stairs. I hold my head down, biting down the urge to tell her to leave.

  I haven’t talked to her in two days, not since I brought her home after lunch at the diner. It’s a fucked-up thing, but I have been avoiding her. Being around her seems to make me feel better, and I don’t deserve that. After spending six years in Hell, that feeling could become addicting. The last thing in the world I need is to be addicted to Hayden Graham.

  “Are you in here?” she asks, just as she pops up from the stairway. She looks up at me with a large smile. “There you are. I was wondering if you were busy?” I forbid myself to talk to her. I can’t encourage this...I can’t. “Well, I mean, if you are, it’s okay. I was making dinner, and I made too much really, and I was going to watch a movie. If you don’t have any plans and well, if you want to, you could come over. You don’t have to. So, please don’t feel like you do. I just thought that you have to eat, and I have to eat and maybe we could eat together. Maybe? Possibly? Okay. Well. Um…”

  I watch as she rattles on crazily before breaking off to just stare at me. Her cheeks are red with embarrassment, and I should stop being an ass and just tell her I don’t want to have dinner with her. I should, and yet I don’t. I can’t seem to get those words out.

  “You shouldn’t be climbing the stairs.”

  “What?” she asks, confused.

  “You could get hurt. You shouldn’t be climbing the stairs on your own.”

  “I’m pregnant, not disabled,” she defends.

  “You could fall,” I point out what she should already know and ignoring that she’s trying to be cute. She is cute. That thought settles in my mind. I never thought she was much to look at, but today she’s wearing these soft blue leggings with a long ivory like sweater that comes down to her knees. She’s got her hair brushed until it shines and it falls softly along her shoulders and back. I wouldn’t have thought she was pretty before, but today she looks...almost beautiful. Maybe it’s the pregnancy glow.

  “Do you want to come to dinner with me and Maggie?” she asks, instead of answering.

  “What’s for dinner?” I ask, instead of telling her no. I can’t believe it. I’ve obviously lost my mind.

  In response, she grins at me like she just won a war. “I made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn,” she says, seeming very happy with herself.

  “What if I don’t like meatloaf?” I ask her, enjoying our conversation and isn’t that just a giant bucket of fuck. I’m getting in over my head here. I know it, but for the life of me I can’t seem to stop it.

  “You love meatloaf. You order it at the diner all the time, and for dessert, I made apple pie,” she adds, and fuck, she’s been paying attention to me—more attention than I would have ever dreamed. How did I miss that? She’s also right. The last woman who cooked meatloaf for me was Annie—Sabre’s old lady. It was damn good.

  “Okay,” I tell her before I can talk myself out of it.

  “Just like that?” she asks surprised. Her gray eyes widening.

  “You didn’t want me to agree?”

  “I did, I just figured you’d make me work harder for it,” she says with complete honesty, and I find myself smiling, yet again. At her.

  “I thought about it, but then you’d have to walk down the stairs by yourself,” I tease her, and I watch as Hayden’s mouth opens, closes and then opens again. Then she laughs. It’s a nice laugh, and for some reason, hearing it feels good enough to keep the smile stretched on my face.

  Fuck.

  32

  Hayden

  “Do you want some more pie?” I ask Michael, as he pushes away from the small table, holding his stomach. I must admit that I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself. He had two heaping platefuls of food and two pieces of pie on top of that. I watch as he rubs his stomach, and his dark eyes look up at me ruefully.

  “If I eat anymore, I think I might explode. I take it you are not the cook at the diner,” he answers.

  “Nah, Charlie’s sister does all the cooking. She’s good and quick.”

  “You’re better. Charlie doesn’t know what she’s missing,” he tells me, and I feel like I just won a medal or something. I’m not used to people praising me.

  “Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I stand there for a minute grinning at him like an idiot. He looks back at me and he almost seems relaxed. Before I can be any more of a goofball, I grab plates and start carrying them over to the sink, trying to find anything to do, because suddenly the atmosphere between us seems uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I want.

  “I’ll help you wash the dishes,” Michael offers, starting to get up from the table.

  “Please, don’t. There’s no need. I washed up the pans and things as I cooked. What’s left I’ll just leave in the sink. I’ll get them later, or in the morning. I was wondering...I mean I was going to watch a movie. Would you like to watch it with me?”

  His eyes harden for a second and his body goes stiff with tension. I’ve pushed too far. I should have known better than to ask. “Hayden…” he starts, but I cut him off.

  “I’m only asking because I like the company. Honestly, I don’t have a lot of people in my life. Liese has her baby and she stays busy being a single mom. Charlie is kind of a loner, and I wouldn’t want to bother her outside of work. I respect Pastor Sturgill, but I wouldn’t want to invite him to dinner alone. He’s a Pastor, and well, it wouldn’t look right if I kept inviting him to dinner.”

  “Do you care what people think about you?” he asks, leaning back against his chair and appraising me. Suddenly, I feel like I’m being tested. I have to wonder if I’m going to pass. I take a breath as I think about his words and I want to laugh, but I can’t. I smile, though it’s more of a resigned, sad smile.

  “I think people have pretty much made their minds up about me, Michael. I meant, what they would say about Pastor Sturgill. I wouldn’t want to do damage to his reputation or his standing in the community.”

  “But you don’t care about mine?” he asks, and those eyes of his are almost twinkling again. I’m getting the distinct impression he’s joking with me. I shake my head at him, wishing I knew exactly what ran through his mind sometimes.

  “After the fit you threw at the doctor’s office I think people have already made up their minds about you. I’m sorry to tell you this, Michael, but, hanging around with me, taking up for me, is probably not a good thing.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because people are assholes and the majority of them are mean,” I tell him, honestly. Once upon a time, I might have thought differently. Life has shown me the error of my ways, however.

  “What movie are we watching?” he asks, surprising me.

  “It’s a surprise,” I announce, grinning. “I think you’ll like it. The hero reminds me of you.”

  “God help me,” he jokes, and he really does joke this time.

  I laugh, happy he agreed to watch the movie with me and happy in general. I like having a friend—a friend I feel safe with. We move into the living room. Michael sits down on the sofa while I put the DVD in the player and set the volume.

  “There we go,” I tell him, once it’s all set. Then I go sit in the chair across from the sofa.

  “You can sit here with me. You can’t see the television from over there,” Michael says and he’s right, but it feels a little strange to sit with him. I don’t want to say that to him, however.

  “Okay,” I agree with him, not wanting to ruin his mood by accidentally offending him. Once I sit down on the opposite end from him, I pull my feet up under me, hugging my legs, and wait for the mo
vie to begin.

  “I didn’t realize people still used DVD players,” he smirks. I look over at him and he’s smiling again, even with that mountain of hair on his face I can tell it. He’s got his broad arms stretched out, one along the top of my couch and another on the arm of it. He’s wearing a long-sleeved thermal top in red and it’s stretched across his large muscles. He looks relaxed, almost normal. I find myself smiling back at him as the last of the nervous tension I was holding in fades.

  “Well, I’m sorry, I can’t afford internet and in truth I probably wouldn’t have it if I could.”

  He scrunches up his face. “You don’t like modern conveniences? You’d be the first woman in history.”

  “I like indoor plumbing. Does that count?” I answer, and he chuckles again.

  “That counts,” he mutters, turning back around to the television. It doesn’t take long. Maybe about five minutes before he finally turns back around and looks at me. “Encino Man? Please tell me Hayden you are not a Pauly Shore fan.”

  “What’s wrong with Pauly Shore? He’s probably one of the great actors of our time.”

  “You can’t be serious?” he asks me, looking dumbstruck.

  I sift through my brain trying to think of another Pauly Shore movie. “Clearly you have never watched Son In Law. His work on that movie was far before its time.”

  “You’re scaring me, right now, Hayden,” he says, and I laugh so hard that I snort. I happen to look up as I do and I notice he’s smiling so big now there’s no way he can hide it. “You’re a strange woman,” he says again, turning back around to watch the movie.