Meyah (The Club Girl Diaries Book 9)

by Addison Jane

  I looked over to see my little cousin laughing and chasing Levi and Dice around the water park, surprised she could still move with the constant laughter flowing from her. I would have probably been on the ground trying not to pee my pants by now.

  I turned and headed for the truck.

  Ham was already waiting patiently, leaning against the front of the monstrous machine. “You want me to drive?” Ham offered, not because he thought I couldn’t do it, but most likely seeing the way my eyes widened worriedly the closer I got to the vehicle and the bigger it seemed to grow.

  I shook my head. “Nope. I’ll be fine.” Then proceeded to heave my body up into the driver’s seat which was almost like being back in sixth grade and trying to climb the jungle gym in the playground.

  The clubhouse was about forty minutes away. If I was going to make it through this, rules were needed. I pushed the keys into the ignition, but before I turned it over, I twisted my body to look at Ham. He was leaning back in the passenger’s seat, his hand pressed to his side and a few drops of sweat beading his brow. I could tell he was in pain, even if he’d spent the past two hours already trying to fight it and make like he wasn’t.

  I was surprised Optimus allowed him to last this long.

  “Have you taken any pain meds?”

  He instantly sat a little straighter, like he was magically feeling better. “I’m okay. Let’s just get going.”

  “You’re not okay.”

  “Meyah…” It was a slow growl and a warning, but not one that I was going to put up with.

  “Here’s the deal. I played your little game, and I won. Now you can play mine.” He wasn’t impressed. I didn’t care. “You take the pain meds I know you have on you, and you don’t talk the entire ride back to the clubhouse, and I won’t make a detour to the hospital to get them to check you out because I can tell you’re hurting.”

  “I don’t need to go back to the hospital,” he protested, rolling his eyes and cringing as he tried to relax back into the seat.

  I knew the cut wasn’t big, but it was obviously enough to be causing him a lot of discomfort. Probably due to the fact he wasn’t resting it like he should have been and was out throwing balls around and exerting himself.

  “That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.”

  There were a few beats of silence where I thought he might object.

  Instead, he nodded. “Fine.”

  I let out a long breath of relieved air. Knowing I was going to be able to get him back to the clubhouse without an argument, or even a word that might set me off, I was thankful. I just wanted to survive the next forty minutes without crying, or fighting, or losing my shit.

  All things I was sure were going to happen over this weekend, but I couldn’t handle right now while I was trying to maneuver this hulking machine. Before I put it in drive, I pulled out my cell phone and shot a quick text to Skins, who I knew was out doing a few things for the club and asked him to meet us at the clubhouse.

  Then I allowed myself a silent smile in victory as I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Ham held up his end of the deal and stared out the window the entire time, not even speaking to criticize my driving, which I had to admit at times was not so great. Going from driving Mom’s Mazda hatchback to a truck that rivaled King Kong was a huge difference, and suddenly, things like roads and lanes and other vehicles were so freaking small.

  I pulled up outside the club, leaving the motor running.

  He looked over at me. “Not even going to walk me inside like a true babysitter should?”

  “I’m not your babysitter.”

  He snorted. “Seemed that way when you leaped at the chance to send me home and get the hell away from me.”

  I raised my eyebrow, fighting a growing smile. “Are you sulking? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were that excited about a child’s fifth birthday.”

  His response was to throw the door of the truck open and leap down from the cab like a child throwing a tantrum. I couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up in my throat. Then he hit the ground, cursed loudly and groaned in pain. I immediately turned the engine off, threw the door open and climbed down. The second my feet hit the ground, I rushed around the side of the vehicle. He was leaning against the side, his hand pressed against his hip.

  “You stubborn idiot,” I scolded, reaching out and pulling back his cut. There was a small stain of red on his white T-shirt beneath. I sighed, tugging on his arm. “Come on, I bet you’ve screwed up your stitches.”

  He grumbled as he followed my lead toward the clubhouse door. It was strange feeling it so empty, the only person in the entire place was Neil who sat out by the front gate nearly falling asleep.

  I managed to help him up the staircase and got him into his bedroom, moving at a snail’s pace, just as the roar of Skin’s motorcycle filled the air.

  “Can you help me lift my shirt off?” he asked as he managed to slip his club cut off with only a slight cringe. The sulky attitude was gone. Now, he just seemed resigned. I felt like I was riding some kind of weird wave of Hamlet emotions.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, walking over and taking the club cut from his hand and moving to hang on the back of his desk chair before heading back and reaching for the hem of his shirt. He watched me, his eyes following me across the room and back again. I tried to ignore the way it made me feel, the butterflies it stirred in my stomach reminding me of how things used to be.

  I would come to the clubhouse and sit downstairs and do my homework. He would wander, man the bar, clean, watch the kids with me constantly in his eye line.

  Yeah, it was fucking weird.

  But it was strangely us.

  I cleared my throat, stepping forward and reaching for the hem of his shirt. “How did you even get this on this morning?” I joked, partially. I had no idea honestly.

  He cringed. “Don’t ask.”

  I directed him to lift one of his arms, scrunching up the shirt and pulling the arm on his good side though the sleeve before slipping it over his head and down the other side with little pain. The moment his body was on display, my brain became scrambled, and all I could do was stare straight ahead at his chest, the armored tattoo that covered his chest and heart was one of my favorites.

  My eyes fell lower to his ribs, the gross yellow color of fading bruising looking like someone had colored him in with a magic marker. “Jesus Christ,” I whispered, not like the amount of damage that had been done, and feeling my throat begin to close as tears hammered at my wavering defenses. “Why didn’t you just let me be there for you? Why did you have to be so damn stubborn?”

  My fingers brushed over the dirty coloring, my brain reminding me this was him healing, that it was worse than this at some point. That there was probably a time where he couldn’t move. Where it hurt for him to breathe, and I was off at fucking college thinking about myself.

  Still running away from my problems.

  Still pretending like I was going to just be able to get over Ham and move on, like he wasn’t everything to me and more.

  His hand reached up, brushing my hair back from my face and dipping his head to press his lips to the top of my head. “I made a mistake,” he murmured, dropping his lips down further to my forehead. “But whether or not I was an idiot then, doesn’t matter now. ‘Cause I’m done being without you.”

  So was I.

  My eyes fell closed, and I leaned into his energy.

  It was warm and welcoming and safe.

  “All right,” Skins announced as he stepped through the door, not even blinking at the intimate moment we were having. “Where’s the patient?”

  The moment was gone, and I fell back with a heavy sigh.

  Surely it didn’t have to be this hard?

  “Let me have a look, you stubborn fucking bastard,” Skins laughed, earning him a glare that could have melted the face off a Barbie doll.

  He hobbled over to the bed, his muscles clenching and his e
yes locked on me as he did.

  I just wanted to touch him, to feel him.

  I was fucking done hurting.

  I needed to feel something. I needed to know things could be okay between us, and we would be stronger now. If I was some kind of religious person, I’d probably ask for some kind of sign from the big man up above, something to remind me of why Ham was always the one.

  “Fuck,” Ham hissed as Skin’s peeled back the bandage with a sadistic grin on his face as if he enjoyed causing his friend pain. “Aren’t you meant to rip it off fast? Isn’t that meant to hurt less?”

  “That’s the theory,” Skins agreed as he continued to pull at the medical tape torturously slow. He took a quick peek underneath the bandage and examined the area. It only took a moment before he nodded and began to replace the medical tape. “It looks okay. But you need to fucking slow down. Give the stitches time to do their job.”

  Once everything was back in place, he took a step back and grabbed his medical backpack.

  Ham groaned and threw himself back on the bed, his jeans riding deliciously low on his hips and exposing something I’d never noticed before.

  A tattoo.

  “What is that?” I asked, climbing off the chair and taking a couple steps toward the bed.

  They both looked up at me, but I could tell by the way Ham’s pursed lips turned into a delighted smirk, he knew exactly what I was talking about.

  “It’s a tattoo. If you hadn’t realized, I have quite a few.”

  I didn’t appreciate the sarcastic tone, folding my arms across my chest and popping my hip. “When did you get it? And what is it?”

  Skins moved to the side as Ham unbuttoned his jeans and shucked them onto the floor, giving me a perfect look at the intricately drawn dove which was situated on his hip bone. The strokes, the patterns, the shading and line work I all recognized.

  It was all mine.

  “Meyah,” Hadley said quietly. “Run.”

  I didn’t waste a second, digging my feet into the gravel and turning on my toes back toward the clubhouse. I made it through the space in the fence that led out back before the gunshots started.

  The first one made me jump, and I tripped, falling onto the patio and skinning my knee.

  Then came the rest.

  One after another after another.

  I forced my shaking body to its feet, diving for the patio door handle and yanking it open. I tried to stem the tears that were streaming down my face, tried to keep the sobs from leaving my mouth as I ran up the stairs, my feet catching on every other step, in my mind searching the clubhouse for a place to hide.

  There were a million places, different rooms, different closets and cupboards, all places I could easily slip inside and hopefully be concealed until someone else got here.

  But I didn’t actually need to think.

  My feet carried me, my mind forgotten.

  There was one place I just felt like I needed to go, where I felt like nothing would hurt me.

  I turned the handle to Ham’s room and pushed the door open, quickly closing it behind me and throwing myself back against the door. I’d never been in there before or even seen inside since the door was always closed, but I didn’t have time to look around.

  My heart thumped hard in my chest, and I searched the room, licking the salty tears from my lips as I tried to take in deep breaths and keep somewhat calm. I was scared. That man, Jayla’s granddad, he wanted to take me away from the club and use me to hurt them.

  I needed to hide.

  I needed to stay away from him, so he couldn’t do that.

  So he couldn’t hurt me. Or the people I loved.

  I ran over to the bed and dropped to my knees, lifting up the comforter and seeing there was just junk underneath, but that I could fit and the blanket would hang down the sides and keep me hidden.

  I lay flat on my tummy. My breathing uneven and erratic as I clawed my way under the bed, working my way toward the middle and then grabbing whatever boxes and bags there were under there, and trying to shift them around me so if someone looked, they would just see a whole lot of junk.

  I held my breath with each movement, things scraping and scratching on the wooden floor as I shifted them into place.

  I tried not to think about why Hadley hadn’t come to find me yet. Or Kev. Or why I hadn’t heard the roar of motorcycles coming back to the clubhouse. Everything was dead quiet, and with every breath, I waited for footsteps, or for the door to open or for someone to grab my leg and drag me out from under the bed like in those horror movies that I fucking hated.

  More tears streamed down my face.

  I cried silently.

  I wanted to be brave and climb out and find Hadley, make sure she was okay, scared that he’d hurt her and that those gunshots were his, not hers.

  But I wasn’t brave.

  I just wanted to feel safe. I wanted to make it through this, and I wanted to stay right here where I felt like no one could hurt me, and where I knew that when the club came, Ham would find me.

  I just needed to keep calm.

  Looking up, I spotted a pen which looked like it had fallen down the back of the bed. Instinctually I reached out for it, stretching my body, not caring how dirty or dusty it was under there. My fingers itched so badly, I wanted to draw, disappear into that world where I could create something else, be something else—a bird that could fly away, get help.

  Suddenly, I remembered I had something, and reached into my back pocket, pulling out a napkin that I’d tucked in there while I was at the football game today.

  I flattened it out on the floor.

  And I drew.

  I allowed myself to leave this world and move into another, focusing on the lines, the shades and the strokes that all came together to form the picture. I escaped, my tears drying up on my face, the fear melting away as I became the white dove on that dirty, bumpy, imperfect piece of paper. My wings were strong, they could fly me out of here. They could get me somewhere to find help.

  The dove was beautiful, free, proud.

  And even as the shadows fell around it, nighttime setting in, it still stood out in white against the darkness.

  “Meyah!”

  The pen fell from my hand, and I held my breath, reality coming back like a smack in the face.

  “Meyah!”

  I heard the bedroom door swing open, slamming back against the wall. My hand covered my mouth when a gasp built in my throat.

  I knew it was him, but I couldn’t move.

  “Baby girl,” he murmured, his footsteps coming to the side of the bed. He crouched down, his shadow falling in front of the small bit of light which was coming in. Just enough to allow me to draw. “I’m here. Nothing is gonna hurt you. You just gotta give me your hand, and I’ll pull you out.”

  I’m here.

  Nothing is gonna hurt you.

  I slowly reached out, pushing a small box to the side, cringing as it scraped loudly against the floorboards even though I knew it didn’t matter anymore.

  He was there.

  He found me.

  Like I knew he would.

  “That…” I narrowed my eyes as I took a seat on the bed next to where he lay.

  Skins smiled shyly and lifted his hand. “I’m gonna let you guys have your space.”

  I nodded, still stunned as I sat there, tracing the outline of the tattoo on Ham’s hip with my finger in disbelief that my artwork was actually on someone’s body.

  Not just someone’s body.

  His body.

  The door to Ham’s room clicked closed, and we were alone. My eyes moved from the tattoo up to his eyes. He lay on the bed, looking up at me, his eyes watching me carefully as if he was waiting for my reaction, unsure of what it would be.

  “I can’t believe you found it,” I whispered.

  “I was a little confused at first, but I instantly knew it was yours,” he explained, sitting up in the bed so his gaze was level with mine. “You did
it to keep calm until someone could find you, right?”

  I cleared my throat. “You knew.”

  “That you loved to draw?”

  “No, not that I loved it. That it made me feel calm,” I explained, feeling tears burn my throat and eyes.

  He reached out and brushed my hair behind my ear, allowing his hand to linger on my cheek. “There were days you would come in after school, looking like you were going to cry, tossing your backpack around,” he explained, smiling like it was a fond memory for him to see me agitated and annoyed. “Then you’d pull out your sketchbook and start with just a few lines, and instantly, it was like you were letting your worries out through your hand, out through each swipe across the page.”

  He knew me.

  He honestly knew me.

  Drawing was my release, it was my escape and the way I found beauty.

  I had no idea how long it was between when I crawled under that bed, up until Ham showed up—it could have been minutes, it could have been hours. That dove was the only thing that got me through and allowed me to keep some sort of semblance of sanity.

  That, and him.

  “You know,” I started, but had to clear my throat as I began to get choked up. “That was one of the scariest days of my life. Knowing someone could have hurt Hadley and Kev. That he could have taken me away. That he could have done God knows what.”

  Ham shook his head. “I would nev—”

  “Don’t say you wouldn’t let it happen,” I interjected instantly annoyed by how he tried to play it off. “Because in this life, you know it could. You know someone could try to hurt me. That someone could use me against you. That’s exactly why you tried to push me away.”

  “Fine,” he responded, looking me directly in the eye. “Yeah, there could come a point where someone might try and hurt you. They might try and use you to get to me. They might be trying to hurt the club.”

  My stomach twisted, and I climbed off the bed, taking a step back.

  He followed instantly.

  There was no running away anymore.

  I moved. He moved.

  I looked down at the tattoo that sat proudly on the lower part of his hip, a white dove in flight, its wings spread, its tail fanned out and dark shadows surrounding it. My work. On his body. His eyes followed mine, and he tugged his briefs low allowing the entire picture to show.