by Amy Love
Elias watched carefully as Eric passed through the beams of the Nova headlights, but nothing moved in or around the idling car. They met behind the vehicle and then moved forward, low, guns out, barrels searching with the sweep of their eyes.
Coming up alongside the Chevy, they found him. Tomas. His eyes were open, glassy. Black splotches decorated his shirt across his chest and his abs.
Elias could hear the detective breathing, though it was a wet, very unhealthy sound. So he put a bullet in Tomas' head.
When the sound of the shot died away into the night, he turned and walked back toward his bike. It was over. Chelsea was safe. Now it was time to get to her as soon as possible. Eric followed without a word. They picked up their bikes together, brothers in arms, and straddled them. Then they idled them back out of the hole in the fence, down the short incline to the shoulder, and to the edge of the freeway.
A roaring sound caught their attention, and they both looked west to see Duffy returning on this trike. He crossed the dirt barrier and pulled up in front of them. To the east appeared a pack of headlights, coming on fast.
"Is it done?" Duffy yelled over to them.
"Yeah, it's done," Elias told him.
"Then let's get the hell out of here. I want to get my bike!"
"How are you going to get it home?" Elias yelled back at him.
Duffy opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes blinking.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Over forty men seemed to be an awful lot to guard one woman, but no one wanted to leave. They took over Fred's Desert Inn Hotel, sharing rooms there and shifts at the hospital where Chelsea lay in various degrees of semi-coherent states. The general mood was down, and the consensus was that they were too late. They succeeded in putting Tomas down, but not soon enough. Chelsea was still hurting from his treatment.
Doc told them that this was bound to happen, with or without Tomas. If Chelsea pulled through, she had a real chance of recovery. However, Doc wouldn't answer what the chances of her pulling through were. So far, there didn't seem to be much change, and it was over a week since she had her meltdown. Doc told Elias that she was fairly certain Chelsea wasn't hallucinating any longer. She was just, in Chelsea's own term, "broke."
Elias sat with her daily, holding her hand, telling her it was alright to come back, because Tomas couldn't hurt her any longer. Tomas was gone—dead. He couldn't hurt anyone any longer. They were all safe. After he said this and similar sentiments to her, he just sat with her, holding her hand and running his fingers through her hair. Sometimes she would say a few things, but Elias couldn't make sense of them. Sometimes she would just murmur.
Days passed and turned into another week. John and Larry called saying they had already talked to the hospital about the bill, and that they were not to worry about it. Elias thanked them, though he could have told them he wasn't worried about the bill. Whatever she needed, she would get.
He bought a new laptop in town and began bringing that to the hospital to do some day-trading. He had a new chair brought into the room as well so he could sit beside her for longer periods of time without destroying his back.
On the third Wednesday of his arriving by her side again, he bent to kiss her forehead as he did every morning and caught a fragrant scent from her hair.
"Your hair smells good Chelsea," he told her. "I wonder what they are washing it with now. Smells like flowers."
"Does it?" Chelsea asked, in a soft voice.
"Yes," he answered. "Here, smell it." And he pulled a long lock under her nose.
She took a sniff, and then another. "Flowers," she murmured, and then drifted off to sleep.
Elias kissed her forehead again, combed her hair back into place with his fingers, and sat down beside her bed on the new chair and began his day of work.
Doc came in around lunch, took her pulse, checked her charts and monitors, gave Elias a smile, and then left again. A few of the guys came in throughout the day, some with little presents or cards, or flowers to replace the ones that were beginning to wilt.
Eric came in after three and said he was on his way back to Houston. Elias talked to John, and they agreed that Eric was the best candidate for acting Sergeant at Arms until Elias could bring Chelsea home again. The two men shook hands, and then clapped each other on the back. Eric gave Chelsea a small stuffed bunny and then walked out of the room.
Close to five, Elias was getting ready to pack up when Chelsea asked him, "When can we go home?"
Elias looked over at her and took her hand. "Whenever you want, baby. You just need to say the word, and Doc will start helping you get ready to go."
Chelsea looked at him, and for the first time in over three weeks, her eyes were clear and focused. She was really seeing him.
"I'm still a little tired, but I can sleep at home. Right?"
"Yes, you can. Our bed is waiting for you," he agreed.
"How far away are we?"
He smiled. "Pretty far. You had a long ride. Do you remember that?"
She nodded. "Across the mountains, and the desert, and through the night. It was a long ride."
"We'll let you go home on a plane," he told her.
"I like planes. Will you fly with me?"
"I have to bring my bike home. I rode here. But I'll be there soon. Doc will take care of you until I arrive. It won't be long. In fact, if you take a nap when you get home, I'll probably be there by the time you wake up."
"That would be nice. I missed you."
"I missed you too."
"I'm still a little scared."
"Tomas isn't going to hurt you anymore. He's gone, baby. He died."
She looked at him, confused for a moment, and then said, "Good." And that was the last time they would ever discuss Tomas again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The pack arrived back in Houston after twenty hours of straight riding. As they came down the boulevard through Northside, riders peeled off and were sent off with choruses of horns and waves from the remaining group. Fifteen of them remained with Elias all the way to his drive, and then with woops and horns they pulled away, heading down toward the Log Cabin. Elias watched them go, grateful for every one of them and the brotherhood they shared.
After parking the V-rod on the back porch, he came through the back door to find Chelsea in the kitchen making a sandwich.
"Sit down, it's time for you to eat," she told him. Her voice was still the child-like voice he had heard from her in the hospital, and the same as she used after her first meltdown; innocent, shy, unsure, cautiously playful, and nervously commanding.
"Alright," he agreed, keeping his own voice as nonthreatening as possible, and sat down at the table. "Where is Doc?"
"I'm right here," Doc said, coming out of the guest room, seeming pleasantly happy and rather carefree compared to the last month in Arizona.
"Any problems with your trip?" he asked Doc.
"None at all. Chelsea likes to fly," she pointed out.
"It's very clean above the clouds." Chelsea nodded, continuing to work on the ham sandwich. After it was put together, she added chips and a pickle, them set the plate down for him. "I'll get you a beer."
"Thank you," he said. "So, how are you feeling?"
"I'm good. I took a very long nap when we got home, but you still weren't here when I woke up. So, Doc and I watched a movie together and ate popcorn."
"She's doing very well. I'm very proud of her, and you too, by the way," Doc told him.
"What did I do that is comparable?" Elias asked.
"Oh, just things. Many things. Some large, some small, and barely noticed, but I noticed them." Doc grinned.
"Are you going to be spending the night?" Elias asked her as Chelsea sat down beside him and pointed at his sandwich. He took the hint and picked it up, taking a large bite.
"No, I don't think I'll need to, but I will be stopping by during the day for a couple of weeks to talk with her. She's eager to get back on track again, and wants t
o get better."
Chelsea nodded her head, and then leaned against him. "I can get better," she said, and it sounded like a promise.
"I know you can," he told her, and kissed her forehead.
They talked for a while together, and he told them about the trip home. Then he told them about Duffy's major confusion over which bike of his to ride home.
"I'm so sorry about that. I shouldn't have taken his Sporty," Chelsea said.
"He should have brought his flatbed and not that trike. But I'm very glad he didn't. He helped me and Eric out a great deal. That trike is very fast, you know," he told her.
"Eric was here when we got home," Chelsea said. "He told me he likes you a lot."
"I like him a lot, too," Elias told her.
"His hair is like Thor's," she said, giving him a mischievous grin.
"Were you flirting with him?" he asked playfully, hoping her grin meant she was playful too.
"Not much. I was good," she said, looking to Doc for assurance.
"She was very good. A perfect lady of the house," Doc agreed.
"Are you mad that I ran away?" she asked.
Elias thought about that. "I wish you would have taken me with you. Next time, if there is a next time, promise me that we'll leave together, okay?"
She studied him for a long time, "I promise. Would you really have come?"
"Yes, baby, I really would have come."
"But what about your house? And your things? And the club?"
"Our house, our things, and the club would have understood."
"Our house?"
"Yes, our house, because without you, I don't like living here. It is very empty without you."
She fell into deep thought then, and Elias ate his sandwich and let her think. Doc did as well, sipping on a glass of coke.
"I don't want to leave again," she finally said. "This is where we live. You and me, we live here. This is our home."
"Is that alright?" Elias asked. "I'll move with you to San Diego if you want, or Boston, or even Sydney, Australia if you want to go that far."
"Do they have White Wolves in those places?"
"No, they don't. Only here," he told her.
"Then I want us to stay here," she told him.
"Then, we will stay here."
Chelsea remained child-like for several weeks. She drew pictures and cleaned the house as if playing house, and sunbathed in the back. She often sat on his lap in the office while he attempted to work around her. When Duke's sister, Jill, arrived, she made a cake to take to her as a housewarming gift, and invited her over for dinner. She sometimes spent several hours brushing her hair, or rocking in a chair, but seemed to remain coherent.
The next month, she sat with Elias in the hot tub and asked, "Am I still your lover?"
"You are my only lover," he assured her.
"Then, when will we make love again?" she asked.
"Whenever you want, however you want. I'll do anything you want me to do."
She laughed. "I think I'm supposed to say that."
"I think that both of us can say it, because it is true for both of us."
She searched his eyes. "I love you."
"I love you too," he said, and kissed her lips.
"Will you marry me some day?"
"I'll marry you any day," he assured her.
"Tomorrow?" she asked.
"If you would like," he replied.
"Who will marry us?" she asked.
"John? He can marry us. He has a marriage license, and is a minister."
"John? He seems very big to be a minister," she said softly. "But that would be nice, wouldn't it? We could get married at the Log Cabin, in the same spot where we met, and I told you that you weren't going to get into my pants, and I wouldn't have a relationship with you," she said.
"Do you really want to be married?" he asked.
"Yes, but only to you," she told him.
"Then I'll call John, but how about we do it next month, so that we can invite everyone we want to. Do you want your dad to be there? He probably would like to give you away."
"My daddy?" She faltered. "Um, I'm still broke. I don't know if I want him to see me broke like this. Maybe we should wait a little longer. Let me get better first."
"Alright."
"Can we still make love, though?"
"Oh, definitely."
"Do I still turn you on?"
"Very much."
"Duke's sister Jill likes you. She would make love to you I bet," she told him.
"Jill is a very nice young woman, but I don't love her."
"Too bad for her. You're really good in bed, you know," Chelsea told him, then snuggled against him. "I'm sorry I'm still broke. I'm taking my meds."
"It's alright. You're getting better, and trying hard."
"Do you really think so? Am I really getting better?"
"Yes. Soon you will be mended. Just like a phoenix."
"A phoenix?"
"It is a bird, a mythical bird, that burns up in a volcano and then it rises from the ashes, whole and complete again."
She looked off into the sky, seeming to imagine the phoenix as he described it. "Like my meltdown," she whispered. "I want to rise again. I want to be Chelsea for you. The real Chelsea. You haven't met her yet, but I know you will like her. She's still in me. I can see her sometimes, peeking out. I dream about her sometimes, too. So I know she is there. I just need to get her to believe it's okay to be real again."
"I would like very much to meet her then; she sounds very nice."
"She isn't all that nice, but she is real. She is smart and funny, and she doesn't meltdown like I do," Chelsea said.
"You know, Chelsea, you are real. You are the realist person I know, and the strongest," he told her.
"Not as strong as you," she said.
"I'm not sure about that," he mused. "Not sure about that at all. See, I've always been able to fight back, to use my fists, and guns, and my brains. I've never had to face being hurt without those things. I've also never had to face being hurt alone. I'm not sure I would do as well as you have. The real Chelsea is only inside of you because you protected her. You kept her safe when no one else could. You got her away, and ran to me. Those are very strong and brave things. Very strong. I think you are the strongest person I know. So I know you will get better, and that someday I'll meet real Chelsea, and that we will be married, and live here, because you are strong enough to do those things. To rise up like a phoenix and do those things; to live again."
A month later, Chelsea began taking walks down to the Log Cabin during the day while he was working. After he was done, he would drive down to get her and they would have a drink together, and sometimes dinner. She talked with Marvin, the cook, and Fred, the bartender. After two weeks, Chelsea told him after he arrived that she had a job.
"A job?"
"I work in the bar as a waitress now. I start tomorrow," she said with a nod, then sipped on her rum and coke through a straw, looking very young.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yep," she said. "I know all the drinks, and all the prices now. I studied while I was here. I can tap a keg, and do all the math, and make change. I'm going to dress like Daisy Duke, and make lots of tips."
He smiled. "I bet you will."
The job seemed to help her a great deal. Doc commented several times that she was growing by leaps and bounds now. "I'm amazed, hell, I'm stunned, but so very grateful," Doc told him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Five years later
Chelsea answered the front door and said, "Hi, daddy."
"You know, Chelsea," her father said as he came inside, "Most people have a guest room, not a guest house."
She grinned. "You could have slept on the couch. It is very comfortable, or so I hear," she said as she closed the door behind him.
Her father lifted an eyebrow. "Lover's spats?"
"Not with me, but it was mentioned in that context I believe," she said wi
th a smirk.