by K. Ryan
"What, you callin' me stupid?"
"No," I batted a hand his way with a laugh. "You know what I mean. I figured your schedule would've been a little full with all those shop and gym classes, you know?"
"Oh, wow. First you insult my intelligence and then you insult the only classes I actually liked and yes, I realize study hall doesn't count as a class. That wounds me, you know that, Iz? That really wounds me."
"You never answered my question," I grinned. "Why take a class you were just going to sleep through anyways?"
He sighed and tugged a hand through his hair. "I needed the English credit and that was the only class that fit into my schedule, okay?"
My eyebrows raised smugly, already knowing the answer to this next question, "Why did you need the credit so bad, hmm?"
His hand muffled the answer, but I still caught the gist: "'Cuz I failed English junior year."
No words needed to be said. He knew I'd won.
"Oh, come on, Iz," Caleb rolled his eyes dramatically from the couch. "It was English class. And you know what? Ds get diplomas, Iz. That's what counts here."
"Hey," I nudged an elbow on my hip, rising to my knees. "I actually liked that class. Don't knock it just because you didn't get anything out of it."
Caleb held up his hands with a smirk. "Jesus, settle down, will ya? That was, like, what? Four years ago? Can I just ask one thing?" he gestured down to the movie as he spoke, "why do you even have that?"
"It's a good movie," I just shrugged. "And I found it in the $5 bin at Wal-Mart a long time ago. So what?"
"Okay, okay," he held his hands up again, the movie still in his left hand. "Chill out, Iz. I guess you were a little more into that class than I was."
"Right," I stated simply. "That's why you cheated off me on the final."
Caleb's mouth opened and then clamped shut as he bit down hard on his bottom lip with a wince. "Shit."
"You did a pretty terrible job of hiding it too," I shot back victoriously. "I still can't believe Mrs. Anderson didn't realize what you were doing."
"That's just because she didn't want me showin' up for summer school," he smirked. "I think she was secretly in love with me, but you know, I guess she didn't wanna end up in jail either."
"Oh God," I shook my head, lifting my eyes to the ceiling. "You probably think everyone's secretly in love with you."
A smile curled up on his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. That was about when the full realization of what I'd just said hit me.
Cue the awkward silence.
With nothing better to do than play anxiously with my fingers and saw on my bottom lip with my teeth, I fumbled frantically for something that would make this awkwardness fade away.
"Hey," I pushed out suddenly. "Wanna see something? Maybe you'll remember this."
I waved for him to follow me, even though I had no idea where this was coming from or why I was doing it in the first place. This was just as heavy as what had happened outside the clubhouse tonight, but this time, there was no safety net to fall back on. No friends or bar tables here as a buffer, nowhere to retreat to when and if things got too complicated. It was just Caleb and me here—in my bedroom.
As I pushed through the door, cold panic gripped my throat. Did I leave dirty underwear on the floor? My bed wasn't made and yesterday's work outfit was strewn across the carpet and there was a plate next to my bed with days-old pizza crust left carelessly to mold. He would think I was gross and messy and—but there was no going back now because Caleb Sawyer was standing in the middle of my bedroom, waiting for me to do something about it.
Finally, my mind cleared just enough to remember why I'd brought him up here in the first place. It only took me a couple of minutes to dig my sketchbook out from under my bed, but I still needed a minute to flip through it until my fingers skimmed across the one I was looking for. Then, like they had a will of their own, my arms extended the sketchbook towards him.
"You remember this one?"
I gestured down to the sketch, a winding, thick tree with long, expansive roots with buds of hearts, all overlooked by an intertwined sun and moon. I'd be the first to admit it was a pretty literal interpretation of the text, but I was also only 17 when I'd stayed up late one night to work this image out of my head. At least I'd had the foresight to scribble specific lines next to the visuals.
Caleb's forehead creased in deep concentration as he studied the lines and shades on the paper, trying to make sense of it. From the perplexed expression on his face, it was clear he was trying to place where he knew those words.
"It's "i carry your heart" by ee cummings," I offered quietly. "We read it in class that semester. I don't know, for some reason, that one's always stuck with me. The words are just beautiful."
He nodded, craning his neck to see what I'd written next to the intertwined sun and moon, and read the words in a quiet voice, "Whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you."
"It's just..." I exhaled. "The most perfect explanation of what love is supposed to be. What it's supposed to mean. That whatever is going on in the world and in your life, everything's going to be okay because you've got this person who's tipped your whole world on its axis, even if you can't be with them the way you want to. Everything's okay because this person is in the world and you know them and you love them."
His cloudy gaze leapt up from the page, sparkling with something I couldn't quite place, and he nodded soberly. "You're right. It is beautiful."
I tilted my head a little with a smile. "You don't remember reading this, do you?"
One side of his lips pulled aside in a grimace and he shrugged helplessly. "Kind of. Maybe if I'd seen it like this the first time, I'd have remembered it a little easier."
"Well," I chuckled. "I remembered it, as you can see. A couple years ago, I saw one of his poetry books at Barnes and Noble and I had to buy it."
I grabbed it from the bottom shelf of my nightstand and held it up. "See?"
The book was even dog-eared to the poem's exact page. I guess I just hadn't been able to help myself.
Caleb's eyes widened in surprise. "You bought the whole book? Just for one poem?"
"So what?" I shrugged. "I had a gift card."
"Sure you did," he smirked knowingly. "Couldn't you have just ripped out the page or something?"
"What?" I shrieked in horror. "No! You cannot deface a book like that! Please tell me you've never done that before."
"Whoa," he held up a hand. "Simmer down. I promise I've never defaced a book and I can't remember the last time I even read a book, so just relax, Iz. Jesus."
I winced a little as my words replayed in my head. "Okay, sorry. I guess I did freak out just a little there."
"Nah," he shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Would've saved you that gift card though."
"Shut up."
He grinned back at me as he carefully closed the sketchbook. He rolled back a little on his heels, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and then we stared at each other for a few long moments because neither of us seemed to know what to do or say next.
"Hey, Caleb?"
"Yeah, Iz?"
I swallowed tightly, unsure of exactly how to say this, but knowing I needed to do it all the same. "Thanks for...you know, tonight."
Caleb's eyes widened and one of his hands fell out of his pocket to tug through his hair. "I'm just sorry you had to see it. That shouldn't have happened and he shouldn't have—you know what? It's done and you never have to see him again if you don't want to."
"Yeah," I sighed. "Thank God for that, right? Still, you didn't have to do it, but thank you."
It wasn't so much the fight itself I was grateful for, that I could've done without, but more so the way he'd defended me, jumping to put Brandon in his place for saying such awful things about me—and my mom.
No one had ever done anything like that for me before and I guess if there would ever be a situation where someone had to throw a punch
for me, it wasn't really a surprise that it was Caleb who did it, that it was Caleb who was defending my honor.
"Don't worry about it, Iz," he was telling me now. "Trust me, it was a long time coming."
I laughed. "Yeah, I guess."
Caleb's lips twisted into a sly smirk and then he tugged a hand through his hair again, a nervous gesture I'd picked up on a long time ago. His eyes burned a deep sapphire and I couldn't help but be drawn in, wanting to somehow get closer.
"Hey, Iz?"
"Yeah, Caleb?"
"We don't really have to watch that shitty movie, do we?"
I just laughed again and shook my head, gesturing towards the door. "No, we don't."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lonesome When I'm Gone
Caleb
I checked the time on my phone for the tenth time in the last five minutes. That idiot Padilla had kept us waiting for almost a half hour now and with every second that ticked by, my patience depleted infinitesimally.
Talk about an epic fail.
There was nothing complicated about what was supposed to happen here: Padilla and his boys had to pick up five barrels of cargo from the Lobos's normal supplier on the coast, and then all they had to do was bring it to us on time and all in one piece to our rendezvous point just outside of Claremont, so we could take it the rest of the way to Pittsburgh and the Warlords. Ortega couldn't have made it any easier on them and what were they doing? Just screwing up left and right.
I lit up another cigarette and ignored the sideways glance Tiny tossed me. My agitation was clearly showing and I needed to dial it back. This was my test run just as much as it was Padilla's and I'd be damned if I let the incompetent asshole Ortega wanted to patch in screw this chance up for me. An opportunity like this one might never come again, at least not anytime soon, and there was no way I could prove both my dedication and my ability to lead if I couldn't keep my head in the game.
Of course, it didn't help that I'd spent the better part of my night lying on a stiff hotel bed, trying to talk myself out of calling Isabelle. Calling her, I'd reasoned, might be a little too much and would make me feel a little too pathetic. But texting her? A little friendly back and forth to help me sleep wouldn't hurt anything.
I was worried about her. That was it. And I needed to make sure she was okay and that she hadn't needed to use her Dom calling card yet.
It started with just a simple: Hey, Iz, made it to the hotel in 1 piece.
Then she'd responded back with: Good. Now I can sleep tonite ;)
I hadn't been able to just let that go and quickly pounded out: Glad to know ur thinkin bout me in bed, darlin.
She'd almost immediately called me an asshole back with another smiley face and then it was all over with from there. We'd texted back and forth for a good hour and when she finally told me she was starting to fall asleep, I'd tossed and turned for the rest of the night as I tried to push the images of her out of my head.
The second I closed my eyes—there she was. Her bright, warm smile that seemed to light up the entire room and those eyes that seemed to freeze me in place and cut me in half at the same time. I even missed the sound of her voice, her laugh, everything. I missed her.
Just that realization alone was enough to keep me up the rest of the night.
I missed her.
And even though I was going to be back in Claremont in less than two days, it didn't seem like it could come fast enough. My lips tugged up into a grin as our slightly awkward goodbye played over again in my head. She'd pulled me in for a quick hug and whispered in my ear to be safe. It was all I could do to keep my hands locked around her waist and nowhere else. The scent of her hair, flowers and musky vanilla, surrounded me again and I'd even felt a little dazed from the impact.
"Jesus Christ," Doc swore under his breath. "When are these assholes gonna git here already, huh? I'm sick a-waitin'."
"It's hot as hell out here, too," I added, stomping out the spent bud as I spoke. "You'd think they would be a little more punctual, you know?"
"Punctual?" Tiny huffed. "I'm not sure those assholes would know how to be on time if it bit them in the ass. Punctual?" he narrowed his eyes at me a little with a sly grin, "isn't that a kinda big word for ya, Caleb?"
"Hey, shut it," I tossed back.
"Nah," Doc shrugged. "I think our boy's just been spendin' too time with that pretty blonde thing in the office."
"Ah, yes," Tiny nodded. "Always chasin' that tail, huh, Caleb? You sure lunch is all you're doin' with her at that picnic table every day?"
Seeing as how this simple, fool-proof opportunity for me to prove myself had eroded into nothing but an opportunity to rag on me, I figured I was better off just keeping my mouth shut on this one.
Anything I said here was just going to be more fodder to give me shit about anyways. I needed to focus on the matter at hand and that matter, as it happened, was finally riding up to our rendezvous point—a half hour late.
"Finally," Tiny exhaled. "I wasn't sure how much longer I was gonna be able to stand it out here. I'm roastin' like a pig on a stick."
"Yeah, well, let's just hope they didn't screw anything else up," I nodded, keeping my voice as level and as calm as humanly possible.
"Heard ya on that one," Doc nodded.
We watched warily as Padilla, three other guys on bikes, and a truck pulled up to us from the gravel back road. Ever since the club learned Ortega was going to patch over the Cobras, I hadn't been able to place the uneasy feeling that crept through every one of my instincts.
There was something about this whole situation that didn't feel right and from my experience, usually when something didn't feel right, it wasn't right. That feeling intensified when Padilla swung his leg over his bike and sauntered over to us with a misplaced smugness and an air of superiority.
Ah. There it was.
Being untested and unproven, Padilla had nothing backing up his attitude but smoke and mirrors. Time to put the new patches in their rightful place.
"You're late," I called out to him and tapped the invisible watch on my wrist to drive the point home.
"Yeah...'bout that," Padilla slurred and I narrowed my eyes right back at him. "We just lost track of time for a little bit. We're here now and that's all that matters, right? Let's get to business."
I cast a quick look at Tiny, who rose his eyebrows at me in silent reply. If my initial guess was right, this was a whole lot more messed up than I'd originally thought. I took a small step forward, eyes still narrowed, to see if my suspicions were correct. Padilla's eyes were red and glassy and the idiot reeked of weed and booze.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
"Are you drunk?"
Padilla just shrugged like this was no big deal and didn't seem fazed by the question. "Nah, man. The party just went a little late last night is all. No problems, ese, okay?"
"No problems?" I rose my eyebrows in disbelief, my voice becoming deadly calm. "No problems? You don't party before you make the drop-off, asshole. You party after everything's said and done. When you know there were actually no problems."
"Hey," Padilla threw his hands up in defense. "We're here. The cargo's here. Shit got a little carried away last night because we were celebratin', but it'll never happen again. We good now?"
My eyes narrowed at the defensive, condescending tone. At this point, I was grateful Tiny and Doc were taking a backseat on this one. This was my show here and this little dumbass needed to be put in his place immediately. The scary part was that Padilla actually believed this wasn't really an issue, that he could just show up late to a drop-off because he felt like it with no repercussions. Besides, how the hell could he be stupid enough to celebrate before his club was even completely patched in? What kind of idiot did something like that?
"Listen, asshole," I jabbed a gloved finger at him. "If you wanna get yourself patched in with the Lobos, you'd better clean up your shit. This can't happen again and it never should've happ
ened in the first place. We need to know you're reliable and right now, I ain't seein' it, bro."
Padilla shuffled a little in the gravel, taken aback by the shift in conversation. "Back off, alright? You got your cargo. I made a mistake, okay? Do you wanna take a look at the cargo or not?"
"I'd watch your tone if I were you, ese," I folded my arms across my chest and shot him a hard glare. "I'm lookin' forward to givin' your new Prez a full report though."
Padilla's upper lip curled back in a snarl as he turned on his heel, his arms flailing out to somehow signal to his guys to open the back of their truck. Luckily for Padilla, the entire shipment was there, all five barrels filled with our livelihood.
Part of me almost wished we were missing one because then I could've beaten the hell out of that whiny tool. But, given our first go-round, I figured this wouldn't be the last time a careless douchebag like Padilla was going to screw up. There would be plenty of opportunities to grind Padilla down into dust and now, I was planning on savoring every single second.
Once the barrels were loaded into the club's truck, it was time to get the hell out of there. The sun was mercilessly beating down on us and the longer I was forced to stand in it, the more pissed off I felt. This was supposed to be simple. This was supposed to be fool-proof. And it was too bad it turned out Ortega and the Lobos had decided to align themselves with idiots.
"Let's git the hell outta here," Doc muttered.
"Got that right," I nodded.
I jutted my chin out to Padilla and lit up one last cigarette for the road. "Next time, you better be on time, understand?"
Padilla just nodded grimly, his eyes glazing over with something that looked a lot like resentment and animosity. Shaking my head in disbelief, I just couldn't understand how someone, who seemed to have everything just handed to him on a platter, could be this indifferent about such a glaringly obvious mistake. Sooner or later, all that was bound to catch up with him.
"Let's go home," I muttered to Doc, who was already half-way into our truck.
Right about now, home never looked so good.
