That rumbles through me. “Meg told you she has ghosts?”
She shakes her head. “When you live in a haunted house, sometimes it’s easy to spot other people’s demented spirits.”
I nod to let her know I understand. I may not have real life experience with those sorts of ghosts, but I’ve seen enough of the aftermath of living with Rebecca’s and Charlie’s parents that I can empathize. “No kissing the new girl. I got it.”
Rebecca’s smile is weak, and she tries to play off the hurt with a wink. She walks into the night, closer to the trucks that have turned on their headlights to create a playing field.
Ron’s still talking to Meg, and Meg’s still staring at the bonfire. He’s zeroed in on her for the evening even though she hasn’t given him much indication she’s interested, but a girl’s consent has never been his thing. Sweet-talking them until he gets them alone is his MO.
Truth is, I’d like to play football and hang with my friends, not be an unpaid babysitter for the night. I got three choices. One—I can walk away, because she’s not my responsibility. Two—I can play guardian angel all night from a distance and then hop in if he makes a move on her. Three—I can go over now and tell her what’s up.
Option one won’t work. I couldn’t live with it if something happened to her. I’m not patient enough for two, so that leaves me with three.
Ron jacks his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the keg. That’s all this girl needs, a drink brought to her from this asshole. Meg looks at him for the first time with an air of contempt. Takes everything I have not to laugh. Good girl, not buying what he’s selling, but Ron is the ultimate dirty used car salesman. He keeps up that smile and pretends not to read her body language.
Hell, maybe the bastard can’t read her body language. Maybe there’s a short circuit in his brain—but that doesn’t give him an excuse. Just gives more credence to my theory that he needs to be locked in a cage at the zoo.
Ron leaves, and I take my opportunity do to my public service announcement. Whatever she decides to do after she’s been warned won’t be on my conscience.
I’m off the tailgate, nodding my head at people who greet me along the way, even pause for a few beats to accept handshakes and one fast hug from an old friend. Once I get past the unseen barrier between my side of town and the other, the greetings aren’t as warm, when there are any at all.
Gotta admit, Meg is a sight. She wears expensive jeans that look tailored to her and a blue sweater that against the bonfire gives her a soft glow, and her blond hair spills over her shoulders. Upon closer examination, her face leaves me breathless. She has a face I could stare at for a very long time.
A few more steps until I’m in her space, and a stick cracks under the weight of my foot. Meg jumps, a shudder running through her body, and her head snaps in my direction. I stop in my tracks and put my hands in the air to show I come in peace. She wraps her arms around herself at the sight of me, and I slowly breathe out. I don’t live in a haunted house and even I can see her ghosts.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her blue eyes narrow. “You didn’t scare me.”
All right. If that’s how we’re going to play then that’s how we’re going to play. I lower my hands and walk up to her, but leave a few feet between us for her comfort. “My bad then. We haven’t had a chance to talk yet. I’m Eli McKinley. We have math and English together.”
Damn, same glare of contempt she gave Ron. “And?”
I blink. There are a lot of things she could have said that I would have comebacks for, but that wasn’t one of them. “And I wanted to introduce myself.”
“You have.” Meg returns to staring at the bonfire.
Good thing I had already decided against kissing her. Otherwise, my ego would be shredded to bloody pieces. “You always this friendly?”
“No, I used to be nice. But nice didn’t work out so well for me.”
That brings me up short, and I glance around as if someone will give me a clue as to how to continue the conversation. “You met my friend Rebecca earlier this week. She said you were nice.”
Meg’s face screws up, and internally I’m wincing. She said you were nice. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Your dad is Cyrus McKinley, the head of the Reign of Terror, right?”
Why do I feel like I’m being set up? “Yeah.”
“And from what I understand, the Reign of Terror are a relatively new and small club. You have a few chapters in-state. Some in Tennessee, Ohio and Indiana. Nothing huge, and for your sake, I hope it stays small, because flying under the radar is working for you now. But regardless of all that, you’re MC, correct?”
My eyebrows draw together. Granted, she’s been in town a few days and all that information is public knowledge, but it’s not the type of information normally given to a new girl. “That’s right.”
“I’m going to make this easier on both of us. I don’t do MCs. Not anymore. Rebecca seems like a great girl, but it appears she’s on the fast track to being someone’s old lady. That’s her decision, and I’m all for her living her life as she wants to, but I don’t travel those roads anymore. While I’m in this town, I won’t give you a hard time, so how about you guys don’t give me one?”
I’m dazed, as if someone hit me in the head. She’s well-versed in the MC lifestyle, as if she wrote the poem herself, which means she has connections to a club. Question is, which one, and why is she now in my town? “What club are you from?”
“Not answering. And this is my second request for you to please leave me alone.”
Fine. I get it. The ice beneath my feet is thin and cracking and if I don’t leave soon, she’s going to stomp it open and push me into dark, cold waters. “Believe me, don’t believe me, but I didn’t come over to hit on you. I came by because that guy who was talking to you is a bastard in the first degree. His name is Ron and he likes to use girls in the worst way. I wasn’t sure if anyone had gotten around to warning you yet. I didn’t want to see you get hurt, and your only crime is that you’re new to town.”
Her face and eyes soften, and her pure beauty in that moment takes my breath away. Meg’s throat moves as she swallows and slowly exhales. “Thank you then…for the warning.”
I didn’t know there’d been such a weight on my chest at the idea of her not knowing the dangers that lie ahead until now. “You’re welcome.”
I should leave her be and walk away, but I can’t. Not with how small and defenseless she appears. “It looks like you don’t want to be here, and I’m not stupid enough to think you’d take a ride from me, but if you want a ride home, I know plenty of girls who’d give you one.”
Meg scans the area, her gaze darting from one person to the next as if she’s searching for someone. “I came with my cousin, and I can’t go home without her. Our grandmother would only let her come here if I came too, and considering I have to share a bedroom and small bathroom with her for an indefinite amount of time, I’m doing my best to play along.”
“Who’s your cousin?” I ask.
“Jana Silverman.”
That sucks for her. Jana has a drinking problem, and from the expression on Meg’s face, she’s aware of it.
“Do you have her keys?” I ask.
She reaches into her jeans and pulls them out. “Lifted them when we first pulled up.”
“Lifted them?”
“Nine out of ten times, I can take care of myself.”
Gotta give the girl credit, she’s smart.
“Look,” she says. “You seem nice, and I appreciate the warning, but I need you to understand that while you can take it as a disrespect, I mean the following as no disrespect at all. Your lifestyle is your choice, and my lifestyle is my choice, and I’m choosing to stay away from guys on motorcycles. It’s what will work best for everyone. So I’m fine with us ignoring each other, but I want you to understand me keeping my distance is a matter of survival, okay?”
I came over h
ere to give her a heads up about the bastard known as Ron, but talking with Meg has made me curious. Like a damn itch in the back of my brain. “I don’t know what your experience is with MCs, but the Reign of Terror isn’t a one percent club, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
She rolls her eyes. Rolls. Her. Eyes. That pisses me off while amusing me at the same time.
“That’s what they all say. In fact, I think it’s required when talking with someone outside the MC. You know, you’re all Boy Scouts, help old ladies across streets, feed the homeless, give lollipops to babies and all that jazz.”
A smile spreads across my lips. “I was a Cub Scout. Have the uniform and more than a few patches as proof.”
Her mouth twitches and her eyes dance, and I’m hungry for more.
“I’ll hand it to you.” She releases a fraction of a blinding smile, and I have a feeling her full smile would be like staring into the sun. “You’re smooth.”
If she was any other girl, I’d slide in close, but out of respect for her, I keep the distance between us. “Is that a bad thing?”
She laughs then—a gorgeous sound. “Yes.”
I laugh with her because I’m pretty sure she just called me on my bullshit. But I sober up because what I’m about to say is the honest to God truth. “I’m serious about our club being legit. I understand your concern, but at least think about it before passing judgement on me. We could be friends. Hang out. Talk. Not once will I bring you around the clubhouse. If you’re MC or were MC, you and I both know that means you’re a different breed than Jana and Rob, and you’re not going to feel comfortable hanging with the likes of them. You’ve gotta admit that with being new to town, it would be nice to make friends.”
“I never said I was part of an MC. In fact, I clearly remember not answering.”
She hadn’t. “But you know about us, and while a hundred guys have tried talking to you tonight, I’m the only guy you’ve said a word to.”
“That’s because you’re more annoying than the rest.”
I smile because that’s probably true. “All the same, the offer to hang stands.”
Meg rubs her hands along her arms, and those eyes that had been dancing in laughter become empty. “Thank you, but no thanks.”
Do I plan on giving up on Meg? No. She’s piqued my curiosity and that rarely happens. Do I plan on giving her some space? Definitely. Rebecca’s right. She has ghosts, and I need to give her some breathing room. Even though the urge is to stay, to make her smile and laugh again, it’s time for me to give her that space she asked for. “If things get hairy tonight and you change your mind about needing a ride, come find me and I’ll hook you up.”
“I’m sure you will.” Heavy on the sarcasm, but at least there’s the return of a slight upward tilt of her lips. I’ll add that to the “win” column.
“See you around,” I say.
She inclines her head and then returns to staring at the fire. I head back to my side of the party, glancing over my shoulder a few times, and never once do I catch her looking back at me.
To the right, the football game is going strong. Rebecca’s team is lacking talent and on the losing end. Any other night, I’d jump into the game to help her out, but tonight, I hop back up onto the tailgate and settle in.
Meg’s still standing near the fire, still staring at it like she’s looking at some other time, some other place and wherever that place is, it’s causing her pain. A pit forms in my stomach. Even with the denial, she’s MC and I can’t help but wonder if her being here is going to cause problems for the Reign of Terror. I also can’t help but feel protective of her, too. If an MC hurt her and she’s here to heal, she’ll need a friend and she’s not going to find one on that side of the bonfire.
I’m curious. Nothing more. Nothing less. And my parents raised me to treat girls with respect. She’s new, she’s vulnerable, so tonight I’ll sit here and make sure no other asshole gives her a hard time. Tomorrow she’ll become somebody else’s problem. But tonight, I don’t mind being her lookout.
The First Loves Collection:
The First Understanding
Dare You To, the second book in the Pushing the Limits series, is possibly one of the most personal stories I’ve written. I have an emotional connection with Beth’s character, and twenty years ago, I met and married my own Ryan (Beth’s love interest in Dare You To).
A character that struck a chord with my readers in Dare You To was Beth’s uncle Scott. He and Beth shared a very special and complicated relationship. Even though he was just a teenager, he raised her from the time she was a toddler until the day he left to pursue his dreams. He returned to Beth’s life when he was in his thirties and Beth was seventeen.
The pair shared so much love from their past, but Beth had lived a terrible life with a mother who was a heroin addict. Scott had hoped that his reappearance in Beth’s life would go smoothly, but with her huge trust issues, their road to reconciliation was extremely bumpy.
Writing the breakfast scene from Beth’s point of view was one of my favorite moments involving Scott. Because so many other people also loved Beth and Scott’s relationship, I decided to show the scene between Scott and his wife, Ashley, before the breakfast scene, and then the breakfast scene from Scott’s point of view.
Chapter 10
Scott
Blond hair. Blue eyes. A smile that healed every cut and bruise on my body that I got protecting her from my father—her grandfather. My niece. Elisabeth. In my office, I lean on my desk and stare at a picture of us. She’s five in the photo, and she looks at me in it as if I’m the center of her universe.
Considering the other options in her life back then for center of the universe contention, I’m guessing I was the best and only pick. She lived with me, my father, my brother—her father—and her mom in a two bedroom trailer. Her grandfather was a sloppy drunk who liked to hit, her father was on the road to repeating the pathetic drunk genetics and her mother was so sad all the time that she would put anything in her body that would wipe her memory clean.
That left me. A teenage boy who didn’t have a penny to his name or enough common sense to think half of his decisions through.
I read somewhere once that a boy’s brain doesn’t develop the ability to understand the consequences of actions until later in his teen years. Part of me wants to believe it’s true. If it is—there’s a reason I was a bastard. If it’s not true, then I’m just a bastard.
The latter is probably my truth whether I want it to be or not, and it’s the reason I don’t sleep at night.
At eighteen, I had limited and straightforward thoughts and they went like this:
Baseball.
Playing in the minors.
Playing in the majors.
Becoming a star.
Getting out of town.
Getting out of the state.
Running as far away from my family as possible.
Running from my brother.
Running from his girlfriend.
Running from my father.
Just plain running.
Here’s the thing. I succeeded…at all of it. Excelled at running. I’m now in my thirties and recently retired from playing major-league baseball. I have more money than even God would know what to do with. I have investments and portfolios and a cushy job as a sales rep to keep myself occupied, because staying still drives me insane.
Staying still means I have time to listen to those annoying voices in my head. Means I have to live with demons who like to remind me of the past.
I used to lay in bed at night in my room in our trailer and as the wind shook the thin walls, I would imagine living the life I have now. I own a house that’s big enough that voices echo inside it. I have fast cars. I have enough land that I could farm it and feed a small nation. I have a beautiful wife who I love, who loves me and is my best friend.
I have it all.
It. All.
Because I ran. Because I stayed
single-minded. Because I acted and didn’t give a damn about any consequences, any fallout, any hurt. I ran and I won…and I traded Elisabeth’s life for mine.
I left her behind by lying to myself and to her, saying that I’d be back as soon as I could. A lie. One I made myself believe as she hugged me goodbye. One she also believed as she kissed my cheek one last time.
Now she’s dying. Not a physical death, an emotional one, and from the first eighteen years of my life I know that an emotional death is the worst kind there is. It’s the least humane, the most painful, and if it goes on for too long there’s no cure.
And now I’ve fooled myself again by believing that if I finally kept that promise, I could save her—but really I wanted to save myself. I wanted the nightmares to go away. I wanted the demon in my head to cease chattering. I wanted peace and stillness and silence, but got none of it. Instead, failing my niece has created an explosion of anarchy.
Simple truth—I screwed up and I don’t know how to make us right, especially when everything I do is wrong.
The door to my office opens. Just a turn of the knob and a slight push in. Centimeter by centimeter, my wife, Allison, peeks in. I put down the picture frame and meet her eyes. There’s hesitancy in them. There’s also pain, and that causes a ripple of an ache in my chest. I’m a bastard, I don’t deserve her, yet in spite of all that, in her eyes, there’s also love.
In a white nightgown and with her blond hair pulled up into messy bun, she crosses the room. When she reaches me, she brushes her fingers along my jaw, the pads of her fingers soft against the stubble on my chin. “Come back to bed. It’s cold there without you.”
I left our bed so that my tossing and turning wouldn’t wake her. Another fail. I capture her hand, kiss it then draw her into me. Hug her tight. Allison is the one woman in all my years that has fit perfectly, her body into mine. Her laughter sweet in my ears. Her warmth countering my cold. Her heart filling my holes.
The Novella Collection: A series of short stories for the Pushing the Limits series, Thunder Road series, and Only a Breath Apart Page 5