by K. Ryan
It was a believable enough excuse anyways with little room for suspicion; it wasn't the first time I'd called it an early night and knew it wouldn't be the last, so Dom just shrugged, slapping me on the shoulder to send me on my way.
As I waited by my bike, my fingers twitched at my sides, practically begging for a cigarette, but I also knew the second I light one up, Isabelle would catch me right in the act and that was the last thing I needed right now. But Jesus, a hit of nicotine would really balance me out a little. I needed my head on straight because a million possibilities of what was waiting for us at The Lucky Spur ran on repeat in my head and that wasn't helping.
On cue, Isabelle pushed through the exit and the second her searching gaze found me waiting, she broke out into a jog to get herself there faster. Neither of us spoke as I hitched a leg over my bike and passed her my helmet. Her warm hands ghosted over my shoulders as she eased herself behind me.
The irony wasn't lost on me that this was the first time I'd had a girl on the back of my bike since Ariel, the only other girl who'd ever had the honor.
I didn't hold a lot of things sacred, but my brothers and my bike were right at the top of that list. Letting a girl ride on your bike signified that she meant something to you—a classification that most girls from the clubhouse and any other girl would never really qualify for. I'd relished every moment Ariel spent behind me on my bike, proudly parading my old lady around town for everyone to see that I'd claimed her, that she was mine.
But tonight with Isabelle? This was different. It might have been out of necessity, but a part of me knew that the circumstances didn't necessarily trump what Isabelle was to me either. She was...damn, I didn't know what she was.
She was friend, sure, but right now, it felt like that term didn't really accurately describe her either. She suddenly squeezed her arms around my stomach, making me painfully aware, despite my best efforts, that her thighs were clenching against the back of my hips.
The Lucky Spur was just down the street and I needed to get a handle on myself. I shouldn't have spent the whole ride there convincing myself that Isabelle's arms wrapped around my waist didn't make me need to adjust myself.
The whole thing was just so messed up it wasn't even funny...Isabelle probably spent the entire ride sick with worry and here I was so focused on the way her hands felt on me that I was lucky I got my bike parked without falling over.
Isabelle practically leapt off my bike the second I pulled into a parking space, giving me a quick opening to pull myself together. She was already right by the door and I had to scramble to get a hold of her before she burst through the door.
"Hey," I murmured and tugged on her arm to get her to turn around. "You gotta stay behind me, Iz. If it gets bad, you gotta let me take care of it, alright? No matter what happens?"
She nodded wordlessly, her eyes fixated on getting through that door and I obliged her, pushing it open and passing through first, my fingers wrapped gently around her wrist to tug her behind me.
The Lucky Spur wasn't necessarily the worst bar in Claremont, but it was definitely one of the grungiest and dirtiest, not to mention the second best place, next to The Sundown Saloon just down the block from here, where you could buy any assortment of narcotics anyone could ever ask for. It was a junkie's playground and not somewhere I typically made a habit of even being anywhere near if I could help it.
The Horsemen weren't stupid enough to touch that kind of hard shit, so the fact that Isabelle's dad was growing weeds under his ass here was particularly alarming. What did it say about a guy, who was supposed to be an upstanding, well-respected lawyer, who passed out face down drunk here if the Horsemen didn't even want to come within 10 miles of the place?
The bartender's expression shifted from relieved, probably when he recognized Isabelle, to pale and nervous, probably when he saw the Horsemen cut walking in with her.
"Bathroom's down the hall and to the right," the bartender gestured with his head towards the hallway.
Isabelle nodded robotically as I led her through the bar, weaving in and out around the stumbling patrons and beer-stained barstools. When the bathroom was just a few feet away, I cut her loose and she took off for the door, but I slammed right into her back when she skidded to complete stop at the bathroom's doorway.
Her shaky hands reached up to cover her mouth and her shoulders trembled. On reflex, my own hands shot out to her shoulders to steady her, to comfort her, but I had a feeling nothing was going to bring her much relief tonight.
Because Isabelle was frozen in place at the cracked, greasy doorway, I gently stepped around her, keeping my hands on her shoulders for as long as possible to help her stay calm. When I got a clearer look at the scene inside the bathroom, it was easy to see what kept her rooted right where she stood.
I could count on one hand the number of times I'd spoken to Samuel Martin. Each encounter was met with cold indifference and he'd always had a tendency to make me feel like I was no better than the dirt on the bottom of his leather shoes. Always dressed in the finest linens, tailored to perfection, with a haughty stare underneath his clean-shaven features, he commanded both your respect and your attention.
Seeing that same man lying face down on a grimy, beer-stained bathroom floor with only half its tiles was not an easy sight to swallow.
His once-crisp white shirt clung to his chest like he'd rolled around on this dirty floor and his mouth lobbed open like it was barely hanging on by its hinges. In that moment, it was like someone was shoving a mirror in my face, forcing me to see: was this what my family and my club brothers saw too? Was this what they saw when I got so wasted I couldn't even see straight? Was this what Isabelle saw the night she'd all but carried me back to my dorm?
Careful not to startle him, I knelt down to gain better access to his shoulders and with both hands firmly clasped underneath his armpits, heaved and pulled to drag Isabelle's dad to his feet. The unbalanced weight almost toppled us both over, but I got my bearings and shrugged down for a better grip so I could shuffle him out of the bathroom in an awkward dance.
Isabelle remained planted where she stood, gaping openly at the sight of me dragging her dad in my arms, but the second I gained some ground, the wall around her crumbled and she sprung to action. She swung one of her dad's limp arms around her shoulders, taking some of his weight onto herself, and together, we shuffled him out of the bathroom and into his car without a word to anyone still inside the bar.
As we situated her dad inside the backseat of his car, I shot Isabelle a careful glance. Her face was a blank mask, so expressionless and pale with shock it was scary, and my heart tore a little more at the sight of it. She was so goddamn strong—so resilient. How had I never seen this before? Why had I never stopped and seen her for everything that she was? How could I have been such a damned coward and let her deal with this by herself last night?
When she shut the car door, I wanted to reach for her, to do something, but for the life of me, I didn't even know how to begin to make this better for her.
Nothing was going to make this better.
All I could really do was be there and that just wasn't enough.
The drive to her house skidded by in a blur of darkness and shards of flashing lights and by the time we hoisted Isabelle's dad into the house, it was almost one in the morning.
I was starting to feel like I'd ridden a hundred miles tonight instead of ten and as I helped Isabelle lift her dad's legs into his bed, I knew I wasn't going to be leaving this house anytime soon either.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Good Man Is Hard To Find
Isabelle
It wasn't until I closed the door, leaving my dad slumped over in his bed, that the tightness in my throat devolved into a desperate suffocation. Needing to put some distance between myself and my dad's bedroom, I shuffled down the hall towards the staircase, my shoulders heaving with each step forward.
My eyes ghosted shut, unable to wipe away the imag
e of my dad lying in that bathroom out of my head. Helplessness ran through my blood, covered my skin, ate away at my conscience, and almost knocked me off my feet. I stumbled from the wave, and then the barriers holding my emotions at bay crashed down...there was no more holding back.
And the worst part of all was I felt completely powerless. Utterly useless. Totally helpless. There was nothing I could do to help him, but pick him up and carry him home. I couldn't even do that without needing help.
Caleb knew everything now, every shameful, embarrassing detail, and there was nothing I could do about that either. One traitorous tear slipped down my cheek and then there was no stopping it. My hand flew to my mouth, muffling the sob ricocheting off the walls.
Warm hands suddenly slipped over my shoulders, turning me around until I was enveloped in a pair of strong arms. I inhaled leather, grease, gasoline, and musk and he squeezed his arms around me a little more tightly as one ringed hand worked its way through my hair with soothing strokes. With my head buried in his shoulder, my hands wound themselves around his neck, clinging desperately to something I wasn't sure he could give me.
"Hey, Iz," Caleb murmured in my hair. "Everything's gonna be alright. You're okay."
He gently lifted my head off his shoulder and tilted it so I could see him. When he brushed a stray tear from my cheek, it only made another slip down in its place.
"Why don't we head downstairs and then you can tell me what's been goin' on, alright?"
His voice was soft and calming and it cracked a little with concern for me. I couldn't have denied him even if I wanted to.
When we were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, I didn't know what to say. I knew what he wanted me to say—I just didn't know how to put it all in words. How could I explain it to him if I didn't even understand it myself?
"When did this start, Iz?" Caleb's careful voice floated across the table.
For a moment, I wondered if I would even have a voice to answer him. "Right after my mom..."
He nodded quickly, not needing me to elaborate, his thumb running up and down on the water glass in front of him in thought. "Has it always been this bad?"
"Not like this," I shook my head and I bit down hard on my lip. "After the funeral, he was drunk for...I don't know, like a week straight. I told our family counselor and she told me to tell her if it got worse. And it definitely got worse, like he added another night to get wasted every week until he didn't have any left."
Caleb considered my words carefully and a few moments passed before I heard his voice again.
"Shit, Iz," he exhaled and leaned forward on his elbows. "I don't know how to ask this without sounding like a complete asshole, but...did you tell your counselor about it getting worse? I mean, we both know this is more than just a knee-jerk reaction to your mom. He needs to be in rehab or something."
"I know, I know," I ran a hand over my face. "I thought it would get better after some time passed, so I never said anything and I know I'm just making it worse now. I know that. And I've tried to get him to go back to family counseling with me, but the two times I got him to go, it ended with him screaming at both me and the counselor to stay the hell out of his life. I haven't been able to get him to talk to me about it since then."
He nodded again and blew out a deep breath. "And does he call you for rides like this a lot? Was that what that was last night when you left the diner?"
All I could do was just let my chin dip enough to give him his answer.
"Jesus Christ. Why can't he just call a cab or something? I don't get why it has to be—"
"Then I know he's home," I cut in quietly, hanging my head just a little and wincing as the words slipped out. "If I'm the one that picks him up, Caleb, then I know he's okay."
"So when you started workin' at the shop, all that shit about you needin' a job and money..."
"He told me he'd kick me out if I didn't have a job," I confirmed quietly, hanging my head again at my own stupidity. "If he kicked me out, how would I—well, I guess you already know now, don't you?"
"Shit," he sighed and fell back heavily in his chair, scrubbing his face with both hands. "You can't do this by yourself anymore, Iz."
I started to protest, but he just held up a hand.
"No, just listen to me, okay? I know you don't wanna hear this, but drinking like that, Iz, the kind that makes you black out—look, I know from experience that you do things you don't even realize you're doing because you're not really there. One of these nights, Iz, he could take all that out on you and it's just you and him here. Nothing would stop him from doing something he wouldn't even know he was doing."
It took everything in my power to strangle the sob in my throat at his words. They stung. It was like a slap in the face and it didn't matter that it was a truth I'd needed to hear since my mom's funeral.
"My dad wouldn't hurt me, Caleb."
"Maybe not, Iz," he just shrugged. "But who's to say what people are capable of when they're that far gone. And when he gets like that, you gotta call the cops or something."
My eyes widened and I shook my head from side to side furiously. "No, Caleb, I can't do that. He'll lose his job if he gets arrested."
"I don't—"
"If he loses his job...you don't understand. He's got nothing left."
I couldn't budge on this one and he would just have to accept it for what it was, even though it was still hard to reconcile why any of this really mattered to him in the first place.
"Yeah," Caleb muttered bitterly under his breath. "I guess you don't count, right? It doesn't matter that you're here dealin' with all this. You're just supposed to sit and take it?"
"Caleb..." I trailed off. I didn't know how to respond to that.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and swallowed, his eyes locked sheepishly on the glass in his hand. "I'm sorry, Iz."
"It's alright," I sighed.
"How does he even still have a job?"
"I don't know," I shrugged. "My guess is that he's doing a decent enough job keeping it out of work. He's gotta be going to work pretty hungover...I mean, he'd have to, but he's good at what he does. Always has been, sober or otherwise, and I guess people can look past everything else if you're getting the job done and not causing problems."
His eyebrows rose and then he blew out another weary breath. He looked exactly like I felt: tired, exhausted, and wanting to bang my head against a wall. My mouth opened and the words just came tumbling out before I could stop them.
"Caleb, I really appreciate you being here like this, but—"
"Look," he cut in, tugging a hand through his overly-long hair. "You gotta understand that I can't let you keep pickin' him up and bringin' him home like this by yourself, especially if it gets bad. I just can't let you do it, Iz."
My mouth clamped shut. The resolve in his eyes, let alone the fire, was something I wasn't used to seeing from him, at least, not since she-who-shall-not-be-named decided to take her indefinite leave of absence.
"You don't have do anything," I started quietly. "It's not your job to babysit me—"
"Are you kiddin' me?" Caleb shot back incredulously, his eyes widening. "Iz, I can't even imagine having to deal with this on a regular basis. I mean, I thought the clubhouse was bad, but this? This is different. This is your family. This is your dad. And it's just you here dealin' with all of this. You're so strong. You really are. And no, don't shake your head at me because it's true."
"I think you're overestimating me just a little bit," I countered quietly.
"Nah," Caleb shook his head dismissively. "You don't have a weak bone in your body, Iz. You're not runnin' from this shit, you know? You're here, you're taking what you've been given, and you're just dealing with it. I don't agree with it, but...if you're not gonna ship his ass to rehab, you need to at least let me help you because you can't do this by yourself. I'm not gonna let you."
Fresh tears sprung to my eyes and I swallowed hard as one slipped down my
cheek.
"You can be pretty great when you wanna be. You know that, right?" I laughed in spite of myself as I brushed the tears away.
"Hey, I try," he shrugged and that cocky, crooked grin I knew so well slipped across his lips. "Anything for a friend though, right? And you and me, Iz, we're friends."
I nodded slowly, smiling back at him through me tears. This was the part of him I wished more people could see, the part that was kind and good. The part that I wanted to spend more time with.
"So, Iz," he was leaning forward now with his elbows on the table. "You gotta promise me that you won't take those calls by yourself anymore, okay? When you get a call like the one you got tonight, you need to tell me and I'll come with you. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing. I'll be there. You just gotta trust me here."
There was no hesitation. No overanalyzing. No worry.
I knew instinctively that he was someone I could count on, someone who wouldn't let me down. The rationale might be a little murky, but that didn't make it any less true.
I trusted him.
I'd probably even trust him with my life.
So that was why I found myself nodding back to him, to agreeing to trust him, to letting him silently program his number in my phone because for the first time in way too long, I knew I didn't have to live in uncertainty anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rock Bottom
Isabelle
The next morning found me completely exhausted. When Caleb left my house, I'd paced around the living room for at least a good two hours before finally making an attempt at settling into bed. Sleep wouldn't come no matter how hard I tried, so I'd pulled out my sketchbook and spent the better part of the night working until the early morning light peeked in through the blinds.
In spite of three cups of coffee and counting, I still felt like a walking zombie. The second I walked into the office, Skyler narrowed her dark eyes and I knew I was screwed.
