If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel

by Kimber S. Dawn

  “Shi—Shoot! I’m sorry, Grams!” I clasp my hands together before setting them in my lap. “But can you freaking step on it already?” I glance over my shoulder to see if she can get over. “Here. You can get over. Take this exit—” It passes when she speeds up the more I chatter.

  Okay, I may be slightly nervous. This hasn’t exactly been on the top of my agenda. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. “Grams, I can drive. Remember? Got my permit just yesterday. After school?”

  I watch as her brows furrow, and she flips her blinker on, scooting up in her seat, closer to the steering wheel. And I can’t help it, I giggle at her as she rants. “No way in hell you’re driving in this crazy traffic. I don’t know which is worse, Miami or New York City. But damn, if I hope it ain’t better in Jersey.” She cuts her eyes over at me before narrowing them on mine. “You can stop that damn laughing, too, Evie May. I may be old, but I’m still rocking this boat.” She gets over into the other lane after waiting in the one we were in with her blinker on for the last five minutes. And thankfully, it’s in enough time to take the exit, headed for the Jersey turnpike.

  The closer we get the more my stomach knots with nervousness.

  Beside the few letters Eden I exchanged while I was in Chicago, before the bus station incident, I haven’t spoken to her. Grams said she gave Mom our address, and had her give it to Eden once we got settled on Rau Street, but Eden never made contact. She never reached out to me.

  Pulling at the strings of my cutoff shorts, much like my sad thoughts are starting to pull at my heartstrings, I accidently let my wandering, pointless thoughts stumble from my mouth. “Wonder why Eden never tried to call or write.”

  “Wonder why Eve never tried to call or write. Don’t be so stubborn, Evie. You have just as much fault for not keeping in touch with your sister as she does. Don’t start pointing fingers, sweet pea. Even though it hurts.”

  “I did try—” But there’s no point, so I shut my mouth and glance back out the passenger side window. But I did try. I wrote...countless fucking letters to both Mom and Eden. I even wrote them and sent them through Donna a few times, thinking I hadn’t gotten a response because I had the address wrong or something. But no, the one time Donna did write me when I was in juvy, she let me know two things: She never wanted to hear from me again, because of what a disappointment I was, and that that was my mother’s correct address.

  I knew then I’d headed for the right place when I was fourteen. I just got worried and let greed mess my whole plan up. I had the address the whole time. But I was so worried when I showed up that it’d be a stranger answering my mother’s door and then I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. I wrote them both every day for the first six months I was in that hell, in the same town they were in.

  And nothing. Not a single word. Not a single letter. Not one phone call. Until Grams showed up and saved the day. Animosity? Nooo. What animosity? Are you kidding me? This is going to be a walk in the park! Oh, no wait—she didn’t show up for that one.

  Maybe she’ll show up for the walk through the zoo. Since this is where this meeting is supposed to be taking place.

  Animosity? Pfft. No, and that’s not a chip on my shoulder.

  ***

  Eden looks...different. Shit, she looks just...like...me. Which is odd seeing how neither of us has seen each other since before we were ten, but still we ended up looking almost exactly alike. Guess we were more like twins than they thought. Take that, Mrs. Brown.

  My mother looks different, but the same. She looks sad. And tired. And when her eyes land on mine and they smile—I feel the first little fissure splinter in my ironclad resolve and intentions. I don’t love my mother. I can’t love my mother. And I won’t love my mother. Because all she has ever done is break my heart. And you can’t break what’s already broken.

  Remember? This is her fault. I was the child. All she ever had to do was just come and fucking get me!

  Somehow, some-damn-way, I keep my voice even and my face passive when we’re close enough and alone enough to speak under the garden canopies. And I’m even more proud of myself, because I speak first. See there? Who’s the adult here now?

  The lush green ivy and flowers curl up and around the wrought iron lattice creating a world inside another, where hummingbirds and butterflies and lightning bugs huddle in masses around all the trees, ferns and shrubbery. And while I clocked all of this in my peripheral, I didn’t react to it. I didn’t let the setting of this fake ass meet and greet persuade my feelings. I just stepped up, with Grams at my side, smiled like there was no such thing as world hunger, and then I said, “Hi.”

  Yeah, that was about it. I was trying so hard to look like I was okay on the outside, and I forgot to double check on the inside that I was. Didn’t get my ducks lined up. Or my speech. But thankfully, Grams picks up where I completely and horribly let off.

  “Ilsa. Eden. How’ve you been, sweethearts? I love the idea of meeting here. Who’s idea was that? It’s beautiful.” She looks around briefly before settling her eyes on my mom’s. “Ilsa, honey, you have some explaining to do. And you’re not gonna like it one bit. Girls, go play.” And that’s that. Ilsa and Grams step off to the side under a low hanging enormous tree that has no business living indoors, and Eden and I scoot off down a hidden path under more hanging trees.

  It takes us both a while of walking before either of us speaks, then when we do, it’s at the same time. But I motion for her to go ahead, attempting to turn over that new leaf Ty keeps reminding me about.

  “I’ve missed you like crazy. I’ve written you, like a hundred times. Did you not get them? Any of them?” my sister asks.

  My Chucks would probably have squeaked if we weren’t walking on the soft ground and soil all the plants in the room were rooted in when my footsteps cease. “Did I get them? No. Did you get mine? Where have y’all even fucking been? Excuse my language, I’ve been away from mother. And I’m ill-informed. Sue me.” I roll my eyes before moving to walk around her. But not too fast. I’m pissed, but I also still want information. Thankfully it only takes a few seconds before I hear her feet falling into step behind mine.

  “I haven’t been with Mom this whole time. My dad—I had to go stay with him for a long time. After Chicago. And every time Mom got me back after that, she was trying to get you back too. Why are you so angry? We were trying to get to you, just like you were trying to get to us. What’s Grams told you? Whatever it is, don’t believe it.”

  Well that was more information than I expected...and so quickly. It’s odd, but I feel a measure of pride swell when I realize my sister’s grown up so much. But I’m still pissed. And looking for more answers. There’s never enough answers. “Don’t believe her? And why? She was the only one who even came. Do you even know where I was? Does Mom? I’ve been in hell! At least the two of you have had each other! I’ve had no one!” I know what I’m doing. I know I’m doing exactly what Grams told me not to, but I can’t help it. This fucking hurts, so much more. Damn it, I underestimated it.

  I didn’t think you could hurt an already damn broken heart. But shit! I was wrong!

  “She’s old and senile, Eve. Mom has been trying. I don’t care what that woman or the snakes in her head have told you—she never stopped trying.”

  I spin, flying around until I’m pinning her eyes with mine. I’m grabbing words quicker than I think them to spit at my sister. My twin. Or so I’d thought for half my short life. But before I can even say them, I feel my chin quiver—and curse myself just before falling apart. “Fuck,” I mutter as the tears fall, streaming down my face.

  I slump half on and half off a little toadstool stool for two, and Eden is there instantly, wrapping her frail arms around me. “Shh. I’m sorry. Eve, I’m sorry. Can we just be sisters right now, okay? Can you just be my sister right now? I’ve fucking missed you so much.” When I feel her tears soak through her long dark hair curtaining us before rolling down my shoulder, I feel something that can only be desc
ribed as fear and restraint release.

  The binds of my sad childhood, the binds created by fear and loneliness, and timeless hours of self-hatred and solitude let go of their strong hold on my teenage heart. And for the first time in a long time, I feel my sister again.

  And no, I know it doesn’t make any sense when I explain it that way, but that’s the only way I know how. I still can’t explain what happened to it in the first place, what happened to that feeling of knowing you belong to a family. It was just there one day—and then it wasn’t. Nothing happened. There wasn’t any one thing I did wrong or bad, I just thought I belonged to a family one day. And the next day, I didn’t.

  When Eden pulls away, she blinks and I see the only difference between us most people would miss. Especially these days. I comb my fingers through her hair as her blue eyes smile into my brown ones, and I sift a handful of it out to the side and match it to mine, “When did you do this? I like it.” I chuckle around the tears and snot.

  After she does the same, she grabs some Kleenex from her purse and hands me one before wiping her own tears away. “I didn’t. When I hit puberty it turned dark. Like yours and Mom’s, I guess.” She shrugs. “Did you know the night you ran away? The night before you got caught at the train station, I’d run away to Chicago? With my boyfriend at the time. We came to get you.” Her chuckle turns into a laugh, but not mine. I stop laughing all together. Mainly because the air in my chest has ceased to exist.

  “You what?” I mouth. I don’t even think the words were actually spoken. And she just chuckles harder.

  “Yup. Me and Ben. We’ve been on and off for… God. For forever. He’s supposed to be coming in town today, too.” She glances at her watch, but time, or its measure, is the furthest thing from importance.

  “You came for me?” I whisper. And my heart, if it swells any more in this damn tight chest of mine, it’s gonna shatter its cage. “Why? Wait. Train station?” That part of her declaration filters and sticks, finally.

  “Yeah. Train station. When we were fourteen.”

  I shake my head. “But it was at the bus station. In New York. I was in New York,” I clarify. But she’s not getting it.

  “Okay, then bus station. Whatever.” She stands from where we were sitting and pulls my hands until I’m standing too. “Come on. Let’s go find something to eat, or a souvenir shop.”

  Unfortunately, the eleven months Eden lacks next to me and my years of differing life experiences keeps the remainder of our conversation pretty superficial. Consisting mostly of her, her friends, and her new school. And of course her soul mate, Bentley Cain.

  I do hold my own, and mention Lauryn and Ty, and how Grams just took me to get my permit yesterday.

  “Holy cow! That’s awesome! And you just have to have another driver in the car with a license, and it’s legal for you to drive? What if the other person is drunk off their ass?” She laughs, and I start to chuckle, thinking of Grams drunk.

  “I guess. I don’t know.” We’re nearly in stitches when we round the corner and catch Grams standing over Ilsa, crying on the same bench we left them on over an hour ago.

  When Ilsa looks up, I see tears in her eyes. “You need to tell her, Ilsa May Blakeney. If anyone deserves to know it’s her. Hell, he’s her daddy. Even if he does run the club down there. Unlike you, I don’t burn bridges. I keep in touch with at least some people from my past. Otherwise the past’ll bite ya on the ass.”

  “Oh, shit,” Eden mutters as we step forward. When Grams looks over her shoulder at us she falls into step behind me. “Here goes.”

  “No shit. Here goes,” I quietly whisper in response before leading the way back to the adults.

  ***

  I know a bad idea when I’m presented with one, and now after the time I spent being punished for mentally saying fuck it when faced with a bad idea—Well, now it’s no one’s damn fault but my own.

  When Eden mentioned it to L and Ty, a few hours after an awkward supper with Grams and Mom while we shared a cigarette outside of Ty’s, waiting for him to finish supper and come outside—I knew it was a bad idea. How, you may ask? Because the damn hair on my neck and arms stood up.

  I flicked the cigarette L and I were puffing on into the same bushes I flick into every morning, and stood from the curb, kicking gravel like a dimwit. “Guys, I dunno. Bikers? We don’t know any bikers. I don’t particularly favor their kind, usually. Or their stereotypical thug in leather look they have going on.”

  Ty scoffs as he steps off his bottom stoop before throwing his hands above his head. “Oh for the love of the gods. What’s wrong with this child?” He turns quickly, looking between me and the other two girls, and when his hands land on the top of my shoulders he looks at me like he’s looking at a toddler. “Bikers are sexy. As fuck. And Ty is…” He looks around at the other two teenage girls who are hopping in place, they’re so excited.

  “Fly! Ty is Fly!” they shout in unison.

  “Right, and Ty needs to hang out with some fly motherfuckers. Especially after that lame ass party of Brad’s last night! And, baby, who is finer than the damn bikers who’ve been running their bikes up and down my street all damn week?”

  I look every one of them directly in the eyes. And I tell them. I tell them, every single one. “Okay, we’re going. But this…” I point to the ground. “Mark my words; this is a bad fucking idea.”

  The party the night before, for the most part, went off without a hitch. While Uncle Chase did not attend, Bentley called, and I told him exactly what Pops wanted me to say. Then he headed over right after, and after talking for over an hour and a half in the steeple, me, Pops, and Ben all hung out. We talked through most of the issues, heard Ben’s approach on his father's actions, which mirror mine and Pops’. And thankfully, I’m pretty sure we got all our shit ironed out.

  I smile, and for probably the first time I can remember, when I rouse fully awake the next morning, I reach out, trying to cuddle with my little partner from last night. And that’s when the mild headache begins creeping in. Holy shit, I was lit last night.

  I don’t even fucking remember who it is, nor do I care. Well, wait—I crack my eyelids, even though it’s dark. But I can still see enough of her. Whew. Dark hair, okay. It’s not Roxy. My smile widens as I scooch, spooning closer to the little bit in my bed.

  “Fuck, come here, girl. I’m trying to cuddle.” My voice is gruff as hell and I chuckle when she wiggles her butt against my growing erection and begins to squirm. “Come here, you little pipsqueak.” I laugh, pulling her entirely on top of me, front to front. I can hardly make out her profile, but what I can see is fucking gorgeous. “Hey, you.” I kiss the tip of her nose as her arms circle my neck.

  I love sleeping nude. It’s fucking awesome. And I think the rest of the world could take a page from my book and start sleeping that way. Actually, just make a rule that crosses all rules: No clothes in bed. It’d make the world a much more peaceful place, I promise.

  My headache is completely forgotten, especially when it dawns on me that we’re still skin to skin from last night. And fuck does she feel good against me. I feel my cock settle in the v between her legs, and smile with my lips against hers.

  Her mouth is sweet. And warm. God, it feels so good. A guttural groan crawls from my throat and spills into hers as she opens, granting me more access. “You taste so sweet.” My hands cupping her face reach down around her waist and pull her completely up on top of me, until she’s straddling me. And the shit that’s spewing from my mouth, I have no idea where the fuck it’s coming from, but I can’t stop it. “It’s like I don’t want to fucking touch you too much.” Her mouth comes back down to mine, shutting me up, but only briefly. “Shit, you’re gonna drive me crazy, aren’t you, baby?” I ask. Like a fucking idiot.

  When I feel her warm cunt soak my cock, I grunt before shoving myself against her. “Shit, you’re so wet.” Her body moves on top of mine, and in seconds, we’re in sync. Our total rhythm. I can’
t keep my hands off her. It’s like my palms can’t feel enough of her flesh fucking fast enough. I want her. All of her. All over me. Now.

  When her thighs, gripping the shit out of my hips, begin shaking, quivering—I notice her labored breathing and hesitate for just a brief second before reaching both my hands down to where she’s rocking herself against me. And after placing one palm behind her, and the other flat on her abdomen, I hold her still.

  And I can’t fucking tell you why. I just did it. I just said, “Breathe, sweetheart. I need you to breathe.” I feel her face nod against mine, but I can’t see her. I can only hear her breathing slowly, underneath all her fucking dark hair surrounding us. “That’s a good girl.” I slowly shift my hand on her abdomen until my thumb can just barely brush the top of her clit. “Now, rock. Little lamb, rock.” I grunt when she moves slightly, then I have to tense my abdomen muscles, flexing the fuck out of them to keep myself in check while she finds her pace. And I’m not even inside her!

  When I feel her legs tense, just before she slides forward a second time, I brush my thumb harder against her clit and it positions the head of my cock just so—that the tip slips in with every one of her rocks forward. And for a guy that’s never EVER been anywhere bareback? Holy fuck, I almost explode the first three tiny strokes.

  I go to stop her. I mean, I shift. I move, to move...I think about taking my hands off her.

  I do. But somewhere between moving my hands from where they are bracing her on her front and on her back, and looking up and seeing her silhouette in the dark room as she leans back and starts rocking, tits pointed to the heavens, and she’s earnestly rocking like her little life depends on it, my damn hands still. They stay right where they are, and the words in my throat fucking die.

  Her legs are quivering when she leans back over me. “I want you. I’ve wanted you—for fucking ever, Jacques.” Her husky voice whispers against my ear and a second later her tongue dips into it.