Forever Ride

by Chelsea Camaron

  These thoughts swirl around my head as Nick and I make our way down to the waiting town car. Settling into the back seat, I am surprised when Nick begins my instructions for the day.

  “I’ll be dropping you at Nordstrom’s where Adrianna will be your personal shopper. She’s going to measure you properly for undergarments as well as your true sizing for apparel. And she’s going to fit you properly for shoes. I expect you to be patient, quiet and follow each instruction she gives you. It is her job to outfit you appropriately, not your job to question her or complain. Understood?”

  “Ummm…” I answer, not really sure why I am being treated like a child. I am perfectly capable of picking out my own damn clothes.

  “Savannah, I have a business luncheon to attend for a development here in Miami, so now is not the time for your temper tantrums. I need to know that you understand that, whatever Adrianna picks out for you, it will suit my needs and my desires in your apparel. The clothes you’ve been wearing are fine for working in a garage and riding a motorcycle. They are not suitable for my lifestyle. Out with the old, Savannah.”

  Reluctantly, I nod my head in agreement. I don’t have the fight in me to argue with him. It is pointless anyway; he will just remind me this is what I want.

  Four hours and twenty-eight minutes later and I have been outfitted by Adrianna with a complete new wardrobe. And when I say complete, I mean complete, all the way down to the undergarments. Whoever invented Spanx is a miracle worker. I am not big by any means, but I have curves and those tight, little, hip hugging shorts smooth out those bumps in the road of my body so none of it shows in my now very form fitting dresses.

  I have learned what a pencil skirt is and I have one in black and heather gray. I have learned that a scoop neck will give a nice hint of cleavage while still leaving that professional and sophisticated look. The look that will garner Nick’s attention, and yet, leave nothing exposed.

  Adrianna definitely knows her job and does it well. Everything fits me like a glove. It is like each piece has been cut and tailored just for my body. Per Nick’s instructions, I wear one of my new purchases out of the store. It is a black and white, A-line dress that comes to my knees, topped with a pair of white heels. It’s a classic look that Adrianna finishes off with a pearl bracelet. She also, annoyingly, pulls my hair into a tight bun—or as Adrianna calls it, a chignon. Being the obedient girlfriend, I keep my aggravation to myself. I am perfectly capable of doing my own hair and even putting it into a chignon! This is for Nick and our future together, is what I keep telling myself.

  Channeling my inner Jackie O, I make my way out of the store to the waiting town car. My bags will be delivered to us, according to Adrianna who seems to handle it all per the instructions she was obviously given. As Nick climbs out of the back seat, the look he gives me is hungry and one that makes me stand a little taller. Smiling on the inside at his obvious approval and smiling on the outside that I’ve made my man proud, I make my way over to him. He leans down and kisses my cheek, sending warmth throughout my body.

  “You look absolutely amazing, love,” Nick whispers against my ear, causing me to shiver.

  I admit, today did not start off as a good day for me. Seeing how happy this simple change makes Nick, though, it really makes this one of the best days I have had in a very long time.

  Nick holds the car door open for me as he guides me into the back seat with his hand on the small of my back. Once we’re both sitting, his expression changes. I sense that, whatever is to come, this is a crossroads for us. I am quickly shown to be correct in my assumption when Nick hands me my phone.

  “You seem to have forgotten this today, love. It’s been ringing quite a bit.”

  Priorities, Savannah, I remind myself. Nick is my priority.

  I am certain all of the calls and messages are from someone affiliated with the Hellions. Therefore, sensing this is a crossroads, I make a quick decision. I put the phone in my new clutch, courtesy of Adrianna and her divine fashion wisdom to accessorize, without looking at the screen. Nick watches me intently, almost waiting for me to change my mind and retrieve the phone.

  “You may have missed an important message, Savannah.”

  “What’s important is right here in front of me, Nick.”

  My answer is all the encouragement and reassurance he needs as he leans in and kisses me with more passion and emotion than ever before. Heat is building inside me. I want Nick to take me here in the car, even though I know he won’t. He cherishes me and would view that as a disrespect to me.

  I have been struggling to let go of the past. Struggling to accept the changes of today. And even more, struggling to decide my future. Today, right here, right now, I am no longer struggling. I am finding my way into the mold of Nick’s world, my future place.

  ~Tank~

  Months. Yes, months… I’ve lost months to the coma. Now, I am losing months to rehab. Two months finished and who knows how many more to go. Traumatic brain injury is what they keep calling it. I was shot multiple times. It’s part of my business, part of my life. It’s not traumatic, it is what it is.

  My uncle dying in my arms… that’s traumatic. Not just for me, but for everyone he left behind. He was a good man. They weren’t sure I would have my memory back, and some parts are fuzzy, but for the most part, it’s all there.

  My muscles have deteriorated. No longer built like a tank, I am a mess of arms and legs that don’t want to work. My body is still trying to fall back in line with my brain being awake.

  I have a physical therapist to build my body back up and work on my range of motion as well as my ability to walk again. That’s right; me, the badass biker that’s killed motherfuckers, can’t even walk unassisted. Hell, there was a moment I couldn’t walk at all. My muscles, although worked some by the nurses and therapists when I was in the bed, are unable to take my weight after so long of not being used. I am getting there, though. Every day, I work a little harder and get a little stronger.

  They have me working with an occupational therapist to return me to my previous ADLs, as they call it—my activities of daily living. Ha, that’s a joke. My activities of daily living were riding my Harley. I can’t swing my fuckin’ leg over it now, but I’m getting there.

  Shit, when I first got here, I couldn’t talk. Now, I think Leah would love nothing more than to shut me up. She is my speech therapist and says I have mastered using profanities, as she calls them. Fuck that, they are words like any other. Now, if we could only clarify my regular speech, she could move on to a patient more in need.

  Some days are good, some days are bad. Some days are never ending. All in all, I’m getting stronger. I’m getting back to the world of the living.

  I thought, foolishly I guess, that Sass would call or come see me. Not yet, she hasn’t. Danza has filled me in on what’s been going on with my Button. She is trying life with a pretty-boy. Well, she can try that out for now. I am coming for her, though, harder and stronger than ever before. I won’t back down, either, so she better be ready.

  She’s what pushes me through the struggles of rehab. She’s who I lie in bed and think of at night. She’s who I picture at the end of the ramp while I learn to walk again. She’s who I am always walking to, even when she’s not here.

  When you’re in a place like this, when you meet the Reaper and win the fight for life, you see things more clearly. My brothers, my family never left me. They didn’t let me go. I was worth fighting for.

  Danza says she can’t handle the lifestyle. He’s wrong. She’s wrong. She has forgotten the good. She has forgotten the family. She has lost her place. I am going to show her.

  I am a Hellion, ride until I die. What’s more, her place is with me, on the back of my bike. If it’s the last thing I do, I will show her where she truly belongs. She’s worth fighting for.

  It’s going to be a challenge, anything with her is, but she is worth the struggles we will have to overcome.

  Chapter

/>   12

  Temper, Temper

  ~Sass~

  Boredom is a slow, painful death. I feel like I am on a hamster wheel I can’t get off of. It’s Groundhog Day, every day.

  Since our return from Miami, Nick and I have fully moved into the new house. He has multiple projects for work so he is quite busy. This leaves me home alone more often than not.

  Nick likes for me to get up with him in the mornings now that I am not working, and being the dutiful girlfriend, I do as I’m asked. Getting up at the ass crack of dawn with him is a chore, but one I am trying to embrace. While he showers, I make him a breakfast of bacon, eggs and English muffins with juice and coffee waiting for him to take his seat. While he eats breakfast, I run an iron over his dry cleaned and pressed suit for the day to give it an extra polished look. He claims it makes them extra crisp, that’s why he wants me to iron over the already starched and completely wrinkle free clothes.

  Then, as he’s dressing, I fill a travel mug with coffee, get the newspaper from outside and put both of those in his Mercedes and start his car for him. He kisses my cheek as he leaves to begin his day. What a role reversal we have found ourselves in. There was a time when he set my coffee out for me. Now, I don’t think he could remember to turn on the pot.

  Nick provides me a housekeeper who comes weekly, but the expectation is that I still clean daily. I swear, I could eat off my damn floor. I live in a museum, not a house.

  After I clean the already spotless house, I dress in whatever outfit Nick hangs in the closet for me to wear. Some days, he calls midday and needs me to run an errand, therefore he picks out my clothes so I am prepared for what he needs from me. At first, this annoyed me. Then he explained that he knows what his upcoming day entails, hence he knows what he may need. This is a simple preparation to keep me from scrambling at the last minute. It makes more sense for him to set out my clothes while he’s readying himself for the day.

  Today, I have made provisions to go out. I need to pick up groceries, but that’s not all I’m doing. In the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t go see him. I know Nick would not approve of me visiting Tank. I can’t help myself, though. He has been awake for over three months and I haven’t been to see him. The way I see it, as long as I have taken care of what Nick needs from me, I should be able to see Tank. Nick is my priority, but if his needs are attended to, then what is wrong with me visiting a friend?

  Making the two hour drive to the facility the club is paying for Tank to stay in, my anxiety builds. Doll sent me a text that simply gave me his location. Will he remember me?

  No one knows I am coming to see him. I have avoided everyone. Should I change my mind about visiting? Given his need for rehabilitation and from the information I have found on the internet, he could be on the road to recovery or he could be a complete stranger who remembers nothing of his past.

  When I make my way inside, the facility is nice, but there is no escaping the underlying hospital, sterile feel. Signing in at the reception desk, a nurse informs that Mr. Oleander is in physical therapy, but I can wait in his private room. Well, at least the club has given him his own space.

  Did I really expect anything less? Everyone in the club may live in moderate, middle class homes or the duplexes, but make no mistake, the club has money.

  Making my way down the stark white walls of the hallway, I peek into the windows and doorways of some of the rooms. There are rooms that are small open spaces with couches, and there are rooms with exercise equipment. I see a room labeled pool, which I assume to be for water therapy.

  I pass by a nurses’ station where a nurse is locking up her med cart and making notes. She looks up and smiles sweetly at me. “Can I help you find a patient? What room are you specifically going to?”

  “Tank,” I respond out of habit. “I mean, Frank Oleander. The receptionist gave me his room number.”

  “Keep going; he’s the fourth room on the left.” She smiles at me as I nod back to her.

  The number on the door reads three-twelve with a little paper tag that shows Franklin T. Oleander. Turning the knob, I enter his space. Directly in front of me is a hospital bed with Tank’s cut lying over the end. I make my way over.

  Picking up the leather vest, I run my hand over each patch. I know the time and heart Tank put into earning each one of these. The intense loyalty he carries for his club—the loyalty that landed him in this very facility.

  Without a second thought, I place the cut back on the bed and make my way out. As the tears are fighting to break free, I don’t stop and sign out of reception. Rather, I keep charging forward and out to my car.

  Once in the Cayenne, the foreign feel of it breaks something inside of me. I can’t stop the outpouring of my emotions as the sobs shake through my whole body. Seeing where that patch has put my first real love, I am fueled with sadness, anger and frustration. All of this furthers my resolve to stay away from anything tied to the Hellions Motorcycle Club. Family, friends or strangers, I want nothing more to do with it.

  Knowing Nick expects me to go to the grocery store today, I gather my resolve and clean up my now puffy, tear streaked face and head back to my new life. I don’t even look in the rear view mirror as I pull away from Tank, from my past.

  I am not home thirty minutes when Nick storms in. My nerves already frazzled from this morning, I am not prepared to play house with Nick right now. Mentally, I have another hour to put my mask back on before he should be home.

  When I look up as he enters the kitchen, his face is hard as stone.

  “Savannah, where have you been today?” he asks coldly. His face is set harshly and sternly. It’s one that says he already knows the answer to his question, but he’s testing me. How does he know? Why does it matter? Surely, he didn’t come home early because of this. Did he?

  “I went to the grocery store,” I answer firmly, testing the waters of how far Nick wants to push this.

  “Anywhere else?” His eyes are now flooding with venom, pure poison circling his pupils.

  “I went to see Tank in the rehabilitation facility.”

  Closing the space between us, Nick’s hands painfully grab onto my biceps as he pulls me to him.

  “How long have you known your lover was awake?”

  “He’s not my lover, and I received a text from Doll before our trip to Miami letting me know Tank was awake. Given you don’t seem surprised by my stop today or by your own admission to him being awake, I suppose I should ask you the same question. How long have you known he was awake, and yet, said nothing to me?”

  “What I know and how I know it shouldn’t matter if this issue was truly in the past. Being as I handed you the phone with multiple messages indicating Mr. Oleander was indeed awake and recuperating, I have nothing to hide.”

  “How did you know where I went today?” I question him, knowing I am playing with fire.

  “You knew of your lover being awake when we were in Miami. What does that say for you?

  Throw some money at you and you will play the part until you can leave with it all. Is that the plan?” His grip on my arms becomes incredibly painful, I am certain to have bruises of his fingertips on me.

  Rage boils inside me at his insinuation. “How fuckin’ dare you! I don’t need a damn dime from you. I have no intention of leaving you. Well, that is before today and your craziness over me visiting a friend.”

  “Craziness, huh? If you have no intention of leaving, then prove it.” His temper flares in a way I have never seen before.

  “Prove what? How? What do you want from me, Nick? Just tell me.”

  “Marry me!” he demands. “Marry me, and then I’ll know you’re mine for everyone to see.”

  “What?” I question as Nick removes his hands from my biceps and pulls out a small, black velvet box from his pocket.

  “Marry me. Enough of the questions and insecurities. Enough walking the line between your past and your future, Savannah. Marry me.”

  I can on
ly nod my head in agreement because the day has taken its toll. I don’t have the fight inside me to question Nick further. He is my future, that’s the one thing I’ve determined today.

  This is the next logical step in our relationship, so fine.

  Of course, I have always dreamed of a more romantic proposal, but I’m getting the man behind the ring for life and that’s what matters.

  ~Tank~

  Today was a long damn day. After months of rehab, they are preparing me to go home next week. I’m walking with a cane, but will hopefully build myself up to no longer needing it.

  Back in my room, getting ready for bed, the front desk receptionist comes in. “Mr. Oleander, did your visitor leave?”

  “What visitor?” I ask, curiously wondering who she’s referring to. My brothers visit, but only in the evenings since they know my days are filled with different forms of therapy.

  She looks down at her clipboard. “A Miss Savannah Perchton signed in during your physical therapy, but she never signed out. As it’s almost shift change, I need to make the night clerk aware if we still have visitors in the building.”

  Fuck! Savannah was here! How did I miss her? She was obviously told I was in therapy. Certainly, she would have waited, right? Looking at my bed, I notice my cut is lying differently than this morning. I had been in and out a couple of times today, but I never touched my bed or that vest. She’s been here, in my room. Yet, she’s gone.

  I run my hand across the back of my neck as the tension builds inside. “She must’ve forgotten to sign out or had to leave in a rush.”

  “Okay, thank you, Mr. Oleander. Have a good evening.”

  I can only nod my head.

  Sass came to see me, but she left before we had the chance to visit. Why?