And we did.
Chapter 7
A good thing about water is that you can drink it at work. A good thing about Vodka is that it looks like water.
-Sean’s secret thoughts
Sean
We would have stayed caught up, too, had another biker that was one of three on our ass, trying to catch up like the rest of us, not lost control and run head first into a guardrail.
My immediate reaction was to stop, but pieces of the man’s bike were flying everywhere.
Debris exploded, the majority of the bike vaulted down the guardrail, and it took everything I had not to wreck myself.
I knew Naomi was scared.
I was bobbing, weaving, and sliding my way like Aaron was beside me.
Naomi’s hands tightened on my waist, and I felt her head curl in low on my back as she pasted herself to my body.
Good girl, I thought.
The bike slowed as I maneuvered around a tailpipe and the handlebars, wrapped around each other like they’d always been so, and I finally placed my feet on the ground near the edge of the road.
Aaron followed suit beside me.
I looked at him, trying to get my heart rate under control, and stared.
He was just as shaken as me. Imogen was plastered to his back much like Naomi was to mine.
“My God,” Naomi breathed, then scrambled off of the bike behind me.
I followed suit and started running, even though I knew what I’d see.
Pieces of the man’s bike were everywhere.
And so was blood.
And other things.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
The ‘other things’ were what worried me. That could’ve just as easily been me.
I’d seen the oil slick on the road. I’d avoided it, just like Aaron had. But, just like everything else, it was the luck of the draw.
But worrying did me no good, so I boxed it up and compartmentalized it, instead focusing on the fact that there was an emergency scene in front of me, and we were on a blind curve that offered almost zero visibility until you’d already partially rounded the curve.
“Aaron, head on up there and…”
He was already on it, moving up the street at a jog.
Trusting my brother, I turned to find Naomi dropping down to a knee beside what was the biggest part of what was left of the body.
And there sadly wasn’t much.
“Dead,” she murmured as I approached.
“Oh, my God! Wood!” a woman cried, jumping off of another bike and running toward the scene.
Another biker caught her, one from another unofficial club, Hail House, and kept her from moving into the debris.
He looked at me and I shook my head.
“Wounds incompatible with life,” I murmured, filling in the blank.
His face looked ravaged.
It was then I saw the cut, laying by itself, in the middle of the road.
How it’d gotten off, I didn’t know. Accidents were so unpredictable, though.
Panic and adrenaline were a dangerous combination for a motorcycle driver. Even the most experienced rider might do things that they wouldn’t have normally done. Or they might not do something that they would have, such as avoiding the pieces of wreckage like I’d done.
Sirens sounded in the distance, along with motorcycle pipes.
I knew who was coming back before I had visual proof.
My father had a sixth sense when it came to me. He always had.
When I was in trouble, he would know.
One time in high school, I’d gotten the grand idea to go joyriding in my father’s ’69 Mustang. It was a lot of power in a small package, and of course, being the dumb sixteen-year-old I’d been, I’d thought I could handle it.
Turned out that I couldn’t, and I’d wrecked it spectacularly.
My father had felt that something was wrong and was already headed in my direction.
He showed up in time to help me out of the car.
And about a minute and a half later, the car blew up.
Then the cops showed.
If he had not shown up when he had, my father would’ve lost his son.
And I felt terrible.
Now, watching him wind the curve, I realized that he was just as worried now as he was back then, almost twenty odd years ago.
His face took in the wreckage, and I saw the moment that terrible feeling crossed his face. He thought it was me who crashed.
I stood up from the crouching position I had been in when I was checking the man’s vest, and I immediately waved at my father.
His eyes snapped to me, and I actually saw the relief come over him.
Tommy Tom was the next one to round the curve, followed shortly by Jessie James and Fender.
Jessie James looked just as relieved to see me as my father, and I wondered why.
“Should we do anything else?” Naomi captured my attention.
I looked down at her, studied her pale face, and shook my head.
“No. Nothing we can do at this point,” I murmured. “If we were at home and in the medic, I’d have more things I could do, but since this isn’t my area, and we’re not working, my hands are tied.”
She nodded once and started moving toward Imogen, who was trying hard to hold it together.
Her eyes kept straying to what used to be the man’s body, and I grimaced.
I captured Naomi’s hand and urged her to follow me.
Once we made it to Imogen, I captured her hand as well, and pulled both women securely into the circle of my arms.
“Do you think Aaron will kill me for hugging his girl?” I rumbled, trying to capture Imogen’s attention.
“No,” Imogen sniffled, sounding relieved. “As long as your hands stay above the waist, I’m sure he’ll be good.”
I grinned. “Duly noted.”
“Sean.”
I looked up to find my father barreling down on me.
Before I could let the women go, my father had his hulking arms around all three of us, pulling us into his big, barrel chest and shaking with pent up emotion.
“I’m okay, Pop.”
Dad only hugged us tighter.
With nothing else to do, my eyes scanned the area, and I winced when I saw the biker I’d almost thrown down with, standing beside what had to be his bike, watching on with a blank expression on his face.
Where I’d thought that the drunk was walking to the cab that had pulled up in front of the smokehouse, he’d actually gone to his bike.
He was extremely lucky that it wasn’t him who had died.
Because, even now, his whole body was swaying.
His eyes moved from the wreckage, and I saw the moment he realized I was looking at him.
His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.
His gaze moved to the woman on my right, Naomi, and I saw them narrow even further.
I disentangled myself from my father, allowing the women to stay, and then moved so my body protected Naomi’s from the man’s cruel gaze.
I didn’t like him one bit.
I’d walked up about thirty seconds before Naomi had made it into the bathroom, and I’d seen him harassing her. Saw him reach for her hair and her disentangle herself from him.
I also saw him step toward the door, come to a decision, then head to the men’s room.
I’d then stopped and waited to go to the bathroom even though I hadn’t really had to go.
I’d hoped the man would hurry, but he hadn’t, instead taking just as long as Naomi had.
The door had opened about thirty seconds before hers, and I’d decided to use the facilities while I’d been standing there, thinking that Naomi would be a few minutes longer since I had been working with her over the weeks and knew that it took her longer than I’d been standing there to do what she had to do.
When I’d gone to pass the man into the b
athroom, the man had moved and refused to allow me entry.
He’d then told me to stay away from the blonde girl, as if it were him who had come with her on the back of his bike instead of me.
I’d, of course, caused the man to stiffen by using a few choice words and it’d deteriorated from there.
And then Naomi had come out of the door of her own bathroom, causing me to react before I’d thought.
“You okay?”
I turned to find Imogen staring at me, her eyes on me instead of the wreck behind us.
Police finally showed on the scene, but I kept my eyes on my club member’s old lady.
“Yeah,” I replied gruffly. “Fine.”
She looked like she didn’t believe me, but she chose not to call me on it.
“Are your bikes blocked in?”
That came from Naomi, who was watching me with worry on her face as more and more police showed, followed by the volunteer firefighters.
“Nah,” I said. “Dad, why don’t you come help me move them before they really do get blocked in.”
Dad let the women go, and then gestured to Tommy Tom with a jerk of his chin.
“Go over there, girls.”
The ‘girls’ obeyed, crowding in close to Tommy Tom, who was watching the scene with grim understanding.
Dad followed me to the bikes, and we moved them quickly out of the way.
“Scared the shit out of me again,” Dad finally said.
I turned to him as I flipped the stand back down on my bike next to where the rest of our group was standing.
“I know,” I said quietly. “Scared the shit out of myself.”
Dad’s lips twitched.
Minutes passed and turned into hours.
I held Naomi in my arms, felt her shiver with the memories of the last few hours once again, and I squeezed her tight in my arms for what felt like forever.
We were questioned. Questioned again. Asked to move. And then asked to leave.
And through it all, she stayed in my arms, seemingly content to be there.
It was nearing twilight when I finally pulled up in front of my house with the rest of our group.
“I don’t want to go home,” she murmured over my shoulder to me.
Today had been bad. I didn’t want to spend the night alone, either.
The bad wrecks always got to me like that, though. Never before had I had someone to lean on, though. Someone to ask to stay.
Hence the reason I invited her to stay at my place.
“Then stay with me.”
She blinked.
“I left my house unlocked, and I don’t have any clothes,” she hedged.
I grinned.
“I know the way back to your house,” I told her. “And I also know that I have room in my saddle bag for a few changes of clothing.”
Her eyes widened.
“I know you have to go to work tomorrow night,” I explained. “You can change your clothes into your daily wear, and then put your uniform on that night. That way you won’t have to go all the way back home just to change.”
She stared at me for a few moments, then nodded once. “I think I’d like that.”
Chapter 8
Home is where I can stand in the kitchen, naked while eating peanut butter, and rapping an old-school Ludacris song and not be judged.
-Text from Naomi to Sean
Naomi
“I didn’t realize that you lived in a trailer,” I murmured as I walked in the door of Sean’s RV after running by my house for an overnight bag.
Well, if that was what one would call it.
“It’s an Airstream,” he informed me. “What’s cool about it is that it’s made out of old jet materials.”
“What?”
“During World War Two, the government forced the manufacturer of the Airstream to shut down production because the aluminum that was being used to make them was in such high demand. Hence the ‘jet materials’ comment,” he explained as he started flipping on lights.
I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what I saw.
“It looks like a mini apartment on wheels,” I breathed. “This is beautiful.”
Sean dropped his keys onto the table that was poking out of the corner of the room, and I followed suit with my own purse and keys.
The interior of the trailer was pleasant. Almost as if it were done with the intent to sell it. The easiest and most pleasant to appeal to both men and women.
“Did you redo this?” I asked.
I eyed the dome shaped walls and roof that were lined with aluminum. The couches were nice. A nice warm brown leather that looked like they’d accept me as a part of it if I sat down right now.
Then there was the sink. A full farmhouse sink took up what minimal countertop that there was, with one of the largest faucets I’d ever seen.
The stainless-steel countertops were even cooler, rounding out the whole industrial look perfectly.
The sight of Sean’s bed, though…that was where I wanted to be.
I wanted to lie down on that white down comforter, bury my head under his pillows, and never get back up again.
“Take a shower first,” Sean said, practically reading my mind. “Wash the dirt of the road off your skin. I like my bed clean.”
I turned and stuck my tongue out at him.
“You’re an ass,” I said, but sat down on the kitchen chair that was one of two next to a postage stamp sized dining room table. “But I like you anyway.”
Sean moved to the kitchen sink, washed his hands, and then dried it on a towel that said ‘I like Big Tits.’
“Nice towel,” I observed dryly. “Where can I get one for myself?”
He grinned. “My best friend from high school got it for me. He has a quirky sense of humor.”
I could imagine.
Though, I really did like the towel. I had a few shirts that were vulgar.
Like the one I brought to change into.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked as I slipped my first boot off.
He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, twisting the top off of and tossing the lid in the sink. All the while he kept his eyes on the fridge as he examined its contents.
“I can grill some chicken. Fry some chicken. Or we can have sandwiches.”
Fried chicken sounded amazing.
“What do you feel like doing?” I questioned.
He looked at me.
“I don’t care, to be honest,” he admitted. “The easiest thing is sandwiches, but I’m starving, and I’d have to have four at this point to fill me up.”
My mouth twitched.
“Chicken.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I knew you were going to pick that. Knew it!”
I shrugged. “I’m hungry. And honestly, I had a sandwich for breakfast.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll help you cut the fat off the chicken if we can have mashed potatoes.”
He smiled that smile that could bring me to my knees. “I can do that.”
I took a quick shower, changed into clean clothes, and we worked in his tiny kitchen, brushing up against each other as we moved about.
By the time dinner was on the small kitchen table, my heart was pounding, my cheeks were flushed, my panties were drenched, and I wondered if I could go where this was going.
I hadn’t had sex for a long time. At least two years, if not more.
But that wasn’t even the scariest part.
My body wasn’t the same as it used to be. I wasn’t just a girl who was insecure about her body. Now I was an insecure woman who knew with certainty that her body wasn’t attractive.
I mean, who would find a colostomy bag attractive? I wouldn’t…
“Hey,” Sean’s deep voice broke into my thoughts. “What’s that look on your face for?”
Like I would tell him the truth.
O
h, nothing much. I want to fuck you, but I’m not sure how you’ll react to having my poop bag squished between us while we’re doing the dirty.
Instead I said, “I’m starving.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?” he challenged.
I picked up my fork and knife and cut it all into bite sized pieces before I started to dig in.
It wasn’t until I was four moans into my fourth bite when I realized that Sean wasn’t eating.
I looked up at him, fork suspended in the air, and raised my brows at him.
“What?” I asked, taking in the strange look on his face.
“Good?” he sounded slightly strangled.
I nodded, not answering.
He carefully picked up his fork, speared a bite, and then popped it into his mouth.
He didn’t moan, and I wondered if he had enough gravy. I eyed his plate, seeing his large knife resting against the side of the plate, and returned my attention to Sean’s eyes.
“I think you need more gravy.”
He looked at me like I was just on this side of crazy.
“I have a lot of gravy,” he pointed to the overflowing gravy that was on his mashed potatoes.
“But you have none on your fried chicken. It’s sacrilege.”
I indicated this by showing him my plate. What I had resembled soup with globs of mashed potatoes and chunks of fried chicken rather than a plate of food dressed with some gravy.
He curled his lip up at me.
“I think I’m good,” his lips twitched.
I shrugged and continued to scoop the food into my mouth, wondering if I looked like a fat ass with how much I was eating and how fast I was shoveling it in.
Then I decided not to care.
If he couldn’t handle this about me, then we’d never work together. I was a girl who liked to eat. Tacos, fried chicken, gravy, rolls and macaroni and cheese were my all-time favorites. If those five things were in the same room as me, they were going to be eaten. I couldn’t help myself.
I was nearly to the end of my meal when I realized, once again, that Sean hadn’t eaten nearly as much as I had.
I took one last fork full of food and pushed the plate slightly away.
I would’ve pushed it further away if there was room to do that, but if I pushed it much more, it would move Sean’s plate closer to him. And with the way he was looking at me, I wasn’t sure what was wrong with him.
I'm Only Here for the Beard Page 7