by Drew Elyse
“I need to hit something,” I said when the idea struck me.
“Hit something?”
For the first time in a while, I was jazzed about something. I hadn’t been to a gym—with the exception of fight night—since I’d been in Hoffman.
“Can you take me to the gym?” I asked. He looked hesitant, so I pressed, “What?”
“That’s not the club’s gym, Ember,” he told me.
“It’s not?” I was genuinely surprised. Between the fights and access to the office, whoever owned it seemed to be on very good terms with the Disciples.
“It’s Jager’s gym,” he explained.
I didn’t respond to that. My mind had sort of blanked on me. It hit me that I hadn’t even known something that big about Jager.
Actually, if I were honest with myself, I knew almost nothing about him.
“He bought it, set it up, everything on his own,” Ace went on. “It wasn’t club funds that got it going or anything.”
“No one ever said.”
He shrugged. “No one ever really says much about Jager. Your girls probably barely know him.”
Yeah, for the most part, that was true. Deni, Cami, they probably knew next to nothing about him—like me.
Ash, though, she may not have known it all, but she knew more than most.
Far more than I had, far more than I ever would.
“I can head over there, grab some pads and gloves. You can spar with me,” Ace offered.
That was, easily, the best offer I’d had all week.
The next Thursday, I made my first trip back to the clubhouse.
Ace had been by every day to spar and it had felt good to hit something, but even better just to get back to something that had been such a big part of me for so long. After that first day, I’d started getting back into my normal workout routine. I didn’t have a gym to practice in, but I had Ace to work with, and I had gotten back to my runs and basic workouts at the house.
I still wasn’t sleeping well, but I had more energy than I’d had in weeks.
That afternoon, I ventured back into the viper’s den for a good reason that had my spirits high. I’d brought Emmy along, strapped in a carseat in Dad’s pickup. Ash was at Sketch’s tattoo shop, getting her first tattoo done by her husband.
The tattoo was something she’d planned for a while. It was a tribute to her father, “Indian”, his road name, in the same font as the Indian Motorcycle logo. She was getting it on her ribs. It was going to be a beautiful tattoo and it would have all the more meaning for her getting it done by the man she loved.
After that was done, she was bringing him back to the clubhouse, where he would finally learn about her little secret.
But first, we had to set up the big reveal.
I had no idea if Jager would be around. The brothers—all except Sketch—knew what was happening. They had everything set for a party afterward. Anything that served as an excuse to get smashed was fine by them, including the news one of their own was having a baby.
It wasn’t fair to expect that he would miss a moment the rest of the brothers seemed pretty excited about just because of our drama. We’d made the mistake of starting something when we knew we’d both be around the club after it ended, now we’d have to live with that. In another circumstance, I might have bit the bullet and stayed home, but the girls were expecting me to be a part of the plan we’d concocted and I wasn’t going to flake on them.
Emmy, at least, had been excited all day. Before she’d left to join Sketch at the tattoo parlor, Ash had told her daughter about the surprise. It had been all Emmy had wanted to talk about since.
“I’m really gonna have a baby sister?” Emmy had asked from the backseat on our way to the clubhouse.
“Really really,” I’d told her, then added, “though it might be a baby brother.”
“Ew,” she’d said, her little face scrunched up and tongue out.
“A brother wouldn’t be so bad,” I’d tried to soften the blow.
“Boys are gross. They don’t even like pink.”
Well, she had me there. I very much doubted Emmy would think boys were gross for long. Though, if she had a brother, he’d probably be the exception to that.
Now, Cami, Deni, and I were hard at work filling balloons with little pumps. Cami had texted us from the party store to say she’d found a balloon drop bag with a rip cord we could attach to the door. It would trigger a release of balloons, which meant we wouldn’t have to fill the whole room.
Still, we had about seventy balloons to inflate.
After over an hour of pumping, Cami tossed a balloon up in the air after tying it off, then spiked it across the room. It was the last balloon, a pale pink one, and now all we had left was getting the guys to hang the bag and rig it to the door.
“If I never see a balloon again, it will be too soon,” she groused.
“This was your idea,” Deni reminded her.
We watched as little Levi motored his toddler booty across the room to the balloon his mom had flung away. At least he and Jules seemed to be enjoying themselves. Emmy had taken off not long after we got here when she realized there was actual work to be done. She’d found Daz who was all too happy to keep her entertained.
Cami’s phone beeped and she jumped to her feet when she looked at the screen. “They’re coming!” she announced, then stepped into the hall. “Guys!” she called out. “Come hang this! They’ll be here soon.”
Gauge and Slick came into the room a moment later and I had to contain my chuckle. Something about them hopping to for their women like that amused the crap out of me.
Daz came down the hall a minute later, carrying Emmy on his back. “You guys are so pussy whipped,” he muttered.
Gauge and Slick shot him glares as they lifted the huge bag of balloons to the ceiling, and I snorted, trying to contain my laughter.
“Daz! Are you ever going to learn to watch your mouth around kids?” Cami demanded.
“Hey, the little ones are too small, and Emmy knows the score,” Daz defended, then asked the little girl on his back, “What’s the rule, princess?”
“Don’t repeat anything Uncle Daz says,” she recited.
That time, I laughed aloud.
Once the bag was all set, we all moved to the lounge, trying to appear totally nonchalant. We heard them pull up, then quiet until they pulled open the door.
Ash’s voice came through first, “I don’t know why you can’t just tell me how to take care of it.”
“I’ll be there to do it myself,” Sketch replied.
The guys were cool, a couple calling out greetings to them, but not all. The girls all turned their way, Deni calling, “Well, let’s see.”
Ash came over and we swarmed in on her tight. As she lifted her shirt, she whispered, “All set?”
We gave her the all good before taking a look at the perfectly executed tattoo.
“It’s awesome,” I said.
Ash smiled, her eyes tearing up a bit. “It kind of feels like he gets to be a part of this.”
We took turns hugging her, then stepped back and let her head toward Sketch. She went up on her toes to whisper in his ear. I didn’t know what she was offering to get him to go back to their room, but I could guess. The wolfish grin that crossed his face assured me my guess was probably right on.
Everyone moved quietly to the end of the hall, trying not to grab Sketch’s attention. Cami had her phone out, ready to film the big moment. With baited breath, I watched him reach out and unlock the door. As he pushed it open, the avalanche of balloons fell all over the doorway and spilled into the hall around them.
Ash had her hands covering her mouth. Sketch stood still, looking around at the balloons settling all over. Neither moved or spoke.
Then, breaking the silence, Emmy charged ahead from her spot at the front of our group.
“Mommy’s giving me a little sister!” she cried excitedly.
We all laughed as we wat
ched Sketch look to Ash.
“Really?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“Well, she might get a brother,” Ash amended.
He swept her up into his arms, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck to pull her lips to his. It was deep, intense, and I started to feel like a voyeur.
“We got a game to finish, little miss,” Daz announced to Emmy, pulling her away from the show.
Sketch’s head came our way briefly to check on his daughter while Ash seemed dazed. Seeing his girl was taken care of, he carried his woman over the balloon-laden threshold and forced the door closed behind them.
Well, that was one way to celebrate.
I looked to Cami, who was putting her phone away and smiling huge. I felt the same on my own face. Then, as I turned back to the lounge, I saw him. At the back of the crowd, notably less emotive than the rest of the excited group, Jager’s eyes were right on me.
I kept the smile on my face even though I strained to do it, not wanting to take anything away from the moment we’d all gotten to be a part of. I didn’t even let it slip as he turned without a word and walked away.
I’d never seen her smile like that.
Fuck, I’d scarcely seen her smile at all.
Whether I wanted to admit it or not, it was fucking beautiful. It was full of life. At least, until her eyes came to me. I killed that. Then, it was a fake, tight expression she forced herself to maintain.
That smile had haunted me for days.
I was at the gym. It was Monday, which meant we didn’t open until four in the afternoon. I had three more hours with the place to myself.
I hadn’t opened my own gym for that. If I wanted a place to work out, I could have set myself up in a house with a good-sized basement. I opened the doors on the place because I knew firsthand the difference having access to a place like that could make. It had made all the fucking difference for me.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t like having the whole place empty, when I could be alone and work my shit out.
Particularly right then, when the shit I had to work out was that image of Ember’s smiling face that hadn’t left me.
There was just something about that smile, something about the unrestricted light that flowed from it. I’d seen that before, in a face that looked nothing like Ember’s. In a face that looked so much like mine.
The memory came of its own accord. It was such a seemingly insignificant one, but it gutted me all the same.
“Braden? Braden?”
I didn’t get up and go to her. I never did. The few times I tried, she’d get upset and ask why she didn’t let me find her. She liked to prove she was gaining some independence as she got older. So, I stayed on my bed and let her come to me.
It took a minute before she came in, her smile lighting up her face. She was always smiling, unless she was throwing a tantrum. Then, she was anything but happy.
When Jamie did something, she did it big.
“What’s up, buttercup?” I asked.
She came skipping through the room and hopped up onto my bed. “I’m bored.”
I looked into the happy face, so like my own. Yet, the girl beneath it was so unlike her big brother. I was content to be still, to just chill. Jamie hated it.
Though, it might not have been so much differences between us as it was the ten-year age gap.
“I’ve got homework,” I told her.
“Homework is boring,” she said, drawing out the O for several beats.
Again, something we didn’t agree on. I had no problem with hitting the books. I only hated doing homework for statistics, but that was because Mr. Brookes was a moron and liked to load us with busy work so no one would catch on that he knew nothing about the subject.
“Do you even get homework yet?” I asked.
“Sometimes. And it’s so boring.” She held out those O’s even longer than the first time.
“What’s not boring?”
She played with a piece of her hair, adopting an innocent look, like she was only just about to come up with whatever she was going to suggest.
“Ice cream!” she then announced, like the lightbulb had just gone off.
This was Jamie’s new game. I’d had my license for five months and she tried to get something out of that fact at least once a week.
I chuckled, not even sure I could say no to her.
My eyes went to my backpack and I inventoried the work I had ahead of me. There was a lot, and even though none of it was going to be a challenge, it was still time consuming, and I had just over an hour before I had to head to the gym for one-on-one training with my boxing coach. Ice cream wasn’t in the cards.
“I can’t tonight,” I told her. “I’ve got to get as much of this done before I go meet Coach Jones.”
She stuck her little lip out. “Boxing,” she sneered.
“You like to watch me box,” I reminded her.
“I like ice cream more,” she argued.
I closed my book, making sure the sheet of paper I’d been doing the problems on was tucked flat between the pages. Then, I focused my whole attention on her.
“How about Saturday, after my tournament, we go to dinner wherever you want and then get ice cream?” I offered
“Or we could go get ice cream tonight, and do that then,” she countered.
I laughed again, then gave her a look that told her that wasn’t going to happen.
She sighed dramatically. “Oh, alright.”
She started to get off my bed, already wanting to search out another form of entertainment, but I stopped her.
“Mee-mee,” I called. We’d called her Mee-mee since she was little and couldn’t figure out how to say her own name.
When she turned, I held out both of my hands, palms up. She knew exactly what I wanted, coming back to me with that smile wide. She smacked both her little hands down on mine, we each flipped ours over and slapped hands again. Then we pressed our fisted hands against each other’s. It was a handshake she’d invented that we could still do when I had on gloves before a match.
“You and me, date on Saturday. Yeah?”
She smiled big, showing the gap where she’d lost a tooth on the bottom. “Yeah.”
I kissed her forehead before she ran off, finishing our handshake.
If I’d known what was coming, I would have just taken her for ice cream, damn the homework. If I’d known, I would have given her every minute of attention, every ridiculous errand she asked for. If I’d have known, I would have soaked up every second of that precious smile I’d never see again.
The agony of it, the absolute, unrestricted pain that lashed through me letting those memories in was too much. I couldn’t take it.
I threw my fists out harder, pounding into the bag suspended before me with so much force, my wrapped knuckles protested. It didn’t stop me. I kept going. Hit after hit, focusing my mind on the combinations, on my form. I didn’t think about the aches or the sweat. I didn’t think about anything at all. I went into the zone and blocked it all out.
I couldn’t say how long I went, only that I stopped when the bag was held steady.
Sketch was there, arms bracing the bag, attention on me.
“Time to stop, brother,” he said.
I wanted to protest, but it occurred to me I was panting too heavily to talk. My arms were past the point of exhaustion, feeling like jelly as they hung at my sides. I was soaked in sweat. I’d gone way too fucking hard.
Stepping away from the bag and Sketch, I went over to the full water bottle I had on one of the benches. I drank half of it between attempts to catch my breath. Sketch sat down next to me, but let me relax without saying anything.
Of course, once I got there, he was ready to go.
“You wanna talk about why you’re bustin’ your own ass to the breaking point?”
No. I really fucking did not. I wanted to get up, go back to the bag, and keep going. I wanted to convince Ember to let me tie her up and torture her
until she was physically incapable of orgasming again. I wanted to ride until the road lines blurred and go out in a blaze of glory.
I wanted to do any fucking thing but think about the shit that wouldn’t get out of my head, about questioning my decision to let her walk away.
“This about Ember?” Sketch pressed.
Christ, when did the club turn into a fucking episode of Oprah?
“It’s nothing,” I tried to shut him down, but he wouldn’t have it.
“Bullshit. You been dragging your ass around for the last week, which, for a fucker who sleeps as little as you, is saying something. You’re a fucking mess, and I ain’t the only one who’s noticed. You want to talk to your woman about it, be my fucking guest. But I’m thinking that’s not gonna happen. I’m thinking if you could, you wouldn’t be in here punching the damn sandbag until you’re ready to keel over. So, I’ll ask again, you want to talk about this shit, asshole?”
That migraine, the one I’d been living with for days, was hitting me full force again. Pinching the bridge of my nose uselessly, I replied to him with the only thing I had. If nothing else, it was the truth. “She’s not my woman.”
“Really? That’s the line of shit you’re going to go with? There isn’t a man or woman around this club you could convince of that. Fuck, you couldn’t get Emmy to believe that and my girl’s four.”
I let that hang there, not arguing because I really couldn’t.
“Jager, man—”
Fuck. There was nothing for it.
“How do you deal?”
“What?” he asked.
“How do you fucking deal with that shit? Knowing what happened to Ash, then that shit with Barton. How do you let it go?”
He kept his eyes forward as he answered. “I don’t let any of it go. Not for a fucking minute. It’s always there. I’ll always know that if I’d held on, if I’d realized how much she was broken after we lost Indian, I’d have prevented that. She wouldn’t have left. She’d have been right here where me and the whole motherfucking club could keep her safe. And the shit with Barton…fuck.” His head went down and he rubbed a hand across his face. “She was fucking here and I didn’t even protect her from that. Ace was fucking shot protecting my woman. If anyone should have taken those bullets, it’s me.
