I had no desire to do a job. The risk of getting caught, which had always been a thrill to me, lingered over me as a reminder of losing Abby. It was a risk I wasn’t willing to take. At least not at that moment.
“Sounds interesting.” I stood. “Think I’m going to do some tuning on the X5M, get it ready for the upcoming job.”
He stood. “Let me know how the proposal goes.”
“Will do, Brother.”
I turned toward the door, feeling no more certain of when I was going – or how I was going – to propose.
But I knew one thing for sure.
I didn’t want to do another job as a Devil’s Disciple.
111
Abby
George’s diner was frigid. While I waited for him to greet me, I sat on my hands, hoping to warm them up. When he arrived at the table, he was overly excited to see me.
He sat down across from me and motioned toward my lap. “Why are you hiding your hands? Let me see your hands, Abby.”
“They’re cold.”
“Let me see them.”
“What is wrong with you?” I gave him a look. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Let me see them.”
I raised my hands. “It’s like Antarctica in here.”
He looked my hands over and then sighed.
“What?”
“Well, you’ve been talking about a tattoo, I thought maybe you got one.”
“On my hand?”
He shrugged. “Hand, wrist, arm. Who knows.”
“No new revelations?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Anything.”
“Nope. Just laying around. Trying to feel better. All I can eat is pancakes.”
“Where’s Porter?”
“Making his rounds. Seeing Baker and checking the pumps on the carwashes in Oceanside.”
He rested his chin in his hands and looked me over, smiling the entire time.
I giggled. “You’re acting weird.”
“Do you want children?”
It seemed like a strange time for that specific question, but I liked that he asked it. “I do,” I said. “Three.”
“Boys? Girls?”
“Some of each. I don’t care. But I want one in the middle, and one on each end. Maybe the boy would be oldest, so he could protect the other two.”
“Porter and I were talking the other day. Might not be my place to tell you, but I’m doing it anyway. He wants kids. The thought of you two having kids excites the hell out of me. They’d be like grandkids to me.”
My heart swelled. “He said that?”
“He sure did.”
We hadn’t talked about it, but I’d hoped he wanted children. Having children with him would be the best gift ever. I could see us spending all our time on the beach building sandcastles and teaching them to surf.
“I like thinking about that.”
“So do I,” he said.
“Why didn’t your marriage work?” I asked.
His gaze dropped to the table. “I got married to please my mother.”
“Did you love her?”
He looked up and shook his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“You didn’t even love her?”
“Not in the sense you’re thinking. I loved her, but I didn’t love her like a wife. We were friends more than anything. We had been since we were kids.”
“Then, after you got divorced, you went in the Marines?”
He smiled. “I was twenty-one. Oldest kid in my platoon. Everyone looked up to me. Best decision I ever made. I guess, in some respects, I married the Corps.”
“Do you think you’ll ever fall in love?”
“I haven’t got time.” He looked around the diner and then met my gaze. “I love you, though. I love Porter, too. Love all the people that work for me.”
“Can I ask you something? Something serious?”
“Sure.”
“Are you sure?”
“Abby, you can ask me anything.”
“Anything?”
He reached for my hand. “Anything.”
“Are you…are you…do you think you might be gay?”
He glanced over each shoulder, and then smiled. “I’m surprised it took you this long to ask. Yes, I am.”
“Holy crap?” I screeched. “Really?”
“No.” He chuckled. “I’m kidding.”
“You’re serious, though? You’re gay?”
“I am.”
I felt happy and sad at the same time. I was happy that he told me the truth, and of the possibility of him finding someone to love, but sad that he’d chosen to hide it from me, and from everyone else as far as I knew.
“Why do you hide it?” I asked.
“I didn’t have a choice in the military,” he said. “It would have ended my career.”
“What about now?”
“It’s a choice I make, I suppose. It’s not as easy as you’d think to reveal something like that. Everyone looks at you differently.”
“Not everyone,” I said. “Just some people.”
“How do you think Porter would react?”
“Just like I am,” I said. “He’d ask you why you’re not in a relationship.”
“I doubt that.”
I crossed my arms and gave him a look. “I don’t.”
“I like the way things are right now,” he said. “Everyone’s happy. I’ll keep things like this until the good Lord tells me to make a change.”
I shrugged. “I can’t argue with that. Thanks for telling me, though.”
“It feels good to admit it. I haven’t done it with too many people.” He smiled. “Pancakes?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ham?”
“Please.”
“Give me a few minutes?”
“I’ll be right here.”
As I finished my meal, Porter showed up. He came in, gave me a kiss, and took a seat across from me.
“I need some elbow room,” he said. “I’m going to get the Abby and that double burger.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“Not yet,” he said with a laugh. “But we can keep trying.”
“That reminds me of something. At what point did we decide to have unprotected sex? That kind of just happened.”
“Oh.” He blushed. “Sorry.”
I held the last bite of pancakes in front of my mouth. “What’s going on with that?”
“Maybe I subconsciously want to have kids.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Subconsciously?”
“Uh huh.”
I smiled. “Me, too. Maybe that’s why I haven’t said anything until now.”
“You want them?” He leaned forward. “Kids?”
“Three. Boys and girls.”
He smiled. “Same here. Maybe four. Two and two.”
“You don’t get to pick what they are,” I said with a laugh.
“In a perfect world, I’d like four.”
“We don’t live in a perfect world,” I said.
He sighed. “I get reminded of that every day.”
“What does that mean?”
He shook his head. “It means people do stupid things, and I have to read about it and hear about it. I’m sick of it.”
“Like what?”
“Shooting up schools. Killing people at concerts. Kidnapping their students and driving across country. You name it.”
“It’s sad.”
“It’s worse than that.”
George walked up beside me and gave me a look. I gave him one right back. “Have a seat.”
“Too busy.” He looked at Porter. “What’ll it be, my man?”
“Sit. Down,” I huffed.
“I’ve got too much going on.”
“You’re all but empty,” I said. “Sit!”
He sat beside me, at the edge of the booth. I elbowed him in the ribs, hoping he’d give the big reveal to Porter. He did nothing but elbow me
right back.
“What’s the deal with you two?” Porter asked.
“George has something to tell you.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No. I don’t.”
“I love you, George,” I said.
“I love you, too.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh.
George leaned against the back of the booth, crossed his arms, and huffed out a sigh.
“What?” Porter asked.
“I’m gay,” George whispered.
“Yeah,” Porter said. “I figured you were.”
George looked at me and then at Porter. “What do you mean you figured I was?”
“You’re fifty-three, unmarried, and your garage is the tidiest place I’ve ever been in my life. Then, when I was wiring up the tachometer in your car, I found a business card underneath the carpet below the glove box. It was a manager’s card from one of the bars in town.”
George’s face went stark white. “I wondered where that went.”
“Can I get the double burger and the Abby?” Porter asked. “I’m starving.”
“You’re not bothered by it?” George asked.
Porter’s eyes narrowed. “By what?”
“Me being gay?”
Porter laughed. “You bothered by me being heterosexual?”
George laughed. “No.”
“Well,” I’m only bothered by one thing, and you being gay isn’t it,” Porter said.
“What’s that?”
“My hunger,” Porter said. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”
George stood. “One double burger and one Abby coming right up.”
Porter stood and opened his arms. “Give me a hug.”
George looked at me, and then at Porter.
“I want in on this,” I said.
While the three of us hugged to celebrate George’s coming out, I decided that I wanted to marry Porter and have his children.
He truly was the best man God could offer me.
All I had to do was wait. Wait, and hope that he felt the same way about me.
112
Ghost
I’d carried the ring in my left front pocket for six days, waiting for the perfect time to propose to Abby. I didn’t want the event to be driven by my enthusiasm alone. It needed to be the perfect time and place, naturally. Planning it seemed far too cliché and wasn’t what I’d come to envision.
Abby’s admitted hatred of surprises didn’t help matters. Over the last few days, she’d suspected something was going on, and had scratched her left arm to the point it had a rash covering it from her wrist to her elbow.
She glanced at me and grinned. “I can’t believe it’s over. No more to-do list. It’s done. Kaput.”
I looked at the half-finished tattoo. The letters B, E, L, and I were complete, and the artist was filling in the outline for the E.
“The tattoo’s half done,” I said. “So, the list is almost complete.”
She winced in pain. “It’ll be complete here in a few minutes.”
“Are you going to make another?”
“Nope. We’re just going to live life. No lists.”
“Sounds good to me.”
She decided to get the word believe tattooed on her wrist. It seemed appropriate, considering she had it inscribed on my bracelet. I’d come to look at the bracelet as more than a gift, viewing it as a symbol of power, strength, and support.
I found myself studying it, using it as a reminder that my life, albeit different, was wandering down the only path that it was destined to travel upon. I truly believed Abby was the final item on my unwritten to-do list.
In thirty minutes, the artist was done with the tattoo. “Let your arm hang at your side and look in the mirror,” he said. “See what you think.”
Abby rose from the chair, walked to the full-length mirror, and turned her wrist until the reflection revealed the delicate script.
“I love it,” she said.
He smiled. “Cool.”
She returned to the chair, sat down, and reached for her purse. “How much was it, again?”
“Tag me in an Instagram post with a picture of it, and it’s free,” he said.
She pulled out her wallet and fished through the bills. After removing two one-hundred-dollar bills, she handed them to him. “Here, take this. I’ll tag you on a post. What’s your username?”
“At Turner Made.”
“I’ll do it right now,” she said with a smile.
She took a photo with her phone, made an Instagram post, and put several hashtags on it. After posting it, she stood. “There you go.”
He wrapped her tattoo with a protective wrap, instructed her on aftercare, and gave the tattoo one last inspection. “Looks good.”
“I’m not a tattoo virgin anymore.” She opened her arms wide. “Do you hug?”
He stroked his beard nervously. “If he’s cool with it, I’m cool with it.”
“He’s cool with it,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Give me a hug.”
While they hugged, his phone, which was sitting on top of a large red tool box, was buzzing like a bee. When she released him, he reached for it.
“Holy shit.” He turned his phone to face her. “Look at this.”
I looked at the phone but saw nothing but a picture of a tattoo machine.
“What?” Abby asked.
He moved the phone closer. “My followers.”
The number of followers listed on his Instagram page was changing right before our eyes. In the time that he held it in front of us, the number changed from five thousand to seven thousand, and was steadily climbing.
“You did an awesome job. Tagging you in that post was the least I could do,” she said. “Maybe you’ll get some business out of it.”
He flashed the peace sign. “Thanks, Abby.”
She returned the gesture and stepped to my side. “Do you like it?”
I gave the artist a wave and turned toward the door. “I love it.”
“Me, too.”
“That other guy was a dip-shit,” I said. “I can’t believe he wouldn’t tattoo you.”
She chuckled. “Since when is Benadryl a narcotic?”
The first tattoo studio we’d gone to asked that she fill out a questionnaire. One of the questions asked if she had taken any medication in the last twenty-four hours. She listed Benadryl, which she’d been taking for the rash on her arm, and Pepto-Bismol, which she’d been taking for her upset stomach. The artist refused to tattoo her because of her recent use of Benadryl.
I shrugged. “I think he just didn’t want to do it and used that as an excuse.”
“There’s a reason for everything,” she said. “It brought us here, and Steve was awesome.”
I didn’t agree with the everything happens for a reason remark, but I did agree that Steve did an awesome job.
“Agreed,” I said. “Want to grab something to eat?”
“I’m exhausted,” she murmured, yawning as she spoke. “I think the whole tattoo thing wore me out. Can we just go home, and eat something there? I’m scared to eat restaurant food, anyway.”
Her stomach had been a disaster for the last ten days. If she didn’t take Pepto-Bismol regularly, she was miserable. A light meal, relaxing, and getting some sleep was probably in her best interest, anyway.
“Sounds good,” I replied.
An hour later, we were laying in her bed watching television. Six months prior, I didn’t give a shit about what was on TV and hadn’t so much as turned mine on in years. Now, Abby and I had no less than half a dozen shows we enjoyed regularly. I looked forward to the time that we watched television together, as most of it was done from the comfort of her bed.
“I guess I ought to change my address,” I said. “I’m never at home.”
She nestled against me, resting her head against my chest. “You should just move in.”
“You’d get sic
k of me,” I replied.
She swung her hand toward me in a joking manner. I flinched, and when I did, her hand smacked me dead in the nuts.
I folded up like a cheap suit as pain shot from my groin to my stomach. I writhed in pain from side-to-side, eventually coming to a rest with my eyes fixed on hers.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” I howled.
“I’m so F-ing sorry,” she huffed. “Oh my God.”
She nodded toward my crotch, which was currently being protected by my hands. “Get your dick out, please. I want to apologize to him.”
“He’s broken.”
“I want to fix him.”
With slight reluctance, I pushed my shorts past my knees, exposing my shriveled, and very sore, manhood.
She looked at my shorts and let out a sigh. “Toss ‘em on the floor.”
I grinned. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”
I did as she asked and tossed my shorts beside the bed. After fluffing her pillow, she lowered herself onto her back. Then, with her eyes fixed on the television, she blindly searched for my cock until she found it.
She gripped it lightly. A slow, predictable stroke followed. In seconds, I’d recovered fully from the nut-punch, and was as hard as the diamond ring that remained in the left front pocket of my jeans.
I studied her as she stroked my rigid shaft. Her eyes were fixed on the television, squinted into a smile. A slight grin gave hint to the satisfaction she obtained from either what she was watching or what she was doing.
Abby lived her life without excuses. She didn’t need them. She was an old soul with the heart of a princess and the imagination of a budding teen. I’d always seen beauty as something that masked one’s faults.
Part of Abby’s beauty was that she didn’t conceal her faults. She handed them to me on a silver platter, giving me the freedom to inspect them thoroughly. Knowing Abby allowed me to accept her for who she truly was. I respected her for being genuine, and true to herself.
For several moments’ time, I admired her as she lay at my side, smiling. Meeting her had changed my life completely. We now had an open book ahead of us, limited by nothing more than our imaginations and the sixty years of time we were sure to spend together.
While she continued to slowly stroke me while she was focused on the television, I reached over the edge of the bed and fumbled to find my jeans. It was the perfect time for me to propose. Later, when we were asked when and where the proposal came, we wouldn’t be able to tell the truth.
Devil's Disciples MC Series- The Complete Boxed Set Page 60