Emery, on the other hand, she’s bullheaded like her mother, Max. Fierce spirit and demanding as hell. When she wants something done a certain way, nothing will keep her from getting it. Hence two grown-ass men, crawling on their hands and knees in the shop, looking for her soft pink blanket with a fuzzy giraffe head attached.
“If I don’t find that damn giraffe, I’m never gonna get laid again. The world isn’t ready to deal with me if I get cut off from my heaven on earth.”
I laugh at the seriousness in his voice, knowing that alone time has been scarce for Max and Abel in the last several months. I’ve accidentally walked in on them in the bathroom and office upstairs here in the shop too many times to think for even a moment that he’s joking. I’ve seen more of Max naked than any of us would prefer, and I damn sure don’t need to see any more.
Fucker needs to get a babysitter on speed dial.
I see Emery’s ‘softie’ poking out of the bottom drawer of Abel’s expansive toolbox. That little girl loves getting into shit, no doubt about it. Just like her mother, always finding trouble.
I grab the pink toy and walk it over to Abel. I swear, when he gets it in his hands, you can practically see dollar signs in his eyes, knowing he’s going to cash in on some alone time with his wife.
In the comfort of his own damn home this time.
“I owe you big time!” He shouts. “What do you want, man? A house? A new bike? A kidney? Name it, it’s yours!” He says, taking the giraffe out of my hands, holding on to it for dear life.
“How about you get your pathetic ass out of here and go bend your wife over your own goddamn counter for a change and we’ll call it even?”
“See you tomorrow, fucker.”
In a flash, he’s gone. Racing home to buy the rest of us here at the shop some peace and quiet for the next couple of days. I laugh to myself all the way back outside, grabbing another beer and my pistol on my way out the door.
You can never be too safe.
There’s no way in hell I’m looking to take my life in that same direction ever again. Yeah, Abel’s happier than he’s ever been. Ya know what else is he? More tired than he’s ever been. Less free than he’s ever been. And a hell of a lot more tied down than he’s ever been.
If that’s what the future holds for me, outside of my bachelor life, then no fucking thank you. I’ve got enough on my plate trying to be there for all of them when they all inevitably realize they’re juggling more than they can handle.
Who’s the guy they all call when they need an extra hand? Who’s the guy that goes out of his way to swoop in and save the day? Who’s the guy that’s always on the other end of the phone when shit hits the fan?
Brody fucking Cummings.
Yeah, I’ll take the Guinness and Redbull over nagging wives and crying kids any day of the week. This way, whenever I get the urge to sink my dick into a woman, the only schedule I’m living by is my own. The only screams in the house, come from her lips. The only thing I’m looking for is a condom. And the only things that break, are her flood gates when she inevitably comes all over my cock.
As the crisp beer touches my tongue and my playlist roars in the background, I wonder how the hell everything got so tangled up. Once upon a time, our dream was so clear. All we ever wanted was the shop. None of us ever wanted a family outside of each other. I mean, yeah, Bree and Dex were kind of inevitable. But they were both a part of my family to begin with. I mean for fuck’s sake, Abel’s married with not one kid but two! Bree and Dex decided to hop on the train sooner rather than later, and now...
Now I don’t know how long this damn dream lasts before one or both of them asks to be bought out of DRAB, walking away and leaving all we’ve built in the fucking rearview mirror. That’s the real reason why I want Abel to teach me all he knows about building custom bikes. I know there will be a day when he walks away. And with Dex bringing his own little love goblin into the world soo, I fear he won’t be far behind. Even though their dreams may have changed, mine hasn’t.
This shop is everything to me. I won’t lose it because they found something better. This is better for me. So if they up and leave, if they walk away, I’ll still be here, running this shit with Ryan. I’ll eventually have to hire new people to help take on the regular day-to-day shit when I take over custom jobs. But I’ll make it work.
I always fucking do.
I drop my now empty bottle in the trash and make my way to the showers we installed to rinse off before heading home. After the soap runs clean, I stand under the hot water, just letting myself drain away the day and all the worries about everything. Shit I can’t change, and shit I fear even though I’ve kept it all to myself.
There’s nothing I can do to change the situation we’re in. And I’m in no hurry to try and speed it up either. I want to live the dream with my best friends, my brothers, as long as I can. When the day comes that they walk away, I’ll be prepared for it. But until then I guess I’ll just enjoy the time I left with them. I know the days are numbered.
Fuck it. I think to myself.
I’ll go ahead and let the girls turn the office upstairs into a room for me. I might as well enjoy the place I crash in more than the house I fucking pay rent for.
I step out of the shower and dry off before grabbing my phone and starting a group text to all of the girls.
B: You win. Decorate the room. Just don’t make it girly.
Bree: Hell yeah! It’s about time!
Sonya: Define girly…
B: Don’t push your luck, Sons.
Sonya: Maybe Talon could help.
B: Prolly a good idea
Bree: Max? Helloooo aren’t you excited?
B: She’s busy getting her brains nailed to the headboard right now.
Bree: Gross, Brody! That’s my brother’s dick you’re talking about!
B: Hey, you’re the one who wanted to know where she was.
Sonya: I’m done with this convo.
Karen: I just got here and I’m gagging
Bree: Join the club
Sonya: Hi, Karen! Miss you, we need to do lunch soon!
Kat: I wanna come too!
Bree: Yes! Girl's date tomorrow!!! :)
B: I’m muting this conversation now. See you all tomorrow.
Karen: Boo! Boring!
Kat: Love ya too, Brody-Boy.
I mute the conversation and make my way up the stairs, dripping water along each step as I do. The group chat proved to me that I can’t handle females long term. They’re just too damn much sometimes. That’s what I love about bikes I guess. They may have some problems, may need to be fixed from time to time. But there’s always a solution. And they don’t fucking walk away from you.
Wow, over it much, asshole?
Memories from long ago start to flood my mind and I know that it’s beyond time to call it a day.
Fucking women.
I pop two Advil PM, knowing my brain won’t shut the hell up without some help, and turn on some low music to block out the sounds of life still filtering in from outside.
Glycerine.
Now that’s a song I can get behind. It’s a goddamn classic for a reason. More or less for me because I can actually understand his viewpoint when it comes to love.
Doomed.
That’s one thing a lot of people don’t get when they hear this song. They have this diluted notion that it’s a love song. That it’s about a pleading love for someone. But that’s not the case. Gavin himself stated that it’s about a toxic love. A love that doesn’t work. A love that shouldn’t work. A love that’s so wrong that it’s chalked full of contradictions. Something you should walk the fuck away from.
Yeah, my man Gavin gets it.
Bad moon white again.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
If only more people got that…
I put the song on repeat and put my hands behind my head, staring up at the ceiling.
Chapter Two
Remi
I’ve pushed this tank of gas well beyond sucking fumes at this point. My eyes feel like they’re bleeding and I’m pretty sure my damn stitches ripped open again. The logical part of me knows that I need to get off at the next exit and patch myself and my bike back up again. However, the illogical side of me is screaming so loud that it’s giving me a migraine.
Keep moving, Remi! Don’t stop for anything!
The only thing my eyes see is the pavement beneath my wheels, and yet I still don’t feel like I’ve gone far enough to stop for an overnight. I’ve seen day come and night fall all over again, not stopping for anything more than gas. My stomach is so hollow, I swear the sides are sticking to each other. My throat is so dry that I feel like a fire-breathing dragon.
Call me Khaleesi, motherfuckers.
It. Burns.
When my bike begins to sputter underneath me, I know that at the very least it’s time to refuel. When I dismount, I’ll figure out what my next steps are but I’ll have to do it quickly. Something’s screaming at me that I’m nowhere near where I should be, wherever the hell that may be.
No sooner does the thought solidify in my mind when I miss my opportunity to take an exit. Traffic is too packed to risk pulling off in the shoulder to try and turn around to get off. I just have to cross my fingers that the next one has a gas station.
After all this time, you’d think that at the very least, I’d be better at gauging how far I can push my fuel tank. But that would make my life a little too easy I suppose. And we all know that’d be too much to fucking ask.
Insert eye roll here.
My tank is so empty that my bike starts bouncing, the sputtering becomes outright popping sounds, refusing to be ignored any longer. It’s practically screaming at me, cussing at me for neglecting it as much as I’ve been neglecting myself the last twenty-four, probably more, hours.
The next exit approaches and all the signs are about restaurants. My stomach grumbles almost as loud as my bike so I vow to grab a quick snack inside the gas station as soon as I get there.
As I take the turn for my exit, I hear the sound of my bike giving out, I hear the whirl of the engine shutting off, refusing to go any further.
No, no, no, baby girl! Just a little further.
My begging does nothing and before I have a chance to make a plan, my bike slides out from underneath me, throwing me to one side as it flies in the other. Mid-air, I grab my legs, tucking my body into a tightly wound ball, protecting myself from shattering on impact. My bike hits the ground before I do and I hear the metal crash and scrape against the still-hot concrete.
The sound is deafening. Everyone in a five-mile radius just heard the crash. I might as well have a neon fucking sign high in the sky pointing it out screaming to the whole town ‘Here I am!’
An angry tear slides from my eyes as my body crashes into the barricade on the side of the exit turn. I hit it so hard, I feel the cement crack beneath my helmet. Tuck and roll has saved my life on more than one occasion, I refuse to let what little luck I have left run out now.
I don’t need a doctor to tell me that I’ve got a concussion. With how hard my head just bounced, even inside my helmet, the stars behind my eyelids might as well be a constellation that spells that damn word out.
It takes me more moments than I have to spare before the air returns to my lungs. The first breath is sharp as knives, cutting into me with brutal force. Oxygen is a pushy bitch, refusing to allow my body to go without it.
Damn mortality, always fighting back.
I don’t even get a chance to stand up before I feel hands reaching out to me, trying to remove my helmet, trying to push me back down. I can’t hear anything besides the ringing in my ears and for a moment I’m transported to my reoccurring nightmare.
Is this is? Am I dying? Did I push too far this time?
Even after the helmet is removed, the air seems too thin and I can’t breathe, waiting for the hands to start ripping me apart.
Waiting for the voice.
Realizing I can move my hands, I instinctively reach for my heart, trying like hell to protect it from the hand that will soon try to kill me.
No! Not this time!
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
“No!” I shout, fighting to get the hands off me.
There’s too many…
“Ma’am, you’ve been in an accident, the paramedics are on their way. Try not to move.”
I suck in a lung full of air.
It’s not the nightmare. It’s okay. I’m okay.
Well… kind of…
“Ma’am, can you open your eyes?” The stranger’s voice calls out to me.
I crack one eye open, hoping to see bodies and not just hands.
Please let there be bodies attached to those hands.
Three bodies are directly in eyesight and I heave out a sigh, never being so grateful to see a human before.
“My bike, where’s my bike?” I ask, trying to sit up.
A wave of nausea hits me and the hands push me back down.
“You mean your motorcycle?” The woman asks.
No, lady. My fucking tricycle!
“Yes.” I tell her, biting back my more colorful thoughts. “I need my bi.. my motorcycle.”
“Oh, Mr. Miller is loading it up on a tow truck now. He said he’ll take it wherever you need it to go. He didn’t want it to get more smashed up on the road.”
The sirens of the ambulance cut off any reply I could have made. Lucky for her. Wherever I am, I can tell by the look of the people in front of me that my more… creative language… might not sit too well with them.
Wait, did she say paramedics?
I just got out of the hospital the day I left town, however long ago that might have been. I don’t have time to waste going to another one. I’ve gotta get the hell out of here. Now! Why do these people have to be so nosey? Why couldn’t they just let me take care of my damn self?
“Make a hole, everyone. Don’t touch her!” Someone yells out.
Two paramedics descend on me, crowding my vision before I can catalog their faces and before I can see the names on their jackets. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. It’s all happening too fast. There’s not enough time to take everything in. To make a plan…
“Ma’am, can you tell us your name?” One of them asks.
“Uh, it’s Re… It’s Rebecca. My name is Rebecca.”
The lie rolls off my tongue with ease, painting a picture to distort concerned parties when life eventually catches up with me.
Because it always does.
“Alright, Rebecca, I want you to try not to move until we get you looked at further. You might have some broken bones and we need to make sure you don’t injure yourself further, okay?”
“No, no, I need you to get off of me! I need my bike!” I yell, needing them to understand.
My protests fall on deaf ears. The paramedics are more worried about taking my vitals and prepping a gurney to take me to the nearest hospital. Our priorities aren’t in line and nothing I say is getting them to understand how desperately I need to get the fuck out of here. They don’t understand how exposed I am right now, out here in the middle of the fucking street.
The more I try and fight them, the more insistent the main one is that I need to back off and let him do his job. He keeps smiling at me in a way that makes me think he’s used to dealing with strong-willed women who don’t like taking anyone’s help. The rest of those women probably did it as a way to appear tough and brave. A way to preserve their pride.
But that’s not me.
He doesn’t understand the difference between pride and survival.
At least not my kind of survival.
Before I know it, I’m in the back of the ambulance and headed to fucking god knows where as the idiots around me are bab
bling medical jargon to each other. One of them keeps talking in a walkie-talkie of some kind. They don’t seem to give a single fuck that I don’t want their help.
“Rebecca, do you want us to give you something for the pain?” The smiling guy asks as I wince when a bump in the road reminds me of my healing ribs.
“Don’t take this the wrong way Mr. EMT, but I will jab that needle in your neck if you come anywhere near me with anything that has the potential to be a mind-altering substance. Are we clear?”
Both men fall silent at my warning, their eyes bulging. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tell the hospital to try and keep me for a damn psych evaluation after this.
It’s clear they’ve never had a patient like me in the back of their medical box of horrors before. But then again, I wouldn’t expect many people like me are stupid enough to wind up here in the first place.
He puts the syringe back in the box he pulled it out of, then raises his open hands toward me, like a black jack dealer, showing me that they’re empty.
Well, at least he’s smarter than he acts.
Good for him.
The rest of the ride is silent, except for the occasional chit-chat over the walkie. They’re getting smarter as the ride goes on, they’re not trying to start idle chit-chat with me. But the ride feels like it’s taking forever.
How far away from my bike am I? How long will it take me to get back to it? Where the hell is Mr. Whatever-his-name-is, taking it?
The monitor they have me hooked up to starts to beep louder and faster, and Mr. Smiling EMT looks at me, silently asking ‘You good, crazy?’
A roll of my eyes and tongue in cheek lets him know that I’m perfectly fine and still in no mood to be playing doctor with him.
He laughs, shaking his head at my dismissal of him and his concerns. He just doesn’t get it though. I’m doing this to protect him as much as I am myself. He’s been in my presence too long as it is. There’s no doubt this little incident will be all over their local newspaper tomorrow. It’s just a matter of time before people show up, asking questions about the mystery girl on the bike. He can identify me too easily. He’ll be able to look at a photo of me and confirm that it was me he helped.
Absolution Page 2