“Y-yes.” I swallow. My voice quivers.
But I won’t cry. I can’t cry.
I have to be strong now.
As if reading my mind, Terry says, “You don’t have to stay strong on my account, hon.”
And that’s enough to break down my defenses.
Those simple words, spoken kindly, are enough to push aside my resolve. I collapse into the folds of her shirt, weeping violently, belly tight with the sobs, eyes burning with the tears. I wrap my arms around her and cry for a long time. As I cry, I remember Kade walking out of the morning mist and getting rid of Chester. I remember the way he put his arm around me at the waterfront bar. I think about these past nights, the sex, the intimacy; I think about waking with my cheek resting against his chest. I think about the child inside of me. Our child. Tears surge from me and I shake and whisper words I myself do not even hear, but I understand them. They are words of love and longing. Words wishing all of this could be different. Words wishing the father of my child would stand by me when it mattered.
I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but it’s too difficult. I don’t just cry; sobs explode out of me with same body-shaking reverberations. I bury my face as deep into Terry’s chest as I can, thinking as I weep that this is the first time I’ve had a mother figure to cry upon. My own mother was never much use in that area.
After what feels like a long time, I disentangle myself and lean back.
“I’m okay,” I say. “I’m fine. I just . . .” I wipe tears from my eyes. “I just need to be alone for a little while.”
Terry nods, and I walk into my bedroom, close the door behind me, fall onto the bed.
I lie on my back with my hand on my belly, wondering when the baby will start kicking, wondering why its father isn’t here. I imagine Kade’s hand atop mine, both of us waiting in anticipation for the first signs of life.
I close my eyes and I see a clear image: a blue-eyed toddler and I are sitting up in a huge king-size bed. It is summer and petals of sunlight blossom in all corners of the room. Where is Daddy, Mommy? the child asks me. I kiss the child’s forehead and before I can answer Kade walks in, wearing a bathrobe and holding a tray of toast and soft-boiled eggs. He carries them to the bed and drops down next to me, nudging me with his shoulder. We made it, Lana. We made it.
I open my eyes, banishing the fantasy. I shouldn’t let myself dream like that; dreams like that can be dangerous. This is reality and this is what I have to get used to.
But for the next month, as I look for work and try (and fail) to write and watch for signs of Kade, that fantasy returns to me every night.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kade
If there’s one thing I’ve never let myself do, it’s second-guess my decisions. Second-guessing has always been the thing most likely to get me killed. Back in the trailer park, second-guessing would’ve led to being beaten bloody more than once. Second-guessing my instincts when we were in the junkyard and a group of older kids were on the prowl. Second-guessing my confidence when I charged, roaring and blustering, at a group of Duster’s bullies. Second-guessing when I ducked behind the couch before Dad fell drunkenly on his gun. And then later, second-guessing was unacceptable. Second-guessing if two unknowns could found a club; second-guessing my leadership; second-guessing the respect that was afforded me. No, a man like me can’t second-guess. It’s not in my DNA; I can’t let it be.
But over the next month, I do a hell of a lot of second-guessing. Lana has broken my lifelong tradition.
I think back to the rainy day in the shelter of the town hall, think about when she told me she loved me, think about the accusations I hurled at her. I was more of an asshole than usual that day; that’s the truth. And if that’s ’cause I thought she was fucking Scud, that’s my fault. I should’ve listened to her, given her a real chance to explain.
Should’ve, should’ve . . .
That’s a word I usually stay far away from. An acidic word which could easily eat through all the resolve I’ve spent my entire life building up. But acidic or no, it’s a word that dominates my mind. Even when I’m dealing with the Italians—the Italians, I think clenching my chest as I sit at my desk, who always seem to know when we’re coming. The Italians who most likely have a mole somewhere in the Tidal Knights.
I lean back in my chair, groan. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Groaning. Thinking. Overthinking. Replaying that moment with Lana in my mind. I know that Lana is safe. I’ve sent Noname up every other day since she left. The Italians don’t seem to know where she is, thank Christ. But still . . . she’s up there, with my child, alone. And I’m down here in the muck.
I sit up when somebody knocks on my door.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me,” Earl says. “We’ve got a problem.”
“What?”
Already I’m thinking about how another one of our men might be dead. At least it’s not Earl, I reflect grimly. Since the business with Scud, Earl has become second-in-command in all but name. I’ve steered clear of Scud, giving him orders through Earl. It makes me feel like shit, letting him roam free after what he did to Lana. But the men are on-edge. They don’t need much of a push and they’ll just go straight over, maybe start speaking of mutiny. Mountain and Duster have been here from the start, Scud almost from the start. If they three go, they might start questioning their own position. Unless Scud gives me a reason the men can get behind.
“It’s Scud,” Earl says.
Maybe I’m a sick man, because excitement runs through me at those words.
“What happened? Dead?”
No hope in my voice. That’s good.
“No, just beat to hell. Come have a look.”
“Alright.”
I leave the office and walk into the bar. Earl and a few of the other guys, the foot-soldiers as I’m starting to think of them seeing as this is wartime, stand in a semi-circle around Scud. He’s on his knees and his face is hardly recognizable, pulpy and puffy, soaked in blood, bulging. He doesn’t look human. He looks like some alien creature from a movie.
“What happened?” I ask, addressing Earl.
Even now, I can’t look at Scud. As soon as I look at him, I remember what Lana told me, grabbing her arm—grabbing her arm with my baby inside of her. Shit, life has got damn confusing damn fast.
I’m surprised when Earl kicks Scud casually in the ass.
I raise my eyebrow: What was that for?
Earl nods down at Scud: He’ll tell you.
I kneel down so that me and Scud are eye-level. Or, at least, my eyes are level with the bulging mass of blood where his eyes used to be.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He barely looks like Scud, which is good. This is the closest I’ve been to him since I heard how he behaved with Lana. Even now, I want to hook him across the jaw. A cruel want, I know, because his jaw is as puffy as the rest of him. I swallow down the rage. Outside, thunder cracks and rain pours from the sky, pattering against the windows. Rain, again. This has been the rainiest summer in memory. Rain and death and love and longing. If I was a religious man, I’d say Duster was up there, sending the rain down as one of his dark jokes. Weather to match the mood, he’d say.
Scud sniffs, as though fighting back tears. Can’t blame him if he is.
“Scud,” I say. “What is it?”
“You’ve already told me,” Earl says calmly, standing off to the side. “What’ve you got to hide now?”
Scud’s shoulders slump. “I’ve been giving information to Enrique about the whereabouts of our men. But I didn’t want to!” He adds this part quickly, a kid admitting to something but then just as quickly wanting to make it seem small, not something to worry about. “It was soon after, uh . . .” He licks his bloodied lips. “It was soon after Lana left, Boss, and I was leaving the clubhouse to go for a ride and the Italians they—they blocked the whole road with their cars. They climbed out and Enrique told me that I better do as he says, or he’
ll kill me. Kill me. And I didn’t want to die. No way. So I told him yes, I would. But I didn’t want to. I never wanted to. And today, today, today . . .” He breaks down, weeping tears which must sting his eyes if his wincing is anything to go by. The men watch impassively. There’s nothing worse than a traitor. “But today, he said I was lying to him. He said I was a liar and so he did this to me, Boss, and he told me to tell you—” He sobs again. We wait. “He told me to tell you he’s coming for you here, at the clubhouse. He told me to tell you he’s finishing this war.”
I stand up, disgusted with him, and disgusted with myself for not keeping an eye on him.
Outside, another blast of thunder hits, making the clubhouse tremble. My mind isn’t on Scud, or the men, or the clubhouse. My mind is on Lana. If Enrique has been holding off on hitting the clubhouse, he might’ve been holding off on hitting Lana, too. I need to get to her.
“What shall we do with him?” Earl asks.
I look down at the bloody, beaten man. Part of me wants to kill him. With my own fists. To fall on him like a wild animal and tear him apart piece by piece until there is nothing left. But then something strange happens. I start thinking about the baby, my baby. I think about the child and I think about my own father, how I was scared of him, how he, too, was an animal. I wonder if I want the same for my child and I don’t have to wonder for long. I don’t. I want my kid to be able to look at me and see a protector, not some twisted monster. Maybe that’s it . . . or maybe it’s ’cause enough Tidal Knights have died already. Or maybe it’s a mixture.
But whatever it is, I’m going to be a father and the mother of my child might be in danger. I feel like a moron for letting Lana go. I should’ve tied her down if that’s what it took, at least until this Italian shit was taken care of.
“You have twenty-four hours to get as far from Evergreen as you can,” I say. “After that, I’m putting the word out. If you’re ever seen in this State again, you are a dead man. Do you understand?”
Scud nods, sniveling, pathetically grateful. “Yes, Boss. Yes, yes.”
I nod at Earl. “Get him out of here, and then lock down the club. Make it into a goddamn fortress for when I get back.”
“Where are you going?” he asks, as I pace for the door.
“I’m going to get my woman and my child,” I grunt.
I push out into the hammering rain and jog across the parking lot to my bike. Already, I am soaked through, but I don’t care. I start the engine and the bike growls into life, louder even than the near-deafening raindrops. I screech across the water-shiny road and start the ride toward Seattle.
As I ride, my mind throws itself forward to Seattle. I imagine Enrique with his glinting gold knuckle duster punching Lana in the belly. My mind is cruel and it fuckin’ tortures me. I imagine Lana falling to the ground clutching her belly as blood seeps between her fingers. I imagine her on her back, rain- and blood-soaked, mumbling my name. The bike growls and I do, too, growl just as loud as the engine. Image crashes into image as I swerve around cars, speeding toward the city. I hear Lana, whispering close to my ear: “You let me die, Kade. You let me die.”
I’m halfway there when a thought occurs to me.
Fuck!
I screech to a halt at the side of the road. I’m not picking her up on my bike. And what about her friend?
Fuck!
I take out my cell, sheltering it as best as I can with my hand, and dial Noname.
“Boss?”
“Are you in the city?”
“On business, yeah. That lead you told me to follow-up.”
“In a car?” I ask hopefully.
“I wish. Bike.”
“Get a car. Meet me at Lana’s. Don’t leave the city.”
“Where am I supposed to get a—”
“Just get a fuckin’ car!” I snap.
I hear Noname swallow. “Yes, Boss.”
“Get there right away.”
“Yes, Boss.”
I hang up, stuff my cell into my pocket, and rejoin the traffic.
Goddamn it. Why did I let her go?
I’ve never been one for second-guessing, it’s true, but as I speed through the rain, I second-guess everything.
Second-guess every single moment spent with Lana, starting at the Twin Peaks and ending at the town hall. I second-guess the moans, the flirty glances, I second-guess the way we would hold each other, me just thinking we were a man and a woman getting close, her knowing the deeper truth. I second-guess her reasoning for agreeing to live at the clubhouse in the first place; I’d thought it was just lust, but obviously there was something else.
No, I’m not one for second-guessing at all.
But the time for second-guessing is over. I can’t second-guess now. I have my woman and my child to protect.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lana
I sit at the window of my bedroom with my notebook and pen, staring out at the rain. I like the way the way it clings to the glass, the way some drops stick before finally sliding down. I like the constant stream, the distortion; I like the way the light bends around the raindrops. I like the way the house shakes. I giggle when I hear Terry grumbling from the living room. I want to write something about it, something poetic, but I can’t. My pen doesn’t move. Every time I write, I think about Kade, as though he’s leaning over my shoulder watching me. I can’t write. I can barely think. I just have Kade in my mind, that image of him and me and the child on Sunday morning. I just wish things had gone differently. It’s been a month and he hasn’t contacted me, not even a text or a call. Maybe he’s done with me.
I try and make myself react with anger, rather than heartache. I tell myself I am infuriated rather than despondent. I tell myself countless lies, stack the lies atop each other, until I am standing beneath a tower of lies. Maybe I could write about that: a tower of lies. A tower of lies sitting in the unceasing summer rain. But when I turn my pen to the page, nothing happens. I just sit here, stunned. Constantly stunned over this past month. Stunned that Kade is not here; stunned that I will have to raise this child alone; stunned that life is galloping ahead without me.
When Terry throws the door to my bedroom open without knocking, I know something is wrong. Though this is her apartment and I’m not yet paying rent, Terry is respectful of my space. It’s yet another reason why I love the woman so much.
Then the reason for her sudden disregard of my privacy appears. Kade walks up behind her, completely drenched, water splashing onto the hardwood floor.
“Kade?” I ask, my voice full of disbelief. It’s only been a month, but a month is a long time if for the weeks before that you spent every night in somebody’s bed. He’s still tall and muscular with sturdy features, and the same piercing blue eyes. The sort of blue eyes I prayed for as a child when the world seemed small and I felt trapped. “Is that—”
He paces across the room, raindrops flinging around him, and stands over me.
“I’m—I should’ve come sooner,” he says. His voice is husky, strained. It’s the voice of a man who has never been any good at expressing his emotions. “I—” He glances at Terry and I know that he won’t speak his emotions in front of her. I’m about to ask for her to excuse herself—she stands at the door, arms folded across her chest—when Kade says, “We have to get out of here. Both of you. I have to get both of you out of here.” At first I think he means me and Terry, but then he reaches down and places his hand on my belly, the tiny bump which is starting to show. “I’ve been . . . I need to protect my family, Lana. I need to protect you and our child. And you, Terry.” He turns to her. “You need to come with me.”
“What? Why?” Terry says, suspicious.
Kade quickly explains about the Italians.
“They’re closing in,” he finishes. “Or, at least, that’s how it looks. They might be blowin’ steam, trying to get us riled. Either way, I’m not taking the risk.”
I love you, Kade. I love you for coming back. I love yo
u for thinking of our child. I love you.
I don’t say it, though, because he might not say it back. Feeling that pain once is enough.
“Look, I know this is serious business,” Terry says, “but I don’t think I need to go with you. I don’t think I’m in any danger. What am I, to them? I’m Lana’s friend—”
“Exactly, you’re Lana’s friend,” Kade says. He speaks more patiently than I would’ve expected from him. It’s as though something in this past month has changed him. Perhaps being apart from me. He keeps smiling at me, and then at my belly. Glancing at me to make sure I’m still here, that I’m real, even as he talks to Terry. “You don’t know these men. They’ll think nothing of hurting you to get to Lana, to get to me.”
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