by Claire Adams
I knew that if I wasn’t careful, the boys would be able to hear us, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to concentrate hard enough to keep the screams from escaping. He wasn’t gentle or slow or calm or soft this time. This time he was ravenous and passionate and violent… and I realized just how arousing this type of sex was. I could understand why people craved it. I could understand now… having experienced it what it was really about.
It was about wanting the other person so much that you couldn’t keep your hands off them. It was about unadulterated lust and desire and carnal pleasure. And it was special because you could only ever experience this type of desire once or twice in your life with a handful of people. This kind of connection didn’t happen every day. It wasn’t common. It was unique and special, and it was meant for only a chosen few who happened to make the right connection.
He fucked me so hard that for a second, I wondered if it was possible for a woman to split in two. It was a giddy moment of hysteria that was mixed in with so much pleasure that I realized that if indeed I did break into two, I wouldn’t mind in the least.
I knew when he was about to cum because his legs and arms clenched around me, and he was grinding his teeth together in an effort to last longer. He didn’t need to bother though, because I came at the same moment he did. I felt his body subside into stillness the moment he came, and I wrapped my arms around him, knowing that he would need my help to stay upright.
He rested his head on my shoulder while I wrapped my arms around him and waited for his breathing to slow. After a few minutes, I kissed his cheek, and he lifted his head up. Our eyes met, and I saw confusion and uncertainty and fear. Then he pulled away from me, zipped himself up, and went to lean back against my windowsill. I just watched him, unable to think of one thing to say. The silence stretched on and on, and finally I sat down on the bed and took a deep breath.
“You know… you could lie down,” I said, patting the space next to me.
He eyed the bed, and I was sure he was going to make some offhand comment and leave immediately. But to my surprise, he walked over and sat down beside me.
“Will you teach me to ride a bike?” I asked, on the spur of the moment.
He turned his face towards me, without really ever meeting my eye. “You really want to learn how to ride?” he asked, a small smile playing on his face.
“Yes.”
“Ok then,” he agreed.
“When?”
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Zack
I remembered the moment I had come back home. It was a drizzly Tuesday when I’d walked up to the front door of the house I’d grown up in. I had been gone only a couple of years, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. I had left an angry teenager, and now I felt like the weary old traveler who simply wanted to lay his head down on a place he was familiar with.
If I concentrated really hard, I could see it all happen in real time. I could see my father’s face contort into relief and anger. I could see my mother looking at me with the hugest smile on her face. I could hear the words that we flung at each other directly after that moment. Then dad had stormed off, calling me an ungrateful child, and Mom had come and hugged me so hard that I could barely breathe. It had been a long time since I’d revisited that memory in such detail.
But I was on the open road, driving fast with the wind slapping against my face, and the memory wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It came easily, and suddenly I was reliving it again… like I was there.
Mom pulled back and cupped my face with her hands. “Let me look at you.”
She had aged. I could tell right away. It was like the last few years had expanded into ten. There were lines around her eyes and mouth; her hazel eyes were paler now. It was like they had lost some of the bright brown that used to make them sparkle. Her hair was a fierce and bright brown, which told me that she dyed it regularly. She would have only started doing that if she had started to go gray.
“Hi, Mom,” I said softly.
“You’re huge,” she said, grabbing my arms. “Where did all these muscles come from?”
I smiled.
“And you have new tattoos.”
“A few more,” I nodded.
“A few,” she repeated with a laugh.
Then her laughter faded, and she gestured to me to sit down. We sat next to each other at the round kitchen table that faced large windows so that we could see the trees outside.
“You’ll need to give your father some time,” she said.
I nodded. “I know.”
She smiled at that. “You’ve changed,” she observed.
“How can you tell?”
“It’s in your eyes,” she responded. “You’re not the stubborn teenager that stormed out of here and vowed never to return.”
“Stubborn?” I repeated, with raised eyebrows.
“Come now,” Mom said, touching my hand every few seconds as though to make sure I was really there. “You and I both know it was your stubborn nature that led to that fight.”
I sighed. “Yes, I was stubborn,” I nodded. “But I was angry too. I felt like both of you had lied to me my entire life.”
“Where was the lie, son?” Mom asked.
“Really?”
“Really,” Mom nodded. “I’m your mother and Dad is your father… what more is there to say?”
“The relationship you had with Godwin—”
“Was a long time ago,” she replied before I could finish. “I was young… we all were. Yes, I was with Godwin when I met your father… And in many ways, he was my savior.”
“What do you mean?”
“Godwin was not good to the women he was with,” Mom replied. “He was charming ‘til he had me, and then he morphed back into his true nature. He was possessive and violent and prone to fits of anger that would last days for no reason. He was egotistical and greedy. He would obsess about little things, and he would place blame just so that he would have a reason to pick a fight.
“Living with him was torture, but I was too scared to leave him. Then I met your father and he got me out. He saved me from the life I had been living with Godwin and his club. He made sure Godwin could never hurt me ever again.”
“But you were pregnant,” I pointed out.
“Yes, I found out I was pregnant a few weeks after I moved in with your father.”
“And you’re not going to address that?” I asked.
Mom sighed. “What would you like me to say, Zack?” she asked. “Yes, there’s a possibility that Godwin might be your father? Fine, then I’ll say it. Yes, there is a possibility Godwin might be your father. But just for the record, you should know that having raised you, having spent a good portion of my life with your father, I believe that you are his son and no one else’s. But that is my instinct alone… so yes, it is possible.”
I cringed at her words as my body tried to fight against them somehow. Could it really be possible? Life wouldn’t be that cruel… would it?
“You’ve always looked just like your father.”
“Is that a fact?” I bit back. “Or are you just seeing what you want to see?” I bit my lip. “You never wanted to find out for sure?” I asked.
“It wasn’t me,” Mom said, shaking her head. “Your father is the one who didn’t want to find out.”
“Maybe he should have,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because he clearly wondered about it my whole life,” I said. “He clearly believed that I was Godwin’s son.”
“Why do you think that?” Mom asked.
“Why else would he have been so hard on me?”
Mom sighed and shook her head. “Sometimes it shocks me that neither one of you can see it,” she said. “The two of you are so alike in so many ways, Zack… is it any wonder you butt heads so often?”
“Come on, Mom… that’s a simplistic argument.”
“Maybe so,” she nodded
. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be true. Your father loves you to death, Zack… he’s just not the type of man to ever say that out loud. I’ve been with him for two decades now, and he has never once told me he loves me. But why should that bother me? I feel like he loves me. So why should words be necessary for me to believe that?”
“I don’t need words,” I said. “I never needed words. But he was always so… harsh, so angry with me.”
“Oh, Zack,” Mom sighed. “He was never angry with you. He was angry at the world—and sometimes he took it out on you—but it was only because he was trying to prepare you. He wanted to make sure you were ready.”
“For what?”
“For life, for adulthood, for the lifestyle we’ve chosen to live,” Mom replied. “A part of me thinks he was even preparing you to deal with Godwin.”
I frowned. “Was he really scared of that?”
“Yes,” Mom nodded. “Godwin is not a man who forgets a slight. He’s hated your father ever since I ran away with him. He couldn’t strike back because the cost would have been too high. So your father feels he’s just lying in wait… trying to find the right moment to strike. And what better way to strike back than to target you.”
“Does he… does he suspect?” I asked.
Mom raised her eyebrows. “Does he suspect what?”
“Does Godwin suspect that I might be his son?”
“It wouldn’t matter either way,” Mom replied. “You were raised by his enemy; you call him Dad. Even if it turns out you’re his son, he’s not going to feel like you’re his son. Zack… I know you think he treated you differently because of this, but he would have been the same with any son we might have had together. Trust me…”
I looked at Mom and wondered what made her choose this life. She was a quiet woman, and she blended easily with other people. If anyone saw her on the street, no one would assume she was the wife of an MC leader.
“Why did you stay with Dad?” I asked bluntly.
“Because he loved me,” she replied.
I was slightly taken back by her response. I had expected her to say the more conventional ‘because I loved him’ line.
“He loved you?” I repeated. “Didn’t you love him?”
Mom smiled. “Not at first,” she admitted. “I clung to him because he was giving me a way out. My plan was to leave the state and go someplace new. I didn’t want anything to do with motorcycle clubs or their lifestyles. I wanted to get as far away from that as possible.”
“Seriously?” I asked, amazed that we’d never spoken about this before. But then, I hadn’t really been interested in listening before now.
“Yes,” Mom nodded. “But I had to lie low for a while before leaving the state, and in the meantime… your father and I became friends. Do you know the reason I decided to stay behind?”
“Why did you stay behind?” I asked.
Mom smiled. “Because he asked me to,” she replied. “He didn’t make any declarations of love. He didn’t promise me anything. But he didn’t need to. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t be asking me to stay unless he felt he could treat me well.”
“So you stayed?” I asked, in amazement. “You must have loved him then.”
“I did at that point,” Mom nodded. “He just loved me a little more at first. It’s the reason he didn’t care about my pregnancy. He just wanted to look after me… and you.”
I sighed. “He did look after us,” I admitted. “I suppose realizing that is what brought me back here.”
Mom nodded. “You’ve grown up.”
“Do you think Dad will ever speak to me again?”
Mom smiled. “Of course,” she said. “He was thrilled to see you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Umm… did we see the same man?”
Mom laughed. “Trust that I know your father better than you do. He’s angry, but beneath that anger is relief. He’s glad you’re back. Which is not to say he’s going to go easy on you.”
“I never expected him to,” I nodded.
“What’s your plan, Zack?” Mom asked, but I knew what she was really asking.
“I want to come back to the Fallen Angels… I mean, I want to re-join,” I said.
“You’ll have to start from the beginning,” Mom replied. “As a pledge.”
“I know.”
“He’s not going to make the initiation process easy for you.”
“I know that, too.”
Mom nodded, and she looked like she was proud of me. “It’s good to have you back, son,” she said.
“It’s good to be back, Mom,” I nodded.
I snapped out of the memory as I came to a stop outside the clubhouse. I looked towards the trees in the distance. The house I had grown up on was just over the ridge, part of the same property but abandoned and unused since my mother’s death. Dad had moved into the clubhouse right after her funeral because he couldn’t stand staying there after she was gone.
Sometimes it seemed like his premature death was a relief because it meant he didn’t have to keep enduring without Mom. It was an unconventional love story, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was a love story. I had just never thought about it like this before. It wasn’t like I ever had a reason. I had never been drawn to a woman the way my father had been drawn to my mother.
I had fucked dozens and dozens of women, but I had never loved one. Nor had I ever really wanted to. Love felt like weakness to me. It felt like a crutch that slowed you down. I wasn’t interested in being slowed down. But I had always assumed I would have the choice to fall in love or not.
But now… I realized I had assumed wrong my entire life. It wasn’t a choice. It never had been.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mila
“Where are we going?” I asked.
We had left the clubhouse down below, and we were walking towards the trees. We had already passed the point where we’d had sex, and the gentle slope was getting a little steeper.
“You’ll see,” Zack told me cryptically.
Frowning, I followed behind me until the slope reached its peak. I looked down and saw a tiny house a short distance away. It was obvious that no one had lived in it for quite some time. I could see that the windows were sealed shut, and there was a nice layer of dust that covered them over. The paint had been scraped off, and the roof looked battered and bruised.
Still, there was a certain charm about it. It was extremely simple and very small, but I could almost picture what it would have looked like in better days.
“I didn’t even know there was a house down here,” I said, wondering why I hadn’t thought to explore a little more.
“It’s mine,” Zack replied.
“What?” I asked, turning to him.
“Well it was my parents’,” Zack replied. “But since their deaths, it passed to me. That is where I grew up.”
“Wow,” I said, feeling new interest overtake me. “I can’t believe I didn’t know it was here.”
“No one comes here,” I said. “Out of deference to me, I suppose. I think they assume it would piss me off.”
“Would it?” I asked.
Zack smiled. “It might have…”
“When’s the last time you came here?”
“Umm… a few weeks before you came to the clubhouse,” Zack admitted. “I come to the house every few months. I just sit in front of it and stare at it and remember my parents. I haven’t ever gone back to their gravestones since they were buried. I do my mourning here… in front of this house.”
We walked down the slope towards the house, and I glanced at Zack. “Do you ever go inside?” I asked.
“No,” I replied. “After Dad moved into the clubhouse… I stayed back for a few months. And then I moved into the clubhouse too.”
“Couldn’t stay behind, huh?”
“At first, I thought it would be nice to have the house to myself,” Zack nodded. “I don’t know; it just didn’t feel right stayin
g on when Dad had left.”
We were standing right outside the house, staring up at its remains. “Do you think you’ll ever make use of this house again?” I asked.
Zack looked thoughtfully at the front door and sighed. “I don’t know… I should do something with it. Otherwise, it’s just sitting here, old and forgotten. I could do it up so that the boys can sleep over maybe… there’ll be more room for everyone.”
I nodded. “That sounds like a good idea.”
“I don’t know that it does,” Zack said. “Most of the older guys have families or partners. They’re not going to end up here…”
He seemed pensive, but there was no sadness in his tone. It felt like he had resigned himself to the inevitable. This club was family to him, but he was also acknowledging that the other men had real families. They had wives and children who needed them.
“Do you want to go inside?” Zack asked suddenly, turning to me.
“I… seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you haven’t been in there for a while?”
“I haven’t,” he admitted. “But there’s no reason not to go inside. I don’t believe in ghosts anyway.”
“I do,” I said.
“You do?” Zack turned to me.
“Well… yeah,” I nodded. “I think very few people actually see the ghosts, but I think it’s possible that people leave behind an imprint of themselves.”
“To finish unfinished business?” Zack asked.
“More like to watch over the people they care about.”
Zack smiled. “That’s a beautiful notion.”
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” I asked.
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think you’re crazy. It’s nice that you have faith in things. I don’t.”
“You don’t have faith in anything?” I asked.
