Chains

by Wilder, Chiah

Chains pulled over to the curb in front of his parents’ house and turned off the ignition, then sauntered up the sidewalk to the front porch. He hesitated before he rang the bell and hoped his dad was at work since their encounters were never pleasant. It seemed like he always rubbed the old man the wrong way. As long as Chains could remember, his dad had never said anything positive to him. When he was a kid, the harsh words were like knives, cutting him to the core, and when Chains had been in high school, he’d dealt with it by cutting school, smoking weed, shoplifting, and spending more time than not in juvenile detention. He’d done everything he could to piss off the old man just so he could feel like shit, then maybe he’d understand how Chains felt. But his dad only grew angrier with him and increased the verbal and emotional abuse until Chains took off the day after graduation.

  The door flew open, and the memories from the past scattered to the deep recesses of his mind.

  “Why didn’t you ring the bell? I thought I heard a motorcycle,” his mother said as she unlocked the screen door.

  “Hey, Mom.” He walked inside, and the sweet aroma of freshly baked cake filled the living room, transporting him back to the kitchen of his childhood, where he’d sit at the table and watch his mother take one of her delicious vanilla cakes out of the oven.

  “Aren’t you even going to give your mother a hug?” She held out her arms.

  Chains gave her a squeeze, then pulled away quickly. “How’ve you been?”

  “Very busy. I’ve been baking cakes for three days straight.”

  A small smile ghosted his lips. “It smells great in here.”

  She held up four fingers. “That’s how many quinceañeras I have to bake for. What was I thinking?” Regina shook her head.

  “You love it.” The smile widened. “And you’re the best baker in Alina. For years, I’ve said that you should have your own bakery.”

  “I’m busy enough with the orders I get. The website you made for me has brought in so many customers—even some from Durango.”

  “Then you need to hire a few people and start selling around the country.”

  His mother laughed. “Your dad would throw a fit. He’s already on my back for taking in too many orders.”

  “I bet he is.” Bitterness laced his voice.

  Regina’s eyes found his. “You judge your father too harshly.”

  “He’s the one who taught me how to do that.”

  “I’m just saying that you’ve never given him a chance—he’s really a very nice and loving man.”

  A dry laugh. “Are we talking about the same person?”

  She looked away. “Come into the kitchen and I’ll give you a piece of cake. I have a fresh pot of coffee brewing. Emily gave me a coffeemaker for Mother’s Day—it was when we all went out for lunch at Poppies.” His mom rummaged through one of the cupboards. “You didn’t show up,” she said in a low voice.

  “I called and told you I couldn’t come,” Chains said as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down.

  “Anyway, she’d be so mad if she knew I’ve only used it two times. I guess I should give it a chance, but I still like the sound of the coffee pot when it percolates.”

  “Then use what you like. Just ’cause Emily got you something doesn’t mean you have to love it or use it.”

  “True, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  “It’s just a coffeemaker, Mom. I’m pretty sure Emily could deal with it.” He picked up the fork, cut off a big bite, and shoved it into his mouth. Flavor exploded, and he chewed slowly, savoring the sweet and citrus tastes on his tongue. “This is so fuckin’ good,” he said.

  “Chet! You really need to watch your language, especially at the brunch this Sunday. Try not to use vulgar language.”

  “That’s right—the brunch is this Sunday,” he said before taking a sip of hot coffee.

  Regina stood in front of him, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed and deadly. “Don’t you dare tell me that you’re not coming. I’ve been reminding you about it practically every damn day.”

  “Watch your language, Mom.” Chains deadpanned. “Don’t break a blood vessel—I’m coming. I just thought it was next Sunday.”

  A grin slowly spread across her face. “You’ve always liked to tease your mother. Bret will be happy you’re coming.”

  “I doubt that, but I know you are.” He stood up from the table and brought his empty dish and coffee mug over to the sink. “Do you need me to bring anything?” he asked as he rinsed off the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher.

  “What would you do if I told you to bring some quiches?” Her dark eyes sparkled.

  Wiping his hands on a paper towel, he shrugged. “I’d swing by the store and buy them. I don’t think you’ve caught on that people don’t have to cook everything from scratch anymore.”

  “Oh you,” she said, smacking him lightly on his arm.

  After wadding up the paper towel, he threw it in the trash. “I’ve gotta get going. Are the boxes in the garage?”

  Regina glanced at the clock over the stove. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to finish decorating one of the cakes that need to be delivered later on.”

  “Do you want some help packing up the car?”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but your dad will be home before I leave and he can do it.”

  “Okay.” Chains started walking toward the door leading to the garage.

  “The box you want with your old textbooks and personal papers is on the right. It’s marked Chet. Don’t take any of the other boxes. I have to go through them someday, and I don’t want you accidentally walking away with them.”

  “No problem. I’ll close the garage door when I’m done. Did you change the code?”

  “No, it’s the same. Did you want to bring some cake back with you for your friends?”

  “No, thanks.” He turned the doorknob.

  “I’ll see you on Sunday, and try and be good with Bret and your father … and stay longer than fifteen minutes, okay?” Creases lined her forehead.

  “I got it. Bye, Mom.” He stepped into the garage, flipped on the light, then closed the door behind him.

  When Chains spotted the box with his old name on it, he walked over and picked it up. Several other boxes surrounded it, and he kicked the lid off one of them and saw some of his old high school yearbooks. Mom won’t even miss these. Deciding that he’d take a couple more boxes with him than he’d intended, Chains stacked two of them in his arms and headed over to the SUV.

  When he arrived at the clubhouse, Muerto, Eagle, and Aztec were hanging out by the big oak tree drinking beer. Chains honked the horn at them as he pulled into a space.

  “I need help carrying in some boxes,” he said while opening up the trunk.

  “Did you buy a bunch of shit in town?” Muerto asked as he walked over.

  “Nah. I picked up some stuff at my parents’ house. I’m thinking of taking that job offer to do an online web design class, so I wanted to look at some of my old textbooks and class notes.”

  “Doesn’t that stuff become obsolete, like, in a week?” Aztec asked as he pulled out a box from the trunk.

  “Not that fast, but yeah, the technology changes real fast, but the principles are the same,” Chains replied.

  “I hated school. Why the fuck do you wanna teach?” Eagle asked as he walked toward the front entrance carrying a box. “You’re already too busy. When was the last time, bro, you were at the strip club? A few nights ago you didn’t join us at Lust ’cause you had too much shit to do.”

  “My work goes in cycles—I’m in a busy one now.” Chains pulled open the door and entered the main room.

  “You’re even too busy to fuck, if the club girls are telling the truth,” Aztec said.

  Chains looked over his shoulder. “How is my fucking schedule any of your damn business?”

  Muerto laughed. “Nothing’s private around here, you know that, bro, especially when you live on the premi
ses.”

  “I don’t give a shit who or when you fuck, I was just making a point about how busy you are,” Aztec said.

  Chains rolled his eyes and headed up the stairs.

  “Does Steel know about you wanting to teach? That might cut in on club business. What if we gotta do something important and you’ve got a class going that night?” Eagle chuckled as he rambled on, “Do you tell your students that you have to reschedule ’cause you gotta give some fucker a beatdown?”

  “Maybe you can fuck one of your sexy students.” Aztec walked into Chains’s room and put the box down on the floor near the dresser.

  “The class is online, dude,” Chains said. He regretted bringing up the teaching job in the first place. His friends were highly buzzed, and this quasi-sitcom routine could go on for hours.

  “Dudes hook up with chicks all the time on the internet,” Aztec replied.

  “That’s on dating apps, not a school,” Eagle said as he leaned against the wall.

  “I think you can pick up a chick in a school app.” Aztec took out a joint and lit it.

  Muerto guffawed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  After moving and stacking the boxes in the corner of the room, Chains twisted his upper body from side to side, trying to work out a few kinks in his back.

  “Thanks for helping out,” he said, hoping to put the nonsensical conversation to rest.

  Aztec looked at him through a veil of thick smoke. “So are you fucking your student or not?”

  “I haven’t even decided if I’m gonna take the job, but if I do, I’ll let you know if I hook up with one of my online students.” Chains walked over to the door.

  “People have cybersex all the time. I heard it on one of those talk shows the club girls watch. I bet you can do that with your student. Those college chicks will do anything for a good grade.” Aztec blew out a stream of smoke.

  “Maybe I should teach,” Eagle said.

  “Fuck, Raven’s pissed that I forgot to pick up her canvases when I was in town,” Muerto said as he looked down at his phone.

  “Sounds like something you need to take care of,” Chains said, then pointed at Eagle and Aztec. “You two can finish your conversation downstairs. I have a lot of work to do right now.”

  “Do you think I’d be a good teacher?” Eagle asked as he walked out of the room.

  “Yeah—a great one,” Chains replied before closing and locking the door.

  He glanced at the boxes and decided to go through them the following week. He had to complete a job for one of his clients, and begin another one for a new customer.

  Thor padded over to him and nudged his wet nose against Chains’s hand. He was back to normal, and Chains went over to the closet and took down a box of Milk-Bone treats. The dog barked and his bright blue eyes watched his owner intently.

  “Here you go, buddy,” Chains said as he opened his hand. Thor snatched the snack from the palm of his hand. “I’m gonna work for a while, then we’ll go out.” Thor barked again then padded behind Chains.

  The biker settled into the chair and opened his laptop as Thor lay on the floor next to him. For a long moment, he stared at the computer screen as images of Autumn teemed in his mind. It wasn’t rational or even logical as to why Chains was thinking of her at that moment, but it seemed that it happened whenever he was alone and it was quiet. He knew he should be working on the integration of the shopping cart tool on one of his client’s website, but Autumn was on his mind, so he typed her name into the search bar instead. He saw pictures of her at the Highlands Animal Care Center, and those captivating eyes seemed to burn right into him. Why can’t I get you out of my mind? What the fuck’s going on with you, woman?

  Thor’s soft yelps in his sleep dragged Chains out of his thoughts. He rubbed the back of his neck, closed the window containing the photographs of Autumn, and clicked opened his client’s folder.

  Chapter Nine

  It was a beautiful fall morning. The trees lining Gaylord Street glinted with gold and red. Shafts of sunlight shifted and danced through branches and leaves. The air was crisp and carried a sweet aroma from the apple trees Chains passed as he rode to his parents’ house. He’d debated about going to the brunch when he’d woken up and saw what a perfect day it was for a long ride around the countryside. Picturing the look of disappointment on his mother’s face was the only reason he was showing up. Chains couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his brother or his upcoming wedding. The only thing that surprised him was that Bret had found a woman stupid enough to put up with his phoniness and bullshit.

  Both sides of the street in front of his parents’ house were filled with cars. He gritted his teeth and circled around the block a few times as he debated about going inside, but guilt niggled at the back of his mind, so he parked his bike several houses up from his parents’. Chains figured he’d give thirty minutes of his time, then cut out and hit the backroads. For the most part, he hated engaging in pointless small talk and answering inane questions about his life.

  Chains’s engineer boots thumped on the pavement, his muscular build casting a long, reed-like shadow. He slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a joint. Stopping for a moment, Chains dipped his head and cupped his hand around the lighter as he lit the spliff. He inhaled deeply, held his breath for a few seconds, and then blew out a column of thick smoke.

  He watched as a tall blonde with long legs in a short skirt rushed up the porch steps. The door opened, and his mother flashed a big smile, then stepped aside as the woman walked into the house. Chains finished the joint through a myriad of successive drags before tossing the roach to the ground; he stepped on it and let out a final stream of smoke. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he sauntered across the lawn.

  The door opened just as Chains reached the porch. When he saw his father, he stepped back, his jaw tightening. Meeting his dad’s eyes, he lifted his chin.

  “Your mother didn’t think you were going to come,” his father spoke in a scratchy smoker’s mumble.

  “I told her I would,” Chains replied.

  “You’ve said a lot of things you didn’t do.” He reached into his dress shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Winston. He tapped one out and lit it. “You should’ve dressed better—you look like a hoodlum.”

  “I am a hoodlum.” Chains took the steps two at a time, brushed by his father, and entered the foyer.

  The tantalizing aroma of bacon and cinnamon curled around him as he went down the hall and into the kitchen, avoiding the crowd in the living room. His mother stood by the stove, an apron dotted with pumpkins and topsy-turvy leaves wrapped tightly around her waist; she pulled out two quiches from the oven.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said.

  Regina looked up and a large smile graced her face. “You made it.” She put the quiches down on the counter and took off her oven mitts.

  “I said I’d be here. How’re you holding up?”

  She blew a stray wisp of hair away from her face. “Okay. Can you bring the platter of potatoes and the basket of croissants into the dining room? Set them on the buffet table.”

  “Sure.” He shrugged off his jacket and hung it gingerly on the back of a chair in the corner of the kitchen, then picked up the items.

  People mingled in the dining and living rooms, and Chains set the two dishes on the table before he snagged a slice of bacon from a serving dish and gobbled it down.

  “Chet,” his sister Amelia said. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “I told Mom I’d be here.” One corner of his mouth hitched up. “When did you get in?”

  “Yesterday. I’ll be here for a few days, then it’s back to Denver. Let’s get together and grab some lunch.” Her bluish-gray eyes twinkled.

  “I’ll check my schedule.”

  “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. You missed Mother’s Day and the Fourth of July”—she tapped a finger against her chin—“and the family barbecue … and Dad’s bir
thday.”

  “Sounds about right,” he replied.

  “Emily said she hasn’t seen you since last Christmas, and she lives here.” Amelia reached over the table and picked up a cherry tomato, then popped it into her mouth.

  “I’ve been busy.” Chains glanced at the time on his phone. I’ve only got twenty more minutes to go, then I’m fuckin’ outta here. He could feel the crisp air rushing around him already.

  “Are you dating anyone?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “You should think about settling down.” Amelia snatched another tomato.

  “So should you.”

  A large clap on his back had Chains turning around.

  Bret shook his head. “I lost the fucking bet. Amelia and Emily said you’d come, but I said you’d do your usual no-show routine. Damn, dude—I lost fifty bucks.”

  Chains moved away from his brother. “I came for Mom.”

  “I know that—you’d never come for me, but then I wouldn’t go for you either.” Bret took a sip from the flute in his hand.

  “You don’t have to worry about that—I don’t go in for this pansy-ass shit. Where’s the booze?”

  “I’ll get something for you,” Amelia said. “Do you want a glass of champagne?”

  “Tequila—two shots.”

  “Okay.” She squeezed his hand then scurried away.

  “How’s your web development business going?” Bret asked as he scooped up a handful of cashews.

  “Good.” Chains crossed his arms over his chest.

  “It looks like you got some new tattoos. I got one on my upper arm. It’s fucking awesome. Where’d you get yours done?”

  “At the club’s ink shop. One of the brothers did them for me.”

  “What’s the name of the place?” Bret took another gulp of his drink.

  “Get Inked.”

  “That’s your club’s business? I didn’t think you guys owned anything but strip bars.” He gave him a wry smile.

  Before Chains could reply, Amelia walked in, drink in hand.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing him the tumbler.

  “Thanks.” Chains threw the tequila back.