by Zahra Girard
“You’re my daughter, I just want the best for you. That’s all it takes to make your mother and I happy,” he says, then he clears his throat. “But no more fucking lies. Snake, I’ll tell this to you here in front of my daughter so she knows that those times you tell her you’re not able to come see her in LA or wherever else she’s displaying her exceptional fucking artwork, you will be working for some fucking penance. And if you thought they knew how to give out gruntwork in the army, well, nothing will have prepared you for the shit I’ve got in store for you.”
Snake nods. “Understood, sir.”
“And it fucking goes without saying that, if Adella ever calls her mother or me crying about something you’ve done, the number of remaining breaths you have in this life is strictly determined by how long I take to fetch my gun and find you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then he holds out his hand, and he and Snake shake hands. “Other than that, you take good care of my daughter, you respect and support her obvious talent, and we’ll have no problems.”
Snake gives me a look. It’s warm, it lights me up with love and pride.
“I look forward to it.”
I hug both of them. I never in my wildest dreams imagined I’d be in a moment like this: my father and the man I love standing side by side, both admiring my work. It’s better than a dream come true.
Then another voice rings out.
More than one, actually.
Loud, coarse, riotous, raucous, and all so familiar from my nights working in the clubhouse.
“You call that fucking art, Mack? Fuck, I’ve painted prettier pictures with my piss in the snow.”
“Blaze, we’re in a fucking cultured space, you moron. Show a little fucking respect and tone down the crude language, you braindead chimp.”
One by one, every single member of the club files in to the gallery. Decked out in their cuts, not a one of them even close to being dressed right for the occasion, and every single one of them so lovably inappropriate — and getting so many offended stares from the other patrons — that I laugh and jump for joy and run right into their midst to be enveloped in a dozen hugs and even more congratulations, until my head is spinning and my face hurts from smiling.
I’ve made it. And I’ve got my family with me. This is the life I want.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Snake
My body aches from a hard day’s work — busywork that Stone’s thrown my way consistently for the last two weeks as penance for sneaking around with his daughter; jobs that have had me up to my neck in grease and spending entire days with a broom in my hand. My old drill sergeants in the Army would be proud of the job Stone’s done; Exhausted, I relax at the bar and I nurse the beer in front of me. I drink slowly, taking a single sip and putting it back down on the polished wood bar. All around me, the clubhouse is alive — music is blasting, people drinking, the men and their old ladies are chatting, laughing, and Blaze and Mack are deep in another titanic struggle over the pool table that will end exactly how every other time they’ve played pool ends: with Mack winning and Blaze an inch away from flipping the pool table over.
Normally, I’d be out in it. But I’m too damn tired right now. There’s still a week or two left in my penance, depending on Stone’s whims, and even though some prospects, like Goldie, are getting it in to their heads that they can look down their noses at me because of the work Stone’s got me doing, I don’t regret a thing. Hell, I’m proud. It’s a small price to pay for supporting the woman I love. And even though I’m not out celebrating, I’m still feeling damn good. For the first time in a long while, I can sit quietly, think about my life, and not have the darkness and pain in my past try to claw its way to the surface and make me itchy and restless in my own skin.
I attribute that progress to the woman who should be here by my side.
It’s been two weeks that we’ve been together. And for two weeks, I’ve had next to me a woman who makes me content down to my very bones. Who knows me inside and out; knows the look I get on my face when my anguished past is trying to surface and knows just what to do to calm me down.
I get another sip into my beer before the clubhouse doors open and she steps through, wearing jeans, a t-shirt, leather jacket, and with her camera bag dangling from around her neck. Flushed, with her hair wild, I can tell she’s been riding hard.
Damn, does she ever look good.
The second she lays eyes on me, that smile on her face grows impossibly bright, and she strides across the room toward me.
It's a smile that has me leaping out of my seat. Proud, loving, this woman is a whirlwind of positivity and she sucks me right in to her beautiful orbit.
I meet her halfway.
Hooting breaks out all around us as I pick her up off her feet and kiss her deep. Let myself enjoy the touch of her body, sliding my hands down the small of her back to cup her nice round ass.
When I set her down, she’s breathing heavily, and grinning even more.
“You’re late,” I say.
“Nice to see you, too, Snake,” she says. “There was so much traffic. I rode the shoulder through most of Los Angeles, otherwise I’d still be stuck back there. But it was worth it. Really worth it.”
“Oh yeah? How many pieces did you sell this time?”
“Just three,” she says.
“I’m sure that’s nice money, Addie. But there’s got to be something more. You sold eight at that exhibit last week and you weren’t smiling like this.”
She hops up on her tiptoes, plants another kiss on my lips, and settles back down with an even wider smile on her face. Slowly, she reaches back and brushes a wild strand of hair away from her brilliant brown eyes.
“Guess why I’m smiling, Snake.”
“You want me to question why I’m seeing a smile on your pretty face, instead of just enjoying it?”
She rolls her eyes a little. “Just a little contemplation, please.”
I take a breath and indulge her. Look at her, long and hard — which isn’t that difficult, since I enjoy looking at her — and notice she’s standing a little straighter. There’s pride in her eyes. The same look I remember seeing in her a few years back when she saved her own money and bought her first motorcycle; pride and accomplishment.
“Job offer?” I say.
Her mouth drops open. “How did you guess?”
“I know you.”
Practically bouncing with energy, she reaches in to her camera bag and pulls out a business card. “There was a scout for National Geographic Travel at the exhibit today. He liked my stuff, we met up for drinks afterward, and he said they might have a job for me. They’re doing a piece on hidden tourist gems in Southern California and they want to send me out to find the secret charm of the desert towns.”
“You met him for drinks? And he slipped you his business card? You sure this was a job offer?”
I can’t help it — a little jealousy stabs me inside. I trust Addie, but she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and I definitely don’t trust other guys to keep their hands off her.
But she laughs.
“I was most definitely not his type,” she says. “He spent half the time talking about his husband. And he slipped in more than a few compliments about the portraits I took of you, in particular. So, maybe sometime later on down the line when I want a permanent gig with them, I’ll have you two meet up and you can flirt with him and get me a raise.”
“So he’s got good taste, huh? That’s probably why he wanted to hire you.”
She kisses me again.
“Must be. But that’s not the only reason I’m late. I’ve been working on something special, just for you. Why don’t you go wash some of that grease off? There’s something I need to show you.”
It sucks to leave her when she’s glowing like this, full of pride in everything she’s building for herself; her smile could outshine the sun; but she gives me a stern look and I know better than to argue with h
er. And I’m too tired to try.
After a couple minutes of scrubbing, I come out of the clubhouse bathroom. And stop dead in my tracks. Four familiar faces stand around Addie. Laughing, talking. Four faces I haven’t seen in years, not since Afghanistan. Not since we were all in combat camo, toting guns through mountainous desert and counting down the days until freedom.
It’s too much at first. Sudden and ferocious, it brings back a flood of memories — good and bad — and I take a step backward into the bathroom, debating with myself over asking Addie to just send these four home. Ever since I left the Army, I’ve done everything I could to avoid even thinking about my time in the service and now four of the closest brothers I had from my unit — aside from the best friend that I lost to my stupid mistake on patrol — are here.
Sergeant Malone. Alika ‘Mad Dog’ Jenkins. Reggie ‘Rage’ Samuelson. Clint ‘Spyder’ Lewis. Names that I’ll never forget. My long-lost brothers.
But I’m not fast enough to escape their notice.
They see me. She sees me. And she waves me over.
Every step I take forward brings me closer to the time in my life that I’ve tried to leave behind. And I feel shame, because I served with all these men and considered them brothers but, after the trauma of what happened with Derek, I cut ties and went dark as soon as I was discharged.
They’d have every right to be angry with me. To have come here to confront me for ditching them. Hell, I’d even deserve a few punches for all the shit I probably put them through, Sergeant Malone most of all — the grizzled man often compared leading our unit to roasting in the eighth circle of Hell.
“Corporal Logan Wood, well, you sure look like life ate you up and shat you right out,” he says, grinning and then pulling me in to a hug. “It’s good to see you, brother.”
I’m stunned at first. I don’t know what to say. I expected to hear anger, insults, because I left these men — and that entire part of my life — behind as soon as I could.
But instead, I hear brotherhood.
“It’s good to see you, too, sir,” I answer.
And it’s the same from all three of the others — hugs, greetings, not an ounce of ill-will — and my head is spinning in the best fucking way once I finish introductions.
Then, bewildered, I look at Addie.
“How the fuck did you do this?”
She smiles. It’s wicked, mischievous, hot enough that I want to drag her into one of the back apartments this fucking instant.
“You know those dog tags you gave Josie? Well, I might have borrowed them for a bit and used them to find these guys right here,” she says, then she comes in to kiss me and whisper in my ear, “I just called them to ask if there were any old photos of you in uniform. Thinking about you all in army duds turns me on. But they all asked about you and wanted to meet you. They care, Snake.”
She takes a step back, and I look to each one of my brothers in arms. My heart and head are both a mess right now — competing emotions swell inside me — and I fumble for words.
Then Sergeant Malone steps forward and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I know this is a shock. We know it’s been hard since what happened, and we all feel that pain, too. But we’re here because we love you, brother. We don’t leave any man behind. If you need us, if you need to talk or just someone to sit in silence and have a beer with, we’re here for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Those are the only words I can get out. To have so much of my past right in front of me, these brothers I thought I’d disappointed all those years ago when I went against orders and cost my best friend his life, and instead find them affirming nothing but their unwavering support and unbreakable brotherhood, shakes me to my core.
“Fucking right,” Spyder says, putting his hand on my other shoulder. “But don’t go getting weepy on me right now. At least not until after your lady here takes our picture.”
Smiling, Adella takes her camera out of the bag. She sets us up in a line, positioning and repositioning us to get the best picture. Once she gets it right, I find myself shoulder to shoulder with my brothers, with the men who served beside me as I grew from some dumb kid from Marietta, Georgia, into the man that I am today, with all my scars and all the things I’ve got to feel proud about — including that woman standing in front of me, with her face hidden behind some fancy camera, about to document my life.
They say time heals all wounds, and maybe that’s true, but time can’t hold a candle to Adella Stone. With her in my life, I’m a new man. Healing and looking forward to every damn day that I get to spend with that incredible woman.
The shutter snaps, and she pokes her head up from behind the camera, smiling.
“That’s the one,” she says.
I shake my head. “We need one more.”
“You getting all sentimental on me, Logan?” Sergeant Malone says.
“There’s one more Ranger who needs to be in this picture,” I say. Then, turning, I look around the clubhouse until I catch sight of Kendra. I wave to get her attention and she comes on over. “Where’s Josie?”
“Out front. Sitting on your motorcycle and reading Goosebumps.”
“Can you send her in here? We’re taking troop pictures.”
She smiles. “I’ll let her know.”
The door’s hardly shut behind her before it flies open again, smacking against the wall with a loud crash as Josie ‘Speed Demon’ Wilcox comes charging through. Not a second later, she’s standing right in front of me, bouncing up and down with relentless energy.
She looks from me to the rest of the soldiers, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Are you all Rangers? Did you all serve in Afghanistan with Snake? Did you shoot people? Did you bring your guns? Can I see them?”
Adella clears her throat. “Josie, I’m sure they can show you their guns later and tell you all the war stories you can handle, but we need to take your picture first.”
Josie looks back at her over her shoulder, turning her head so fast her hair whips through the air, and my dog tags go twirling. “I know that. Obviously.”
“Come on over here, Speed Demon. I want you standing in front of me for this picture,” I say.
While the rest of us get back into place, Josie comes to stand in front of me. She’s hardly up to my waist, but she stands as tall and proud as any soldier. And, by the time Adella has her camera up to her eye, Josie’s doing a picture-perfect imitation of a salute.
As soon as the shutter clicks, and I have locked away forever this perfect moment with the five most important soldiers in my life and the woman I love standing across from me, I feel total contentment. Life could hardly get more perfect.
Stepping forward, I pull Adella into my arms and kiss her, drawing a low, needy moan from deep in her chest.
“You seem like you have something on your mind, Snake? Do you want to sneak back to the apartments for a minute?” She says.
This woman is special — in every single way she makes my life better.
“I’m putting my property patch on you tonight,” I whisper, kissing her again, fierce. Never in my life did I think I’d be where I am now, finding peace with my past and looking forward to a future with a woman who makes my life good beyond description. Yet, here I am. “I’m putting that patch on you. And I am never letting you go.”
Epilogue – Adella
Adella
Four months later
“Snake, the FedEx closes in twenty minutes and my mom just texted me — she and my dad are on the way and they’ll be here in ten minutes. If you’re going to get that package of mine dropped off and get back before they get here, you need to leave now,” I call out. I’m a whirlwind of activity in the kitchen, my feet hurt, my ankles feel swollen, I’ve been racing from the fridge to the stove and back all day, getting ready for dinner tonight.
Thank god for Snake. If I didn’t have him, I wouldn’t be able to get those photos in the mail before my deadline.
&n
bsp; In that little package sitting on the small table by the front door of Snake’s home are the high quality originals for my latest assignment for National Geographic Traveler. My work’s been in their last three issues, and they’re not the only ones I’ve been freelancing for. I did a spread for Country Homes and Gardens which, although boring as hell compared to some travel stuff I do, meant I got to take a nice ride up Highway 1 along the coast while photographing some beautiful homes around Monterey.
While the homes were objectively beautiful, and I made some decent money for my work, the best part about that assignment was taking Snake along with me, riding up the coast with him at my side, and then politely asking him to head elsewhere while I worked, so as not to scare any of the people whose homes I’m photographing by having a big, scary-looking biker loitering in their driveway.
I’m so lucky to have a job that allows me plenty of time to stay around the club, around my family, and around my man.
That assignment in Monterrey was two months ago. Snake and I took a detour on the way back and did some camping by Big Sur. We hiked in the mountains, swam in the surf, and made love every night in the small tent we pitched in a private clearing.
A few weeks after that, I was late.
I took a test, felt like my heart was going to implode when I saw the positive but, once the feeling settled over me, I’ve been smiling since.
I’m sure Snake knows something is up — my drop in beer consumption alone must be a big hint to him, as I’ve suddenly switched from ending most hard days rides with an ice-cold beer to closing out my day with a cup of herbal tea.
And I’m certain that a few of the other ladies in the club suspect something, too. Just the other day, I had to decline tasting the latest batch of high-end vodka that Violet brought into the clubhouse to share. I ended up giving mine to Ruby and, while I doubt she minded, I caught a few sideways looks from her and Violet.