by Hazel Parker
His back was to me and I peeked around the corner cautiously. He didn't seem like he was stealing anything or doing something perverse. He also didn't seem like he was crying. I tried to go on but something held me back.
“Are you lost?”
It was a simple question. If he said yes, I'd point him in the right direction. If he said no, I'd go on my merry way. I could hear the coffee calling my name. He turned and I flushed at the sight of him. His chiseled jaw clenched, his icy blue eyes dazed but focusing solely on me. I was tall for a woman, five foot seven, yet he towered over me still.
“What gave me away?” His voice tickled up my spine and I shivered.
“Your face. I've seen that look enough times,” I said, trying to act normal. “Where you headed?”
“I was trying for the cafeteria,” he said, running his hands through his dirty-blond hair. He looked like he'd had a long day. His eyes had bags, his face was pale with exhaustion—like he’d been in the hospital too long. I bet if I put him beside a bed, he’d be asleep in a minute.
“Well then you're a long ways away, my friend. It's on the second floor. You're on the fourth. You'd need to take the elevator to the second floor, turn left and then—”
In truth, I had all the reasons in the world to leave him with my instructions and no logical reasons to accompany him, but I wanted to be around him a little longer. Maybe it was because he looked so dejected? Maybe because it’s in my nature to help? It didn’t help that he was hotter than sin either.
“You know what? Why don't you just follow me?”
“You sure you don't mind? I don't want to impose,” he said stepping forward.
“Not at all. I'm on break anyway. I was just off to get my own cup of java.”
I noticed his arms—tanned and toned. He was dressed casually in a white V-neck t-shirt and jeans. Colors stood out against the pale skin of his arm, knitting together stories that I wanted to hear. At a glance, I could see several crosses, tribal work mixed in with some kind of animal with wings. I had a thing for tattoos. Tattoos that are like artwork—who am I kidding? Tattoos are artwork. And this man was a complete work of art. I tried to study his arms inconspicuously as the elevator rode down. Only his right arm was inked. I wanted to ask him why, but it was clear he was in a world of his own.
“Long day?”
“Yeah,” he said sighing deeply. “I lost a friend today.” His shoulders slumped as if his body just accepted the admission.
Crap. Why did I even ask? Of course something bad happened to someone he knows. He’s in the damn hospital. “Oh. I'm so sorry. I hope he didn't suffer.”
“I don't think he did. It was a car accident, but he was unconscious when they found him.”
“That's terrible.”
“Yeah. I agree. It is. His widow practically fell apart.”
I cringed. I knew what that looked like. I'd seen it enough times.
“They have any kids?”
He shook his head. “No, but they were trying.”
I never knew if that was good or bad. On one hand, the widow kept a piece of her husband; on the other hand, no children were left fatherless.
“So you taking a break?”
“Yeah. A much needed one. I'm hoping I can make it better by bringing coffee for everyone,” he said, lifting the corners of his mouth attempting to smile. It fell flat.
“It'll help. It's more helpful than you'd think.”
Together we stood in the coffee line and when it was his turn, he held out his hand, allowing me to go first. “Ladies first.”
“Double espresso, please.”
“That’ll be 5.45.”
“One coffee, please. Black.”
“3.20.”
He stepped to the side and met my eye.
“I figured I'd sit and have a cup with you first. Don't want their coffees getting cold.” I smiled softly.
“I see.”
Together we sat by a window and looked outside at the beauty of spring.
“Was he family?” I asked, hoping he was one of those guys who healed by talking.
“By blood? No. But he was family just the same. We were all he had.”
“Tell me about him.”
“You sure? I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
“Of course,” I said smiling.
“Tim Harrison. Longtime friend and retired vet. After ten years, he still wouldn't let himself slow down, leave his bed undone, or go by his first name." He said that with an amused smile. "But he knew how to ride, and that's all that matters where I'm from. He lived a good life. He was a good man. He worked hard and loved harder. His wife, Lila, is a real spitfire,” he said, smiling widely. “They met at a bar fight. A guy smacked Lila on the ass and she punched him in the face. It wasn't hard enough to knock the guy out, but it was hard enough to make him mad. So Harrison jumped in to save her, thinking she had a death wish. Afterwards, she chewed Harrison out for jumping in to help. He came home with swollen knuckles and hearts in his eyes. They got married a year later.”
“How long have they been married?”
“Two years.”
“That poor woman.”
“She won't be alone. She's got us. She's a Bandito for life; we’ll make sure she's taken care of.”
What is a Bandito? Maybe I could ask him about it later.
“Good,” I said, smiling and instinctively glancing at my watch.
“Am I holding you up?” He stood quickly. “I'm sure you have things to do. I can let you go.”
"Time flies when you're having fun. I'm sorry. My break is over.”
“I understand,” he said smiling down at me. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Evan
She walked a few steps before turning back around. “You were on the fourth floor and the elevator’s that way,” she said smiling and pointing. She was right to assume I hadn't been paying attention. “Don't forget. Okay?”
I nodded and hopped back into the cafeteria line to order coffee for everyone else.
When I returned, the crew was standing, waiting for me.
“We're taking Lila home. She ain't in the right mind to be making decisions. We’ll make them tomorrow,” Gus said, taking the coffee I offered.
“Thanks, E.”
Jerry had his arm wrapped around a pale-faced Lila. She smiled hollowly at the coffee cup and took a sip without registering its taste.
Together, our processional made it out the hospital and to our homes.
The next time I saw the nurse, she was walking around in the hallway, checking on patients. At least that's what I it seemed like she was doing. I could only see through the glass pane of the door. Behind me, Lila was preparing to say goodbye to her lover, husband, and friend. She agreed, after much drinking and crying, that she would take Harrison off life support and donate his organs. He wouldn't have wanted to be in a bed, stuck for who knows how long. He liked living. He knew how precious it was from his time overseas and he knew the importance of donating organs. She signed the papers and made the choice to let him go.
It was brutal to watch. We all stood around his bed like sentries on guard as she leaned over his body and kissed his lips. Everyone from the club that could fit into the room were there and Blake, Lila’s best friend.
“You once told me you'd be a bird if you couldn't be a motorcycle,” she said her voice thick with tears. “I hope you get to be a motorcycle,” she whispered. “I love you. I love you so much and I'll never let you go,” she said kissing his lips before nodding to the doctor.
She held his body tightly as the doctor undid the monitor wires, and we all watched as his chest rose and fell a few more times, each time slower than the last, and finally when it stopped. She cried as if the ferocity of it might have brought Harrison back; as if with the sheer force of her grief, the news would be undone.
It was too much and I slid into the hallway to break free. The las
t time I saw someone cry like that was my mother after my father died. I didn’t like how Lila's pain brought back the painful memories of my concealed pain when my father passed. I was over it and had moved on, but the topic was still something I didn’t touch. At least that’s what I told myself.
“Hey,” I called out to her as she came outside another patient’s room.
She glanced up as she tapped into the iPad. “Hey.” Her smile was warm. “You look like you got more bad news.” Her smile slid away and concern knitted her eyebrows together. I liked it better when she was smiling at me, but I was touched she could feel so much for me—someone she'd only just met.
“I'm not having the best day,” I admitted but I didn’t want to dwell on it. “You on break? I was hoping we could get coffee again.”
Her mouth formed a pout and I wanted to kiss it. “No. I'm not. I have,” she flipped her wrist to see the time, “an hour left.”
“Okay. No worries. I get it. I'm on your time.”
“I would if I could,” she said apologetically.
“I know,” I said, leaning against the wall.
Kaylen
Something in the way he leaned against the wall stopped me. I couldn't leave him. Not like this. I glanced into the room and knew what I was seeing. Taking someone off life support was always an emotional drain.
"But technically, since you are here for a patient, I can spare some time and talk to you."
His smile was worth any of the possible trouble I'd get into if someone caught me not doing rounds. He breathed a long sigh of relief. His eyes closed and placed his palms flat against the wall behind him.
"You're not alone, you know?"
"I know. It just feels like…" he paused, struggling to come up with the words.
"A little like you're dying too?"
His eyes opened and caught mine. Something of understanding passed between us and something else got caught in my throat.
"Yeah," he choked.
I moved to stand next to him.
"I've lost a friend before."
We both looked straight ahead, too vulnerable to look at each other.
"Does it ever go away?" he asked desperately. He turned and looked down on me, his eyes a storm and raging sea.
"No," I admitted, shaking my head.
I wasn't ready for the devastation my truth would cause. His eyes told me more than his words ever could.
"Come with me," I said, taking his hand. We speed-walked to an on-call room and once in, I slammed and locked the door behind me.
"I'm so sorry," I said pulling him into a hug.
There is no excuse I could dream up to explain my behavior. I don't know why I brought that man to that room. I don't know why I felt so much for this stranger. I don't. But it felt like the right thing to do. Our arms felt right wrapped around each other tightly and in that moment, we knew we weren’t just random strangers anymore, we were humans. He needed to be comforted, and I knew I could do it. I sunk into the warmth of his body, appreciating the simple gesture. His touch made the room warmer somehow. The world around me melted away as I squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end.
He pulled back, mere inches from my face.
"You don't have to apologize," he whispered. His eyes were the only thing visible in the darkness and close proximity. "I'm sorry too," he said leaning in.
"For what?" I asked leaning closer, my mind unaware of what my body had decided.
"For this," he said quietly as his mouth took mine.
His lips brushed mine. Not innocent, but hot, fiery, passionate, and demanding. I wanted to pull away before I lost myself but I couldn’t seem to. In that moment, my senses had been seduced and I could no longer think straight. He kissed me and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. My arms reached up and wrapped around his thick, strong neck. His hands cradled my face. His thumb caressed my cheek as our breath mingled. I ran my fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us and I could feel the beating of his heart against my chest.
In that moment, I was his anchor and I think he was mine.
My pager buzzed in my pocket, hard enough for both of us to feel it. We pulled back slowly, almost afraid to let go.
“Well, I’ve got work to do,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“That you do," he said slowly letting me go.
"See you around the hospital? Hopefully no time soon though,” I smiled, opening the door before taking off down the corridor.
What a dork. I'm so dumb. Why did I say that? My pager said I was needed on another floor so I pushed the button for the elevator. I watched him exit the on-call room. I tried to quell my anxiety by rocking back and forth on the balls of my tennis shoes. I could feel him staring, even though he was almost on the other end of the hallway. It was like even from that distance he was touching me. My skin was burning and with a racing heart I turned and waved at him before nervously tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. Finally the elevator came, and with a quick smile towards him, I went inside. I tried not think about what had just happened, but how could I not?
What a kiss. I'd never been kissed like that in my life. And I wanted it again. Who was this man who touched me in places I thought had long shriveled up and died? I didn't even know his name. Would I ever see him again?
Evan
Today was a sucky day. The rest of the week would probably be even worse. We had to plan a funeral, find a burial place, and console a grieving woman, in addition to the normal work of club business. It could be a lot better. It would be, if I had her number. On impulse, I ran down the hall and stuck my arm into the quickly closing doors. I tensed just in case the doors didn’t recognize my arm and I lost an appendage. Thankfully the doors opened back up.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she smiled nervously.
“Me neither. But is that a bad thing?”
She smiled and shook her head no. “This might be too forward, but I was wondering if you liked dancing. I figured you'd want to see me when I was less stressed and that I’d like to see you in something other than scrubs.”
She laughed self-consciously.
“Not that they aren't adorable in their own way, but I have a feeling you knock them dead in a dress.”
She blushed and nodded her head. “I think I’d like to go dancing with you.”
“Great. So is there any way I can get your number?” I laughed, “Or your name?”
“Kaylen,” she giggled, realizing we’d talked several times without exchanging names. She handed me her phone and I leaned against the door as it attempted to close again and typed my number and name quickly into her phone as she typed her information into mine.
“Evan.”
The elevator beeped loudly, screaming as if telling on us, and I knew our time was up.
“So this Saturday? Drinks?”
“Sure,” she blushed.
“Okay. I’ll call you,” I stepped back and smiled as the elevator doors shut between us.
I had a date and I hadn’t had one of those in a very long time.
Chapter Two
Evan
"Mr. Hunt," he said in a voice as slick as the gel in his hair, "long time no see." He sat down at the corner of my desk, just inches from where my feet were propped up smiling widely.
Why, God? Why? If there is a God, I'm asking what I did to deserve this.
The idiot sitting at my desk went by the name of Harold Jenkins, Jinx for short, and he is the thorn in my side, the arch nemesis of Banditos. Every time he came around, I swear he’d just be looking for trouble.
He's one of those people where when you see them, you’d want to go in the other direction.
"Why are you here?" I may or may not have asked that with more gruff than necessary, but he was used to it. I was not in the mood to see him, let alone hear his irritating voice. He sounded like a mix between Donald Duck and that kid ev
eryone knows with a bad lisp. His voice was raspy, like an old man, even though his face was young.
"I've come to give you your audit notification, of course," he said, smiling and shaking his head.
"You could have done that over the phone," I said, kicking my legs out, causing him to jump up or be hit.
"I could have," he practically purred as he placed his fedora on his head and leaned forward to whisper, "but where's the fun in that?"
I watched him leave, blood boiling in my veins. "You could have at least given me a time!" I yell at his retreating back.
"I could have," he yelled over his shoulder as he went through the door.
I should have been grateful. He didn't have to give me a heads up. The only reason he had was because we were greasing the inside of several IRS superiors’ pockets. He didn't like it, but he had a job to do and made it clear every time he saw my face that if he found so much as a decimal point off, he'd report us.
Fuck!
I slammed my hands flat against the desk. It's hard looking clean when you know you're not. I had to comb over every book and accounting entry to make sure every clean business that washed the money looked right even when I knew—and they knew—it wasn't.
I sighed heavily.
This is why I wanted to get clean. This extra shit was just that: extra. Extra work. Extra stress. Extra. Not worth it, in my opinion. I could see why we were in it though. The drug game was extremely profitable, and when we were starting out we had nothing and no one wanting to give us a thing. But that was 60 years ago. Hell, we moved from moonshine to drugs. I didn't see why we couldn't move from drugs to maintaining our actual businesses. Within five years, I'd gotten us the ownership of a car garage, three trucks, and was currently negotiating the ownership of a club. We didn't need the drug gig anymore. But motorcycle clubs are as democratic as your average dictatorship. We voted, but at the end of the day, Gus' word was law, and until Gus wanted out of the drug trade, we were still going to load them up into the base floors of our trucks and transport them underneath every day shipments.
Banging my head against the desk seemed like the best thing to do, but I read somewhere that kills brain cells, so I checked my schedule instead. If there was one thing that ruined a Saturday, it was prepping for an audit.