by Sarah Osborn
Somehow, word had gotten out that Samson was back in the ring, and a small crowd had gathered. He doubted any money was changing hands, the kid was going to put him on his ass eventually, but he'd done a lot of years on the underground circuit, and he wasn't using Queensberry rules. The trick, when faced with a younger, fitter opponent, was to preserve energy, and make every punch count. And to take all of your anger, wind it up tight, and focus it on one tiny point.
He was taking one hell of a beating, though. He felt his teeth rattle as the prospect's right fist connected with his jaw, nearly knocking off his feet. “Son of a bitch.” He spat the blood onto the canvas as he steadied himself, then brought his left arm back, and buried it in his opponent's face.
The kid staggered back against the ropes, and Samson moved in for the kill. A hand on his shoulder, stopped him in his tracks. “Leave him breathing, brother.” Spike laughed. “Trouble in paradise?”
Samson sagged as the rage and adrenaline left his body to make room for all that pain. “You have no idea.”
“How about you buy me a drink and tell me all about it.”
“I'd rather string up that fucking kid of Tiny's from a high beam.”
“He can't have knocked your girl up already.” Spike began to remove the tape from Samson's hands.
“No. The fucker took her to Vegas and married her.”
“Shit. If you need an alibi, just let me know.”
~ oOo ~
“What did you say to her?” Luke loomed over his mother. “She wouldn't've just taken off for no reason.”
She wouldn't meet his eye as she backed away. “I... nothing. I don't know why she took off.” His mom raised her eyes. “But running is a family trait, so you'd better get used to it.”
“Why would she run from me, Mom? What did you tell her?”
“Nothing. I'm not lying to you Luke, she just took off.”
His dad laid his hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, son. I'm sure Lottie will be back soon.”
Needing to be alone, Luke locked himself in his old room. After leaving Lottie a message, he lay back on his old, narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. He guessed he should have been freaking out, or something, but really, he wasn't. Something had upset Lottie—his mom, he guessed—and she'd needed some time to process. She'd be back as soon as she'd got her head straight.
They'd known that they'd be in for a ton of shit, and he was now feeling kinda guilty for not taking control and putting a stop to the wedding. Not because he thought that marrying Lottie was the wrong thing to do; she was just perfect for him in ways he could never explain, but Samson was pissed—scary pissed—and if Lottie was hurt as a result, he'd never forgive himself.
He looked around. His room was pretty much as it had always been. There were a couple of movie posters that Alice had given him on one wall, but the others were bare. Even as a kid, he'd never seen the point in accumulating stuff, and nothing much had held his interest.
Growing up, he and his sisters had been encouraged to take part in extracurricular activities, but he'd never found anything he really enjoyed. He wasn't a team player, and lacked a competitive streak, so sports were quickly dropped. He'd tried Junior ROTC at his dad's suggestion and had enjoyed it for a while, but eventually had realized it was just the same bullshit, but with more assholes.
By the time he'd hit his late teens, his folks had pretty much given up on him. He liked to surf and enjoyed cooking, but mostly, he liked being left alone.
And then he'd met Lottie.
Luke grinned as his cell buzzed. Sorry. Freak out. On my way back. xx
He'd never doubted her for a moment.
~ oOo ~
Luke was waiting for her in the yard. Without a word, he'd climbed into the passenger seat and had remained silent until they arrived back at his apartment.
Lottie followed him inside and kicked off her boots. “Sorry.”
He smiled and, taking her hand, led her to his bed. “It's okay.”
“Don't you want to know why I freaked out?”
“Not really.” Slowly he began unbuttoning her shirt.
“Luke, wait. Please. I want to tell you.” Despite her objection, she couldn't bring herself to push his hands away. She moaned as he trailed his tongue along her neck, and her train of thought derailed for a moment. “Luke...”
He pulled away. “Do you love me?”
Lottie didn't hesitate. “Yes.” She sighed and slipped her hand into his. “When I'm with you, everything just seems to fall into place. But...”
“There's a but?”
“Not about us. Never about us.” She gazed into those unfathomable eyes. “But I don't know what it is that your mom and my folks can see inside you. I thought it was just about the club, which seemed stupid—you're not a biker—but.” Lottie looked away as she tried to turn her thoughts into words. “You've been to the clubhouse. You have seen how the patches are. How they carry themselves. You have that.” She grinned. “I like that about you. But I don't think that just because you have Freak blood running through your veins, it automatically makes you a Freak.”
Luke frowned. “This is about my dad, isn't it?”
Lottie nodded. “Your dad had whatever it is that makes a man a Freak, in spades. Do you know what he did for the club?” She wasn't sure that sharing what she knew was a good or bad thing, but figured it was a long time ago, and she didn't know details.
“Some. Spike said he was a nomad and an enforcer.”
“Your dad...” She took a deep breath. “Did things... he... he hurt people, Luke. Really hurt them. That was his role. I think that's what everyone, but me, sees. Whatever it was that gave your dad the ability to do that is in you too.”
“I'd never...”
Lottie silenced him with a kiss. “Just because you can, doesn't mean you will. I freaked out for a moment, and then I realized that I had nothing to worry about. I can't see what they see, because for me, it isn't there.”
Luke laughed and tugged one of her locks. “You're pretty smart, Mrs. Taylor.”
“I know. I get it from my mom.”NINETY-EIGHT
Luke had offered to come with her, but this was something she had to do alone. Lottie pushed open the shop door and, slightly apprehensively, walked over to where her dad was stripping down an old Indian. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He didn't look up. “Kinda busy, Lottie.”
“Need a hand?” She crouched down next to the low stool that he used when working on his bikes.
“Nope.”
“Don't be like this, Dad.”
He turned to face her. Lottie swallowed and braced herself, but he just shook his head and turned back to the bike. “Can't really talk to you right now, sweetheart. Wouldn't wanna say something we both might regret.”
Maybe she should've gotten up and left, but this was her dad. And for the first time, she realized not just how much she'd hurt him but just how selfish and unthinking she'd been. She ran her hand across the beaten-up tank. “It's going to take some work.”
“Yep.” He continued spraying the bolts with rust remover.
“You have any plans for it?”
“Nope.”
“I really hurt you, didn't I?”
Her big, tough, bear of a dad, swallowed and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. “Yeah.”
“We could have a ceremony—y'know, the whole works—you can even walk me down the aisle.”
“Don't do me any favors, Lottie. It's done, ain't no point trying to fix it.”
“Dad.” She touched his arm. “I...”
“I've got work to do.”
“Okay. I love you.” She waited for an answer, but got none. So, as her heart shattered into tiny pieces, she stood and turned away.
~ oOo ~
Fuck.
Deke took a deep breath and ran his hand along the tank. He'd been trawling the internet for years, but finally he'd found her. His old Indian—his first bike. She was almost unrecognizable, and
it had clearly been years since she'd been ridden; pretty much everything had seized and there was more rust than chrome. But he'd been looking forward to him and his kid bringing life back to what would be his last ride.
Fuck.
She wasn't his kid anymore. His little girl, whom he loved more than life itself, and who had brought him more joy than he knew was possible, had grown up, and didn't need him anymore. Not even to walk her down the aisle. He straightened up as a blast of cold air hit the back of his neck.
“Lottie.”
“Yeah?”
“Hydraulic or springer forks?”
She grinned and closed the door. “I think you should keep the originals.”
“It'll take a lot of work to bring 'em back.”
His little girl crouched down and kissed him on the cheek. “Yeah, we'll be working on this forever.”
NINETY NINE
The house was quiet. Quiet meant that she was alone.
There was a time when Beth would've hated that, but now she loved those precious moments, and guarded them fiercely. A day of lounging by the pool with a big bowl of ice cream and a good book was a rarity, and she fully intended to take full advantage of it. She frowned as the doorbell rang; just as soon as she'd gotten rid of who that was.
With a sigh, she pulled a loose blouse over her bikini, and opened the front door.
“Hi.”
Beth actually took a step back. “What do you want?”
Emma smiled. “To talk to you. I think it's time.”
“You came all this way, just to talk?”
Emma laughed, and Beth's heart contracted. She'd forgotten that about her former friend. “Not exactly. I've been invited to speak at a new arts center nearby, and I thought I'd swing by. After all, thanks to our dumb kids, whether we like it or not, we are family.”
Maybe, she could have slammed the door in Emma's face. But it would've been nothing more than a futile gesture. Despite all her efforts, her only son had not only been embraced by the very thing that scared her most, but had married the daughter of the man she'd tried hardest to keep him away from.
The war was over, and she'd lost.
“Come in.”
“Thank you.” Emma followed her into the kitchen and looked around. “Nice place.”
Beth shrugged and opened the fridge door. She loved her house, but it wasn't going to win any style awards, and it didn't have her personality stamped all over it like Emma's place. It was just a normal family home—a little threadbare and worn around the edges, as one would expect after fifteen years of raising four kids—but she liked it that way, and wasn't in any hurry to update it. “Thanks, we like it.” She pulled out a bottle of Chablis. “I think this conversation is going to need wine. Shall we go outside?”
The silence between them, as they sat beside the pool, sipping their wine, wasn't exactly awkward, but sooner or later, one of them would have to speak. Beth glanced over to Emma. The years had been kind, and she looked far younger than a woman in her fifties.
She smiled. “You haven't changed.”
Emma shrugged. “Good genes, I guess.” She chuckled. “Although gravity is definitely winning.”
“Tell me about it.” Beth leaned back on the lounger. Another thing she'd forgotten was just how easy Emma was to be around. She couldn't think of anyone so comfortable in their own skin—so completely at ease with themselves as the woman on the lounger next to hers. “How's Samson?”
“Grumpy, stubborn. Y'know...” Emma grinned. “The usual. But at least he's stopped plotting to murder your son and lock Lottie in a dungeon.”
“Oh, to be a fly on the wall when that news broke.”
“It was memorable. The dog pissed on the kitchen floor.”
Beth laughed and then fell silent. For the better part of twenty years, she'd told herself that she didn't miss her old friends. She liked her life now, and she liked who she was. She closed her eyes as memories of parties and family gatherings... of Joe, pushed away the anger and bitterness. But there had been a lot of happy times.
“I've been an idiot, haven't I?”
“I dunno. You did what you needed to do to stop history from repeating itself. I can't blame you for that. I'd have probably done the same if I was in your position.” Emma sat up and refilled her glass. “And for what it's worth, I think you succeeded.”
“Hardly.” Beth couldn't see how Emma could think such a thing. Samson's daughter had married Tiny's son. It was like the birth of a dynasty.
“Luke isn't interested in joining the club, Beth. He's been living in Seattle for nearly three months, and when Lottie and her dad are working in the shop, he'll spend time with me. He's not interested in learning to ride either—although, if it ever stops raining, Lottie might persuade him to give it a try. She loves to ride, and she'd love him to ride with her.”
“That could change his opinion of the club.”
“Yes, it could. Spike would love to see him patched in, so would the Twins, and he goes to the clubhouse with Lottie and Deke sometimes. But the club is nothing like it was twenty years ago, and he isn't Tiny. He's a good kid, Beth, a little unfocused, maybe, but he's smart, hardworking and self-aware.” Emma smiled. “Maybe just a little impulsive, but you and Henry did a good job.”
“I wasn't very nice to Lottie.” Beth had felt bad about that; none of it had been her fault.
Emma waved her hand dismissively and laughed. “She's Deke's kid, crap like that just bounces off her. She can give as good as she gets. And I doubt you gave her more shit than I did.”
“Samson too, I imagine.”
“Nah. He'd pretty much got it out of his system by the time they got home. Lottie's a real daddy's girl, and they're really close. He was hurt by what she did, but he'd never lose his shit with her.” Emma grinned. “He can't bear to see his little girl upset.”
Emma's eyes had lit up as she talked about Samson, just like they always had, and Beth smiled. It had taken her a lot of years to open up to that kind of love. She had loved Tiny, and he'd loved her, but theirs hadn't been the easy, fearless love of their friends. Loving Tiny had been hard work.
Until she'd met Henry, she hadn't realized just how dysfunctional her relationship—hell, her whole life—had been. And because it was all she'd known, she'd clung to it. Even when she'd broken away, and sought out a career, she'd just been the quiet, capable, unobtrusive colleague, who fit in so seamlessly that no one really noticed.
That worked pretty well for old ladies, too.
She drained her glass. The old Beth would've steered the conversation into more neutral territory, but she wasn't that woman anymore. “I think that before we drink any more, we should tackle the elephant in the room.”
Emma shrugged. “You first. But if it's all the same to you, I'll keep drinking. I might need to yell at you, and I do that better when I'm drunk.”
Beth took a deep breath. “I should never have accused you and Joe of cheating. It was unfounded, and I had no right.” She smiled. “He did love you, though.” Emma opened her mouth to speak, and she shook her head. “Not like he loved me. But it was real enough. I didn't understand at the time, and it was easier to blame you for what I thought was wrong between us.”
“Was there something wrong between you? Because, honestly, Beth. I couldn't see it.”
“No, but there was something wrong with me. I wanted Joe to love me like he loved everyone else, but no matter what I did, he just didn't. And then, it dawned on me, as I watched Luke and Lottie together. The reason Joe was different with me was because he didn't ever feel the need to take care of me. He needed me to take care of him.”
Emma slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Finally, the penny drops.”
Truthfully, it hadn't been something she'd thought about for a long time. Deep down, Beth had known that at some point, their paths would cross—Abi had always stayed in touch with her godfather—but she'd pushed them, and the club, out of her mind. She'd tried
to push Joe away, too, but she could see him in her kids. And even after all these years, he invaded her dreams.
She sighed and picked up the bottle. “We're going to need more wine.”
~ oOo ~
Too much water had flowed under the bridge for Emma and Beth to ever be best buddies again, but it had been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. As soon as Emma left, Beth rinsed the glasses before heading upstairs to get dressed. Emma was probably the only person who understood why she'd cut herself off from her old life, and had quietly listened as she'd poured out all her fears for Luke should he become sucked into the life. There had been no judgment, and even when Beth had blamed Samson for turning Joe into the man he became, Emma had made no comment.
Then she'd spoken of Joe's death, and had noticed a change of demeanor in her friend, and the reason why she'd been acting so guiltily all those years ago had become clear.
Emma knew what had happened to him.
Maybe she shouldn't have asked, and she'd hadn't been sure if she wanted to know. But Joe had been heading for Seattle on business, and she'd always suspected that Samson had had something to do with his being there. Although she hadn't been surprised when Emma had told her that she wouldn't share what she knew, Beth did believe her when she said that Samson wasn't responsible. And that the person who was had paid.
She didn't yet know if knowing made things better, but she guessed it didn't matter. She smiled as the sound of a car pulling into the drive filtered through the window. Joe was gone, and Henry was home.
The front door slammed and, grinning to herself, Beth slipped out of her bikini. “Up here.”
Emma had asked her about Henry, and she hadn't been sure what she was supposed to say. That he was just a regular guy, who worked hard to provide for her and the kids? That she loved the crinkles around his blue eyes when he smiled? That he smiled a lot? That he made her laugh harder than anyone she knew?
He opened the bedroom door and, grinning wolfishly, began to unbutton his shirt. Beth giggled as he crawled across the bed and began to nibble her neck. In the end she'd told her friend that she'd never love anyone like she'd loved Joe, but she did love Henry. Not more, or less. Just differently.
