by Max Henry
“Perfect. Add four of creamed corn as well.”
I note down the addition, almost out of room at the bottom of the full-size page already. It sure takes a lot to keep the place afloat if this is a weekly shop.
“How many people live here?” I ask. I’ve seen a few regulars in the time I’ve spent here, but there are probably twice as many new faces that seem to drift in and out.
Sonya straightens out, hands on her lower back as she appears to think it over. “It changes a lot lately, but I think we still have eight who stay here full time, probably the same again for weekenders, and then there are the property girls, and the families who we feed on weekends.” She smiles. “It can get pretty busy.”
“But you like it?”
“It’s home,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Maybe not as conventional as others, but home all the same.” She jerks her chin toward the adjacent kitchen. “Come on. I’ll make us a hot one.”
I get settled at the large stainless steel island while she glides about preparing our coffees. Nobody has heard anything since we left Hooch at the barn a month ago, and these little tasks King finds for me have been the only thing keeping my head on straight. At the start, I thought I’d be back on the road by now. My travelling feet itched to run, and I was certain that nobody would care either way if I stayed or went. But as time has passed, I’ve grown accustomed to the strange habits of these people, and as much as it pains me to say so, the familiarity comforts me.
Fingers, their mechanic, is the first to rise. His morning trips through to brew a pot of coffee wake me in my position on the sofa in the common room, but I don’t mind. I quite like sneaking a glimpse at the old man as he shuffles through with his mug of black gold.
After him, Callum, the vice president, rises. He slips down the stairs, gym bag in hand, before it’s even light.
Following close behind is either Dog headed out back for a smoke, or King coming in from the garage and crossing straight to his office. The club girls are next—the property—doing the rounds of the single men before they rise out of bed.
And then the families filter through. Old ladies, kids, and partners come and go throughout the day, making this outlaw hotspot feel more like a communal home than anything else.
And it’s here, among the misunderstood, the chastised, and the judged, that I feel most at ease. It’s here where nobody cares what your history is because theirs is most likely just as crooked, that I feel as though one day I might even feel safe enough to let down the walls and be who I really am.
It’s here that I can see myself learning how to laugh again.
“Here you go, honey.” Sonya slides a fresh cup of Joe across the counter to me, taking her seat on the opposite side.
She regards me with a soft smile as I test the drink by taking a small sip.
“I want to tell you a story,” she says, cradling her cup. “About when I met my first husband.”
I try to school my expression; surprised she’s been married before. Her and her old man, Vince, seem so comfortable around one another. I assumed they’d been together for years.
“Mike was the guy from the wrong side of the tracks,” she says with a smile. “You know the sort—the kind your momma warns you off.”
I nod, getting where she’s headed even though my mom never cared enough to vet who I saw.
“He chased me like a hungry dog for years.” Her smile widens as she tips her head back, staring at the ceiling but more than likely seeing something entirely different. “Persistent to the core, that man. I fought him off, pushed him away, and told him “no” more times than I can’t count, even though I knew in my heart he meant something special and was too good to let pass me by.”
“Because of what your parents thought?” I ask.
“No. Because I was scared: of him, this life, the unknown.” She reaches out across the counter, taking one of my hands in hers. “I see it in you, honey.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, the signs of years of sun damage only making her seem trustworthy. “There’re enough of us here who’ve walked the same road, that you don’t ever need to feel alone.”
Damn her. I try to hold it together, but just like Hooch, she nails me in one go. Am I that damn transparent?
I let go of her hand to swipe my budding tears away with the side of my finger. “Sorry.”
“No need to be.”
I take a sip of my drink, my thoughts wandering to the same place they do every time I catch a second of silence: the man with the resigned gaze, sad smile, and gentle kiss—Hooch.
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?”
“Who?” Sonya asks, leaning back a little.
“Hooch.”
She shrugs. “I haven’t heard a lot from the boys down south. I keep in contact with some of them through Facebook, but nothing of use comes through the grapevine.”
“I worry, you know? I feel like I’m partially responsible, like I should have fought those cops who pulled me over and ransacked the truck.”
“And then what?” she asks. “It would be your ass in county?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. Wouldn’t wasting my lonely life be better than pulling him from his involved one?
“I’ve known that boy since he was still riding a BMX around the vacant land behind the old Fort Worth clubhouse. He does what he thinks is right, he always has. He might seem tough and heartless on the outside, but that boy has more empathy toward others than a single soul I’ve met since.”
“I got that feeling about him.”
“He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and for as long as he thinks it’s too much for those he loves to bear, the harder he’ll hold on to it.” She laughs, short and bitter. “Damn. Him and King aren’t all that different, really.”
“King is lovely.” He’s done nothing but show me patience and understanding since being burdened with my care. “I can see why he makes a great leader.”
“It’s why he’s never been contested.” She sighs, turning her mug between her hands. “Have you spoken with Mel? I worry about that girl as much as I worry about you.”
“I would, but I haven’t seen her for days.” Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Dog for a while, either.
Sonya frowns at my smile. “What?”
“I think she might have done a runner with Dog.”
Sonya rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “That boy … Makes sense that he’d take a chance while big brother isn’t around to kick his ass.”
“He’s a bit of a player, right?”
“He’s the player.”
I chuckle, feeling the phone King gifted me for piece of mind vibrate in my pocket. Checking the screen under the edge of the counter, I ignore the message and send it to black.
“Problem?” Sonya lifts her eyebrows, glancing toward my phone.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” At least, I think.
“You just remember what I said, love. Pay mind to the caution your gut is throwing your way, but don’t discount your heart. It knows what you’d rather be doing.”
“I will. Thank you.”
If only she realized that both my gut and my heart are telling me the same thing.
TWENTY-FIVE
Hooch
“You stupid motherfucker.”
Make the noise stop. I grimace as something wet and ice-cold slaps me in the face.
“Come on, asshole.”
The damp cloth moves over my eyes and drags down over my dry and chapped lips. Acid swims in my stomach, and I feel as though I’ve climbed a mountain my limbs are so fatigued.
“He done this before?” a male voice asks.
“Not this bad,” one I recognize answers. What the hell is she doing here? “I’ll start cleaning up.”
The crash of glass on glass is a cacophony from hell on my precious senses. I wince again, and this time manage to emit a strange groan.
“That’s it, dumbass. Time to come around.”
I open my e
yes, my gut winding up into a type of whirlpool as light hits my retinas. Oh, Jesus. I roll onto my side and Dog jams a trashcan under my chin just in time, catching the vile acid that erupts from my mouth.
“Did a right number on yourself, didn’t you?”
“You’re one to fuckin’ talk,” I manage to croak as my stomach still convulses.
Fuck me, the room stinks. I twist my head to find Mel sliding a tray of old food remnants into an empty shopping bag, doing her best to touch it as little as she can. No wonder.
I push the bin away, and slide my legs around. The room swims, and it takes a few long blinks to get my bearings, but I eventually spot what I’m after.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Dog dives across the room to snag the half-full bottle of Jack before I can.
“And you aren’t getting any more of this, either.” Mel bags the leftover crack I hustled for days to score.
I lose my shit.
“You get that the fuck outta there!”
She steps back, wide-eyed, as Dog steps in to protect her. Deal with what that implies later.
“No, Josiah.” Her voice wavers and tears fill her eyes. “You would do this for me.”
She’s right, I would. But she means something. I don’t. There’s the difference.
“Hand it over, Mel.”
“No.” Her chin dimples as she raises it in defiance. “I won’t see you kill off the only thing I have left.”
The fact she’s my sister is the only thing stopping me from throttling her until she drops the bag.
“Don’t you get it?” I roar, causing Dog to tense up. “What does it matter if I die?”
Shock turns her beautiful face ugly as she stares me down. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” God, I do. “I screw it up, Mel. That’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done.”
“Mom leaving Dad wasn’t your fault.”
“No? Then what about Dana dying? Don’t tell me that I did the right thing there by standin’ around waiting like Dad told me to. I should have listened to this,” I holler, tapping a closed fist to my stomach. “I should have gone in there to get her.”
“And what?” she yells in return. “Got shot to hell, as well?”
“Maybe this isn’t the time to discuss this,” Dog interjects, placing a hand to my chest.
His calming action makes me realize I’ve now got Mel crowded against the wall, threatening, overbearing. Everything I’m not with my sisters … sister.
“I’m sorry.” I force myself to turn away before I blindly do something I regret. “How did you find me?”
Three weeks I’ve been on the run, paying for everything in cash, keeping my phone off unless I need it, and never staying anywhere more than two nights until now. Fuck, I can’t even remember how long I’ve been here.
“What day is it?” I ask before they get a chance to answer my first question.
“Thursday,” Dog says.
I drop to the side of the bed, eyes closed, forefinger and thumb pressed to my forehead. “What day did that tanker roll over on the I-70?” Seeing the news story play on the tiny TV in the upper corner of the liquor store is the last thing I remember.
“Monday.”
I’ve lost three and a half days. No wonder they caught up to me. But, if they’re here … Jessup can’t be too far behind. Fuck. Fucking fuck.
I shoot off the bed, taking both of them by surprise. Mel clutches the bag of rubbish tighter to her chest, assuming I’m going for the drugs. Dog reaches behind to grip his piece. I lift my hands to placate both of them.
“We gotta get the hell out of here.” I search frantically for my clothes. Splitting a scene isn’t all that nondescript in just your boxer briefs.
“We’ve got time,” Dog says. “It’s”—he checks his watch—“a bit after four. We’ll hang around until it’s dark and head off then.”
“Nope.” I hop on the spot, tugging my jeans on. “Gotta go before then. If you’re here, then that asshole’s probably already got eyes on the place.”
“What asshole?” Mel tosses the contents of an overflowing ashtray in the bag.
“Damn it.” I hadn’t told anyone about Jessup. “I’ve got some explainin’ to do, but first we need to—” I spin and lunge for the trashcan as round two makes its exit.
“Fuck man,” Dog complains with his forearm to his nose. “I hope you ain’t gonna do this the whole way home. I’m not stoppin’ if you are.”
“Thanks,” I sass from my position on the floor, a wave of cramp washing through the marrow of my bones.
“Any time.”
Mel ties off the bag that’s bulging to capacity, and sets it down by the door. I eyeball it; sure I can spot the crack inside if I look long enough. Fuck, that was a hard score. It seems such a waste …
“Donovan Jessup,” she says quietly as she takes a seat in the armchair beside me. “That’s what you’re goin’ to explain, right?”
What the hell? “How do you know his name?”
“Idiot stalked the clubhouse couple of weeks after you split. Crackers returned the favor and put eyes on him.”
I snort a laugh, stretching my legs out with my back against the side of the bed. “Sounds like him.”
“They noticed he was cycling through your usual haunts. So they put two and two together and dragged him in.”
The smile fades from my face. “What did Jessup say?”
“That he’d been blackmailing you, but you refused to fess up what he wanted, and as a consequence he got dragged over the coals by his bosses.” She smirks. “From what I hear, he was pretty damn pissed at you, big brother.”
I bet. If only I could have been there to see the look on the bastard’s face. “What did the guys say to that?”
“Crackers wants to know why you never brought it to them, as does Murphy. And Digits …” She glances over at Dog.
“What?”
Dog takes a seat on the end of the bed, his hands hanging between his knees as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs. “He was more concerned with why you involved Dagne.”
“Shit.” What’s the bet that jealous little fucker has some vendetta against me over it. “She was neutral, man. I saw an opportunity to use somebody with no ties to the club, so I took it.”
“He was spitting tacks, dude.”
“Yeah?” I say, an urge to get to Dagne taking root deep in my gut. “So why isn’t he here then?”
“Sheriffs are watching the Fort Worth brothers close,” Dog explains. “Jessup killed your APB. Said he didn’t want you gettin’ dragged in before he finished usin’ you for himself. But the sheriffs know something’s up—they ain’t stupid.”
Of course. “If the guys roughed up Jessup, then I guess that would still be enough to leave them suspicious.” I bring my knees up, looping my arms over top and dropping my head between them. “Reinforces my guilt, doesn’t it?”
“Dude …”
I turn my head and frown at Dog. “What?”
“They didn’t just rough up the agent. Digits killed him.”
TWENTY-SIX
Dagne
Sixteen messages, all in a row. Sixteen messages, and not one of them from the man I’d like to hear from.
King gifted me the phone saying he’d feel better knowing I had a way to contact them if I got into trouble while out on my own. I accepted on one condition: that he gave my number to Crackers so if they heard anything from Hooch they’d have a way to contact me. Seems the listing isn’t so exclusive in the Fort Worth club.
I stretch my legs out on the back deck, enjoying the respite from the drizzly rain we’ve had of late. Sunshine breaks through the clouds sporadically, and each burst of warmth fills me with love anew for the small things in life. The things we miss when we’re not taking our time, when we’re rushed off our feet to keep up with empty promises and one-sided obligations.
The clouds roll over once more, and I open my eyes to watch a bird fish for worms in the
damp lawn. I’ve wracked by brain for an age trying to figure out what I said or did that gave Digits the wrong impression. His messages started out friendly enough, and I simply didn’t reply because I’d been in the middle of errands with Dog. But the tone of the follow up texts left me feeling uneasy in my gut, and the implication of the ones that followed the last few days literally had my flesh break out in goose bumps.
He thinks I owe him something. That by being here I’m purposefully avoiding him. That it’s my duty to return to him if I choose to stay with the Aces.
I don’t belong to anyone. I made that point loud and clear when I decided to cut ties with what was left of my family and go it alone.
Sure, I could say something to King, maybe seek advice from Sonya. But in the scheme of things I’m relatively new here. I like these people, but I don’t trust them yet. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that if something is appealing on the surface, you can guarantee it’s ugly on the inside.
Who’s to say they wouldn’t turn on me if I started drawing lines within their ranks? An outsider accusing one of their brothers—an officer no less—of … what? What would I even say he’s doing? Sending messages that make me feel uneasy? I’d sound like nothing more than a child whining in the playground because so-and-so has called her names.
Guess I just have to deal with it.
“There you are.” Sonya steps out of the shelter of the clubhouse, joining me on the deck. “I wondered if you wanted to help me do some baking this afternoon. King said a few of the southern boys are coming up for the next few days, so I thought I’d get a head start.” She smiles, unaware of how uneasy her news has made me. “Those boys sure know how to eat. You in?”
“Sure.” I do my best to hide the concern in my voice, but the woman has wisdom and experience on her side.
“What’s the matter?” She frowns, her eyes tracking my hand as I pick up the phone from beside me. “You still got troubles?”
“I can handle it.” I said I would, and I plan to. Just not sure how yet.
“Well,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. “If you feel you need help, you just ask, okay? Whatever it is; nothing’s unusual around here.”