by A. C. Bextor
“We’ve decided you’re goin’ back with them when they leave.”
My heart sinks in my chest, shattering into bits of angry pieces. Elevent and Pop have ‘decided’. They’ve made yet another decision for me. All my life, I’ve done what others have told me. All my goddamn confused life.
Taking in a sullen breath, I lower my head and slouch, as if I couldn’t feel more unwanted.
“So, you’ve decided to send me away.”
Elevent’s demand is quick, its tone harsh. “Didn’t say that. Look at me.”
Keeping my eyes to my lap, I surmise, “You don’t want me here anymore. I get it.”
“Of course I want you here. I want you anywhere I am.”
Raising my head and sensing his irritation, I start to panic. “Then why—”
“Have you seen this?” He points to my face and I turn my head. “I said look at me, Cricket. Look at me and tell me you deserved any of what you got.”
“Elevent—”
“Gypsy filled me in. So, go on. Tell me what you did to earn those marks on your body.”
God damn it. Gypsy and his big bully mouth.
“You know I—”
Leaning in, his face gets close and he spits, “Your feet got fuckin’ shredded!”
All right. Enough.
“No shit, El?” I snap. Elevent’s back straightens. I’ve never spoken to him as I’m about to. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “You think I don’t know what I look like? I don’t remember the pain? I was there when it happened!”
Your family will struggle as you will, but to a different end. They’ll try to do what’s best for you, and in doing that, may end up causing you more grief.
Quietly, remembering Agatha’s advice, I explain, “I’m not leaving. This is my home. Sure, I have a few cuts and bruises, but they’ll heal.”
I’m not getting through. He’s having none of this. Elevent’s decision has been made.
“Christ, Cricket, this shit could’ve been worse. They could have…” Elevent stops, slamming his mouth shut. The vein in his temple protrudes, marking the anger he’s no longer speaking.
I could’ve been raped, yes. I could’ve been tortured, brutalized, absolutely. Hell, I could’ve been killed. But I wasn’t, thanks to Nikolas Ivanov. I’m here, at home, where I’m supposed to be.
Or so I thought.
“I’m asking you not to argue with me. I want you to go with Pop and Mom until this blows over.”
“This won’t blow over,” I tersely remind. “It’ll always be something, El. This is life. Shit happens. We’ve dealt with everything so far and moved on.”
Elevent scowls. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll remind you that not two months ago, a fuckin’ psychopath held a gun to your head for no other reason than you just happened to be the closest body to him.”
“Bad luck!” I shriek, raising my hands about my body so he can see for himself. “I’m fine now!”
Okay, so bad luck may be the weakest defense there is, but it’s something.
“Yeah, you’re fine,” he clips callously. “Care to be reminded of where Pop got you in the first place?”
Oh my God.
Never, in all my time with Saint’s, has this been used against me. And Elevent being the one to throw it in my face hurts more than most.
Whispering under my breath, I admonish, “You didn’t say that.”
“Someone has to. You were born into shit, Cricket. Bad luck doesn’t begin to describe what follows you.”
The backs of my eyes smart with tears. I’m so tired of this.
Trying to reason, I give, “Elevent, no one here would let anything hurt me.”
“Think that’s what Lane thought as she took her last breath and bled out on the dirty earth floor?”
I close my mouth and sit back. I have no way to respond to this. Even if I did, Elevent wouldn’t listen anyway. Apparently, he didn’t come to my room, happy to see that I’m coming around, or because he cares.
He’s here because he wants me gone.
“I get what you’re saying. I do,” I try to convince. “But moving me to Texas won’t make my life easier.”
“Sending you to stay with family isn’t punishment, honey,” he gently tries to reason. “Understand that this is my way of trying to protect you.”
“You aren’t protecting me. You’re smothering me with your decisions about my life.”
Elevent sighs. “This isn’t forever. And maybe this will give you time to heal without distractions.”
Again. Someone else suggesting what I need.
I say nothing, and thankfully, Elevent shuts up.
“I’m tired,” I lie. “And I’d like to rest if you don’t mind.”
Elevent nods. “I’ll go talk to Sunny. Ziah wants in next, but I’ll hold him off so you can sleep.”
“Sure,” I give, half-heartedly.
Elevent stands and steps in close. He bends, touching the crown of my head and kissing my temple with care. I stare at his chest, taking in all I love about him, and doing all I can to forget the bad. He’s an asshole for saying what he did, but I get he made his points for good reason.
“Need anything else?”
“Vante,” I think to say. “If you see him, can you ask him to stop by this afternoon sometime?”
“Vante,” Elevent repeats for confirmation. “I’ll get him the message.”
“Thank you.”
Elevent grabs the back of my neck and pulls me forward, squeezing tight. He wraps me in his arms and pledges, “Love you, Cricket. For all I’ve got, you’ve got it all.”
“Same goes for you.”
Releasing me to step back, he heads toward the door. “Get some rest.”
“Okay.”
“Think about what I’ve said.”
“Okay,” I give again, knowing if the decision’s been made, there’s nothing to think about other than possibly running away.
Elevent scans my face. One second, then another. Finally, he turns to leave.
“Son, no father wants to admit his mistakes, but by God I’ve made a lot of ’em,” Pop declares, leaning his back against his truck. He’s dressed in a pair of dirty overalls, with a dark blue tee shirt underneath. His boots are dusty and muddied, and his expression is torn. “But it’s time you and I had our talk.”
This is the talk I’d been avoiding since he and Mom got back. The same don’t-fuck-up-your-life, coupled with the I’ll-tell-you-how-to-feel chat that I’ve been dreading.
Ten minutes ago, Pop rolled up Saint’s drive and parked his new Ford truck next to my beat-up piece of shit. He took his time getting out, and when he did, he was quiet.
I figured something was on his mind.
Standing and wiping my brow from sweat, I test, “What talk are you referring to?”
Bowing his head and kicking a rock, he utters, “I hated she grew up, became a woman.”
Oh, hell no.
A discussion about Cricket becoming a woman won’t happen, especially with my dad. Essentially, because she’s not just any other woman here. For all intents and purposes, he’s Cricket’s dad.
“Pop, maybe we don’t talk about Cricket in the sense you’re about to.” Pop scoffs, so I add, “Maybe we don’t talk about Cricket at all.”
“Maybe we should’ve talked about her a long goddamn time ago. More, we should’ve talked about you and her.”
“There is no me and Cricket,” I dispute. “She’s with Leglas, remember?”
He should remember, being that he’s the one who pushed her into Leglas’s bed in the first damn place.
To this day, I’ll never understand his reasoning for this. Then again, why he didn’t pack Cricket’s fucking bags and force her to go with me to Texas after shit went down with Tyrant is also beyond me. But Pop’s always had it soft for Cricket, giving her what she wants at every turn.
Scowling at his pack of cigarettes, he takes one out and puts it to his dry, chapped lips, asserting, “If
you believe she’s with Leglas in any way that matters, then you’re plain fuckin’ stupid.”
Annoyed at his tone, I bend beneath the truck’s hood and tighten a bolt that doesn’t need tightening.
“All right, Pop. I’ll agree if it means you’ll stop talking.”
“You wear the weight of the world on your shoulders,” he gives, punishingly. “Always did. Thinkin’ I expected you to follow my lead, take over the club.”
“I didn’t,” I tell him.
This is a lie, of course. I’ve always felt guilty for not wanting this life as the other brothers always had. Growing up, Dad made no secret about one day wanting me to take over the club. But no matter how badly he wished for it, I couldn’t commit.
And never did, really, even as a member.
“I never wanted you to do something you didn’t think was for you. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”
At this, I pull from the hood and stand straight to take my father in.
Pop’s a good man, albeit a frustrating one.
The years have aged him. His belly hangs over his belt more than it should. He’s lost more hair; what’s left is now all gray. His skin has paled, probably with the stress of dealing with a woman like Mom. Not to mention, Dad smokes way too many of those cancer sticks.
“Pop, I have a lot of shit to do today. What’s on your mind?”
“Cricket’s suffering,” he tells me, his voice low and uneven. “My baby doesn’t even want to see me.”
“She doesn’t want to see anyone.”
“She needs help, but won’t accept any.”
“Stop treatin’ her like she’s made of glass,” I clip, irritated. “She’s not cracked and you and everyone else tiptoein’ around her just convinces her she is.”
“She’s in pain,” he returns. “You’ve seen it for yourself.”
“She’s also spoiled, Dad.”
Pop shakes his head. He can deny all he wants. But in the end, he knows I’m right.
Considering this, he looks to the sky. He grinds his jaw and rubs the back of his neck.
“She lives in a biker club,” I make a point. “She’s surrounded by men who give her whatever she asks because they love her. She’s never had to do anything on her own.”
“She’s been taken care of,” he insists.
“I get it, you love her. I love her. We all do. And respect, Dad, but Saint’s is not a home. It’s a life —for some. But it’s not a place for a woman like Cricket to live.”
With his focus over my shoulder, he narrows his eyes. There he murmurs, “I may have coddled her too much.”
“Cricket’s a grown woman. You all need to back off and stop treatin’ her like she’s a kid.”
Pop’s expression is defeated. “You don’t understand this yet, but there’s nothing worse than havin’ kids and watchin’ ’em suffer, knowin’ they gotta get through what they gotta get through alone.”
“Dad, I—”
“Son, I’m not askin’ for your help, I’m beggin’ you. She’s not sayin’ much to the girls ’cause they’re her girls, and we both know they’ll align right beside her in grief if she asks ’em to.”
“Dad, I already—“
“She won’t listen to Elevent. Not because she won’t do as he says, but ’cause he loves her too much. He won’t say what needs said. He’s afraid if he uses a heavy hand to push, he’ll do more harm than good.”
Jesus Christ.
Tossing the rest of his unsmoked cigarette to the ground, Pop stomps it out and steps forward. “I need you to fix her.”
“And how do you reckon I do that?”
“Cricket loves you,” he tells me. “She’ll listen to you.”
“She doesn’t trust me,” I return, hating the words but knowing they’re true.
Pop winces, knowing I’m right. “You’ll earn her trust back.”
Contemplating how to do what he’s asking, to fix what’s broken, I make my position clear. “If I do this, then I’m doing this. You, Mom, Elevent—you’ll all step back.”
“I’ll step back,” he assures.
“Elevent?”
Pop nods. “He’ll step back.”
“Mom?”
Pop’s mouth falls open, but he shuts it without agreeing.
“Dad, I mean it. Mom’s gotta keep outta this.”
“I’ll handle Mom.”
That’s a stretch, but still somewhat a relief. Mom’s a worrier by nature. She’s impossible when one of her own catches a cold. I won’t be able to handle her while trying to deal with Cricket.
“She showered this morning,” I tell him.
Nodding to affirm, he says, “Mom told me.”
“Pissed her off, but she did it.”
“Pissed off is good. Means she’s feelin’ somethin’ other than loneliness.”
He’s got a point. “She’s eatin’, too.”
“Not enough.”
“We’ll talk more later,” I promise. “Right now, either grab a wrench and help me fix my truck, or go find Mom and give her somethin’ to do.”
“I think I’ll head in and see what Mia’s fuckin’ up behind the bar.”
I smile into the engine while grabbing the hood and slamming it shut. “Good luck with that.”
The light from the hallway spills into my room. The clock on my dresser reads just after one in the morning.
Last night, hours after Ziah had left, Vante stopped by my room.
As soon as we settled in, him making sure I was okay, me making sure he believed I was, I waited for words of wisdom or encouragement to come. He’s my best friend. If anyone here knows what I need to hear it’s Vante. But Vante had nothing to offer. Instead, he crawled in bed beside me.
That’s when the tears came. When they did, they came fast and hard. In my exhaustion, I don’t remember falling asleep.
I’m not okay, as I told Elevent. I’m not dealing with any of this, as I promised the others I was.
Mom breaking into my room was only the start. Gypsy hauling me around frustrated me to no end. Sunny and Mia flustering over me made me anxious. Elevent and his attempts to send me away hurt the most.
Whether their actions are justified or not, my friends are telling me how and what to feel. Their protective nature has become too much.
And yet here I am, hours later, staring at another product of my frustration.
Gypsy’s standing at the door, leaning his large body against its frame. He’s wearing a faded old concert T-shirt, one I recognize as being years old. He’s also in a pair of faded jeans that I recognize. His arms are crossed over his chest, his chin dropped low, resting against it.
“Out,” Gypsy barks. When he notices me watching, he stands straight, and drops his arms to his sides.
Vante jolts awake, jumping in place. Lifting his head, he narrows his eyes at the light from the hallway, then curses under his breath and tightens his hold around my waist.
“Out,” Gypsy repeats louder, losing patience when Vante doesn’t move.
A few seconds of silence tick by, and Vante shifts. Rather than the bed dipping with his weight getting out of it, his arm, already holding me to his chest, tightens.
Gypsy takes a full step inside, stopping beside the bed. The tension in the room mounts. I grasp Vante’s hand and squeeze, giving him a nudge to get moving.
Sitting up, Vante kisses my temple. Just as I think he’s about to leave, he stops and rakes his hand down his face.
Shaking his head, he lets out a pissed off, “Like anything fuckin’ happened with me in her bed. Like anything would ever fuckin’ happen. Christ, the girl just needed a friend.”
I smile into the dark at his childish rebut.
“Last time I’m tellin’ you, asshat,” Gypsy forges on, ignoring Vante’s rant. “Get the fuck out.”
Vante slides from the bed, grabbing his ball cap from my dresser and settling it on his head. He comes back to me, runs his finger through the palm of my open hand, a
nd promises, “I’ll be around in the mornin’ if you need me.”
“Thank you,” I whisper to his back as he walks toward Gypsy.
Gypsy and Vante are the same height and build. The two could be brothers, they’re so alike.
Gypsy doesn’t say anything as Vante curses quietly but walks out, leaving the door open behind him.
Once Gypsy’s sure he’s clear, he stays where he’s at, but looks down. He’s tense.
He’d never hurt me, not physically. But even still, when his thumb reaches out to touch my bottom lip, I start to pull away.
Stepping back, Gypsy takes off his shirt, discarding it to the floor. He sits on the bed at my hip, bending to remove his boots and socks before he stands. The sound of his zipper drawing down echoes quietly.
I couldn’t be more confused.
In a matter of one week, I’ve gone from the heartbreak of losing Gypsy (yet again), to being stolen away by my crazy father, to being held captive by that woman, to finding a renewed appreciation for Russian mobsters.
I thought I missed Agatha and Nikolas before; I really miss the simplicity of their friendship now.
“You stayin’ in here for good?” Gypsy queries, breaking the silence.
I don’t answer.
“Cricket?” he presses, looking up and out into my room. “You stayin’ in your room for good?”
He means to ask if am I out of Leglas’s room for good. The honest answer is I don’t know, being that he’s yet to come check to see if I’m okay. Deep down, I know why. Deeper down, I don’t want to imagine my life without him in it.
I push the thoughts away.
I nod with hesitation, and Gypsy does as well, but his is quick and certain.
I’m not sure what to say. Other than his extremely annoying and intrusive visit to my room this afternoon, I don’t remember the last time Gypsy has intentionally been in my space like this.
Turning back toward me, he clears his throat. “You gonna scream the house down if I get in bed with you?”
What?
I close my eyes. There was a time—so many times, actually—I would’ve burst out in happy tears for Gypsy to want to sleep near me. Just one time when it wasn’t me acting out or begging for his attention. Now that he’s here, I can’t decide how to answer.
