The Novella Collection: A series of short stories for the Pushing the Limits series, Thunder Road series, and Only a Breath Apart

by Katie McGarry

  A Thunder Road Novella

  Chapter 11

  Pigpen

  Growing up I didn’t believe in true love. I couldn’t wrap my head around the bull about a princess trapped in a castle and how some random guy who never met the chick before takes one look at her sad blue eyes and feels compelled to place himself in front of a fire-breathing dragon to save her life. No way that type of love was real.

  Don’t get me wrong. When I was younger I believed in caring love, protective love. The type you have for your family, your friends, and then for your friends who become your family. That shit was and is real. For my friends and family, I’d take on the dragon without the armor and the sword. I’d slay that bastard with a smile on my face just to piss it off, but no way could there be some woman out there who owned me more than I owned myself.

  Fairytales. That’s all that kind of nonsense was. Then I met her—a woman who slipped under my skin without even trying, who took possession of my soul with a smile and a blah blah blah, and that makes me grumpy. Like a damned toddler who had to eat peas and doesn’t want to take a nap.

  In the back of the high school’s auditorium, I lean against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest and do what my club has allowed me to do—look from a distance.

  Ms. Whitlock.

  Let’s all take a moment to savor that name. Whitlock. Ms. Whitlock. Ms. Caroline Whitlock. Her name rolls off the tongue like a Spanish “r.” Blond hair slicked back in a perfect bun, white silk shirt, gray slim skirt that fits her so perfectly I can’t stop staring and blue eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses. She’s in her twenties, like me, and I have so much respect for this woman that I can’t bring myself to call her by her first name without her permission.

  She’s gorgeous, she’s intelligent, she’s cold and she’s feisty. I can’t name one student who doesn’t think she’s a tyrant, and she has never looked once in my direction. Worse, I haven’t been able to do more than savor her from a distance. Why? Because she has been the English teacher to some of the teens of our motorcycle club. I’ve been told that throwing her on the back of my motorcycle would cause a conflict of interest.

  Translation? If I were to date her and suck at the whole dating thing—which I do—then that might cause Caroline Whitlock to take it out on the Reign of Terror teens. I say they’re big kids who can handle failing a class, but when I saw those stupid doe-eyed teens going through all their life-threatening issues, I took a step back.

  That’s all ending today. In a matter of minutes, all the pictures of Chevy, Violet and Razor’s coma-inducing high school graduation ceremony will be taken, and there will be two years before another club teen will grace Caroline Whitlock’s gum-coated classroom.

  Tonight, I begin my quest to woo the most desirable woman in the world.

  “The fact you like my English teacher is creepy.” Chevy stands beside me, graduation cap tilted on his head. He’s the spitting image of his uncle and my best friend, Eli. Dark hair, dark eyes and every bone is dedicated to taking care of the people he loves.

  It’s gonna break a lot of people’s hearts when this kid leaves town to go to college in the fall. He lost his dad before he was born, but the club took him on, and now he’s everybody’s son. Chevy hasn’t patched into the club, the club’s initiation to officially become a member. Whether he does or not, he’s part of this big, messed-up family.

  No doubt most of the club will be there when he plays college football. It’ll probably scare the hell out of the small college town when the stands are full of Reign of Terror biker cuts, but they’ll figure out quick that we’re all about supporting our boy and not about causing trouble.

  Chevy makes a show of glancing back and forth between me and Ms. Whitlock. “There’s something wrong with you.”

  “No, there’s not.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “No, there’s not.”

  “For some reason, women think you’re good looking and that you’re funny, so when you have women who give you their phone number without you asking, why her?”

  Hence my road name, Pigpen. The guys in the club said I was too good looking, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a ripped body, courtesy of my service in the Army. To even the playing field, they gave me a road name designed to offset my appearance. I don’t have problems walking into bars and finding a one-night stand, but I don’t want a one-night stand. I want a date with Caroline Whitlock.

  “That woman revels in people’s pain,” he says. “Do you know how many football games I almost missed because of her?”

  “None.”

  “That’s not the point. She’d shut her door to class thirty seconds before the bell. If you didn’t make it in, you were locked out and ran the risk of being reported for cutting. And as I stood outside waiting for her to let me in, she’d give the class a quiz no one could make up. I almost missed games because my grade would be low that week from the missed quiz.”

  “Yet, you played.” Because he learned quickly to get his ass in his seat early.

  While all the other teachers are taking photos with students, Ms. Whitlock is gathering papers at the podium and straightening them. Her long fingers slip along the edges to nudge them into line. How is it that she makes that simple gesture seem sexy?

  “The point is she’s a sadist.”

  “She’s an angel.”

  “That’s messed up.”

  I flash a grin at him because I’m aware how messed up I am. “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s not, and I can do this all day.”

  Chevy laughs and shakes his head. I offer him my hand, he takes it and I pull him in for a hug. One that includes a strong thump on the back. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Chevy, Mom wants a picture of us,” Violet says from my right. I let Chevy go, and my smile grows at the sight of Violet decked out in the purple cap and gown, and with honor cords and sashes around her neck.

  I hold out my arms. “I need a hug.”

  Her eyes go wide because she and I both know I’m not going to give her the polite public hug going on all around us. I’m too crazy for that. Violet sticks out her finger like I’m a rabid dog that can be told to sit.

  “Stop. My hair is still curly, my cap is still on my head, my knee is not aching, and I still have pictures to take and you can only approach if you behave.”

  Arms still out wide. “I’m behaving.”

  She laughs in spite of herself as she slowly backs up. “Behave isn’t in your vocabulary.”

  She’s right. I pick up my stride, and in three steps I lift Violet until her feet dangle in the air. She squeals, slaps my shoulders, and demands that I let her go, but I hug her regardless. After enduring a colorful tirade about how she’s going to nail me in the balls if I don’t put her down, I comply. Violet’s just dangerous enough that she’ll do it.

  God, I love this kid.

  Violet’s all smiles as she pulls back and looks at me. “You’re the craziest person I know.”

  “Which says a lot since you’re part of a motorcycle club.”

  “I’m not a member.”

  She can deny it all she wants, but every drop of blood in that girl screams Reign of Terror—like a genetic predisposition. But she needs her space from the club, and I understand why. It’s been a tough few years for her, but thankfully, she’s made her peace with the club and loves us again.

  This fall, she’ll be heading to college with Chevy. If forever is possible, then those two will have it. They love each other too much to let go.

  I hook an arm around Violet as I lead her to where the club moms have set up their own paparazzi team. On the way, I tease her that I’m going to ruin the curls in her long red hair. In return, she threatens my life multiple times, and I award her bonus points for creativity as to where she plans to hide my body. I smile wider because the club raised her right.

  We reach the moms, and as I release Violet, I kiss the side of her he
ad. Despite the crap I just gave her, I’m careful not to disturb her hair, her pinned-in graduation cap or her makeup. Chevy takes her hand, and in seconds, the two of them are fussed over by the moms who are sending me dirty looks for messing with Violet before all the pictures were taken. But Violet looks over her shoulder at me and winks. I wink back.

  It’s weird: if someone had asked me years ago when I was in the military, knee-deep in the mud of some foreign country with a rifle slung over my shoulder, if I could be so full of pride for some kid I wasn’t even related to, I’d tell you that you were out of your mind. Now? I might as well be joining the group and taking two million pictures with my cell.

  There’s a few disagreements about where to take the pictures, but when Chevy leans down and kisses Violet, so many flashes go off that I’m nearly blinded.

  I glance around in search of the other graduation boy, Razor, and then for the other power-couple teen duo, Emily and Oz. If I know the women associated with this club, they’re going to want a group photo. Half the time, none of us can do a damn thing without us all posing. If I’m going to woo Ms. Whitlock, I need these pictures to wrap up now.

  Emily and Oz are off to the right with Emily’s father, Eli. Oz has his arm around Emily, and she’s held tight to his side. I was one of the skeptics who wasn’t sure they could pull off a long-distance relationship, but they did.

  Emily graduated from her high school in Florida last week, and she’ll be heading to college here in Kentucky in the fall. A different one than Chevy and Violet, but the schools are close to each other. Oz has been working full time for the security company the club owns, as well as taking a full load of classes, thanks to online courses. This fall, he’ll head to college with Emily, then return home on the weekends and breaks to continue his work with the company.

  The babies are growing up and leaving the nest. Granted, I only got involved with these kiddos a few years back, but they grew on me.

  I do another scan of the room, and Razor’s nowhere to be found. Rebecca, Oz’s mom, is looking around, too. She catches the eye of Eli and Hook, Razor’s dad. We’re all on the same page—Razor’s not around. After a quick survey of the auditorium, they all look to me to be the man with the plan. With a nod, I’m on the move.

  Hook may be Razor’s dad, but Razor’s mine. Razor and Hook have had a rough few years, though they’re patching things up. Razor’s even going to be the best man at Hook’s wedding next month. While they’ve found a way of talking to each other without shouting, Razor and I have a connection. I have a way of speaking so that he’ll listen, and I have a way of listening to him. Having the ability to listen is a rare talent that’s lost on a lot people in Razor’s life.

  The reason I rolled into Snowflake, Kentucky, after I left the military, the reason I joined the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club, was because of this kid. He doesn’t know it, but years ago things were set into motion that made me his dark arch-guardian-angel.

  I step out into the spring evening and do a sweep of the sidewalk, half expecting to see Razor in the shadows kissing his girlfriend, Breanna. I don’t spot him, and I’m slow rounding the corner in case I need to allow him some space. Razor’s there, but alone. Standing by himself staring off at the sunset.

  Razor lowers his gaze to the white rose in his hand, and my heart rips off my arteries and drops to the mud on the ground. Damn, he’s missing his mom.

  Sometimes, the world is tone deaf. It was a good intention—handing out roses to the graduates so they could give them to their moms. But Razor lost his mother and it’s a wound that still stings.

  I move for the auditorium as this may be something Hook wants to handle, but then Razor slides his eyes in my direction. I’ve never been able to walk away from this kid when he’s in pain. Don’t see a reason to start now.

  I hold out my hand to him as I approach, he takes it and we go in for a short and strong hug. I step back and look the kid in the eye. “What’s going on, brother?”

  Razors shrugs and then goes back to studying the horizon. His graduation cap is off, the gown open and underneath he wears jeans and a black T-shirt.

  “Where’s Breanna?” I ask.

  “In taking pictures with Addison.”

  Addison is his girlfriend Breanna’s best friend. Breanna is home for the weekend from her boarding school. She’ll graduate herself in two weeks. “I’m going to ask again, and this time I’d like a real answer. I have a woman I need to hit on before the evening is done, and if it doesn’t happen because I’m pestering your sad ass over feelings, I’m going to be seriously pissed.”

  Razor snorts. “Ms. Whitlock?”

  “The woman begs to be wooed.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I hear that a lot. Enough about me. Let’s talk more about you.”

  He twirls the rose. “I thought about giving it to Jill.” His father’s fiancé. “I thought about giving it to Rebecca, too.” Oz’s mom, Man O’ War’s wife. While Oz is her only biological child, she cares for all the teens as if they were her own.

  “Either of them would have loved the gesture,” I say. Either would have cried their eyes out that he had chosen them.

  “Yeah.” His eyes glisten, and that kills me from the inside out.

  I place my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. If I could take his grief, I would. If I could take whatever weighs down this kid at any time, I would. I’d lay my life down for his in a heartbeat.

  “I think—” He pauses as his voice becomes too thick to talk. “I think I’m going to buy other flowers for them. This one needs to go to Mom.”

  “Want me to go with you?” To the cemetery where she’s buried under a flowering apple tree. I’ve gone with him before. He doesn’t know it. Followed him at times when his demons were close to destroying what was left of him. Those times I gave him space, but I was nervous about leaving him alone.

  He clears his throat and looks me in the eye, and for the first time in years, I spot peace along with pain. “I’m going to take Breanna with me. It’s a nice evening for a ride, and she hasn’t been on the back of my bike in a while. It’s time she meets my mom.”

  Next time I see that girl, I’m going to give her a Violet-worthy hug. In months, Breanna found ways to help heal Razor in ways none of us could accomplish in years. “Are you going to bring her by the party later?”

  “Yeah.”

  Good news. It’s all good news. “They want you for pictures.”

  The smooth, cool kid returns. “I’ll pass.”

  “You either come in now or I send Rebecca out. I’m going to warn you, she will kick your ass.”

  Razor chuckles, but he doesn’t disagree. Rebecca is one scary and fantastic woman. Razor’s cell pings, and he pulls it out of his jeans pocket. His smile fades, and I don’t like that.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  He mashes his lips together. “No.”

  I hitch my thumbs in my pockets, because now I’m not going anywhere. “Spill.”

  “I’m not sure you can help with this one.”

  “Brother, I can launch rockets in space from my cell. Besides finding time to ask your English teacher out, I can do anything.” I don’t mention how his keeping problems to himself almost caused nuclear fallout for him and Breanna a few months back. I’m not a told-you-so type of guy, but I’m betting the glare I’m giving this kid is saying it all in plain, short sentences.

  Razor turns his cell in my direction, and on it is a picture of bruises on someone’s arm—a feminine arm. The texts are from Breanna, and that causes a dark rumble in my chest. “Is someone messing with your girl?” Because that’s trouble I’ll happily take on, any day, any time.

  “No, but her friend Addison is having problems with her father, and Breanna’s scared because it’s getting worse. If you have ideas of how to help someone who doesn’t want help, I’m all ears.”

  Good thing for Razor, Breanna and Addison, I’m all too well-versed in helping people w
ho don’t want to be helped. It’s all I’ve done with Razor, Chevy, Violet, and Oz for years. “Give me a few, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I’m not looking for you to beat the hell out of him.”

  I bob my head as that sounds like a great idea, but… “Have some faith, okay?”

  The side door opens and the utter look of love and devotion that radiates from him when Breanna walks out would be sickening if it were coming from anyone but him. Razor, though, deserves the world. I love her for handing the world to him.

  “Pictures,” I say, then turn on my heel to give the two lovebirds time.

  I round the corner, pull out my cell, and shoot a text to Dust, a brother of mine in the club. He’s closer in age to Razor, Oz, Chevy, and Violet than he is to me, but his soul is old. That happens when you experience hell on earth.

  Me: I’m going to need your help on something.

  Dust: Anything.

  Good, because what I have in mind might take time.

  At this rate, I’m never going to corner Ms. Whitlock and discover my own slice of heaven. When I walk back into the auditorium, Ms. Whitlock is chatting it up with Addison, the one Razor’s concerned about, and that causes me to focus. I don’t believe in coincidence, and I’m wondering if Ms. Whitlock is zeroing in on the same problems Razor and Breanna are crushed over.

  Their conversation is intense. Ms. Whitlock talking more than Addison. Their movements are rigid and clipped. As Ms. Whitlock speaks, Addison shakes her head violently, and then they both fall silent. Addison’s shoulders crumple, and Ms. Whitlock, the woman I’ve been told is colder than an iceberg, wraps her arms around Addison and offers comfort.

  Addison rests her head on the teacher’s shoulder only briefly, and then she’s gone so fast that I wonder if she has superpowers. After taking a second to absorb the loss, Ms. Whitlock pulls keys out of her purse. I don’t have much time to make initial contact—for multiple reasons. In case I need some background on Addison—background from someone over the age of twenty-one—and for my own selfish motives.