Bull_Asphalt Angels MC

by Naomi West

  “I reckon I might bust into that there liquor store and get myself a nice bottle of whisky.”

  The homeless man grins up at me. “I don’t know if that’d be a good idea.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “The name’s Charles, but in the joint they called me Scratch, on account of how good I was at making shanks.”

  “I don’t get the connection.” I shake hands with him.

  He mimes scratching a shank against the ground. “Sharpen ’em up.”

  “I’m feeling weird today, Scratch, so fuckin’ weird that I’m letting you know how weird I feel. You reckon I’d bare my soul to a bum any other day of the week? No offense.”

  “I want another ten dollars for the bum comment,” Scratch declares.

  “We’ve got ourselves a hustler.” I give him a twenty. “How’d you get over your thing? What was your thing?”

  “You’re really asking me for advice?” He waves a hand over himself. “I ain’t exactly a pillar of society.”

  “I don’t know, man. You’re the first sober bum I’ve seen in a while.”

  “Yeah, we’re a rare species. We’re like, what are they called … white rhinos.” He strokes his chin, transferring some of the dirt from his fingers onto his face and back again. “Let me think, then. It must’ve had something to do with not knowing who I was when I was sober. I was a junkie for a long time. A really long time. And so I never knew who I was, you get it? I was always high and drunk so I didn’t know who the real me was. I didn’t much like that feeling.”

  “And it turned out the real you was a bum?” I raise an eyebrow. “No offense, Scratch.”

  He claps his hands together. “I’m getting my act together, don’t you worry about it. Turns out there are two things in this world that can wreck a man’s life: being a junkie and getting clean.”

  Just then a teenage girl opens up the shop. I nod to Scratch and go inside, buy myself two bacon rolls and get a selection of pastries for Kayla. I think about buying coffee but then realize that carrying it up the fire escape is almost certain to fail. So instead I ask the girl if I can get some granules in a plastic pot. She looks at me like I’m crazy but sells them to me anyway.

  When I get outside I look around for Scratch. I spot him quickly, leaning against a wall at the end of the road, a brown paper bag in his hand with the neck of a bottle sticking out, taking sips every few seconds.

  “Motherfucker,” I murmur, making my way across the street.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kayla

  I wake up feeling safer and more content than I have in months, a smile on my face. I can’t remember the last time I woke with a smile on my face. It doesn’t feel entirely natural. It’s like I’m waiting for something to come and wipe it away. I lean up and look around the room: at the armchair pressed against the door, and Xander nowhere to be found. I vaguely remember something about him going out but I was half-asleep. I go into the bedroom and lift Cormac up, giving him a kiss and then giving him my nipple, and afterwards giving him some of his baby food. He’s taking more and more to the food, even if he smears half of it around his mouth.

  I sit on the bed with Cormac in my arms for a long time. This is what people must mean when they use the word content, I reflect. This experience: not being rushed, free to just sit with my son, safe and unafraid. Part of me wonders if Xander has abandoned us, but then why would he bother pushing the armchair against the door? He must’ve gone down the fire escape; the thought is ridiculous, but it’s the only thing that makes logical sense.

  After around half an hour there’s a rustling sound from the living room. I set Cormac down and find Xander clambering through the window like someone out of a high school movie, sneaking in so the parents don’t find out. He almost drops the paper bags he’s holding, but I rush forward and catch one. He disentangles his leg from the window and nods. “Thank you, m’lady.”

  I giggle. I can’t not giggle, when he seems so bright, so playful. It’s strange to see this giant tattoo-covered man with such a boyish grin. “What have we got here, then?” I ask, taking them into the kitchen. I open the bag and lay everything out on plates: on the only three plates he seems to own.

  He fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. “We’ll have to have our coffees black,” he says.

  “That works for me,” I reply, and then I can’t stop myself. I walk across the kitchen right up to him, stand on my tiptoes, and kiss him on the lips. He lets out a growling sound reminiscent of last night and kisses me back. We hold it like that for a while, both of us lost in the kissing, and then I step away and kiss him one final time on the nose. “You don’t want your bacon to get cold,” I tell him.

  “No.” He picks the roll and takes a huge mouthful from it. “I don’t.” Then he checks his phone. “I don’t have shit to do today.”

  We go into the living room with our food and coffees. “I do. At least, I might. I need to find a job. I was fired from my last one and eventually I’ll need another one. But that means leaving Cormac in daycare, and I don’t know if I’m comfortable with leaving him in daycare right now …”

  Xander takes another chunk out of his bacon roll, lost in eating it as only men can be lost in eating meat. He raises an eyebrow at me. “I don’t know if going anywhere without me is such a good idea, Kayla.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I reply, my voice harsher than I intend. “Connor has known where I live for ages. He could have done anything he wanted to me at any time. I can’t let him bully me into not living my life.”

  “Sure.” He shrugs. “That sounds good on paper’n all, but what happens when he decides that your pepper spray stunt is too much for him to handle?”

  “I won’t hide because of him,” I say, voice firm. “I won’t let that happen. I’ve spent enough of my life being afraid of him. Anyway, I’ll either be in my car or in cafés. What’s he going to do, attack me in broad daylight in a public place?”

  “Probably not,” Xander allows. “But I still don’t like it.”

  “I need a job,” I say. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “I have money. Take as much as you need.”

  “I’m not going to live on handouts for the rest of my life. I won’t do that.” Except for Grandma’s final handout, one day …

  Xander sighs. “You’re probably right. He ain’t gonna do shit to you in broad daylight like that. But to me it seems like a risk not worth taking. But if your mind is set then you need to think of something to do with the kid. Maybe he won’t jump you in broad daylight, but from what I know about Connor, he’s a tricky bastard. If you leave Cormac in daycare he might find a way to trick ’em into believing he’s family or something. Get Cormac out of there, use him as leverage.”

  I take a bite from the bagel and watch Xander, waiting for him to read my face. He stares back at me, uncomprehending at first. He has every right not to immediately understand, because it’s not immediately understandable. Just because I’ve slept with him it doesn’t mean I should trust him with my child. Just because he’s related to Arsen it doesn’t mean that, either. We don’t know each other, I have to keep reminding myself, because to me it feels like we do know each other, like we have known each other for a very long time.

  His smile is slightly uneasy, but not as uneasy as I expected it to be. “Didn’t I tell you I was no babysitter?” he says.

  “You did, but …”

  “You think a little rough ’n tumble is gonna change my mind?”

  “Wow. Is that really how you’d describe it?”

  “Forgive me.” He bows his head. “I meant to say: the loveliest, most tender, sweetest lovemaking that has ever been made.” He winks at me, finishing his bacon roll with a giant bite. “I don’t know, Kayla. I’ve gotta say, I’m more open to the idea than I was yesterday. Maybe you wanna do your shrink your routine and analyze why that is or whatever. All I know is that I feel better today than I have in a damn long time. For once, I don’t fee
l guilty.” He smiles broadly. “It’s strange, but I don’t want it to pass. And damn, Kayla, you’ve got me sharing with you and everything. That ain’t normal for me.”

  I touch his hand, but then withdraw it as he dives for his second bacon roll. Both of us smile. “Is that a yes?” I ask.

  “I reckon so,” he says. “Truth be told, I lied to you when I said I was no babysitter.” He tells me a story about how he basically raised Arsen, about how he would change his diapers and feed him and rock him back and forth when he cried. “I never even knew it was strange until I asked my friends if they did the same and they started laughing.”

  “You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you?” I ask, giggling again. It feels good to flirt after so long spent living in a perpetual state of anxiety. My pussy aches from where we fucked. I wonder if we’ll fuck later and the thought causes a shiver to run up my spine. “Thank you for this, Xander. I won’t be long. There were a few places that weren’t taking online applications. I don’t like being unemployed. I’ve never liked it. I guess it reminds me of when I lived with Connor and he made me quit my job, would barely let me leave the house.”

  “I understand,” he says. “Anyway, Cormac’s my nephew. There’s no running away from that. He’s Arsen’s blood, which means he’s my blood, too.”

  “Wow,” I whisper, sure my eyes are about to water up. “You’re—you’re so great, Xander.”

  “I’m sober.” He shrugs. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”

  I can already tell that he’s sober from how much he’s sweating, big droplets sliding down his forehead. But I don’t want to mention it. There’s no point in making him feel bad about it. At least he’s doing the right thing. “I’m going to get ready,” I say.

  “Yeah, sure.” He nods at the bathroom. “Go nuts. There are fresh towels in the closet.”

  I get showered and dressed, applying makeup for the first time in months; everything lately, it seems, is happening for the first time in months. It’s like I’ve been hibernating and now I’m waking up, returning to the real world. I’ve hidden long enough. Now it’s time to go back to being the Kayla who faces the world, the Kayla who doesn’t shy away from life. About forty-five minutes later I’m standing in front of the mirror in a shirt and pants, my hair washed and tied back—the sun will have to dry it since Xander doesn’t have a hair dryer—makeup freshly applied, looking and feeling like a real person for the first time in …

  “How do I look?” I ask, as Xander sits on the couch with Cormac on his knee. It’s a sight I never would’ve dreamed of even a day ago. So much has happened in so little time, so that time seems to have lost meaning; it has warped for us, compressed, so that a day becomes a month.

  “You look good, but then, you ought to look good. I’ll never understand how women take so long to get ready. Or maybe I do understand it, but I’ll tell you somethin’, it don’t make me jealous. I’m more of a get-washed-and-get-dressed kind of guy.”

  “Well, we don’t have that luxury.” For a moment it’s like we’re a family, as I kiss Cormac and then Xander. My mind keeps prodding me: you’ve only known him for a day, you’re leaving your child with him. But it doesn’t feel like a day and there’s a stronger connection there than two strangers could ever have. He’s Arsen’s brother, and that means something. “I’m going now. I won’t be long. A couple of hours at the most.”

  He grabs my hand, looking up at me with eyes that have seen men die. “If anything happens, you find a safe place and call me.”

  “I will, but nothing will happen. I have my pepper spray and I’m not going to be skulking in alleyways or anything like that.”

  “Stay where there are plenty of people,” he says. “That’s an order.”

  I snap off a mock-salute. “Yes, sir!”

  I’m laughing as I leave the apartment, laughing as I walk down the stairs, smiling as I walk into the sunlight. But my smile dies when I reach my car. All four tires have been slashed and there’s a note stuck in the windshield wipers.

  Whore, whore, do you want more? Whore, whore, get on the floor. Whore, whore, I’ll make you sore. Oh, whore, do you want more? I scrunch up the note, my confidence suddenly gone, glancing around like Connor could leap out at any moment. I rush back to the apartment building, heart smashing against my ribcage, wondering why I would allow myself to be captivated by such absurd confidence.

  Xander opens the door at my knock with a sideways smile, a smile which dies when he sees me. “Shit, what happened?”

  I explain it to him, handing him the scrunched-up note.

  “Shit,” Xander says, pacing the apartment, the note in his hand. “That fucking guy, that fucking animal. That fucking spider. I’ll break his goddamn neck. I’ll end his goddamn life. I’ll kill him and then kill him again. I’ll tie him to a chair and—”

  I go to him, place my hand on his chest. “Hush,” I say. “There’s nothing we can do about it right now. Don’t get yourself worked up.”

  “This is just a bullshit threat,” he says. “If you want, all three of us can go out. We’ll take my car and show him that he can’t—”

  “No,” I interrupt. I go into the bedroom and touch Cormac’s forehead, feeling the reassuring warmth of him. “I don’t want to go anywhere today. I want to stay here with the two of you. Can we just watch TV and maybe have sex again and get takeout and just forget that the world exists for a day? Please?”

  He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, resting his chin on my head. I’ve never felt safer and more worried at the same time: a curious mixture which doesn’t sit well with me. But the more he holds me, the more the feeling of safety overpowers the fear and uncertainty. Things are bad, there’s no denying that, but nothing’s going to happen with Xander protecting us. He won’t let anything happen.

  “That sounds like a damn fine idea to me,” he says. “Come on, we’ll put on one of those romantic comedies women like so much. I’m sure we can find one. And then once you’re nice and horny from watching Matthew McConaughey woo some damsel, you’ll be ready for me to fuck you again.”

  I jab him in the side. “Don’t be such a pig.” But I’m smiling.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Xander

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asks, as I pace around the room like a dog which hasn’t eaten in a few days. And that’s how I feel, goddamn. It’s how I feel, a dog which is so hungry it might just start biting, howling. I go into the kitchen, ignoring her, and take some ice from the freezer. I bring it to my forehead, not caring when some of it slips through my fingers and shatters on the floor.

  She follows me through. It’s late. We’ve fucked, we’ve eaten, and now the sun has set. It’s the first evening in months I haven’t had whisky coursing through my veins, bolstering me, making the night bearable. I’m stone-cold sober and the sun is down; it feels so strange to me I find it difficult to believe that once it didn’t feel strange.

  “Xander? Are you okay?”

  I’m hopping from foot to foot like I sometimes do before or after a fight. The energy compelling my body right now is like nothing I’ve ever felt before, like there’s a pinball bouncing around inside of me. “Fine,” I mutter, gritting my teeth. There’s an invisible spike in my head, buried dead-center in my brain, crushing my mind. I can’t think. I don’t know what to tell her; I don’t know what she wants to hear. I just need … I know what I need. I need it badly. But I have to stay sober just in case things get bad with Connor. I don’t want to feel resentful of Kayla or the kid, but at the same time I can’t deny that if they weren’t here, I could get shitfaced right now and there’d be no problems. They just came out of nowhere, fucking nowhere, and now they’ve taken over my life.

  “Xander?”

  “Mm,” I mutter, taking my cellphone and going into the bathroom. I lock the door and call Christopher.

  “Kid?” he says.

  “Old man,” I reply.

  “What is it?” he
pauses. “Are you drunk?”

  “No, old man, but I want to be. I want to be so badly I don’t know if I can stop myself. Explain something to me, will you? How the fuck is a man supposed to stay sober? It makes no damn sense. Why would a man even choose to be sober when he’s got perfectly good whisky under his sink?”

  “Xander,” she calls, knocking on the door. “Are you okay?”

  “One minute!” I snap, way harsher than I mean to. But goddamn, can’t she just leave it be for a few minutes?

  “You got a lady there,” he points out. “Maybe that’s a reason.”

  “Maybe it is,” I agree. “But my head feels like it’s going to crack in half and my legs feel like they’re going to walk away from my body, so explain to me how the fuck I’m supposed to handle that.”

  “Listen to me,” he says, his voice the type of grasping, serious tone a man uses when the other man better really listen. “You’re thinking of this all wrong. You’re trying to come up with reasons to stay sober, trying to get some justification or whatever the fuck … that ain’t the way to go about it, kid. You don’t wanna start wondering why you’re doing this. That comes later. For now, you just need to focus on the method. The method is all that matters. Stop thinking about why you shouldn’t be doing this, because that leads to relapse. That’s where that road leads every time. Trust me. I’ve been down it. You start wondering why you’re doing this, and then you resent it, and finally you decide that you’re tired of feeling this way and just say, ‘Fuck it.’ So right now all you need to think about are practical steps to stop yourself from drinking. Number one is to throw that whisky away. Number two is to climb into that lady’s arms, whoever she is, and forget about everything else. I’ve got some medication I can bring you tomorrow. I’d bring it tonight but I’ve got club business. Kid? You there?”