Slowly, she became aware he had stopped talking and she had begun crying, somewhere in the middle of his words. Those words that underscored the thought that she had found something worth holding onto. “I love him,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he whispered back, just as softly. “That’s clear. And he loves you, too. You just gotta keep letting him in.”
“I want to fix him.” Her words were scarcely loud enough to be heard, but he nodded slowly, eyes locked to hers. Even through her tears she could still see the caring he wore like a shield. “I want to keep him. All the time. He’s in my whole life. I won’t throw that away.”
“Even if you tried, I suspect he wouldn’t go far,” Sammy said, and she watched as the beauty of his smile broke across his face. “One phone call away.”
“What do I say?”
“Start with hello,” he advised and then grinned. “See where that takes you.”
Kids are kids
Faith
“God.” Staring at the ceiling, Faith started counting squares again. She’d been trying to ignore the slamming and shouting from the kitchen for the past half an hour, unsuccessfully. Scooting up in the bed, she leaned against the headboard and sighed, settling her tablet on her lap.
“Faynez, come here.” Sammy was yelling at her again, for the third time in twenty minutes. “I need your help.”
“You need help,” she muttered in quiet agreement, angling forwards and fluffing her pillow before leaning back. Lifting her voice, she shouted back, “Tell me again why you’re here?”
“Because Dad had club business out of state, and you’re just a wee, bitty baby who can’t be trusted to stay on her own.” His voice had grown in volume as he spoke, coming closer with every word. “So I had to promise to be here and keep the teenaged partying under control, or at least to a minimum.” Three sharp raps on her door, then the doorknob turned. Halfway. The wood bowed in as if he’d leaned against it, expecting it to open. “Hey,” he sounded genuinely aggrieved. “Why’s your door locked?”
“Because I’m tired of you just walking in and flopping on my bed.” She touched the edge of the tablet to bring up the e-reader program. “I’m reading, brother dearest. Not doing keg stands or playing spin the bottle with the dozens of boyfriends I’ve got stashed under my bed.” She located her book and tapped the cover, snuggling back against the pillow. “So you’re safe from having to deal with me tonight. Go and chat with your groupies. I’m sure you can have a heavy sexting session going on in less than five minutes if you’re bored.”
“But I’m am bored.” Her doorknob clicked and Faith angled her gaze that direction in time to see it turn fully. “And hungry, so I made food. But I can’t find placemats for the table. And I don’t flop.” Her door opened and Sammy stuck his head into the gap, broad grin firmly fixed into place. “Found you.” He chortled and pushed the door wide, coming in and standing next to her bed. She barely got her feet and legs out of the way before he flung himself backwards, bouncing the mattress and jostling her. “You can’t hide from me, Faynez.” He gave her a mock glare. “I’ll always find you. I’m the best at hide and seek, always have been.”
“Undefeated champion, I know.” She shook her head. “That just then? That was you flopping, just for the record.” His glare turned to a grin. “Placemats are in the cabinet beside the oven.” She sniffed. “What did you make? I can’t smell anything from here.” Sniffing again, she gave up on reading and turned the tablet off, setting it on the nightstand. It beeped when it synced with the charging pad and she rolled back to see Sammy staring at her computer.
“Who’s that?” He sat up and Faith scrambled to get off the bed first, launching herself and racing him to the desk. He grappled for control of the mouse for a moment but gave up when she gave a cry of pain at how his fingers clamped down hard on hers. She closed the window just as he leaned close to read, lips moving. Straightening, he turned a steely gaze on her, and Faith watched as his face transformed, changing from the sweet and loving brother she’d known all her life, to a hard and distant man who radiated anger. “Who the fuck was that?” All elements of play had left his voice, too, and she shivered at the raking edge of command in his tone. This was the hockey captain, the team leader, and a man who expected answers when he asked questions. For all he didn’t share genetics with their dad, Sammy sure seemed the spitting image of him when he was like this. “Not asking to hear my own voice here, Faith Inez.” His lips pursed and she saw a muscle pulse in his jaw for a moment. “Who the fuck was that you were chatting with?”
“Ohhh, he brought out my full name. Should I be scared, Samuel Isaiah?” She went through the motions of shutting down the computer manually, not trusting her voice not to shake if she used voice commands. “He’s Nonya, if you have to know.”
“Nonya? What the fuck kind of fucked up name is that?” Sammy turned to glare at the empty screen. “Nonya?”
“Nonya Business.” Faith rolled her eyes when Sammy swung to snarl at her. “Seriously, Sammy. Who I chat with isn’t any of your business. It’s not like I invited him over to meet the fam or anything.” She sniffed again, any odors of his cooking still eluding her. “What did you cook? I don’t smell anything.”
“Cereal. And it’s probably soggy by now. You’re welcome.” He brushed past her and paused in the doorway. “Dad know you’re talking to a guy in college? Oh, yeah,”—he mocked her shocked face, pulling his mouth into a perfect O as he plastered his palms to his cheeks—“I read that part, him talking about classes and parties. I also—” He turned back to face her. “—read what you wrote him back. Don’t be thinking you can head over to campus and just hang out in his dorm room, Faynez. Because a man like that? He’s not interested in just hanging out with a little girl like you. Man like that? He’s got one thing on his mind.”
“Man like that?” She imitated his growling tone and shook her head. “What does that even mean? You saw his picture and read like two lines of an hours-long conversation.” His gaze sharpened and she kicked herself for giving him that much. She would have to uninstall the chat app or he’d be in her computer and try to get at the history. I do not want him reading parts of that. Faith felt her cheeks get warm. “He’s just someone to blow off steam with from the safety of my room, Sammy. I’m not planning on meeting him anywhere.” She hoped he didn’t hear the lie in her words, quickly pushing past into safer territory. “Back down, bruiser. Nobody to whomp on here. It’s nothing, Sammy. Just a chat.” She walked towards him, stymied for a moment when he didn’t move. She shoved at his shoulder and only succeeded in rocking herself backwards in place. “Jesus, Sammy, move already. You made cereal. Let’s go eat before it really is ruined. Did you want to watch a movie? You said you were bored, right?”
“I know what you’re doing, you know.” He shook his head and glared back at the computer for a moment before walking out of her bedroom. “I’m going to regret it, but I’m letting you get away with it this time.”
“Because you’re the best big brother a person could have.” She pushed past him into the hallway and turned, walking backwards towards the kitchen. “The best.”
“Yeah, yeah. Flattery won’t get you any points with me. I’m immune.” He studied her for a moment, his gaze severe. “You won’t do anything stupid, right? You’re smarter than that, and I know it. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid and I won’t tell Dad.”
“I won’t do anything stupid,” she told him quickly, covering her heart with one palm. “Promise.”
***
Sammy
The movie Faynez had picked out droned on in the background, but Sammy hadn’t paid attention beyond what it took to get his sister involved in the drama playing out on the screen. The screen of his phone lit up and he cut a quick glance at her to ensure she was still focused on the TV before he pulled it to where he could see.
I’ll see what I can do.
That was a response from Myron to the text Sammy had s
ent more than an hour ago.
Faynez thought she was being so slick with her distractions and pulling Sammy from the room. But, he’d seen enough. A man, not a boy, had been texting with her, commiserating with some made-up complaint she had about feeling stifled living here. What the fuck kind of name is Drago, anyway? The brief glimpse Sammy had of the conversation had his hackles up, but he knew his sister. If he pushed it now, she would withdraw and cover her tracks so neither he nor their dad would have any real idea of what’d been going on.
I wish Mama were here. He let the sadness that thought carried with it roll over him for a moment. It was something he wished for every day, every hour sometimes. Not meant to be. Gritting his teeth until the bones of his jaw ached, he stifled the pain that was never far below the surface. Sometimes it was best to address it head-on, and he ran his schedule for tomorrow through his head.
Mandatory skate in the morning, then conditioning for four hours, but at least there wasn’t a game. That meant after five or six in the evening he’d be free. It’s been too long, he thought, and settled deeper into the couch cushions, waiting. When the ending credits started rolling, he let Faynez slip in a couple of fake-as-fuck yawns, then he pounced.
“Be here at six tomorrow night. We’ll do dinner, then go see Mom.” Her head whipped towards him and he knew he’d been right. She had something planned on the sly, and it wasn’t going to happen on his watch. “I haven’t been out there in too long, and I miss her. Want my Faynez with me when I go.” He held back a scowl as she glanced at the hallway before nodding. At least the guilt trip worked.
His phone vibrated soundlessly again and he glanced down to see a new message from Myron.
I can’t look at it for a couple of days, but I’ve pulled a backup. Even if she deletes it, I’ve got whatever’s on there now.
Faynez pushed to her feet and stretched, then fake-yawned again. “I’m headed to bed. I’ll read for a bit, but I’m tired. See you tomorrow.”
“Six, be here.”
She nodded. “Will do, brother of mine.”
“Love you, Faynez.” He reached out and gripped her hand, giving it a squeeze, hoping she’d take that with her so he could be the angel on her shoulder when that computer screen called her name.
She squeezed back and smiled down at him. God, so pretty. She looked just like their mother, and he caught his breath at the grief that ripped through him. “Love you, too.”
He let her stroll up the hallway before he picked up the phone and tapped a message back to Myron. Thanks. Let me know if there’s anything to worry about. He paused, then sent another message. Don’t tell Dad yet. Let’s see what trouble she’s into.
Myron sent back a single letter, but the Y blinking at him from the screen was both a message received and agreement to keep the peace for now.
***
Faith
Easing the door closed, Faith waited a moment before she locked it. She listened intently to be certain Sammy wasn’t coming to harass her again, because that was just how he rolled. She wasn’t stupid by any means, and knew dropping the topic of the chat he’d seen earlier was just Sammy biding his time. He would wait, let her get comfortable, make her think he’d forgotten everything, and then ambush her.
Time to take things into my own hands.
With a trembling finger, she touched the button and booted the computer up. Waiting through the cycle was torture, even though logically she knew it was fast. Moments later she was staring at the screen. Faith gave Sammy’s anger one final thought, and then shook her head. He doesn’t run my life. Two clicks later, she’d launched the chat software and an active window was already blinking across the bottom. She touched the bar and it filled the screen with message after message from Drago.
Even as she stared at them, trying to read quickly and still make sense of it all another message slid into place at the top of the window.
Faith, baby? Are you there?
Are you mad at me?
Faith, not Faynez. She liked that even after she’d told him of the baby name her family had given her, he’d never used it. Not once. She was always Faith to him. And him adding baby? She sighed.
Positioning her hands over the keyboard, she slowly typed out her answer. Once she began to tell him the story of her evening, she took a deep breath, pushing down her traitorous feelings at doing something she knew her brother didn’t want.
They carried on, chatting deep into the night, Faith pausing at intervals so he could respond, smiling at how perfect those responses were. How much he got her. Drago just understood everything about her.
Baby. Just the one word made her throat close tightly and she swallowed hard against threatening tears. What can I do?
She told him, and the broadly smiling emoji he sent in response was answer enough.
***
Hoss
The music from the stage swelled louder and spilled over into the narrow strip between the food vendors and up into the campgrounds. This meant the Rebels could sit around their fire and enjoy the band without having to deal with patch chasers down in the crowds. Hoss had decided early on that their attention wasn’t something he’d ever missed, and the next drunk woman who tried to grab his junk might just lose a hand.
Part of it was having an internationally dominant club at the event, which had typically been attended by only local clubs in the past. Many of the local riders had been nearly as starstruck as the club whores for the first few days. Starstruck, or afraid. He snorted. You’d think they expected the Rebels to roll in with guns blazing, machetes at their hips, and movie stars riding bitch.
Occupy Yourself finished their current song, and he gripped the edge of his plastic cup in his teeth so he could applaud with the crowd. The band swung into their next number, and he watched as onstage Chase, Mason’s oldest son, stepped forwards to the edge of the platform, put his foot on a monitor, and ripped into a solo that had the crowd roaring approval. Benny, the band’s lead singer and Slate’s baby brother, stood back by the drum kit chugging a bottle of water.
Last night at dinner, Benny had spun stories of the road that had most of the men shaking their heads, recognizing the tough struggle the band still had to retain their hold on the charts and in popularity. Over the years, their bookings had gone from small, intimate bars to arenas, back to bars, and now they were on the upswing again. Part and parcel of a band, because their sound had to morph with the times while riding the edge of familiar to keep the older fans. There was a science to it, and Hoss had watched as Mason and Bethany had chimed in, showing off their expertise in the area, gained in their years of owning a recording company. He snorted. Iron Indian Records, even the name of the business told part of Mason’s history.
Movement from the side pulled his attention and he watched as Blackie, president of the Freed Riders, stalked up to their camp. He was alone, and that pulled at Hoss’ radar, because up to now every time he’d seen the biker, the man’s old lady had been with him, Peaches. Slate and Peaches had a history Hoss didn’t understand, but Blackie didn’t seem bothered by it. If I knew a man who’d been with Cassie before, I’d sooner kill him before I’d shake his hand. He blew out a huff of air at the thought. “Blackie,” he greeted, receiving a nod in response.
“Good crowd.” Blackie’s voice was deep and gravel-filled, but his expression didn’t match the pleased tone of his words. “Nice turnout for your boys.”
“It is. You Texans know how to put on a hella party, my friend.” He grinned and tried on a drawl he’d lost over the years. “Y’all southerners got taste in music ’n friends.”
Blackie flashed a smile at him, white teeth parting a dark beard generously speckled with gray. “Fuck yeah, we do. You’re Alabama, right?” Hoss nodded. “That’ll do.” Blackie turned towards the stage and the men stood, side by side, listening through the next song. Once applause broke out again, Blackie glanced at him. “I got a question.”
“Figured as much.” Hoss waited.
“Duck’s boy, you know him? You seen him around?”
Uh, oh. “A bit ago. You need Eli for somethin’?” Hoss had seen the boy walking through the crowd earlier with his arm around Blackie’s oldest daughter, but as far as he’d known, they’d been a matched pair for years.
“No, need to talk to someone who knows kids.” Blackie stared at him. “Someone who knows about takin’ on a kid that’s not yours.”
Hoss’ stomach rolled and he deliberately unclenched his fists, fighting against the instant aggression flooding his veins. “Gonna stop you right there, Blackie. If you’re talkin’ about Sammy, then you should know by now that he’s mine, full stop. His momma brought him into my life and he’s never walked back out.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t always your boy. And my question ain’t about you carin’ for him. That’s always been clear as glass that there weren’t no differences between your son and daughter when it came to you. But does he talk about before? Does he have questions?” Blackie’s brow was furrowed and tight, and he frowned when Hoss shook his head. “Never? Fuck.” His chin dipped and he glared at the ground in front of his boots.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Hoss shrugged. “Maybe I’ll be able to line up some dots for you.”
“My old lady, Peaches…see, our oldest kid isn’t biologically mine. Peaches was preggers when she came back to me, and Randi’s never known anything other than our family, you know?” Hoss nodded. “But she knows, somehow, someone told her last year, and it’s eating her insides out. If I knew who it was, I’d fuckin’ pound ’em, but I don’t, which leaves me dealin’ with the fallout.” He lifted his gaze and stared at Hoss, his expression pained and earnest. “She’s mine, like Sammy’s yours. In my heart and soul there ain’t no difference between her and any of our other kids. Mine were the first hands on her body, and the first arms that held her. She’s always been mine. But now, she’s rockin’ along with this wounded look on her face because she feels less than because it weren’t my spunk that made her.”
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