by Cat Porter
“I’m not jealous of Stephan! I didn’t do anything on purpose, Ma! I didn’t.”
“No, everything just happens to you, doesn’t it? When are you going to learn that everything you do in this life has consequences? Do you even know the meaning of that word? I don’t think you do. Your alcohol level was sky high, as usual. All you ever think about is your good time. Your brother went all the way out there to get you, to make sure you’d get home in one piece. And now—” Her voice broke again. “I can’t even look at you right now!”
Her bright blue eyes, the color of the sky, the ones she’d given me, were full of strain and anger, a raging ocean. All of it for me. Her blonde hair, something else she’d given me, was pulled out of her usually neat ponytail. Our obvious visible connections didn’t matter right now. Now, we were disconnected, divided, detached.
Mom collapsed in my father’s arms.
Dad’s watery eyes slid to mine. “You need to leave.”
“You need to leave,” my father had said.
“You need to leave,” my mentor and friend had said.
“You need to leave,” two of my presidents had said.
Dad, Dig, Buck, my first prez, and Jump had all been right. Their disappointment in me had been deserved.
“I can’t even look at you right now.”
My mother’s words still stung. The others had said as much to me at one point or another.
Now, here was living proof that I was still riding the Fuck-Up train.
I wrapped my arms around myself and leaned over on my knees. Tania was in a heated discussion with Finger. Now, they all knew about the baby.
And me?
I glanced at Tania, her big dark eyes blazing with emotion as she listened to whatever Finger was telling her. I felt so far away from her at this very moment, as if the secret police were yanking me in the opposite direction and throwing me in a Soviet Bloc country with no visa, no return ticket. Doomed. But, of course, no one was forcing me, making me do anything. This was all on me.
No, Tania was better off without me. She had to be. Without me as a friend, without me as a lover.
Without me.
ALICIA WAS STOIC.
Her eyes were glassy and red. But she wasn’t a mess. Maybe, as an old lady, she had been preparing for this moment for years. Probably. Her and Jump’s son, Wes, stood at her side before the open grave. A legion of bikers had arrived in a long procession through town. A solemn sea of black leather was in attendance at Rock Hills Cemetery on the outskirts of Meager, all these many men paying their final respects to the president of the One-Eyed Jacks, honoring their brotherhood.
Jump’s death was a shock to everyone. He’d been a part of the club since before Dig and Boner had arrived over two decades ago and an officer early in his career. Add him to the list of outlaw casualties.
The wind had picked up, and I wiped the hair from my face. The men took turns with a shovel, filling in the grave with earth. The service concluded, and the club members who remained, talked in sullen tones over Jump’s open grave. Butler, Boner, Kicker, Dready, and Judge, the president of the North Dakota Jacks, were in the center of the throng, hugging and fist bumping with brothers, all of their faces grim.
I hugged Alicia. I touched Wes’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, his gaze darting away from me. His face was grim, pale. The boy’s once easygoing demeanor was gone, and in its place was etched a tense scowl. A rigid tension kept him standing at his father’s funeral. He was a rock for his mother, for his father’s club.
“I lost my dad unexpectedly when I was a teenager, Wes, and I understand. I’m very sorry.”
He only nodded.
I strolled across the rolling green lawn to where my heart drew me.
“Hey, Daddy,” I said, my voice low.
The granite was still clean and fresh, even after all these years—thirty, to be exact. Thirty years without his honking laugh, him yelling at the television over college football and basketball, him grabbing Mom in the kitchen in great big bear hugs.
He’d throw my brother high into the air, and I’d yell, “Dad! Stop! He’s going to throw up!”
But he and Drew would only laugh.
Dad had made a face when he caught me putting on makeup the first time. Had it been discomfort, embarrassment? I’d been twelve, going on thirteen, and I’d just gotten my period.
“You’re slipping away from me, sugar cube. Growing up fast. Pretty soon, you won’t want to hang out with your daddy no more.”
“Oh, Dad!” I rolled my eyes at him.
But he was right.
I’d loved helping him on the farm and watching football with him. But I’d started spending hours yammering on the telephone with Grace and our girls or had my nose stuck in a book or a magazine rather than helping out on the farm as much as I used to. I was daddy’s girl. We would go into Rapid to his favorite sporting goods store, or go out for barbecue and root beer on his rare free Saturdays, just the two of us. He’d love to go fishing on the lake, or out on his cousin’s boat, or—
There was only a slab of granite now. My hand slid over the smooth stone engraved with our family name in big solemn letters.
“Love you, Daddy.” The breeze carried my hoarse whisper in the air over his tombstone.
“Hey.” A hand swept up my back. Grace’s hazel eyes were golden green in the sunlight.
“Hi. How’s it going?”
“It’s going.”
I slung an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “This is terrible.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Things must be nuts now. I’m worried about you and the baby.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“Is there going to be a war or something?”
“I hope not, but there could be.”
“Who’s president now?”
“Kicker is until they can sit down and vote. Right now, they need to find out who did this and why.”
“Why would someone want to target Nina?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, Tania?” Butler asked me.
Standing in the doorway of his apartment in town, on the second floor of an old two family house, my rehearsed little speech flitted out of my brain like a balloon caught in the jet stream.
“I just—”
His full lips twisted into a smirk. An adorable smirk.
A noise escaped the back of my throat, my shoulders dropping. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I saw you at the funeral this morning, but I didn’t get a chance to say hello.”
I needed to make sure he was okay. We were friends. He’d listened to my tales of woe, so I could be there for him now.
Simple.
I stared at him in his ripped pale blue jeans, barefoot, a white V-neck T-shirt that showed off the taut contours of his chest and arms. The dark golden scruff along his chin, along the blunt angle of his jaw, emphasized his usual rough and tumble appearance.
Not so simple.
“Things are crazy right now,” he said.
“I’ll bet.”
“I just got back from the club. Big crowd still there. My head was killing me, and I needed a breather.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t want to interrupt your quiet time, then. You must be exhausted.”
“You’re not interrupting. It’s good to see you.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I don’t know if I can answer that right now,” he said, his voice husky.
“You don’t have to.” I held up the canvas tote bag I was carrying with the loaded glass containers. “All you have to do is eat.”
“What’s that?”
“Homemade food. Roast beef topped with really good Grandma’s secret recipe gravy and roast potatoes. Rhubarb pie for dessert. Not sissy food. Manly man food.”
He let out a laugh. “You made it?”
“Why? Are you afraid?�
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His eyes narrowed. “Maybe.”
“I made everything, except for the pie. My sister made that. She’s the baker in the family.”
“Ah, forget it then.” He pushed the door closed in my face, and I burst out laughing.
He swung open the door and grabbed the bag from my hands. “Get in here,” came the gruff voice edged with laughter.
I followed him into his apartment.
I gestured at the guitar leaning back against the small navy blue sofa. “I thought I heard music in the hallway.”
“It was me.”
“It was good.”
“It helps.”
“I’m glad. Was that Johnny Cash?”
“Very good, Scarlett.”
“My dad’s favorite. Haven’t heard any Johnny in a long time.”
My eyes darted around the small living space as I followed him into his very small kitchen where he placed the tote bag on the counter. There were no signs of beer cans or liquor bottles, only an ashtray piled high with cigarette butts on the coffee table by the sofa. And only tobacco smoke lingered in the air. Not weed.
His head slanted, an eyebrow raised. “I’m not drinking or using. Is that what you thought?”
My face heated. “It’s completely understandable. There’s a lot going on for you right now. I thought a drink though, not—”
He tugged a hand through his blond hair. “If I have even one drink, Tania, it’ll lead me down that road again. Coke and booze go hand in hand for me. The more coke I used to do, the more booze I could consume, and the more booze I drank, the more I wanted coke. Whenever I’ve had a drink this past year, I’ve really, really missed the coke. And instead of just a couple of drinks, sometimes, I’d want three or four to take the edge off. At some point, your brain suddenly says, Oh, yeah, I remember this feeling, and I remember something that feels even better. Going back would be too easy, but I can’t go back there again. I can’t.”
“Good for you. You’re such a strong person. I’m proud of you, if I may say so.”
“You may.” He rested his hands on the old Formica counter. “I’m not used to being this sane and sober though. Somehow, it doesn’t seem natural. Isn’t that crazy?”
“You think you’re sane now? That is crazy.”
He let out a laugh. “My brain function has dwindled some, but yeah.”
“Well, your brain needs you to eat.” I gestured at the bag.
His lips tipped up, his eyes creased. “Are you a good cook?” He took the two large covered glass containers out of the bag and opened them. “Wow.”
“I’m my mother’s daughter. I’m a very good cook.” I tugged on two drawers in the kitchen. One was filled with screwdrivers and rubber bands, cables and batteries. The other had a handful of basic kitchen utensils and cutlery. I handed him a fork and a knife.
“Sit.” I grabbed the lone dish sitting in the drying rack and layered the thick slices of beef with big hunks of potato, spooning just enough gravy over them. I placed the plate of food on the small table and gestured at the chair. “Sit. Eat.”
He pulled out the chair and sat down, staring at the food before him. His fingers rubbing the fork. “This looks really good.”
“Trust me, it is.”
He rolled his lips together, his fingers twirling the fork.
“What is it, Blondie? Did you become a vegetarian? Have I offended your moral sensibilities?”
His free hand fell to his stomach. “I’m not a vegetarian, no. I, um…I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”
My hands reached out and squeezed the rigid muscles between his neck and shoulders. I planted a quick kiss on the side of his face. That forest fresh scent of his shampoo filled my senses, and I pulled away quickly.
“Enjoy it.” I sat down in the other chair at the table.
He ate as I nattered on about Becca and my mom, how Boner had become my mom’s new favorite son-in-law. How attentive he was—fixing light switches around the house and the garage door opener that kept sticking, to programming her television remote, and bringing her contraband sweet treats from Meager Grand. Boner would take Rae, Jill and Becca out for an early-bird dinner every so often. Butler and I discussed our favorite music. He told me why he admired Johnny Cash, and I waxed lyrical about Carly Simon. I filled Butler in on the doings at the Rusted Heart.
“Jill is helping me with promotion. Flyers, ads, tweets, posts. Social media is an amazing tool.” I got up and poured him a glass of cold water, putting it on the table at his side.
He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “That was really good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. The rest of the roast beef is in the fridge. It makes a good sandwich.” I took his dish and washed it. I released the plate into the drying rack, wiped my hands, and turned.
My eyes widened. He stood next to me, and the weight of his heavy stare made me swallow.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re very welcome.”
“You should go home, Tania. What would Finger say if he knew you were here right now?”
I folded the damp kitchen towel into a long rectangle and putting it on the counter, pressed my hands over it. “I’m not with Finger.”
“You’re not?”
“No. It’s…complicated.”
His eyebrows lifted, and he wiped a thumb across his brow.
“And what would Nina think?” I countered.
“I don’t give a shit what Nina thinks.”
“Oh, but—”
“It’s not my baby,” he spit out.
My brain stuttered.
“It’s your brother’s kid, Tania. It’s Catch’s baby, not mine.”
“Okay.” I let out a long breath. “That’s good. I guess. I mean, is that good?” My pulse suspended waiting for his reply. “Unless you—”
“Hell yes, it’s good.”
“Then why are you telling me to go home? Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m not—”
“Is this about Grace?”
“What?”
“You and her last year, and she and I being good friends. We all live here now, see each other. It’s all too weird for you. Uncomfortable. Am I right?”
“Slow down, Tania.” He let out a huff of air. “No, I don’t have a hang-up about that, moral or otherwise. Do you?”
“No.”
“Look, last year with Grace, I was trying to connect to a spark of something, the me I used to be, the good times we all used to have. I was trying to gain some clarity, too, something finally good to grab ahold of in the sea of shit I’d been paddling in for so long.” He dragged his teeth across his bottom lip. “You want real honesty?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I think it was also about the way she used to be with Dig and the way I used to be with Caitlyn. But you can’t grab at the past or at sentimental ideas and force them to work in the now. I was kidding myself and being an ass. I was high most of that time. When I felt her pulling away, shutting down on me—oh, I knew it was happening. I ain’t stupid—I lashed out at her. Physically even one time. I lost control. Fuck, I had no control.”
“Butler—”
“Grace and me would’ve been easy. At least that’s what I thought, what I was hoping for. I’ve always had a thing for easy, and I latched on to her, like some sort of quick fix and another sweet form of denial. But even if all that club shit wasn’t the foundation or the framework for what she and I had and we’d tried for real, I’m sure we both would’ve been fucking miserable in the end.”
His eyes were glassy. He rubbed a hand down his face and looked away.
“I’m not Grace,” I said.
His head shot up. “I know that.”
“And I’m not in love with someone else, like she was, both times with you. I’m not in love with Kyle. I haven’t been for years.”
“Tania—”
“I’m afraid of things, too.”
&n
bsp; He held my gaze. “What are you afraid of?”
“Not of you or what you do. Or what you’ve done.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“I’m only afraid of not having lived enough. You hit forty, and things become much clearer, better defined. It’s a great feeling, being sure of what you like and don’t like, not putting up with shit, but at the same time, you realize that you’ve now entered the limited time zone. Infinity is no longer stretching out before you. Suddenly, getting out of my marriage because it wasn’t good for me, because it wasn’t enough, became an urgent necessity, not just a fleeting thought.”
“You did that. That’s great.”
“Yes. And, now, I only want to bite off more than I can chew out of life. I want to chomp it, choke on it, swallow up every last piece. I want to hold it up to the light and admire its sparkle. I want to be in that sparkle. I want to be breathless. Not sigh, not say, Oh well, maybe another time. No. There are no more other times, don’t you think?”
His jaw clenched, his lips pressed together.
“You must be feeling that too,” I said. “Does being with Nina make you happy? Really deep down inside satisfied? Does it turn you on?”
His hand went to the back of his neck. “No.”
“What does?”
His eyes lifted to mine, fierce and raw. “My bike. That guitar. You.”
My breath caught.
“I feel something for you I haven’t felt for any woman in a long time, Tania. And I don’t know what to do with it.”
“You knew what to do with it when you were with Caitlyn, didn’t you?”
“I don’t want to talk about Caitlyn!”
“Why not? Maybe you should. You can tell me anything. I told you plenty, and you listened without judging.”
His mouth pulled together, his jaw firm. “Caitlyn and I were a lot alike. She was as self-indulgent as I was. We both had tempers and fought a lot. Made up a lot.” His shoulders lifted and dropped. “Now, I seem to remember only stupid details.”
“Like what?”
“She got pissed that I didn’t want to pierce my dick.”
“Ouch!”
“She didn’t see it that way.” He let out a laugh. “I’d gotten my tongue pierced, my eyebrow, one of my ears, but not my dick, no fucking way. She was into that shit, but no way was I getting a hole ripped through my Brando.”