by Nicole James
“He’s been good to you?”
“Yes.” I slide the photos toward her. “He kept his word and took me to graduation.”
“Oh, I’m so happy.” She picks them up. “Look at you. So pretty with that big smile.”
“I was just happy to get it over with.”
Her eyes meet mine, and starts to reach across the table for my hand, then remembers she isn’t allowed, and stops herself. “I’m so sorry things weren’t the way they were supposed to be.”
“It’s okay. I’m over it.”
“But your schooling, everything we’d planned…”
“Mom, stop. It’s done. Like you said, we can’t look back.”
She nods, and her eyes drop to the ring I’m still wearing. I immediately know it sends a message, the fact that I haven’t taken it off. “Perhaps you should give Santos a chance, give this marriage a chance.”
“Mother, two months ago you never would have even considered it; he would have been “unsuitable”.”
“Things have changed, haven’t they?” She stares off. “I’ve done a lot of thinking in here. God knows there’s nothing but time for it. I’ve judged people on all the wrong merits; how much money they made, how prestigious their career was, silly things, unimportant things in the long run. What’s important is character. Judge a person by their actions, not their words. The truth is in how they treat you. Honesty is everything, isn’t it?”
I swallow because right this minute I’m lying to her, well at least not telling her everything, and that’s as good as lying, isn’t it? If she knew about the whole MC thing, she’d worry herself sick. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“I saw the way he looked at you as he took his vows. He cares for you. Give him a chance, Kami. He may be what you need.”
“Mom, stop.”
“Okay, fine. If not Santos, then, when this is over, you find a man who is good to you, and who loves you for who you are on the inside, not because of your looks or what they think they can get from you. You do that; you’ll have a happy life, baby girl.”
I nod, too choked up for words, bowing my head so she doesn’t see how her words affect me.
“Don’t search for a man that will solve all your problems, he won’t. Find one that won’t let you face them alone.”
All I can think about is the fact that Saint bent over backwards to make sure he could come with me today, making sure I didn’t face this alone. And he’d have come inside with me, too, if they hadn’t dragged their feet about approving him as a visitor. “All right, Mama. I will.”
The hour flies by, and before I know it, I’m hugging her goodbye, clinging to her neck, and not wanting to let go. But I know I must, and it kills me to let my grip relax and drop my arms.
“I love you, Kami,” she whispers.
“I love you, too, Mama.” My eyes fill as she steps back, then turns and walks away as the guards call all the inmates to line up. I watch until she disappears out of the door, and then I sag with the overwhelming grief that she’s being led to a cell, and I won’t get to see her again for days, if not weeks. It’s a long drive to this prison, and I can’t expect Saint to be able to bring me every week, or that I’ll have endless use of his truck. I hate the loss of control of my own life. Then I remind myself that my mother has lost control of every facet of her life, from when she eats to when she sleeps. I take a deep breath, wipe my eyes and follow the rest of the visitors toward the door.
Just like he promised, Saint is parked at the curb when I walk out. I climb in the truck and slam the door. He doesn’t hesitate to hit the gas, knowing somehow, that I just need to be away from this depressing place that sucks the very life out of you.
We drive several miles in silence, until we stop at a light, and I can see out of the corner of my eye Saint looking over at me.
“Hey.” He reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear. When I still won’t look at him, he gently takes my chin and turns my head. “You okay?”
His warm brown eyes search mine, and there’s worry in the way his brows slash down. I nod and drop my gaze, my eyes stinging. “It’s just so sad.”
Before I know what he’s about to do, he pulls me into his arms, cradling the back of my head, and I find myself bursting into tears, pressing into his neck.
“Ah, shortcake, I’m sorry. I wish I could have gone in with you.”
The light turns and someone behind us honks. Saint reluctantly releases me, and pulls away.
On the long drive home, I can’t help glancing over at him, my mother’s words running through my head. I saw the way he looked at you as he took his vows. He cares for you. Give him a chance, Kami. He may be what you need.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saint—
Over the next couple of weeks, the club keeps me pretty busy, and I’m gone from the house a lot. Whenever I do make it home, usually in the late hours or early dawn, I notice the small changes taking place at my house. Little by little, Kami is turning the place from a rundown dump into a cozy home.
The other night I walked in to find the fridge scrubbed clean and the food all organized, my beer in neat rows on the top shelf.
I’ve noticed other changes, too. Like the fact that the garden is weeded, the loose fence pickets are nailed back in place, and the whole thing has been painted a bright white.
I’ve told her to stop, but she insists it keeps her busy when I’m gone. Who am I to take away anything that keeps her mind off the fact her mother sits in a prison cell? I just haven’t got the heart. So I let her make this place look like a woman lives here, something that could have blowback if the club ever shows up.
I’m beginning to wonder if my little wife is a neat freak. I have to admit, I like it.
Things with the club have been crazy, but I’ve finally got a whole day to myself, and as I pull in the driveway, all I can think about is stretching out on the couch with a beer and watching a ballgame. I’m in the truck, so my rolling in doesn’t make the noise of the Harley arriving.
I spot Kami in the front yard, her back to me, yanking on the starter cord to the lawn mower. I park and walk over to her, guilt flooding me that I haven’t taken care of this already.
She doesn’t turn, so I tap her on the shoulder.
She whirls, yanking her headphones from her ears. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry.” I point at the mower. “Move aside.” When she does, I grab the cord and yank, firing it right up.
Her hands land on her hips. “What did you do different? I did the same thing and it wouldn’t start for me.”
“I put some muscle into it.” I grin.
“Stupid lawnmower. I’ve been trying for twenty minutes.”
“Go inside and cool off. I’ll do this.”
“I didn’t ask you to do this.”
“Didn’t say you did.”
She stares me down a minute, and then flounces off with a huff.
I mow the damn lawn that I never should have let get this long, cursing up a blue streak, and feeling guilty for letting Kami do all this work around the place. I’m hot and thirsty by the time I finish, and trudge in the front door, wanting nothing more than a beer and a shower. I grab an ice-cold bottle from the fridge and press the wet glass to my forehead, sighing in relief.
Kami is nowhere to be seen, so I glance out the back screen door. She’s got a mat spread out on the pavers, and she’s doing yoga. The way her slender body twists into the positions, stretching her muscles to their max, has my dick jerking to attention. I’m hypnotized. Her movements are elegant and graceful and I can’t tear my eyes away. The cold bottle of beer stays full in my hand. After a few more minutes, she breaks into a couple of ballet movements. She pirouettes and jumps, kicking her legs out, and then spinning. Obviously, she’s had years of training, and I wonder what other hidden talents she possesses.
When she stops and wipes off with a small towel, I retreat to the living room, drop to the couch and click on the ba
llgame, not wanting to be caught watching her.
She comes through and goes into the bedroom, then comes out in a pair of shorts and a tee, carrying a pair of garden gloves in her hand. The screen door bangs as she goes out back.
I continue watching the game for a while, and I must have dozed off.
When I open my eyes, the room is filled with orange light from the setting sun. I blink, because I swear something woke me, some sound. I stand, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the heel of my hand, and go searching for Kami.
I see her through the back screen door. She’s hobbling toward me, limping on one foot. Her face reveals the pain each step takes.
I bat the screen door open and am down the stairs and to her in two strides. “You okay? What happened?”
“I just tripped over the hose and twisted my ankle. I’m okay.”
I scoop her up in my arms and carry her toward the house.
She squeals. “What are you doing? Put me down before you drop me.”
I ignore her and carry her inside, setting her on the sofa. Then I squat down and look at her ankle. I pull her shoe off, toss it aside, and take her foot in my hand. I look up at her for signs of pain as I rotate it. “Does that hurt?”
“Oww. Yes.”
I bend it the other way, but she doesn’t flinch. “I don’t think it’s broken, but we should put some ice on it.” I retreat to the kitchen, grab a baggie and fill it, then wrap a dishtowel around it and bring it to her. “Lie back.”
She does and I put the pack on her ankle. I grab her some painkillers and a bottle of water, making sure she takes two. “What the hell were you doing?”
“I was pulling weeds, and watering the azaleas.”
“Azaleas? I’ve got azaleas?”
“Yes, along the fence. Those pink flowering bushes.”
“Huh. Did not know that’s what those were.”
“Oh, bullshit.” She calls me on my teasing. “You’re father was a landscaper. You helped him all the time. You know exactly what those are.”
I grin.
She lays her head back, and I can see she’s exhausted. I know exactly what she needs. I go into the bathroom and turn on the taps of the claw-foot tub, plugging the stopper and then find her fancy bottle of shampoo. I smell it. It’s a sweet floral scent that I immediately recognize as hers. I squirt a bit under the stream of water and it suds right up. Then I walk in the bedroom and spot the small candle I’d seen the other day, one she must have bought. I carry it into the bathroom and pull out my lighter giving it flame. It gives off a fresh apple scent. I put it in the windowsill above the tub, and turn off the lights. With the dim light of dusk and the glow from the candle, the mood is relaxing. I take out my phone and pull up some smooth jazz. I’m not into it, but it works for the setting, and I think chicks dig it.
I return to the couch. “How’s the ankle?”
“Better. I think I can lose the ice pack now.” She picks it up, and I set it on the table. I scoop her up, catching her off guard.
“What are you doing?”
“Hush.” I carry her to the bathroom and set her on her feet, then pull her shirt over her head. She glances around at the setting.
“Saint—”
“Not expecting anything, here, babe. Just giving you a nice soak in the tub. Can you stand long enough to undress and get in by yourself?”
“I’ll manage. Thank you.”
I grab a towel and set it on a small stool near the tub, then retreat.
I wait outside until I hear the splash of the water as she gets in, then I stick my head in. “You okay?”
She squeals and covers her chest, even though she’s covered in suds. “Get out.”
“Just makin’ sure you’re okay.” I move into the room and sit on the stool.
“I’m fine. Go.”
“Relax, angel.” I move my hands to her shoulders and massage. “You’ve been working around here too hard. You need to take it easy for once.”
She seems to give in to the fact that I’m not going anywhere, rolling her shoulders and moaning under my ministrations. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? You’re always running off.”
“Not tonight.”
“Lucky me,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
I splash her with water.
“Hey!”
“Be nice and I’ll be nice.” I continue rubbing her shoulders. “Feel good?”
“Yes,” she begrudgingly admits, and I grin.
“Babe?”
“Yes?”
“Let your guard down for one minute and let’s talk.” My words have the opposite effect, and she tenses up. I grip her muscles and squeeze. “Relax.”
“I’m trying. You’re not making it easy.”
“When this is over what do you want to do?”
“You mean with my life?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I don’t know.”
“You were going to college. What were you going to study?”
“None of your business.”
Education seems to be a sore subject, so I change tactics. “When they came to clean out your house, of all the things they took, what do you miss most?”
“My mother.”
“Babe, that’s a given. What else?”
“That’s easy. Our Grand Piano. Not the fancy clothes, not my fake friends or even my Porsche. Our grand piano. It was the first thing they hauled away. I cried when it rolled out the door.”
“So you play?”
“Yes. I’ve had lessons since I was six.”
“I remember that now. I remember cutting the hedges outside and looking in one of the windows and watching you play… the same song over and over. But it sounded nice.”
“Thanks. You asked about school. The truth is, I was suppose to study music at the San Francisco Conservatory, but the money’s gone.”
“What about a scholarship?”
“I had one that paid partial tuition, but I have no hope of paying the rest. No, that dream is gone. I do miss playing, though. It was always my escape when the world closed in.”
“I’m sorry they took that from you.”
She scoops up a handful of water and bubbles and watches it sift through her fingers, her gaze telling me she’s a million miles away. “They took everything.”
“Finish your bath. I’ll make you something to eat.” I stand and retreat to the kitchen.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing at the stove when I hear her walk in.
“What smells so good?”
She’s standing in the archway in one of my Kings T-shirts. I guess she snagged it from my closet. My eyes sweep over her, taking in her legs. If she’s got shorts on under there, the shirt’s too long to tell. I clear my throat and answer her question. “Tamales.”
“Your mom’s recipe? My favorite.”
I waggle two fingers at her, motioning for her to come here, and I lift a tamale to her mouth.
“Mmm. So good,” she says around a mouthful.
I smile. I’m finding I like making her happy, even with something this simple. “So besides piano, what other talents do you have?”
She shrugs. “Everything my mother could sign me up for. Tennis, yoga, karate, ballet.”
“I saw you outside earlier doing some ballet moves. You must be very good.”
“I was okay, but it was never my passion. Enough about me. Now it’s your turn.” She leans a hip against the counter.
I carry the pan of tamales to the table with the new potholder. “Sit. What do you want to know?”
She takes a seat across from me, tucking her leg under. “Tell me about growing up in your family.”
I snag two beers from the fridge and twist the top on hers, handing it to her. I tower over her, and stare at her with a clear expression, hiding nothing. “My mother was an undocumented immigrant. Her family stretches all the way back to the Spanish that settled Mexico. But that doesn’t matter in America. Her parents brought he
r across illegally back in the sixties. My father was Portuguese. He was a smart man, but he was never given a shot, so he did the only job he could find.”
She stares at me, and I know she’s really hearing my words, taking them in and understanding. I sit down and snag a couple tamales, dropping them on my plate.
She does the same. “What was your childhood like?”
“Our home was filled with love. But outside of it, I’ve never felt like I was good enough, like I belonged, like I’d be anything but someone else’s servant.”
She nods, and looks down at the table, and I like that she doesn’t try to tell me my feelings aren’t valid. She just lets me have them. I’ve never had a chick do that before.
“I’ve never felt good enough to live up to my stepfather’s expectations. I felt like I had no worth to him other than to be some pretty empty-headed ornament for his dinner parties.”
“But you were popular.”
She meets my eyes. “You were right when you said I’m a people pleaser. It’s so true. You know, except for music, I really never cared for schooling, except to be popular. It’s what made my stepfather happy, having a popular kid. I suppose it gave him an in with all our rich neighbors, so he could gain their trust and con them for everything he could get.”
“Bitter, much?” I ask with a smirk.
“Right back atcha, Mr. I-Never-Fit-In.”
I grin, because the girl can give as good as she gets. “Touché.”
We finish our meal, and it’s nice, its comfortable being with her, and our conversation comes easy. She kicks back in her chair and drinks her beer. I slouch back, too. A moment later I feel her put her feet in my lap, and just as naturally as if we’d done this a million times, I drop a hand to her pretty foot and rub it absently as I drink my beer.
“God, that feels good.” Her head drops back and her eyes slide closed. I smile and continue to rub.
“Your ankle better?”
“Hmm mmm.” She never lifts her head, so I continue. After a few minutes I let my hand stray up her slender calf.
