by Krane, Kasey
She stopped abruptly, clapping her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I really have no idea why I just told you all of that.”
I grinned at her, stupidly happy that she apparently struggled with the same thing that I did - shutting up around the other person. At least we were equally afflicted.
“I liked it,” I said. “You make a lot more sense to me now.” She stared at me, cocking an eyebrow in confusion. I stumbled on.
“You just…don’t always match up. I was expecting a short-haired bitch with a long-haired Chihuahua named Princess in her purse at all times.”
Jules bust out laughing, and, encouraged, I went on. “One of those scary skinny people that I’d break in half just by looking at them wrong, and fake fingernails.”
She bent over, laughing so hard she was struggling for breath. The two other tables in the restaurant turned around and stared at us. I sent them a death glare, and they all turned back to their dinners, suddenly no longer interested in us.
We spent the rest of the meal chatting about anything and everything, and I realized at the end of it that I never spent an evening so…relaxed around a woman. Women normally were for fucking and that was it. Jules was so different. I never met another woman like her.
And I never will.
I realized that when Jules left tomorrow - and I’d make sure she did if I had to drag her onto the plane myself - I was saying goodbye to my one chance at happiness. I had to make tonight a night to remember, to keep me warm when I was 50, and alone.
We tumbled through the front door of the motel, hands searching, tongues entwined. I picked up Jules and she wrapped her legs around my waist, clinging to me as I walked towards the bed. I tossed her onto it and she bounced, all of the most delicious parts of her jiggling as she hit the bed. She laughed and threw her arms up, beckoning me to her. With a growl, I pounced on her and began nuzzling her neck and then kissed my way down her collarbone, to her tits.
For the first time, I made love to a woman, and did so intentionally. As I slowly thrust inside of her, I thought with every push:
I love you.
I love you, Jules.
I will always goddamn love you.
We climaxed together, my breath coming out in a strangled cry that mingled with hers, rising to the ceiling and then disappearing, as ephemeral as our relationship.
I pulled her back to my front and threw my arm around her, snuggling her up against me.
“Jules,” I said softly.
“Yes?” Her voice was thick with satiated lust and bone-deep exhaustion.
“Baby, I need you to go home tomorrow.”
“Wha—what?” She turned in my arms to face me, her eyes searching mine.
“I need you to leave Deming and go back to New York City tomorrow, and never come back.”
31
Jules
I stared up at him, lost. After the last couple of days together, and certainly after the most amazing sex we’d ever had, I hadn’t expected him to try to get rid of me.
Why the fuck would Bishop want me gone?
And then my brain caught up. Ghost. Of fucking course it was Ghost. Bishop had torn out of here earlier tonight, yelling something about club business, and then an hour later, he came back. He came back tonight not to take her to dinner or to make love to her, but to do Ghost’s dirty business.
He came back to get rid of me. Not in a freaky Mafia hit sort of way, by slitting my throat and throwing her into a ravine, but by sending her back to New York. Out of Ghost’s reach.
I wondered if Ghost had threatened my life. Had he found out about the library after all? I wondered how Bishop convinced him to let me go.
“You were originally supposed to go back tomorrow,” Bishop said, interrupting her internal questioning. “I think you should just go. It…would be better if you did.”
“But Evan will want to know why,” I protested. “I had to twist his arm pretty hard to let me stay longer.”
“You can think of something,” Bishop said, frustration creeping into his voice. “Tell him Ghost would be gone longer than you’d realized, and it would be better if you just went back to New York. I don’t really care. But you have to go.”
“Okay,” I said in a hollow voice. “I’ll go. Let me just go call Evan and tell him to change the plane ticket back. It’s late in New York - I’ll have to call him at home.”
I slipped out of bed and grabbed my cell phone.
32
Bishop
Jules hung up and said dully, “Evan’s got it changed. My flight leaves at 11:06 a.m. tomorrow.” She had her arms crossed defensively across her chest as she stared across the room at him. He felt a stab in his chest, as if she’d just shanked him.
Like he’d just stabbed her.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” I said, slipping out of bed and walking over to her. I reached down and tucked a piece of silky blonde hair behind her ear. “I wanted this to end differently. I wanted…”
I bit off, unsure of what to say. “I wanted you to stay here forever,” was a lovesick, pansy-ass thing to say, and after all, I knew it wouldn’t happen. I knew it from the beginning. But somehow I’d…temporarily forgotten. Somehow I pushed this ending from my mind. Somehow, I made himself believe that miracles really did happen.
That good shit really did happen to me.
“I’d like you to leave now,” she said, her voice tight and high, squeaking out. She cleared her throat and tried it again. “Go home now, Bishop. I’ll be ready in the morning for you.”
I gave an abrupt nod and left.
Left before he could say something stupid.
Left before he could apologize.
Left before he could beg her to stay.
* * *
Morning came way too early. I had drunk himself into a stupor after going home, in an effort to make it all go away. But it hadn’t. It was morning and the sun was bright and he would have to drive Jules to the airport.
Fuck my life.
I dragged myself out of bed after beating my alarm clock into submission, and after a quick run through the bathroom, I was ready to go.
I knocked on Jules’s door, and this time she opened up without the chain in place. She must’ve decided that Ghost wouldn’t try anything if she was on her way out of town. She turned back and walked into her motel room without saying a word. No greeting. No smile. I felt sick. Every moment that passed, Jules pulled farther and farther away from me.
I had to let her, though. In fact, I should encourage it. This was the end. I needed to come to that same realization that Jules had, and protect my heart. I had to realize that this was just a fling and it would never work, even if she did stay.
Too late.
I shoved the thought away, and instead grabbed the bags off the bed. I could at least carry her bags for her.
After one last pass through the room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, we walked out into the hot New Mexico sun, even this early in the morning, and Jules closed the door behind us.
“I need to run this to the office,” she said, holding up the key. “I’ll be right back.”
They were the first words she’d spoken to me that morning, and, I was pretty sure that they would be the last. When she got back to the truck, my paltry attempts at conversation were met by her brick wall of silence, and I quickly shut up. The drive back to El Paso was long and painfully quiet, in stark contrast to our ride from the airport to Deming just seven days ago. That first ride in my truck was when I started to discover that Jules Parker was so much more than I ever could have expected.
And now…it was done.
As we got into the snarl of traffic that was El Paso, I felt my blood pressure rise. I’d always hated driving in El Paso, but today was especially awful, with Jules’s frosty anger coming off her in waves as she sat in the passenger seat. I wanted to beat up every driver on the road who dared to drive cut me off.
Fucking Ph
oenix. God, I hate—
“So, what was I to you?” Jules said, finally breaking the silence hours after she’d started it. I was so surprised to hear her voice, I almost swerved into oncoming traffic.
“What??” I demanded.
“Was I just your plaything? A groupie to just fuck and then leave?” she asked, her voice hollow. Dull. Heavy.
“They’re not groupies,” I said through gritted teeth. “We aren’t some fucking band. You’re the journalist - get your shit straight.”
“So what was I then?” she asked, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Did you ever think that I was anything more than a quick tumble in bed?”
I saw the exit sign for the airport and dove for it. I just wanted to get off my own personal highway to hell. The traffic, the knowledge that Jules was leaving, the worry about her safety with Ghost around, and the complete fuck you in her tone, all combined together to make me snap. I literally saw red and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. Before I could want to stop them.
“You were just a quick fuck - sure as hell weren’t nothing else to me. And how could you be? You’re a fucking New York City journalist. What did you think would happen? Did you think I would goddamn move to New York City and get a job as a car salesman or some shit?” My voice grew louder as I shouted past my inner anger…at myself.
“We had no future. We never did.”
I screeched into a parking spot, the sudden slam of the brakes throwing us forward against our seat belts.
“Now fucking go back to where you came from,” I said quietly, and she nodded her head once, abruptly, and then jumped out. She got her bags out of the bed of the truck, and then walked away.
Back to New York.
Out of my life.
My tires squealed as I tore out of the parking lot, and back to Deming. It was time to stop being a jackass and mooning over a girl. It was time to start being a Dead Legion again.
33
Jules
I walked into the heavenly cool of the El Paso International Airport and straight into a women’s bathroom. I went into a bathroom stall, pulling the door closed behind me, and then I stood there, and cried.
I cried it all out. I cried until I hiccuped, and then I cried some more.
The most fucking awful part of all was, everything had gone just how I’d planned it. I’d known that being in El Paso traffic would shorten Bishop’s temper. I’d known that asking him nasty questions about their relationship would push his buttons. I’d known he’d roll up into an emotional porcupine, all spines and anger sticking straight out at her.
I’d known he’d storm off and leave her at the airport. Alone. Without making sure that she got on a plane.
I’d gotten exactly what I wanted, and yet, it was hell on earth.
Sometimes, getting exactly what you wanted was the most awful thing in the world.
Eventually, my flood of tears slowed to a trickle, and my hiccups faded away. I dashed the back of my hands across her cheeks, and pulled out toilet paper to blow my nose.
I threw the wad of tissue into the toilet, and then took another handful off the roll and wiped my face off the best I could without a mirror.
Opening the stall door, I hoisted my bags up and walked out of the restroom. It was time to put part two of my plan in place.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, I walked out of the El Paso International Airport, rental car keys in hand. I did a quick search on my phone and found a hair salon only 15 minutes away. Using GPS, I headed towards it. I had to stay focused. I couldn’t replay Bishop’s words in my head over and over again. I had to keep her head in the game.
I sat in a cheap plastic chair, leafing through an old copy of Blush. There were my amazing insights into picking a hemline that best flattered your figure.
All of that was about to change. I was going to write a story that would blow my previous career out of the water. I was finally going to be the investigative journalist I’d always wanted to be. In the end, Bishop had chosen his club over me. Now, I needed to pick my career over him.
All was fair in love and war, right?
“Jules?” A hair stylist with rainbow-colored spiky hair came out to the front waiting area. Jules stood up.
It was time to change my identity.
When I walked back out into the sunshine, I hurriedly pulled out my sunglasses. I looked to the west and saw boiling dark blue clouds rumbling my way.
Shit!
Deming was West of El Paso. I was going to have to drive into that.
Fuck my life.
The wind picked up, whipping my t-shirt against my body, and I automatically held up a hand to hold back my hair as I used her other hand to hit the unlock button on the remote.
Beep beep.
But there was no long hair to hold back. I stared at my reflection in the driver’s side window of the sedan for a moment. Distorted, it was like a fun-house version of her, except this version of her had short red hair. She brushed it for a moment, pushing the small strands behind my ears. For the first time, I felt like I fit the stereotype Bishop had been so sure I’d be, before meeting me. Now all she needed was a Chihuahua.
I slid into the car, leaving the door open as I turned the car on, wanting to get the AC running before I closed the door. Goddamn, it got hot quickly inside of cars in El Paso, even white cars, as I’d so carefully chosen for my rental car. The idea of driving a black car in the desert was unfathomable.
I made a quick run to Wal-Mart for different makeup, different clothes, a baseball cap and new sunglasses. As I stood in the checkout line, I felt like I was in a Hollywood movie, getting ready to do a hit on a bank, Italian-Job style. Except the people in the movies always seemed to know what the hell they were doing, and I had no fucking idea what I was getting myself into.
After making it through the interminable lines - why does Wal-Mart have 27 cash registers but only two cashiers working?? - I headed out of town. Just as I hit the edge of El Paso, I saw a curtain of rain head up the freeway towards me, and then whoosh! The raindrops hit the windshield in a sheet, pouring down as if I’d just entered a car wash. I fumbled for the windshield wipers - I’d been sure to ask where they were at before leaving the car rental agency at the airport - and turned them on high.
Even powering through the rain as quickly as the wipers could, all I could see was a bleary mess. With a sigh, I pulled over to the side of the freeway with my emergency flashers on, waiting for the monsoon to abate. The occasional car or even semi tore by through the rain, scaring me every time they did, drenching my car with even more water as they splashed through the torrential rain and resulting puddles. The violence and pure power of the monsoon was stunning. New York sure as hell didn’t get rainstorms like this.
And then, as quickly as it started, the rain disappeared. The sun broke through the clouds and steam started rising off the black pavement almost instantly. Turning off my now screeching windshield wipers, the glass squeegeed clean, I eased back onto the freeway, joining the other vehicles in their journey south.
It was time to find out the truth about the Dead Legion.
* * *
I checked into the Travel Inn, the second-cheapest motel in town according to Trip Advisor, since my boss had so kindly booked me in the cheapest motel in town the first time around. I groaned inwardly as I swiped my card through the machine. At this rate, I’d better write an exposé to end all exposés, or my credit card bill was going to eat me alive.
After changing into my new shapeless, dark cheap clothes, I decided that reconnaissance was in order. Isn’t that what everyone in the spy movies did? Since that was about all the guidance U was going to get in this venture, I figured I’d might as well follow the tried-and-true tropes.
Parking down the street a little ways from the clubhouse, I slumped down in my seat, trying to keep any casual observer from seeing me. The all-pervasive heat made the interior of the car almost instantly unbearable without t
he engine running though, so I rolled down the windows and slunk down even further.
Dammit, this looks like a lot more fun in the movies.
I could feel the sweat rolling down my sides, my back sticking to the car seat…to call me a “hot sweaty mess” was being generous.
Finally, as the sun started to set, I saw the members emerge from the clubhouse. And not just some of the members of the club. It looked as if the entire MC was there guarding the building. Bishop came out and I felt my heart constrict and my eyes fill up with tears. Angrily, I wiped the tears away. I wasn’t going to go soft on Bishop now. He could’ve told me the truth. He could’ve stopped acting like Ghost’s lap dog for five minutes and have faith in me.
Because he didn’t, I wasn’t going to have faith in him.
Bishop backed a semi into place, the grille’s teeth glowing in the semi-darkness, terrifying as hell. The Dead Legion started filling up the trailer with boxes. I squinted in the twilight but there were no hints as to the contents of the boxes. Bishop walked over to Ghost and they discussed something, then Bishop gave a sharp whistle, and everyone dispersed. Bishop pulled the tractor-trailer door closed, locked it, and tore off down the street on his Harley. Watching him leave, I couldn’t help but think that he was dragging my heart along with him.
Eventually, everyone was gone. Only the street lamps lit the street. It was eerily quiet.
I started her car and headed back to the Travel Inn. As I laid in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, I turned the problem over and over in my mind. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. I couldn’t imagine that normal shipments required the entire club to be there. I had to be there when whatever was going down went down, or I’d have no story.