Harddrive Holidays

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Shit,” the woman said softly, eyeing him with a shocked expression on her face.

  “Yeah,” he answered, not looking away from where he last saw Erin.

  “You want me to tell her what happened?” Her voice was softly sorrowful because this was a fucked up situation if ever there was one. Unwanted, Erin’s brother Angus had been rubbing up on this chick, leaving his wife sitting and waiting for him at their table at the wedding reception, and her not one speck wiser. Harddrive had run off his brother-in-law and then stayed to make sure the woman was okay. That was what Erin had walked into, not the tail end of him getting a taste of strange.

  “She wouldn’t believe you,” he said curtly. Turning to look at her, he asked, “You okay?” She nodded and he sighed. “Might be a good idea if you left,” he suggested and she nodded again. “You need me to find you a ride?” Wordlessly she shook her head and he had his turn nodding. “Take care,” he said, turning to walk up the hallway, shivering as he passed the place Erin stood when she first started speaking.

  “Fuck.” He yelled this, waking with a start. Every fucking time he dreamed about that night, he fought to turn things, struggled in the hope that he could change the outcome, but wasn’t ever able. It played out the way it had in real life, the last words Erin spoke to him scored in his brain. A nightmare. Sure, he could have called, but dammit, she should have known he would never do that, never fuck around on her. For twenty-three years, he had thought about picking up that fucking phone every single damn day.

  “She could have called, too,” he muttered, shifting his ass to one side as he drifted back to sleep.

  “Papa.” A soft voice called his name, and then there was a little body climbing into his lap. Wrapping his arms around the warm child, he blew out a deep, relaxing breath. “Papa Shoe, you’re squishing me,” the giggle came from underneath his chin, and he grinned, not wanting to wake from this dream.

  “Shhhh.” That whisper came from nearby, the voice tantalizing familiar. “Let Papa Shoe rest. Why don’t you nap with him?” Shifting around, he pulled the now slack body against his side and let sleep roll over him again.

  “Dad, I think we need to expand. Billings is a good market, and it would give me a chance to make a difference in a way I don’t think I can in Cheyenne. You have the trade sewn up here, but Billings is an opportunity to look forward. We can shift the track the business is heading down, expand things, get into custom bikes.” Shifting foot to foot, Barry stood in the kitchen of the log house he and Erin had built, the house their kids had grown up in. “I already found a building, and Gunny’s got me hooked up with a wicked talented mechanic. HBG2, what do you say?”

  Looking at his son, his heart swelled with pride at the confidence his boy showed by bringing this to him. He knew that since Erin had left him, he had developed a bit of a reputation of being a hard-ass.

  All the local cops knew him because his bar fights were the stuff legends were made of, so much that they dreaded seeing him pull into the local biker bar. More than once he was allowed to sleep off a drunk in the empty apartment over the shop instead of being taken to the local jail, mostly because even LEO didn’t want to deal with him. For Barry to brave his shitty attitude showed balls.

  “I think you’re full of shit,” he said and watched the muscles all along Barry’s jaw jump as he clenched his teeth tightly, anticipating his father’s next words. Harddrive was happy to disappoint for once and grinned broadly. “But I like the particular brand of crap you’re selling. Grab a chair, let’s get comfortable, sort out this opportunity.”

  By the end of the day, they had hammered out a tentative business plan and timeline, and that was the beginning of their expansion. Beginning with one new shop in Billings, Barry first made that location a success. He put in long hours and worked like a dog to make sure things were all handled in a way that shone the best possible light on them. Customer service issues were few and far between, and now they had expanded further, opening shops in Sturgis, Omaha, and Denver. Five stores, all of them profitable, because of his son’s hard work.

  Barry had called him a couple weeks before Thanksgiving this year, talking about heading further south, maybe looking at New Mexico for their next shop. The key in every location was getting the right mechanics and managers in place. Mason and several of his Rebels had proven instrumental in giving them leads on good men and women. He had proven to be a good friend to have in many ways.

  As a good club should be, the Rebel club membership was far more like family than friends, and Harddrive had been humbled and honored at the sendoff the club had given Rodney when he passed from lung cancer several months ago.

  Harddrive’s brother had slipped into the life after Vietnam, too. Rolling wild and crazy through his days, never settling in any one place for long, at least not until he found the Rebels. He took a road name, Bingo, but had never taken an old lady, claiming his poetry was a jealous bitch. That man could string words together in a way that surprised Harddrive every time he listened to one of those poems read aloud. There were commemorative signs on the wall of every shop with lines from Rodney’s work etched into them, words and plaques set in place on the day each store opened. It was a way for him to have his brother with him, no matter where Bingo rolled.

  Having Mason be involved in the club his brother was in proved interesting, and lucrative. Between the friendship he had with Mason, and the brothers Bingo had in the club, the Rebels called Barry for a hell of a lot of bike-related purchases. It seemed they were shipping parts across the country nearly every week, and he would never admit it to Barry, but it meant his damned, pain-in-the-ass computer inventory was a benefit. The kid had good ideas and kept pushing him into adopting things that hadn’t even been thought of when he opened the first shop.

  Then he got a call from Bingo, telling him their sister had shown up in Fort Wayne, stoned out of her gourd, with a half-dozen kids in tow. They had both lost touch with her years before, back when her relationship decisions put the family at risk. She had left town with that deadbeat boyfriend, dropping out of sight along with five thousand dollars of their parent’s savings.

  After reconnecting with Bingo, over the next few years, she popped out three more kids, the dads never staying in the picture for long. Then he got another phone call because Bingo found out she got cancer. Mother of nine, her body worn to pieces by life and the disease.

  Bingo had been living in Chicago at the time, patched into the Rebel’s mother chapter, but Mason gave him the go ahead to charter a new one in Fort Wayne. Named him president and gave him the chance to run things there. Gave him an opportunity to be there for Isabel, try and ease her way. It wasn’t long before they buried her, and Harddrive had made his first trip to the Fort, as the locals affectionately called the town.

  There he had heard stories about Andy; finding out the kid had stumbled into Mason’s bar in Chicago years before, still riding the Indian motorcycle Harddrive had sold him. The same one that Mason had traded in years before that. Now called Slate, the kid wasn’t a kid anymore, and the word through the grapevine was his experiences during his travels were writ large on his skin. Twisted and good, his life seemed wound up in Mason and the Rebels, both coming and going.

  Then came a call from Mason. Bingo was in the hospital, diagnosis lung cancer, the prognosis grim. He made the trip to the Fort again, flying in this time because he wanted to ensure he got there before Rodney went under the knife. He had very nearly picked up the phone that night, stalking in restless circles around the hospital waiting room, the desire to hear Erin’s voice ricocheting through his head like a pinball machine gone insane.

  A hard and shitty thing to have to go through alone and Mason had known this, sending men down to wait with him. Bear and Gunny were there, already known to him because of their passion for building and restoring motorcycles. He had met Hoss and Road Runner, an interesting pair of men because, like Bingo, they shared a creative bent, Hoss a painter and Ro
ad creating art out of food as a chef.

  Bingo came through that surgery okay, and before he returned to Wyoming, Harddrive saw him set-up in a home with a couple who seemed determined to adopt the man and their sister’s kids. Bingo had taken responsibility for the rug rats when their sister died, circling those peewees with love and support, making a good life for all of them. Harddrive watched the care Jase and DeeDee took with his brother and it eased his mind considerably when he had to go home, knowing that even if he was traveling down a hard road, Bingo was surrounded by people who loved him.

  Then came the final call. A conversation he had expected, but dreaded. He and Barry headed out immediately, riding into Fort Wayne two days after getting word that Bingo had died. He hadn’t been thinking sensibly when he left, or he would probably have taken the truck instead of the bike, because once he got into the wind and had a minute to quiet his mind he realized he would need to bring the kids home with him. Then, after arriving in Fort Wayne, he found things were rather different than he expected because that same couple who had loved on Bingo wanted to take on the entire passel of Shoemaker kids in a permanent way.

  He found himself relieved he didn’t have to uproot the kiddos, because they had been through so much in their young lives. He was determined to be a big part of their growing up from here out. He made arrangements to keep an open line to Jase and DeeDee, laying plans to talk to them and the kids every week. Those few days had been filled with reunions and memories, as he and people who knew Bingo shared recollections and stories about the man.

  Dixie and Keith came to the wake at the Rebel clubhouse the night before the funeral. He had watched with pride as the men of the club treated her with great respect, knowing that came from them knowing the goodness of her heart, and the commitment of her old man.

  Then his mood had soured when he saw Angus, his wife’s brother, standing near the bar inside the clubhouse. That stupid, cheating motherfucker had always managed to land on his feet, and seeing him hooked up with Mason’s crew only proved his lucky streak hadn’t ended. Listening carefully, he heard the Rebel members calling Angus a different name, Pike. The man’s road name was after a fucking fish, and Harddrive shook his head at how right someone had gotten that particular moniker.

  After a few minutes, he decided to take the bull by the horns, forcing a meeting to keep from having awkwardness later. Slapping his hand on Pike’s shoulder hard, he saw the startled fear chase across his face when he recognized Harddrive. “How the fuck are you?” Harddrive asked, his disbelieving gaze catching for a moment on the President patch on Pike’s vest.

  “Good, man. It’s good to see you,” Pike said, holding out his hand for a shake. His gut churning, he gripped the hand of the man who cost him his marriage, cost him decades of loneliness and pain. “Rodney was a good person, Landon, I was sure sorry to get the call.”

  Lifting his chin in response, fury rising to fill him, Harddrive stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides. Staring at the man in front of him, he opened his mouth, then clamped his lips closed, shaking his head before he turned away. He hadn’t gotten two steps before a hand gripped his bicep, pulling him to a stop. He heard Pike’s voice, soft in a way that would keep the words private. “I’m sorry, brother.”

  At that term coming out of that mouth, he jerked his arm out of the grip and whirled, staring into Pike’s face. Spitting out the words, he asked, “Is it four or five marriages now? How many you ruin, man? I ain’t your goddamned brother. You saw to that. You know what? Why don’t you stay the fuck away from me. You got nothing I need, and you sure don’t have any condolences I’ll believe.” Stalking away, he saw Mason watching their exchange, a considering look on his face.

  Fortunately, those were the only words he had with the man, and the service the next day was conducted with all honor and respect. Then came the military gun salute, and the awarding of the flag. He had asked DeeDee to take it for safekeeping. The entire ritual was filled with moments when he wished like hell Erin was beside him. She and Rodney had been good friends, and she would have loved to see how he would be missed by these worthy people. He hoped like hell that one of their kids had thought to tell her about him passing.

  Tears stood in his eyes as he held one of his nephews in his lap at the graveside, overwhelmed at the sheer number of people who had come to bid farewell to his brother. When one of Bingo’s poems was read over the casket, it was all he could do to hold it together.

  “Papa.” The child’s voice was complaining again. “I want to stay with Papa Shoe.”

  “Shhhh, baby.” Now he recognized the voice for certain, knowing his Dixie-Girl had spoken from nearby, and he shivered briefly at the chill as his grandchild was lifted from his lap.

  That chill didn’t last long because his lap didn’t remain empty.

  Taking a deep breath, he smelled his wife’s favorite perfume and felt a smile curl the corners of his mouth. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tightly, nuzzling the top of her head as she sat with him like she had done so often, sharing the recliner in front of the fire. He reached down, pulling the blanket up and over her legs too, tugging it high on her shoulders. “What are you doing, old man?” He smiled at how well his imagination had filled in her voice, giving it a rasp and thickness he only heard when she was close to tears.

  “It’s cold out, Erin. I don’t want you to get sick, baby,” he said, slipping his arms underneath the blanket and wrapping them back around her. “God, I love you, baby,” he whispered, feeling her fold herself against his chest like she always did. “Missed you every single fucking day.” He swallowed hard, thinking to himself that he would be crying in his sleep next.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and he shook his head, but she kept talking to him. “Angus called, Landon. He told me—“ she stopped when he shook his head again.

  With a heavy sigh, he told his wife, “I could call you. Hell, I could tell you. Coulda told you a thousand times over the years. Wanted to, even. But, he’s your big brother and he always took care of you as best he could. He’s your blood, and I ain’t gonna take that from you, Erin. I love you too much.” He hugged her tightly, shifting in the chair. “I’m sorry, too. So much time gone, days we would never get back, gone.” He kissed her forehead, smiling. “Lovin’ this dream, old lady. Lovin’ feeling you. Missed this so fucking much.”

  “Why is Mama Shoe crying?” Damn, Dixie’s boy is loud when he wants to be, Harddrive thought, shifting in the chair again, the weight on his lap anchoring him in place, Erin’s breath soft and warm on his neck as she nuzzled against him.

  He froze, finally realizing that he wasn’t asleep. His house was no longer silent, there were voices in the hallway where the bedrooms were, water running in the kitchen sink, and Keith cleared his throat over by the fireplace. “Mama Shoe’s just happy,” his son-in-law said, and Harddrive took a deep breath, pulling in the scent that always told him Erin was nearby. My baby’s home, he thought, and took another experimental breath, finding the same intoxicating result.

  Opening his eyes, he flicked his gaze at Keith, who stood by the fireplace with little Landon Junior in his arms, both of them looking at where Harddrive sat in the recliner. There was a decorated Christmas tree in the corner, the base piled high with colorfully wrapped boxes and bags. Evergreen draped the mantle, the pictures there carefully arranged amidst the greenery.

  Barry walked into view, handing Keith a mug of what looked and smelled like coffee, his youngest daughter hanging onto his leg, her ass on the top of his foot as he shuffled along. Harddrive grinned, remembering the days when he would have a kid on each leg in exactly the same way.

  Without moving his head, he peered down at his lap, gasping aloud when he saw Erin nestled against his chest, crookedly covered by the blanket he had pulled over them. Licking his lips, he started to speak, then swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of himself. This was what he had wanted every time he let himself dream, Erin back in their home, hi
s arms, always in his heart. She fit into his lap as if no time had passed, the gray now threading through her hair not diminishing her beauty one bit. God, I love her, he thought, arms tightening around her. My old lady.

  “Landon,” she whispered, and he shushed her gently, stroking up and down her back, his hands memorizing the curves he remembered so well.

  “Doesn’t matter, baby. Not if you’re back. If you’re back, then my heart is healed.” His eyes slipped closed, and he said, “Kiss me to seal the deal?” Her fingers fluttered along his jaw, drawing his face down to hers as she kissed him, her lips hot and demanding against his. Breaking away, he opened his eyes, staring down into her face, watching as she smiled with trembling lips. “Hell, yeah,” he said with a grin. “My old lady.” He took her mouth again, tasting her this time, loving the sounds she made in her throat. “Love you, baby. Merry Christmas, Erin.”

  ***

  THANK YOU FOR READING HARDDRIVE HOLIDAYS!

  Thank you for reading Harddrive Holidays, a short story in the Rebel Wayfarers MC series. This story sits right after Hoss in the timeline, kinda midway between Hoss and Duck, supporting the Rebels during a time of loss and pain. We’ll call it 7.5 in the series, yeah?

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