by Raen Smith
Chapter 17
If you would have asked me on the beginning of this journey if I would have imagined Piper and me standing on the front steps of a house somewhere on the north side of Miami with Shaman Amy, reintroducing her to her family after three years, I would have said hell no.
But that’s one thing that this journey is teaching me. The unpredictability of life is part of its beauty. It’s a journey that no one can foresee or prepare for.
So we stand here on either side of Amy, holding her hands as we wait for the door to open. And I think for a moment that I can feel her heart pulse through her body and into the tip of my hand.
“Tell Big Dave I said hello,” Amy whispers.
“Don’t worry, I will,” I whisper back and squeeze her hand.
The door finally opens to an elderly woman with flowing hair just like Amy’s except hers is white. She stands in the doorway for a moment, not even so much as passing a glance at Piper and me. Her eyes are focused on the woman between us. And suddenly, the realization hits her, and she’s rushing forward in one large sweep and wrapping her arms around Amy.
Piper and I let go of Amy’s hands at the same time, stepping back in silence off the porch as we watch a mother and daughter embrace for the first time in three years. We’ve already said our goodbyes and well wishes to Amy. We leave her there, buried in her mother’s arms. Piper’s hand finds mine as we move away from the house and turn down the sidewalk.
“It feels good to bring her home. I know if I could, I’d love to see my mom again,” Piper says.
“Me, too.”
Piper gently swings her arm as we move down the sidewalk toward Joe’s Locks, which is only about seven blocks away according to my estimation. After two blocks, she says, “Now what? We never finished the trivia contest. There’s no declared winner.”
“I think I would have won anyway. I think my cinema knowledge is more extensive than yours. If there would have been a section on that for the SAT, I would have gotten a perfect score.”
“Oh, please. I would have won easily,” she replies, “And I can’t believe you’re still bitter about getting a lower score than me. You better get used to losing if you want to hang around me for longer than a few days.”
I shake my head, “I’ve got a secret arsenal I’m waiting to unleash on you.”
“I’m not even going to go there. I have no words for you,” she pauses and her face gets serious, “But really, what are you thinking about doing? I mean, if you’re on the road all the time, I won’t ever get to see you.”
“I know. I’m still thinking about how this is all going to work. I think I’ll try to get something local in Appleton first. Come visit you on the weekends, and see how things go,” I reply.
“How about Madison?”
“Well, if you can assure me that your roommate of yours isn’t going to snap my neck, maybe I’d consider it.”
“Already done.”
“We’ll see. The world is my oyster, right? Maybe I’ll take some night classes. I know you always wanted some little doctor babies down the road.” I squeeze her hand.
“Whoa. Slow down, there. Let’s make it back to Wisconsin first and then let me get through my finals. And then the next four years of school and then my residency and then… ”
“Exactly,” I say.
“It’s been an unbelievable three days. Is this what every delivery is like? I mean, I love adventure and everything but…”
“No trip has been like this. Ever. Period. Not even remotely close,” I say with a laugh. “I think it must be you.”
“I’m glad I made your trip so remarkable. It’s like a fantasy,” she replies.
“Believe me, you have no idea. The whole waterfall and back of the cab thing, that’s been a fantasy since the day I met you. That would have been an awesome scene in the Fifty Square Feet, Five Days movie.”
“I agree. Well, considering that we’ve lost almost all of today with truck hijacks, life-altering secrets, and a dramatic homecoming, I think we’ll have three more days to relive that fantasy of yours,” she says coyly.
“Don’t even get me started. I want you every which way in that cab, and there’s nothing that’s going to stop me.”
“Good, that’s what I like to hear,” she replies, not missing a beat.
I stop on the sidewalk and pull her body into mine. “I knew you for five days before you left me for five years. Now I have you, and I will never let you go.” I tilt her chin up and press her lips softly, tasting the peach that melts in my mouth. “I promise.”
***
“You ready for this?” I ask, still gripping the handlebars. Piper’s arms are wrapped around my waist and her helmet is pressed into my back. The cool Wisconsin spring air was unforgiving during the ten minute drive on the Shovelhead. We dropped Cash Money off at V&S to a waiting Viv, who simultaneously slapped and hugged me. She then pulled Piper in for a hug and made a joke about a three-way. I was glad to know I was still one of Viv’s favorites. Viv had the Shovelhead waiting in the warehouse.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Piper replies as she finally releases my waist. “You did it already, so now it’s my turn.” I hold out my hand to steady her as she climbs off the motorcycle. She pulls the helmet off and shakes out her blonde locks before setting it on the seat.
I can’t help but stare at her.
“What?” she asks.
“Just wondering if there’s ever a time when you’re not stunningly beautiful.”
“Yes, and you don’t want to see it,” she laughs and takes my hand. “Let’s do this.”
To most people, cemeteries are depressing and miserable and leave the living with an eerie reminder that their time will someday be up and that they’ll be buried six feet below, long forgotten. But I’ve always liked going to cemeteries, especially this one. It reminds me of the lives that were lived and the people who were loved. Cemeteries remind me that life is worth living. And most of all, this cemetery is where I get to visit the mom I love but don’t remember.
And today, I’m bringing home the love of my life to meet Luella.
We stopped in Chicago on the way back to Appleton so I could meet Piper’s mom, Darlene. I held Piper as she cried and introduced me to her. Darlene was a large gray cross, bigger than most of the headstones in the cemetery, and Piper said that according to her dad, it was because she lived a life more courageous and bigger than anyone he’d ever known. So for Darlene, it was fitting. Piper then told her mom that we were already sleeping together and of course, that we were using protection, and that if she were alive, she would really like me. I told Darlene that Piper was right.
As we get closer to Luella’s headstone, I see someone bent over it. I stop and give Piper a questioning look.
“I couldn’t help myself. I called him when you were pumping diesel. I thought maybe you would want to talk to him before I met Luella. It would make me feel better about meeting her,” she says as she lets go of my hand. “I’ll wait here.”
I nod my head and walk the path to Luella’s grave alone. Big Dave pulls his head up when I’m just a few feet away.
“Cash,” he says softly as he holds out his arms.
“Dad.” I embrace him briefly before I pull away and realize that I’m grateful that I had three days to cool down from the anger and betrayal that overwhelmed me. I could maybe, just maybe talk reasonably about this. “Dad, I…”
“Cash, I know,” he interrupts as tears well in his eyes. “I know how angry you must be. How hurt you must be that I didn’t tell you. Every single day I wondered if I was making the right decision. I wondered when would be a good time to tell you. I just never found the courage to and for that, I’m so ashamed.”
“Dad, I just wish I didn’t find out the way I did. I wish I would have heard it from you.”
“I know, believe me, I know. I didn’t want you to worry,” he said. “I felt like if I told you how she really died, that you would worry about you
r own health. And I …” He stops and inhales deeply, and I know that Big Dave is on the verge of breaking down.
“It’s all right, Dad. It’s all right. We’ll get through this,” I say as I pat his arm.
“It was my fault.” His voice cracks as he tries to finish. “Your mom never should have gotten to the point she was at. She was complaining about headaches, but we both just blamed it on the lack of sleep since you were born. She was nauseous and dizzy, and I didn’t bring her to see someone like I should have. I was too busy and stressed at work to notice that she was falling asleep earlier and earlier every night. I should have been there, but I wasn’t. If I would have brought her in earlier, the tumor wouldn’t have been as deep as it was.” His words are running together now as a tear rolls down his cheek.
“And she shouldn’t have been watching you on her own either, but she insisted that she did. And oh Luella, I never should have left you like that. I’m so sorry. I put you both at risk,” he says as I put my hand on his shoulder. “Cash, I’m so sorry. I left my job then and that’s the reason why I don’t work at some high-paying, stressful job anymore. I left all that behind when Luella left us. It was too late then for her, but I didn’t want it to be too late for you.”
I hug my dad then and let him collapse into my shoulder as the pieces of my life work themselves together. It all makes sense now.
“It’s okay, Dad. You’ve been there for me my whole life. I can’t think of a better dad.”
“When I saw Dr. Sullivan in the principal’s office that day, I felt like all my ghosts were coming back to haunt me after we had made it for so long,” he adds before he clears his throat and pulls away. He looks behind my shoulder, catching the gaze of Piper and nods his head. His voice is stronger now. “But I know that you found the one, just like I knew when I found Luella. The universe has a funny way of working things out.”
“Tell me about it,” I say with a shake of my head. “You are never going to believe everything we went through in the last six days. You’re going to love it. I met Shaman Amy.”
“You met Shaman Amy?”
I nod my head.
“Did you take pictures?”
“We took some pictures,” I laugh. “But you’re not going to believe some of it.”
“Oh, I’ll believe,” he says as he claps my arm. “We’ve got some talking to do, but I’m going to let you two alone for now. I’ll see you at home, okay?”
“Sounds good. I hope you are in for some awkward Christmases and family functions.”
“We’ll work it out,” he says as he walks away. “There you go worrying again. Don’t you worry about Big Dave.”
He stops to give Piper a hug before he waves and disappears down the sidewalk. I hold out my hand as she walks closer. She grabs my hand, and we walk to the headstone together, squeezing each other’s hands tight.
“Luella, I want you to meet Piper Sullivan. This is the girl, but something tells me you already know.”
THE END
About the Author
Raen Smith writes romance and suspense novels with happily ever afters. She lives in a small corner of Wisconsin with her husband and two sons, and loves to be contacted by readers.
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Links to other Books
Suspense Series:
Unraveled #1: House of Steel (FREE)
Unraveled #2: House of Fire
Unraveled #3: House of V
Acknowledgements
A special thank you to my husband, Brandon, for being incredibly supportive and for pushing me to pursue my dreams. I couldn’t have done this – or much else – without you.
Another thank you goes to my two sons, Cole and Holden, who make me laugh, cry, and above all, make me realize that life is short, and we all grow up way too fast.
A special thank you to Stephanie, Reba, Chalyce, Heidi, and Jenny who provided sound advice and feedback on first drafts. Thank you to my editor, Melissa Westemeier, for whipping me into shape.
Thank you Eric Van Handel and Henry Lukaszka for introducing me to the world of trucking. Without your expertise, this story would not have come alive.
Last, thank you to all the readers! Without you, I wouldn’t be able to pursue my dream.
Sneak Peek: Southpaw
A Kelly Black Novella
I fight because I have no other choice. I fight because it’s in my blood.
Given Name: Kelly James Black
Nickname: “The Dude”
Born: Madison, Wisconsin
Age: 24
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 205 lbs
Weight Class: Light Heavyweight
Record: 12-0-0
This is what my bio says in chalk on the blackboard in front of me. The chain-link fencing breaks up some of the words, but I know what it says. I know who I am. I’m “The Dude,” a fighter with a perfect record in an underground fight club run by the finest fraternity at Wisconsin’s most heralded university. In fact, right now I’m in the cement-block basement of a frat house only eight blocks away from the state capitol building. Surrounding me is an open-top cage engineered by some of the most brilliant student minds at UW-Madison, scholars who spend their Tuesday nights waving Jacksons and Grants sucked out of the open-mouth of the ATM just two streets over. Money comes straight out of their trust funds right into my tape-wrapped hands.
By day, I’m a research scientist at a biotech company who goes by the name Kelly Black. My parents bestowed their fourth and final son with a name reserved for the daughter they never had. Inevitably, people anticipate I’m a girl, until they see me of course. Rock hard abs, chiseled jawline, cobalt eyes, bad-ass tattoos, and nine percent body fat. Like I said, there’s no mistake when people see me.
And finally, I’m a Sagittarius with one last thing missing from that bio you might be interested in knowing. Relationship Status: Train wreck.
I’m not particularly proud of the last fact. It was never my intention to have a track record with women that would make the infamous robed Hugh Hefner proud, but in the last six years I have amassed an embarrassing list of women I no longer have the privilege of calling, mentioning, or remembering. It’s not that I sleep with every single female that lays eyes on me; it’s just that I have a strong propensity to serial date and an even tougher inability to commit. Combined with my looks, you have a classic Casanova. Despite what you may think, I don’t want to be an eighty-something-year-old creep trolling around with silicon-enhanced platinum blondes a quarter of my age.
I never meant for my life to turn out the way it is. I don’t plan to take girls home, and I never plan to ditch them the next day. It just happens. My college days were a mixed bag of science labs, beer, beakers, and girls. My post-college days haven’t been much better, although I’ve replaced some of my bar time with time at a boxing gym. It’s just the last part I struggle with: girls.
Nor am I particularly proud of getting into a wire cage to smash in some guy’s face on a Tuesday night for a couple hundred bucks. Becoming a fighter wasn’t a life-long dream of mine. But the fight courses through my veins like oxygen to lungs. It’s an addiction. My therapist, Dr. Deni
se, tells me that physical exertion is therapeutic as long as it’s in a safe, controlled environment. An underground ring probably isn’t the safest choice, but it’s a better choice than the ones I’ve made in the past, which include a hole-in-the-wall bar called The Silver Dollar, a back alley off Doty Street, and the Governor’s Club Suite at the Concourse Hotel. So here I am.
Dr. Denise also tells me I need to get the whole Casanova thing under wraps. She attributes my hamartia to a treatable disorder she’s diagnosed as narcissism. Apparently, I’m plagued with low self-esteem with an exaggerated sense of self-worth. Sounds like a paradox to me. I prefer to self-diagnosis, like 47% of adults with the help of WebMD, and attribute my actions to an extraordinarily high level of testosterone. Despite our varying diagnoses, I see Dr. Denise anyway because her legs are sexy as hell, and she occasionally has a good piece of advice. Like this one. It keeps me out of prison. I’ve never been caged behind bars, and I’ll do anything I can to keep it that way.
So it’s only natural that my head jerks when a woman with ridiculously tight shorts and a shirt – the coverage is so minimal that “shirt” is a questionable term – that exposes her toned stomach walks in front of me. Whistles and cheers erupt from the crowd. Her blonde hair wraps around her shoulders and brushes her breasts as she walks beneath the fluorescent lighting. Her silhouette is cast on the floor, lean with a slight curve, and moves toward me. I assess her black high heels, the sheen of her legs, and the pair of shorts hugging her thighs with no restraint. Before I can finish studying this never-before-seen ring girl, an elbow jabs into my ribs.
“Focus, Kelly.”
It’s Piper Sullivan: friend, roommate, cage-side assistant, and voice of reason extraordinaire. As much as I want to tell her to go to hell, I know she’s right. I’ve got to focus on the guy on the other side of the cage, Jax “No Crier” Beyer. I’ve seen him at Rocco’s Gym a few times. He can throw a mean right hook, he reeks of diesel, and his hands are always smudged with grease. I don’t want some meathead like Jax ruining my record or my face just because I can’t get some girl’s legs out of my head.