by Emma James
“You don’t say.” Torque’s sarcasm is thinly veiled.
Bowie stays slumped against my front, not ready to disconnect from me, so I give him the time he needs. He’s given himself a scare and is probably feeling embarrassed.
Thank God I don’t have to tell Flora her kid’s hurt.
“Looks like Evelyn just won herself fifty bucks,” I murmur out the corner of my mouth to Torque trying to lighten his growly mood.
“I thought you had that bet in the bag, too.” Torque turns his head toward mine, tipping it to the side. “Stayin’ clean and in one piece, seemed like a sure thing, but I guess not from the blood I can see gooing up your hair and the road. I expect you better have that fifty ready by the time we get back up the road,” he says with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Grouchy mood lifted. “Good thing I got nobody to make that bet with,” Torque muses as an afterthought.
“Trust me. It’s worth every penny I shell out,” I reply sincerely. “Evelyn makes everything in my life better.”
Torque makes a noncommittal grunt.
I touch my fingers to the back of my noggin’ and feel the sticky warmth. Bugger! There’s gonna be a needle and thread involved after my head made like a watermelon that got dropped from a bridge.
There goes getting to the wedding on time.
“Mr. Scott, would you like to get up now?”
Torque smothers a snort of laughter behind his hand at the insinuation by Bowie that I might need to continue to rest when we were giving the kid time to compose himself. The kid’s heart was pounding against his chest when we stopped skidding. I figured some light banter back and forth with Torque was the best way to give Bowie’s adrenaline time to balance itself out.
“Yeah. I guess we better get up off the road.” I know Evelyn’s already witnessed the scene of two grown men chasing a runaway kid. I’ve given her enough time to move from lover to professional and deal with Torque and me, because I know he’s feeling similar pain to mine from the look of his once crisp shirt.
Gravel-rash is a bitch you rarely want to meet.
Torque sits up first. We hear a cracking noise which doesn’t bode well for whatever’s in his pocket.
“Fu—Crap!” He fiddles about in his slacks’ pocket and pulls out his cell phone. “Well, that’s seen better days.” His phone is beyond repair from landing hard on it. He angrily tosses the pieces on the road then lets his forearms rest on his bent knees. Somebody is back to running on a short fuse. Torque’s hair is all rock-star-wild, adding to his pissed off lion demeanor.
Bowie sits up and rolls to his knees beside me.
I wriggle into a sitting position. Next step is standing, but I’m just going to let the woozies settle without drawing attention to myself.
Bowie stands. “Mr. Scott, I’ll help you to get up. Give me your hand.”
“Not an invalid, kid, but thanks for the offer.” I’m also stalling for time. I’ve got one hand planted firmly on the road, trying to keep the view from swimming about.
“You okay, Boxer?” Torque studies me.
“Yup, just got a headache brewing up a storm in my head.” I pat my suit pockets down and find my cell phone and pull it out to swiftly change the subject. “My phone doesn’t have a scratch on it. Go figure.” I wave it about as proof in front of Torque who looks like his pressure valve is about to blow now that Bowie is vertical.
In one swift movement a pissed off biker is up on his feet. Aannd then it’s on.
“Kid, you could’ve been freakin’ killed!” Torque roars.
Wow. Not so loud.
Bowie takes a step backward.
“What the fu—pluck-a-duck-the-hell were you thinking skatin’ on down this steep road?” The big guy’s using all the tact.
“Not helping,” I say under my breath as my headache swiftly grows inside my noggin’.
All the guys try hard not to swear around the kids, although Whisper appreciates it, I reckon she would give Torque a swear jar pass this time, after all, he just took a dive to help keep the kid from getting hurt.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose control and cause trouble.” Bowie is looking a little unsure of Torque. The man isn’t hiding his claws.
“What the hell were you skating for when you should’ve had your ass inside the stretch Hummer?” Torque’s not quite finished with the grouchy ‘tude.
“Whatever his reasons, they can wait until afterward. I have to get my daughter to her wedding.” I state the obvious while clambering a lot slower to my feet.
Whoa! I stumble to the side. What was vertical before seems off-kilter, now.
A steadying hand plants firmly against my back. ”Fu—far-out, Boxer. Easy there. You sure you’re okay?” I gotta give the president of the biker club credit for still thinking about the kid and curbing his language.
“I’m good, mate.” I grip his shoulder, which is meant to be a reassuring gesture but also serves to steady me on my feet. “My body’s reaction is expected when you hit the ground hard, which doubles as a cheese grater.”
Torque grunts in agreement, but stares at me for a bit longer before he’s satisfied I can stand on my own two feet without toppling over.
He then latches a hand onto Bowie’s arm and guides him over to the sidewalk.
I look up the road to see Whisper standing anxiously watching. I give her a wave that we’re all right. Yup, everything is bloody peachy down here.
The kid’s face turns crimson registering he’s got an audience. “Bowie, are you sure you’re okay to walk back up the road?”
He nods his head without looking at me because he’s now passing into the humiliation stage of his post-skateboarding shenanigans.
“I need a verbal from you,” I prompt him.
“Yeah, Mr. Scott.” He toes the ground with his polished shoe.
“Kid, call me curious, but I gotta know. Have you ever ridden a skateboard, before now?” Torque’s demeanor is less child-friendly as he jumps right in instead of waiting until we get the boy back to his mother.
“Um...” Bowie answers, adding a noncommittal shrug.
“Shut-the-front-door.” Torque shakes his head and takes in a deep breath to control his anger. “What the hell were you thinking?” Torque’s got his arms crossed, resting on his chest, his feet moving from side to side in restless motion, looking very intimidating to the boy. I can see how much Torque is trying to refrain from losing it verbally with the kid. “Why, the fu—fudge balls would you...?” He takes in a deep breath and blows his cheeks out.
Fudge balls?
Bowie’s shoulders sag forward. “To be honest, it was a spontaneous decision. I was going inside to say “bye” to my mom and the next I had this strong thought I couldn’t deny to grab the skateboard and ride it to impress Harper. The idea never entered my head before then. So I did. I guess I just rolled with it. My foot just kept powering the board along until I couldn’t stop.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Torque and I both growl out, giving up all pretenses of holding back on bad language.
“Harper… she’s pretty. I want her to like me,” Bowie blurts out, embarrassment reddening his cheeks.
“Kid, this stunt was over a little girl?” Torque raises his voice. I wait for the kid to shut-down in fear. But what do you know? He sucks in air and puffs his eight-year-old chest out.
“Not just any girl. She’s the girl I’m gonna one day marry,” Bowie says straightening his back, so he appears taller.
“Jeeesus—”
“Fu—far-out-barramundi-trout,” Torque grumpily improvises, cutting me off.
I give him a sideways glance at that combination that silently says “Really?”
With his hands on his hips, he mouths “What?” to me like it isn’t bloody weird to hear the president of the Lion’s Den MC censor his swearing to that level.
“She’s my girl,” Bowie insists, ignoring the two of us. Big blue eyes meet mine, pleading with me to understand.
“Blimey,” I murmur under my breath, glancing up at the sky.
“I’ve heard it all now. Edge is gonna have a real problem with this,” Torque mutters to himself. “This is why you don’t get married; you don’t have kids. Shit like this starts waaaay too young,” he starts ranting, raising his voice while his arms lift in the air, hands flailing. “Then the guy’s got her knock—”
“Slow down there, big guy. That won’t be happening!” Bloody-hell, the picture Torque is painting. I scrub a hand over my face, trying to erase that thought and then shake my head, which only ratchets my headache up a notch.
Bowie’s a great kid, but now I’m not sure how I feel about him visiting my granddaughter after this declaration.
No more playing in bedrooms. Edge is gonna want him where he can keep an eye on him when he hears about this. I can see it already. There will be an MC prospect posted at her door. There will be teddy-cam surveillance; the bedroom door won’t get shut anymore. There will be no more boys and girls in bedrooms together.
“Darn right that won’t be happening!” The lion next to me growls.
I’ve not seen Torque get so riled up about somebody else’s kid’s hypothetical future. I ignore Torque, deciding to offer some words of wisdom. “Bowie, you’re only eight-years-old. You’ve got plenty of years to do dumb things to impress a girl. Just for the record, does she know how you feel?”
“Naaah.” His shoulders droop again. “And I’m closer to nine than eight.”
“Maybe you need to give it… oooh… maybe fifteen years and see where you are both at then. Just stay friends for now.” I try to be the grandfather-type figure to the boy.
Torque nudges me hard.
“What?” I glare at him. “Can you do better?”
Torque rubs his jaw like he’s deciding to have a go at some words of wisdom.
“Kid… losing control of your skateboard is not the way to show a girl you mean business,” Torque responds to my dare-to-do-better challenge. “You need to be a dude and hang out with her brother Presley and do guy things together and…” He waves his hand around as though trying to think up something intelligent to add. “Forget about Harper in the way you are... um... well whatever is going through that boy-brain of yours. Plus you’re too young for hormones so who knows what you are thinkin’ about her, not that I want to know, because kid, you won’t be doing yourself any favors tellin’ me.” I think he needs to shut up. “You want to look cool? Then at least handle a skateboard in front of her. Having grown men chasing your ass down a steep road, takin’ a dive to save your ass, is not cool!” Rant over.
“Not helping,” I stage whisper to Torque when Bowie’s shoulders droop even more.
“I put it down to a spare-of-the-moment dumb idea boys sometimes get. It would appear I had a SLIJ—a severe lapse in judgment—as my mom would say when somebody at Mom’s shop gets caught shoplifting. She tells me it’s a SLIJ.”
It looks like Bowie’s pride is the only thing that got harmed today, and he’ll get over that.
“Do you have many a SLIJ?” Torque enquires while trying not to smile.
“From time to time. I’m a boy—it happens.” He shrugs away his honesty.
I check my watch—a gift from Evelyn—which miraculously doesn’t have a scratch on it. “I’m sure by now; your mom is looking for you. How ‘bout we all get back up to the house because I’m sure Whisper needs to know you’re okay and you should probably give her an apology for delaying her wedding. Why don’t we pretend none of this happened for your humility and Harper’s sake? Trust me, she’ll have no clue you like her, and she’ll think you just lost control of the skateboard.” I’m sure everybody saw what played out, including Harper; no point making him think she didn’t.
I make a sweeping motion with my hand, silently requesting him to start walking.
Bowie doesn’t make a move.
“What now, kid?” Torque sounds done with standing around.
“Uum... where’s the skateboard?” Bowie asks hesitantly. “It’s my brother’s. He’s gonna be mad when he finds out I used it.”
Brother? I didn’t know he had a brother.
Torque lets out a deep sigh of impatience while turning to look down the street; searching for the skateboard.
The guy’s white shirt got shredded in several places on the back, with spots of blood staining it and the ass of his slacks faired just as well, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Bowie, the skateboard’s a wreck. Forget about it for now. I saw it go under a van and it’s busted up,” Phoenix chimes in, having walked up to our little group. “I’ll go get the remains of it for you, and I’ll leave it at Whisper’s for you to collect another time. You can explain it all to your brother.” She doesn’t wait around for a discussion on it.
I’ll buy you a new one for your brother,” Torque offers.
“It won’t be the same,” Bowie mumbles.
Kid, trust me, that’s the least of your problems. Once Edge knows you’re planning on marrying his daughter—
“Shoulda thought about that before you took his board, kid.” Torque’s all out of pleasantries.
“You don’t understand,” Bowie says sadly.
“Nope, can’t say that I do.” Torque doesn’t waste any more time, placing a firm hand on the back of the boy’s neck. “Come on, kid, I’ll come with you, and I’ll talk to your brother.”
What brother?
“But—”
“Quit while you’re ahead, kid. I’ve got your back,” Torque cuts Bowie off, ushering him up the slope.
Watching Torque with a protective hand on the kid as they both swagger back up the road—kinda suits him.
Not that I’d tell him that.
My palms are singing soprano. I don’t dare look at them.
I don’t want to show Presley I’m in pain, so I ignore it and make a show of looking down at the front of my beautiful dress, careful not to touch it, although it’s the least of my concerns. I’ll get married in a damaged dress if I have to.
All I want to do is take off down the road to make sure Boxer is telling the truth with his thumbs-up, and nobody is hurt, but I stay put as promised.
“Err...Mom?” Presley says, sounding troubled.
“Yes, honey?” I drop my focus on my son.
“Mom, you’re hands are bleeding. Come see Nana Evelyn.” He’s holding my clutch and phone.
“What, baby?” My eyes drift down to my hands.
“Your hands have done some hand-painting on my suit and Torque’s jacket.”
I raise both hands, examining them. I knew there was a reason my subconscious didn’t want to take a look at my palms. I am indeed bleeding, and I’ve used Presley’s little suit as a canvas and I’m doing a poor job of artistry.
I don’t even want to look at my elbow, which has joined the choir singing falsetto. “Shi—” I shut my mouth, refusing to swear in front of Presley. ”It’s okay, Nana Evelyn will help me, and I’ll be as good as new,” I say sweeping away his worries because I saw the way Boxer’s head hit the road. If my palms got sandpapered, his head will surely need medical attention.
“Presley, can you do me a favor and take my bouquet inside, please?” I need to make sure everybody is okay. I don’t want Presley seeing Bowie, Torque or his gramps hurt until I get a look at all three of them first.
Presley slips my phone into my clutch and places it down on the ground next to me before carefully picking up the mildly damaged bouquet from where it landed and hesitates. He swings his focus from me, to down the road, and then back up to me as he makes up his mind if he should leave. He’s so much like Edge, wanting to take on the role of protector.
“Thank you, Presley. Run them inside out of the sun and find one of Juan’s team to put them in the fridge. It will keep them fresh; it will be one less thing I have to worry about.” My son keeps eyeing me. “I’m fine, darling. Gramps, Torque, and Bowie will be too.”
“Okay... but I’ll
hurry back outside.” Presley needs to be the man for me.
“Okay, honey, but I’m not moving from here, so take your time.”
He races off.
I’ve resigned myself to the fact: nobody is leaving in the stretch Hummer in the next few minutes as initially planned.
I focus back down the road and see Phoenix looking down at the trio, adding to my fear all three of them got hurt.
Phoenix holds a thumbs-up sign in the air, which sends a pulse of relief through me. I know she wouldn’t do it unless she meant they were all okay, although her definition of okay might be different to mine.
“Thank, God,” Evelyn says loudly from behind me, having snuck up on me quietly, making me jerk in reaction. “I was afraid they wouldn’t get to the boy in time. I was also hoping today would be a medical bag free day,” she says, sounding wistful followed by a heavy sigh of acceptance. “The way those two men went down, I don’t doubt I’ll be stitching somebody up shortly.”
“Unfortunately, I agree with you.”
“I watched you go down as the series of events unfolded—and before you deny it—I know you’re hurt, too.” Evelyn’s authoritative voice has me making eye contact with her. Guilty as charged.
I make sure my hands are facing away from her. “I can’t confirm or deny.” Currently, that felt the safest answer. The doctor in Evelyn doesn’t like to get lied to. I didn’t need fussing over, just yet. I need to get word to Edge once Bowie, Boxer, and Torque get cleared.
A panicked thought hits me. “Harper!” I nearly give myself whiplash as I turn my head too fast in the direction of the Hummer.
“It’s okay, Whisper. I told all the girls to stay in the limousine. They’re keeping Harper occupied not looking out the window until I give them the all-clear. Now, don’t change the subject. Show me your hands, Whisper, before your panties catch on fire.”
I groan inwardly.
“Has Boxer told you lately how beautiful you are for a woman in her fifties?” A girl at least has to try.
Her silvery-gray taffeta, slim A-line dress with the flattering scoop neckline, and an elaborate hand-beaded illusion overlay bodice with short sleeves, compliment’s her wavy blonde shoulder-length hair. I hope to be half as attractive as she is in my fifties. Evelyn wears her fifties like a Disney Queen.