“I want a nickname!” Viola shouted, leaping off my back in a rush. She stood between Lilah and me, hunched over as if in attack mode, hands excitedly wanting to grasp something as her weight shifted from one foot to the other. Then she asked, “What’s a nickname?”
I laughed. “A shorter version of your name or—”
“Okay!” Viola shouted, “Shorter my name,” her grammar faltering.
“Uh…” I thought out loud. “How about V?”
“Veeeeeee.” She tested the new nickname. “I like it.” Then she proudly announced, “And Delilah can be Pretty D.” She leaned to me and whispered, “Because my mama says Delilah’s gonna be as pretty as your mama.”
I looked to Lilah and her saucerlike fawn eyes and knew V was right.
As the weeks passed, my dad kept going to meetings and continued to improve. Once all the frozen food given to us after the funeral was gone, and my dad practically became a stockholder in every local diner due to his regular takeout, he started cooking for us. The food was not in the same league as my mama’s, but he was trying, and to have something prepared by him somehow made a difference—it made the house feel like it was coming back to life.
I once asked my dad, “Do you wish you didn’t have us? So you could go with mama?”
Kneeling quickly, my father had grabbed my shoulders with sincere honesty. “I will—we will—see your mama again. Until then, I will be grateful for each and every day I get to have with the most precious gifts God and your mother have ever given me: you and your sister.”
His unconditional love was the root of Lilah’s and my survival. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it was the concrete foundation Lilah and I needed to form a bond, and it continued to grow as the years and hardships took their toll.
Oh, and what a price it was. V was eight when her world was shattered.
I was sitting on the floor in our living room, doing my homework when the crash site was shown on the TV news. I stopped what I was doing to see the plane, broken into large and small pieces, most of it still fucking smoldering as though souls were rising from the ashes, debris everywhere. My age wasn’t why I stared at the wreckage, knowing of the pain and sorrow to come for the surviving family members—I was unknowingly dealing with my own pain. But there would be no time to figure that out, or to start the healing process, because it was time to hold another shaky little hand as another box was lowered into the ground.
Unlike Lilah, Viola was old enough to understand the magnitude of her sudden loss. She was old enough to grieve immensely. She was also mature enough to not want to be forced to live with the aunt she despised, the woman her mom disliked so much she moved away from her hometown in Kansas after high school. I didn’t know the gist of it but knew V was not a fan of the woman claiming to be her new foster parent.
V’s aunt tried to take her deceased parents back to Kansas to have them buried, saying she had no funds to keep them in Georgia for the funeral, but someone I had yet to meet, named Diesel, vetoed that plan and wouldn’t release the bodies, making V’s aunt very angry. My father seemed to be hiding annoyance when he offered to let Viola’s aunt stay with us for free while she arranged the funeral. She accepted the offer, vowing she’d take V with her when it was over.
The thought of Viola leaving us was too much to bear, putting my stomach in knots. Delilah’s face grew haggard with worry, becoming very quiet over the thought of soon losing her best friend.
Since our house was so small and we only had two bedrooms, Viola’s aunt took Delilah’s and my bedroom, and V, Lilah, and I camped out in the living room. In our makeshift bed on the worn—not so comfortable—carpet, the three of us lay in the dark, the air smelling of the old blankets from a coat closet. The living room’s old clock ticked in rhythm with my dad’s spoon in the kitchen, which was stirring V’s aunt’s sweet tea while she waited for it in her—our—room. I knew he was taking one for the team—or Jesus, ten—by keeping V with his children as long as possible. He was also stalling, I didn’t understand why.
Lilah was lying between V and me to “keep things proper,” according to the aunt we soon nicknamed Wretched Wench. The woman was a control freak and so uptight I overheard my dad mumbling to himself, “I’m about to lace this damn ice tea with a drug to knock you unconscious for a while, you wretched bitch.” Then he walked down the hall to deliver the goods.
From next to Lilah, V whispered, “What’d he call her? Wretched what?”
“Uh,” I stuttered, not thinking we should repeat the cussword my dad didn’t mean for us to overhear. “Uh, wench. Wretched Wench.”
V whispered again, “Well, I don’t know what that means, but it sure does sound perfect.”
“It is,” I whispered back.
“Tucker?” V whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Do…?” V hesitated. “Do you think I will like Kansas?”
I felt as if I had skipped back two years and was with a smaller version of Lilah in my bed. V began crying. I rolled to my side and—as the most mature nine-year-old I could be—said, “Listen, we are not going to be separated. We—we can run. Yeah, that’s what we will do. After we bury your mama and pops, V, we will pack our shit—”
“Tucker!” Lilah whispered loudly.
“Sorry. We will pack our stuff and get the hel—uh, we will leave this town.”
Viola sat up with such conviction, glaring at me. “You promise we will never be taken from each other?”
I followed, also sitting up. Lilah sat up with me, looking between V and me. I grabbed a hand of each girl, making my own vow. “I promise nothing will come between us.”
At the funeral, a loud rumble pulled my attention from the all-too-familiar scene before me. My dad quietly said to himself, “You must have drove like the wind. Thank God.” I didn’t know what he meant, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from the dark Harley Davidson pulling up at a rapid speed. The driver seemed to be in just as much of a hurry as the large, leathered man got off his heavy bike after resting it on the kickstand, its saddlebags looking full. He pulled off his helmet and long, dark hair fell to his shoulders, and he intently marched toward the gravesite with his brows knitted and a scowl on his face.
Viola’s aunt mumbled in distaste, “Oh, this is just what we need,” as she rushed over, heading straight for the tattooed man. When he saw her approach, his eyes narrowed with contempt, but he refused to stop walking. “You didn’t think I would find out? Those are my—”
I couldn’t hear the next part because people started talking and turning from the gravesite to see the commotion. My father began walking away. “Tuck, watch the girls.” And he headed for the Diesel–Wench bomb that was about to detonate.
The motorcycle man continued, “—that you’re puttin’ to ground, you god-awful bitch.”
Apparently, my dad and this man can already agree on one thing.
Not taking my eyes from the scene, I asked, “V, you know him?”
“No,” she answered, standing by my side, staring. “He’s a bit scary looking.”
The large man saw my dad, and his shoulders and facial expression softened. He hugged my father. “Thank you, John. I made it. Cut the run short and got matters in order.”
My dad was releasing the man as Wretched Wench spat out, “I should’ve known you would involve him.” Then she faced the leathered man. “Drug run, Diesel? Drug matters I’m sure?”
He leaned down a little to be in her face. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? So you’d have ammunition to give the judge?”
Her face paled as she took a timid step back. “What judge?”
“The one that is handling our custody case. You didn’t think I would let you have that little girl without a fight did you? Surprise.”
Viola’s azure-blue eyes looked up to me, asking if this man was speaking of her. All I could do was think of the promise I had made a few nights before—that I wasn’t letting her go. I whispered, “Don’t forget our plan.” She
nodded, probably thinking of our packed bag hidden in the coat closet, and continued to watch her family secrets being revealed at such an inappropriate time and place.
Pushing her shoulders back and regaining her stance, Wretched Wench said, between gritted teeth, “You are not getting the money.”
What money?
Diesel smiled maliciously, almost as if he loved what he was about to say. “Because of you, I was on my own early, but I learned to survive and nested quite the sizable egg. I don’t need the insurance cash, but apparently you do. Lawyers get pricey. You ready to play?”
“You’re despicable, you filthy mongr—”
“Okay,” my dad interrupted. “Let’s not disrespect this funeral any more than we’ve already done.”
Diesel again softened. “You’re right, John.” Then he looked around. “Where’s my sister?”
Viola and Lilah stepped close to me, their fear causing me to step forward in warning to the stranger. As my father approached with the stranger—V’s brother—Diesel smirked at my body language and asked, “John, this your boy?”
“Uh, yeah. Tucker is quite attached to your sister.”
“Clearly,” replied Diesel, still smirking. He lifted his chin at me. “Hey, little man. I’m hearin’ ya loud and clear. I look tougher than I am.”
Looking at the burly man, I was seriously calling his bluff and refusing to back down. But when that tough-looking man the size of my dad got a glance at the caskets behind me, I could see he was right. He was kinder than he looked and was about to break seeing his parents were gone.
He stopped walking, looked to the sky, swallowed hard twice, then looked at me again. After a deep inhalation, his voice cracked when he said, “Can I approach, little man?”
Diesel showing me such respect had me respecting him instantly. I looked down at Viola, who was sizing her brother up from head to toe. Then she glanced at me and nodded. I looked back at Diesel and returned the chin lift.
The leather he was wearing creaked as he took a knee in front of V. I was proud of V; she didn’t move or cower from the man who smelled of smoke and a mechanic’s garage. His eyes were deep set, like V’s dad’s, but were the same color as hers, and they were filling with tears. “Hi, Viola,” he struggled to say. “I’m Diesel. You probably don’t remember when you met me once—you were much younger—but I’ve thought of you every day.”
Viola kept examining him. Diesel stayed on his knee, letting her. Finally, V asked—with a hardened tone—“Are you my brother?”
Not seeming shocked with her attitude, he answered, “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Then where have you been?”
He glanced at the ground. “Lies were told… and Mom and Dad felt—well, decided—it was best if I wasn’t around the little girl on the way.” He looked up at her. “That little girl was you.”
“I don’t like liars, Mr. Diesel.”
Diesel looked over his shoulder to Wretched Wench. “Neither do I.”
Viola lifted her chin. “Where do you live?”
She had his attention again. He said, “Here.”
Viola should have been crying. Her parents were dead, she was at their funeral, her aunt was a bitch, and she’d just learned she had a long-lost brother. But no tears showed, only strength and perseverance. V looked at all the people staring at her. “I’m not sure about you yet, but I may be happy you’re gonna fight for me.”
“Viola!” her aunt spit out.
Viola shrugged. “What? I want to live here.” Then she grabbed my hand.
Still on bent knee, Diesel studied our hands and assured V, “I won’t move you from here. I promise.”
A tear finally slipped from her heavily protected heart. “Good.” Then she let my hand go and turned away from Diesel to face her demise. “I have to bury my… our parents now.”
I felt bad for the guy who was left to stare at her back, but he nodded, seeming to understand V’s anger, maybe because he had some of his own. Diesel rose from his knee and stood behind his little sister as we said good-bye to their parents. And that was where he stayed. He always had that girl’s back.
Chapter Seventeen
In fact, Diesel was watching V’s back as we snuck out of the living-room window that very night. The three of us had decided to not take any chances and were leaving town with $3.82. It was extremely dark as the bottom of my sneakers hit the ground between the bushes and window. I moved the bag of our stuff so I would have room to help each girl escape. V made Lilah go first, claiming the need to stand guard in case my dad or her aunt woke up.
Once we were all outside, I grabbed our duffle bag and started sneaking across the front lawn with V and Lilah in tow. I was sure every crunch our sneakers made was going to set off alarms my father didn’t even have. I was completely on fucking edge. So when I smelled the cigarette smoke, my heart began hammering like a freight train.
“Where ya going with my sister, little man?” Leaning against the front of my house stood a very relaxed Diesel.
My shoulders bent, dropping our duffle bag. Even as calm as he looked, my brain told me that big man could pull his shit together and catch us in seconds if I told the girls to run. “How’d ya know?”
He blew out smoke. “It’s what I would have done for two girls I love.”
“I’m. Not. Leaving. Them,” V bitterly said between her angry little teeth.
He put out his cigarette with the bottom of his biker boot. “And. I’m. Not. A. Liar.”
I felt so trapped, being forced to trust a stranger. I wanted to punch something because V leaving us would have altered Lilah’s and my reality irrevocably. “You swear?” I growled.
“I swear, little man. I give you my word this girl ain’t leaving and rockin’ your world.”
He knew. Somehow, Diesel knew that was exactly what would’ve happened.
It was a battle in court, one my dad said most young men would’ve walked away from. What Wretched Wench came out swinging with to the judge—something that was kept from us kids—and whatever Diesel fought back with had the judge declaring Viola to be in my father’s temporary custody until proceedings were complete. The judge was not allowing Viola to stay at a bikers’ club. Diesel had my dad start building him a home immediately, and he visited Viola daily.
The longer the court proceedings took, the closer Diesel came with Viola and, therefore, the harder he fought. His life was dramatically changed. Diesel stepped down from being president of the club and won custody of Viola, and he never broke his promise to her—and to me. I’ve loved him ever since. The girls and I got to unpack our once-hidden bag and finish elementary school together.
Having taken on the protective role with Lilah and V—when she would let me—I found myself watching over the whole group: Cole, Bryce, Hu, and Jazy’bell. I became the unspoken leader and no one, except one, minded.
“What do you think you are doing?” Viola practically yelled one day as I followed her off the bus, pulling Lilah behind me.
I shrugged, wondering what the hell her problem was. “Diesel is not here. I’m walking you home.”
“You’re doing no such thing, Mr. Ward,” she said, refusing to let the bus close its doors because she was refusing to let me fucking protect her. “You are not my brother.”
I recoiled with the sting of her words and couldn’t understand her agitation. I was about to explain that I knew I wasn’t her brother when I heard the Harley coming. Actually, numerous Harleys. Her rigid finger pointed to the open bus doors. With my tail between my legs, I turned, guiding Lilah back up the stairs, and entered the bus mumbling, “What’s her problem?”
My bus driver looked at me and laughed. “Young and dumb…”
What the hell does that mean?
Showing the tendency to be a little aggressive, my father complained to Diesel over a beer. “Look at his face. Doesn’t he always look pissed off?”
I was playing softball with the girls in the backyard. I knew I was a boy
and should be playing baseball and all that shit, but I wouldn’t dare take a chance at that harder ball hitting one of my girls in their pretty little faces. I glared over my shoulder at the men because I had no idea what they meant.
“Tucker!”
My head snapped to my pitcher, V.
“Focus.”
I nodded.
She pitched the ball, and I let my bat swing.
As the ball sailed over our fence and into another field, Diesel chuckled. “Maybe you should get him into sports or some shit like that.”
“Did you see that ball go?” My dad’s jaw hung as he looked to the sky for a ball that was long gone.
Viola’s words haunted me as my sister grew, looking more and more like a younger version of my mom, which must have been hard for my dad even though he never voiced it. And Lilah’s looking more and more like our mom only complicated my protecting her from hungry assholes of the male gender.
Walking out onto the baseball field for practice, a teammate would say, “Dude, do you know how hot your sister is?”
I’d wince. To me, it was as though they wanted to screw my sister and mom at the same time. Gross! And we were only in elementary school!
Another teammate would say, “Viola is a looker too, but she scares me.”
My teammates were my friends, but that didn’t mean they were allowed to be doggin’ on my girls. When I’d get home, my father would look at my busted lip. “And the other guy?”
“Black eye.”
“This about your sister, again?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.”
The constant battle only got worse the older Lilah became. Because of being pushed early into school, we were only one grade apart even though I was almost two years older. When the time came, it was weird to say good-bye and go to middle school. I had my own friends, in my own grade, but I didn’t feel as close to them as my girls. And now I wouldn’t see them at every lunch or on the bus. I told Cole, “Hey, I need you and your minions to watch over Lilah and V ’cause I need all the help I can get.”
Steal Me (Haunted Roads Book 1) Page 19