by M. Robinson
All. The. Time.
I still remember a few years ago when Jackson said his willy was bigger than Cash’s willy. It all started when Cash ran out of the bathroom naked at one of his parents’ parties cuz the lights went out in his house from the thunderstorm.
“Cash,” I breathed out, looking at him. “What’s that?”
“What?” he replied.
I nodded to the stuffed animal coverin’ his privates, and he looked down at what I was starin’ at.
“Oh, that’s just Nemo. Ya know, from Finding Nemo.”
“No, silly, behind Nemo.”
“Oh...” He shrugged. “That’s just my willy. One day it will be as big as my dad’s.”
The whole room busted out laughin’, besides Daddy. He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, grumblin’ somethin’ ‘bout puttin’ little shits to ground.
But on the way out of the room, I heard Jackson shout, “Oh, mine’s already as big as my dad’s!”
And the room exploded into more laughter.
Til’ this day, I didn’t know if what they said was true or not. It probably wasn’t for Jackson, cuz I kicked him in the nuts a lot and I never felt his willy. Not that I wanted to.
Yuck.
One of my favorite things to do with Cash was to close my eyes and dance around to his music. I felt the songs in my heart and really deep in my bones. Like super deep, almost touchin’ my insides.
Cash always had his guitar on him, singin’ and playin’ music for me. He was gonna be super famous one day and buy me a pony I was gonna name Buttercup. Cash even made me a song with a bluesy beat he sang and played for me all the time. Cash could play the blues better than anyone on this entire planet and that was a lot of people.
His daddy, Dylan McGraw, was a detective in North Carolina and one of the good ol’ boys like my papaw, Lucas Ryder. Cash never said his daddy was better than mine like Jackson did. Our daddies were tied for awesomeness.
My other best friend was a girl, like me, and her name was Shiloh Foster. Shiloh was my cousin cuz her momma was my Aunt Lily, who was my pawpaw’s sister. Her dad, Uncle Jacob, was a lawyer for super important people, and he was one of the good ol’ boys, too.
Everyone always called us the good ol’ kids cuz our daddies were the best. They were all tied in awesomeness. There were other good ol’ kids our age, like Bentley Taylor. His daddy was Austin Taylor, who owned the greatest tattoo shop in North Carolina.
Bentley was my friend too, but not my best friend. All the other kids were older than us by a lot, especially my Uncle Mason and Giselle, who was Cash’s older sister. They were the oldest.
I once heard my pawpaw say the good ol’ boys were only good for screwin’. Which made sense, cuz he was a contractor and screwed a lot of things.
Shiloh was actually the secretary of our Hate Jackson Pierce Club, and Cash was the Vice Prez. I, of course, was the President.
We had church like Daddy did with his club, where we talked about how much he sucked.
“Hey, baby,” Daddy said, kissin’ me on the tip of my nose like he did every day when he got home from work.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“How’s my girl?”
“Eh.” I shrugged. “Ain’t as happy as a pig in poop.”
Daddy smiled. “Now we can’t have that, yeah?”
“Creed, she’s in trouble at school, again. This is the fifth time this month.”
“Better than last month.”
I smiled.
See, Daddy gets me.
“Creed... I’m the one having to answer to her teacher and principal.”
“That’s on you, Pippin. I’d gladly go tell that motherfuc—”
I smiled again, wider that time. Daddy almost said the really, really bad word that got him in trouble too. It must be a doozy since everyone always got in trouble for sayin’ it.
Anytime I cussed, it got me grounded, forever, again. But it wasn’t my fault. I was around bikers my whole entire life, and that was a really long time. Those were the words they used, bad ones.
Daddy’s younger brother, Uncle Noah, wasn’t any better with his potty mouth. It was just how us Jamesons were made.
Bad ass mothafuckas.
If Momma heard me say that, it would get me grounded forever again, but it was the truth. That was what they said all the time. I didn’t know what those words meant either, but it still sounded really cool like “asshole”.
“My baby girl is just defendin’ herself from the little shit, Mia.”
I nodded really, really fast so Momma could see how true that was.
“Really? Then explain how she is the one who keeps trying to kick him in the nuts, Creed?”
Daddy looked at me. “Why did you try to take him down again, baby?”
“Cuz he made me, Daddy.”
“See, Pippin, he made her.”
He’d called Momma “Pippin” since she was little like me. It was after Pippi Longstocking, the coolest girl of them all.
Momma rolled her eyes at him before looking at me. “How did he make you, Harley?”
“Cuz he was tellin’ Becky I couldn’t jump off the swing as high as him.”
Daddy grinned. “So, he was pickin’ on you?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
“CREED!”
“What, babe?”
“Don’t ‘what babe’ me. She needs to learn violence isn’t the answer to dealing with Jackson. You encourage her behavior.”
“They’re kids. She’s just showin’ him who’s boss.”
I nodded again, faster.
“Creed, this isn’t your MC world. It’s elementary school, and she needs to learn right from wrong.”
“I know right from wrong, Momma. Just sometimes wrong feels right.” I smiled, showing her my pearly whites while Daddy tried to hide his smile.
“Creed...”
“I didn’t say a word.”
Daddy always spoke with his eyes and face, and right now, he was in trouble for it.
Sorry, Daddy.
“Harley, your father and I need to have a word.”
People were always havin’ a word in my life where lots and lots of bad ones were used. Especially at the clubhouse. I guess havin’ a word meant cussin’. I wasn’t allowed to have words, cuz I was still little. But when I got bigger, I’d use all the words I already knew.
Which was a lot.
Until then, I’d just use them on Jackson ‘Asshole’ Pierce.
“When I get back, these letters to Jackson, his mom, and your teacher better be finished. Do you understand me, young lady?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Harley...” she said my name in the same voice she did Daddy’s.
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good.”
“But, Momma.” I crossed my arms. “What words am I allowed to use, since you already crossed out all the ones I used?”
She sighed, handing me back the letter I’d written to Jackson.
“Go ahead, read it out loud to your father.”
“But, Momma, you crossed out all of my words.”
“You can still read through them, Harley.”
“Fine.” I took a long breath and started reading.
“Dear Jackson Butthole Pierce,
I really hate u and your stupid face more than I did yeserday. I hope u fall off your bed and land on your Rudolph nose that makes me wanna puke every time I look at u. And then I hope u get runned over by a bus on the way to schol so I don’t havta’ to see ya again and u can’t ever get me in trouble no more.
I hate u.
U suck.
Not love, Harley.”
I peeked up at them through my lashes.
“Keep going,” she ordered in the same tone from before.
I took another long breath. “P.S. I heard u r adopted and your mom really found u in the garbage outside of Memaw’s restaurant.”
“Keep go
ing...”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not sorry I kicked you in the nuts again cuz u deserved it for bein’ a stupid bully ashole who scares my fish with your butthole face.”
I shrugged, peeking up at them again. “You said to tell him how I felt. I did what you asked, and now I’m in trouble.”
“Harley, you were in trouble before you wrote the letter that you will be writing again.”
“I’m only in trouble cuz Jackson, Momma. Why ain’t he in trouble too? You always take his side.”
“Oh, he’s in trouble, Harley. He’s writing you a letter as well.”
“Yeah, it’ll prolly be bombed with his farts. Gross.”
“Baby, do as your momma says, and I’ll take you for a ride later.”
Going on rides with Daddy on his motorcycle was one of my favorite things to do.
“Okay, Daddy.”
“Creed, how is that going to teach her any—”
He pulled Momma into a kiss, making me giggle. That was Daddy’s go-to move when he was in trouble, cuz Momma loved his kisses like she loved mine.
“Reel it in, babe. Ya feel me?” he said, grinning.
Momma whispered something in his ear that made him laugh before smacking him on the chest, but Daddy didn’t move at all.
He never did.
Cuz he was the boss.
One day I was gonna marry a man just like my daddy, cuz he was the best man of them all.
Little did I know...
How true that was.
Chapter 3
<>Jackson<>
Then: Seven years old
“Jackson Pierce, do you have your letter for Harley?” Mom asked in the same tone she’d been using all weekend.
The one that meant I was still in a buttload of trouble because of none other than Gremlin face, Harley Jameson. She looked just like a Gremlin, and not the cute one, Gizmo. The ugly messed up one, Stripe. Her lips were too big for her face and so were her huge blue eyes. She acted like him too. Always so violent, making snarling noises when she was angry, thinking she was the boss of me. She wasn’t the leader.
Ever.
I was.
Always.
I tried ignoring the disappointed look on my mom’s face as she stared at me through the rearview mirror in our SUV. I hated that look, it made my insides hurt, but not even her upset expression stopped me from fighting with dumbass Harley.
I couldn’t tell you how or when our hatred for each other started. It seemed like it was always there from what everyone had told us. There was something about her stupid face and loud mouth that just got to me.
All. The. Time.
There was no controlling the effect she always had on me.
I. Hated. Her.
More than I hated the vegetables my mom was always trying to make me eat. I never did. I just pretended and when she wasn’t looking, I’d spit them in my napkin and save them for later to use on the nut-kicker.
There was nothing better in all the world than to hold her down and stuff them into her mouth.
“Jackson! Get off me!” she shouted the last time this happened.
“Fat chance, baby girl.”
She hated being called that by anyone other than her daddy.
“I’m not a baby girl!”
I grabbed her hand and used it to slap her own face around. “Harley, stop hitting yourself.”
“Oh my God! Just wait—”
Right when her mouth was wide enough, I stuffed my dried-up broccoli that smelled like rotten eggs in it, and she went crazy. Moving her body every way she could, which wasn’t much, because she was a pee wee girl and I was still sitting on top of her.
She was about to spit them out, but I covered her mouth so she couldn’t.
“Swallow, you butt munch.”
She screamed through my hand.
“I put those little green trees on my nuts, Harley, since you love kicking them so much. How do they feel in your mouth?”
Her eyes widened. I didn’t really do that, but she didn’t have to know I was lying.
“Jackson, are you listening to me?”
“Mmm hmm,” I mumbled, looking out the window with my ear buds in.
“Jackson...”
“Yes, I have it.”
“The good letter?”
“Maybe.”
“Jackson Pierce,” she said in a sterner tone. The one that meant I was walking a thin line of patience with her.
It didn’t matter. I was already grounded again. Because of her.
“Well you made me rewrite it ten times. I’m not sure which is the good letter anymore.”
“Jackson, watch your tone with your mother,” Dad warned, looking at me through the same mirror.
Adults could always have a tone, but when I had one...
I got in trouble, always.
I didn’t reply.
I knew better.
My dad was cool, but I knew what lines I couldn’t cross with him. And disrespecting my mom was number one on that list. Don’t get me wrong, my parents were awesome, especially my dad. He was way better than Harley’s dad, and I reminded her of that all the time.
He was Doctor Aiden Pierce, Chief of Surgery at Dosher Memorial Hospital in Southport. He saved lives every single day, while hers used to put them to ground. That was biker slang for shooting bitches in the face. Her dad was badass, I’ll give her that, but he wasn’t better than mine.
No one’s was.
“I’d like to see the apology letter before you hand it to Harley,” Mom stated, bringing my eyes back to her.
“I still don’t understand why I had to write her a letter. She kicked me in the nuts, remember?”
“She only kicked you because you provoked her,” Jagger added. Making me roll my eyes at my younger brother, who was sitting in the backseat next to me.
“Whose side are you on?” I punched him.
He punched me back.
“Boys! Don’t start!” Mom shouted at us. “I will turn this car around and take you both home so fast. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we grumbled.
My bro and I got along for the most part, except when it came to Harley. He liked her for some reason, and she didn’t even have boobs.
“Good. Where is the letter, Jackson?”
I ignored Mom’s question, replying, “She can’t jump as high as me off the swings. How is that provoking her?”
“Do not play innocent, young man. You pick on her every chance you get.”
“That’s cuz she’s asking for it every time she opens her mouth on her stupid face.”
“Jackson!”
“What?!” I tore off my ear buds. “You act like it’s always me. It’s not. She starts it half the time. My nuts are probably broken with how many times she’s kicked them, but does anyone care about my balls? Nope!”
“Jackson Pierce, you cannot talk like that! You’re grounded!”
“I’m already grounded!”
“Then you’re grounded some more!”
I wasn’t allowed to cuss, but when you heard something all the time, it was kind of hard not to repeat it. Harley’s mouth was worse than mine though. We grew up around a family full of foul-mouthed bikers, and it was just how they talked.
Plus, my dad wasn’t any better. My parents grew up in the system pretty much their whole life, meaning they’d seen some shit. I didn’t believe in the mushy girly crap my mom made me watch with her, but my parents were real life soulmates. They’d known each other since they were kids, they were all each other had. My dad worked his ass off to give her the life she deserved.
They deserved.
He was my role model, my hero, a man to be respected. I never had to ask for anything, no one did. He made sure of it.
Which was one of the reasons my mom took her role as a stay-at-home mom so seriously, making me act, think, and talk older than I really was. Jagger and I were smart, and I could do anything and everything before Harley Ja
meson ever could. Of course, I never let her live it down.
Our families were close because of Harley’s Uncle Noah. Her old man’s younger brother was like my old man’s firstborn. He wasn’t my biological brother, but you wouldn’t ever think that. Noah was always there for me, and I knew I could count on him.
No matter what.
My dad took on the role of being a father figure to Noah since he was fifteen years old. Replacing his piece of shit dad, who wasn’t a good man.
Or a good father.
He met Noah in the emergency room, when he was the on-call doctor during his residency at Dosher Memorial. Noah’s mother was a drunk, and his old man was an asshole Prez of a 1% MC club, which meant the Jameson brothers—her dad and uncle—used to be trouble with a capital T.
My dad took Noah under his wing, always seeing things in people most would run away from. But not my dad, he was someone to look up to.
In everything.
We’d heard the story hundreds of times, and still every time I heard it, I couldn’t imagine Harley’s grandmother, Diane, being anything but the loving, caring woman she was now. I guess back in the day that wasn’t the case.
Now all this was a long ass time ago, before any of us were born.
I never understood how dumbass Harley could have such a badass family and she was...
Not.
I reminded her of that when I tried to make her cry. It got her all peeved, and I loved every second of it. It made up for all the times I couldn’t get her to shed a tear. And trust me, I tried.
A lot.
The Gremlin was made of freaking stone. I couldn’t for the life of me get her to break down. Even the time she broke her leg because of me.
A year ago I dared her to jump off the roof of the clubhouse into the pool. I didn’t think she’d actually do it.
But she did.
And holy shit was I in trouble.
Still the Gremlin did not cry. Instead, she beat me with her crutches when my mom made me give her flowers and apologize.
It didn’t matter what I said or did, tears never spilled out. Only pushing me harder to get them to.
One day I’d make it happen, and it would be the best freaking feeling in the world.
Until then...
I’d keep trying.
