Charge: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Romance

by Cate C. Wells

  He’s really tall. My head could fit under his arm.

  I hold Jimmy’s hand while we walk in, and I know I’m not supposed to even think it, but I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a family with a mom and a dad.

  It’s heady. The feeling. Like there’s a buffer between Jimmy and me and the rest of the world.

  Charge opens the door, talks to the hostess, sets me on a bench when we have to wait five minutes for a table.

  I feel like I’m floating in a wake. All I have to do for once is let go and go along.

  It’s nice.

  Not nice? How the hostess and then the waitress and then two ladies at a table nearby are eyeing Charge like he’s a filet.

  When the hostess seats us in a booth, I swear she lingers with a dumb grin on her face, just staring. It’s awkward, but I can’t really blame her. I stare, too.

  Charge maneuvers it so he’s next to Jimmy, and I’m across from them both. The boys play tic-tac-toe on the kid’s menu while we wait, Charge nursing a beer and me sipping an iced tea. I glance around, but my eyes keep coming back to the man whose long legs are crowding my knees under the table. His broad shoulders. The flash of his smile that heats my insides.

  He’s too handsome for this town. This place.

  For me.

  The place is a dive, no doubt. There are beer logo pool table lamps, and as I find when I excuse myself during the wait, the women’s restroom is painted black. Clear plastic tablecloths stick to the tables.

  The food does smell really, really good, though. I order the filet, and Jimmy orders the mac and cheese. I make him pick the broccoli as his side.

  Then, Charge and Jimmy chat—some gentle smack-talking about the game they’re playing—and I just listen, running my fingers in the condensation circle left by my glass. I’m nervous—and I definitely feel like an imposter, the plain mom with the hot biker—but I’m also weirdly not on edge.

  I guess being alone most of the time with Jimmy…I’m always on high alert. I’ve got a million tasks: get us up, bathed, dressed, fed, drive the car, make the doctor’s appointments and the dentist appointments. And then I also have to keep my eye on the big stuff: balancing somehow between raising him to act with respect and taking care of his feelings. Planning the long term and figuring things out when everything goes to hell. Deciding how much to worry about his reading or his seriousness.

  And then all the daily dramas: boo-boos, temper tantrums, the dropped forks and knives and hundreds of other spills, accidents, and whoopsies.

  When Dad and Victoria take us out to eat, I’m the one making sure Jimmy doesn’t get bored and cause trouble, rushing through my meal so Jimmy doesn’t get finished first and decide to play with the salt and pepper shakers.

  But tonight…I can sit across from my little man, let go, and appreciate. He’s so serious, so intent and deliberate in how he makes his x’s and o’s on the tic-tac-toe board, but every so often, a shy smile ghosts across his face. He doesn’t wriggle, doesn’t climb the walls like I see some other kids doing. He’s a calm little dude. He’s okay.

  And it’s such a weight off, realizing this. He’s happy. Content. So am I.

  I exhale, and Charge shoots me a wide grin at something Jimmy says. I smile back and my insides melt like ȧ la mode.

  When the waitress brings the food, I tuck in. I’m a little embarrassed to stuff my face in front of Charge, but this feels like a break. The kind of experience you know isn’t going to roll around again soon, so you better grab it with both hands, and save the worry for later. So I ordered the garlic mashed potatoes, and I go to town on the bread basket. It’s fluffy and brown and served with room temperature butter.

  Charge watches me eat, bemused.

  I finish before him, and he asks, “Still hungry?”

  I shrug a shoulder. I’m stuffed, but I don’t want to say no to dessert.

  Dessert’s my dream.

  Charge smiles, slow. Like he’s up to something. He spears a piece of his porterhouse with his fork. “Open up,” he says.

  I do.

  He slips the bite between my lips.

  I chew and swallow. He’s riveted on my mouth.

  The power’s heady. I dart my tongue out. Quickly lick the corner of my mouth.

  His breath catches on an inhale.

  Jimmy spears a piece of broccoli a little wonky, and it goes shooting across the table at me.

  I giggle, and Charge snorts.

  “You got the broccoli runnin’ from you now. Right on, kid.”

  “Can I have some of your steak, too?” Jimmy asks.

  Before I can tell Jimmy he’s had enough, Charge drops a hunk on Jimmy’s plate, cutting it more or less into kid-sized pieces.

  “There you go little man. Don’t let this get away.”

  Later, we order dessert to share. Chocolate lava cake. A drop of chocolate falls on my top, and it’s so delicious, I don’t even care. Charge can’t stop staring at my top, though. And licking his lips.

  I squirm in the booth, loving the way he looks at me. Hungry, but with a smile so ready, so bright and filled with humor, I’m not freaked out. I’m completely punch-drunk from his charm. When it’s time to go, I don’t want to. It’s gotten a little louder though, since we came in. The after-dinner crowd is pouring in. I see bikers in doo-rags and cuts like Charge’s, and as we walk out, he tucks me close to his side again while I hold Jimmy’s hand.

  “Charge!” a boisterous male voice calls from the bar area.

  Charge raises a hand, half waving, half waving him off. He hustles us out to the truck.

  “Don’t you want to stop and say hi?” I ask.

  I’m not sure if I want to meet his friends. His brothers, I guess he’d say. I like this fantasy bubble, and from what he’s said, his friends are rough around the edges. Still, I want to know more about him. And we’re at a restaurant. Not some back alley.

  “Nope. I want to get you two home. Get the little guy to bed.”

  It’s an hour past Jimmy’s bedtime. Luckily, he doesn’t have school tomorrow. He’s drooping in his seat though, his long eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks.

  “I guess you’ll want to go back out. Hang out with your friends.”

  Charge grins at me in the dark, easing the truck into reverse. “No, Peaches. I want to put the little dude to bed and then sit with you on the porch awhile.”

  “Yeah?” I struggle, but I can’t imagine rocking on Pops’ porch swing with Charge, the crazy hot biker.

  “You got some things to tell me about. And I got some things to make straight with you.”

  “Yeah?” A flurry of nerves flutter under my rib cage.

  “Yeah.”

  Do I want to tell him things? Make things straight? I can hardly make myself think about what he means. I’m too excited, too bubbling with hope, too heartsick that when he knows my story, he won’t look at me like ice cream anymore. And an ugly voice in my head suggests he wants to let me know this—whatever it is―isn’t what I think it is. He only wants a good time.

  I mean, when has let’s talk ever been good?

  Jimmy’s totally conked out by the time we get home, and I rouse him enough to get him up the stairs, pajamas on, and teeth brushed. I tuck him in, and then I slip off my sandals and slide on my flip flops.

  Then I go brush my teeth.

  I think about changing out of my dress. That drop of chocolate is still kind of bugging me.

  I know I’m procrastinating.

  But I’m not a good time. I can’t be a good time. I’m a mom.

  If that’s what Charge wants, then this is over now. Before it’s really started. And I don’t want it to be over.

  I check on Jimmy, tuck him under the blanket. Then I take the tablet my dad got me for Christmas, FaceTime my phone, and set the tablet on the nightstand. It makes a great baby monitor. I’m only going across the parking pad, and I can see the door from there, but still…It makes me feel better knowing I can hear Jimmy i
f he wakes up.

  From the window next to the bed, I can see Charge waiting for me on his Pops’ porch. His arm is laid out on the back of the swing, his long legs sprawled. He looks at ease.

  He’s waiting for me.

  And I’m all nerves, sweaty palms, and self-doubt.

  But what could happen? On a porch, neighbors all around. Nothing. Nothing can happen.

  I steel my spine and flip flop down the steps. And the closer I get to Charge, the more I can make out his eyes gleaming in the porch light, I realize I was wrong.

  A lot could happen. He could say anything at all.

  ✽✽✽

  “Come sit here, Peaches.” As I approach, feet dragging, Charge shifts to the side of the swing.

  I sink down beside him. His stance is so wide, I can’t help but press my side to his. I hope he doesn’t notice the chocolate lava cake pudge spilling onto his rock-hard obliques.

  My feet don’t quite touch the ground, but Charge rocks with one boot heel, so we sway gently. The rusty chains creak, and a million crickets compete with the honks of bullfrogs out in the thick rushes along the river. There’s a cool breeze blowing up from the water, and I shiver. Charge bends an elbow so his arm is draped on my shoulders, a hand stroking my arm.

  “You have a good time tonight?” He fiddles with my sleeve, tucking a finger under the hem so he can touch my skin. Goosebumps blossom where a rough pad grazes my arm.

  I nod.

  “Don’t talk much, do you?”

  I guess not. I talk to Sue. Most everyone else—Dad, Victoria, Greg and the others at work—just wants me to listen to them. So I do. It’s easier.

  I shrug.

  “Fine by me.” Charge rocks us more, and I stop trying so hard to suck my gut in. Even with the porch light, it’s dark out here. And the swaying and warmth from his body is lulling me.

  After a while, Charge drops a kiss on my head. “So,” he says. A knot twists in my stomach.

  I know this is going to be the question. I’m surprised we’ve gone this long without him asking. Usually, it comes up with guys in the first or second conversation.

  I’m sad because I don’t get a few more minutes rocking in the porch swing. A little longer before it all gets unfix-ably awkward. I knew this was coming. It’s why I dithered so much coming down to sit on a porch with the hottest guy I personally have ever seen in real life.

  “Where’s Jimmy’s dad at?”

  My body tenses, and I know Charge can feel it. He doesn’t stop rocking and stroking, though. He clears his throat a touch and squeezes my arm.

  Where is Jimmy’s dad?

  There’s the lie Sue gave me to say. It was a fling. A guy from out of town. He wasn’t ready to have a kid.

  And there’s the truth that only a handful know. Sue and the staff at Patonquin General and a court-mandated therapist. And my dad, Victoria, and Denise Edgerton from the Department of Child Services, although they don’t believe it.

  I could not tell. Stand up, thank Charge for dinner, go back up to my place. Maybe he’d let it drop; maybe he’d drop me.

  Or I could tell him.

  He said I shouldn’t trust people that look like him.

  But I think maybe he’s full of crap. I spent a good half hour watching him color in the outlines of hamburgers with two crayon nubs while my kid colored in the buns.

  I want to be honest with him. If he can’t handle it, he can’t handle it. In the end, I have to remember it doesn’t matter whether he can or can’t. I can handle it. Not all days, not always well. But I can. I do.

  “I don’t know who his father is,” I say.

  Charge waits for me to go on. Quiet. Still rocking us.

  “There was a party. The summer after middle school. My friend Sue wanted to go. I was fourteen.”

  “You go to Petty’s Mill Middle?”

  “Yeah.”

  Everyone in town went there. Just like everyone went to Petty’s Mill High.

  “It was a high school party. Some people who were older, out of school. I went with Sue. Sue knew some people. I didn’t know anyone.”

  Charge makes a go-on noise, and he remains still except for his hand on my arm.

  “I didn’t drink, so I had some lemonade in a red plastic cup.”

  Creak. Creak. We rock. The moon comes out. Or the clouds clear from in front of it.

  “Sue went off with this boy she liked. I told her it was fine. That if I got bored, I’d just head home. It was only a few blocks away. A five-minute walk. It was Gracy’s Corner, you know? Super safe.”

  He nods. He’s lived there. He knows.

  “So I sat on a sofa. I didn’t know anybody. I felt so stupid. Other people were smoking, dancing. I got up to find Sue, let her know I was leaving…and I felt woozy. So I sat back down.”

  The creaking stops.

  I glance up, and Charge’s face isn’t the chill, confident model-handsome face I’ve grown used to anymore. His jaw is strained. A tic jumps at the corner of his eye.

  He keeps stroking my arm, though. Slow and calm.

  “I woke up the next morning outside, by an above ground pool. My underwear was missing. I was…there was blood. And…”

  I can’t say it.

  It had hurt. All over. Not just…not just in front. My chin was scraped, and so were my knees. And a patch of scalp hurt. I was missing a chunk of hair.

  “I went home and took a shower.”

  Charge exhales. And then he tucks my head into the crook where his head met his shoulder.

  He starts rocking again.

  “You tell the police?” he asks.

  No. I told myself I fell. The lemonade must have been alcoholic, and I was so naïve, I hadn’t even noticed. I was embarrassed. I thought maybe I made a fool of myself, and I couldn’t remember.

  “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “This girl Sue know anything?”

  “I didn’t tell her until after…after we found out about Jimmy.”

  Charge makes a sound then. Kind of a strangled-off snarl. “Your folks go to the police?”

  I look down into my lap. I don’t want to see his face when I say this part. “I was five months along when we found out. I didn’t know I was pregnant. I had no clue. I wasn’t regular at all back then. My dad thought I was lying. That I’d been sleeping around, and I knew I was pregnant, and I was hiding it from them.”

  I don’t know why I need Charge to believe this, but I do. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t hiding it.”

  There’s a long silence, and I don’t dare look up. “That’s the truth,” I say.

  And then, suddenly, strong arms scoop me up, and I’m sitting across Charge’s lap, and he’s tipping my chin up with his forefinger so I can’t help but look him in the eye.

  He looks pissed. Furious. His face has gone hard, the beautiful turned into something dangerous and scary. I turn my face, but he tips my chin again.

  And then he drops his forehead to mine. Brushes kisses on my nose and cheeks.

  “Of course it’s the truth,” he says, low, his voice strained. “You got the most honest fuckin’ face I’ve ever seen.”

  He’s wrapping me up so tight. One arm gathers my bent legs, another cradles me to his chest. He dusts feather-light kisses all over my face, my lips, and his beard tickles my neck. I squirm, and he tucks me in closer.

  And then he gently presses my head to his chest and plays with my hair as he rocks.

  “My beautiful girl,” he murmurs into my hair. “My brave, beautiful girl.”

  I look a question up at him.

  He raises an eyebrow back at me. “You don’t think you my girl? You drivin’ my truck.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “Yeah, kinda comes as a surprise to me, too.” He shrugs, and then goes back to rocking me, touching me, so gentle I could cry.

  And then it hits me like a brick wall. Exhaustion so sudden and deep I know it’s my brain taking a break. I felt this way a lot afte
r Jimmy was born. When Dad and Victoria sent me to live with Aunt Felicia, and I couldn’t get out of bed to go to school.

  When I yawn, Charge sighs, and he puts me on my feet like it’s nothing. Then he takes my hand in his work-roughened one and walks me across the parking area and up the metal stairs to my apartment. At my door, he tips my chin up and drops a soft kiss on my lips.

  “You got work tomorrow, right?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll drive you. Jimmy go to daycare when you work Saturdays?”

  I nod again.

  “How ‘bout I keep him tomorrow? We can go to the garage. He can watch me Frankenstein that fuckin’ Corolla.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Charge smiles at me, but his jaw’s still clenched. His eyes are still stormy with anger. I know he’s angry for me; I’ve seen the same expression on Sue’s face. I’ve tried to make her feel better, point out how it could have been worse, reassure her that it wasn’t her fault. She yelled at me, told me to stop trying to manage her feelings. That she’d feel guilty if she wanted. Anyway, it didn’t go well, so I don’t say anything to Charge. Don’t try to reassure him that it’s all really okay when it’s not.

  “Don’t forget the deadbolt,” he orders when I slip in the door, careful not to wake Jimmy.

  I watch him go down the stairs and take the stairs to Pops’ porch in one step. I guess he’s sleeping there tonight. A light goes on in the front room. It’s still on after I’ve brushed my teeth and changed into a sleep shirt. Lying in bed, I can see that light from our window. It makes me feel warm inside, knowing he’s close.

  It also makes me feel warm that he walked me home, kissed me goodnight at my door. Didn’t push me for more. Some kind of reassurance I can’t give or resolution I don’t have.

  Jimmy grunts in his sleep and kicks me with one skinny, strong leg. I pull him close and give him a hug. It feels delicate, like an empty eggshell that’s still miraculously whole, this thing between Charge and me. I can’t think about it too much, or it feels like it’ll break, an impossible dream that’ll come to its inevitable bad end like everything else in my life so far.

  So I drift off instead, bathed in the light of the moon, heart calm from the light in the window next door.