Brute: The Valves MC

by Faye, Carmen

  What would be our future?

  The realization made brought tears to my eyes and I sat close to her, cuddling her tiny body into mine, crying together. I felt her stir after some time and I knew she was looking at me.

  “Why are you crying, Mommy?”

  The shock of her words, the sight of her puffy face and the sound of sadness in her voice rendered me unable to do anything but cry harder. I pulled her even closer and tried to whisper, “It’s not your fault, baby. It’s not your fault.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “This is delicious!” Dawson exclaimed, mouth full of shrimp creole.

  I smiled, chewing my own food. I was proud of my cooking talent and I never took a compliment too modestly. It was, after all, a good skill to have. “I’m glad you like it,” I said, shoving some more shrimp into my mouth.

  We had just made love and he stayed for dinner. He said he was willing to help out and I was pleasantly surprised to find out his daughter didn’t get her cooking interest out of nowhere but her skilled father.

  It was late, later than I usually ate and I told him so.

  “Yeah, sorry for that,” he sheepishly replied, visibly apologetic. He pushed his empty plate to the side and sat up. We had forgotten to bring water at the table and he took this task upon himself now.

  “If we were at your place, maybe we won’t need to be so late. I mean…” I started, but he interrupted.

  “No. I understand this must be hard, but I cannot…Not at this time, I…”

  His strong position surprised me greatly. “What do you mean?” I mouthed, barely above a whisper.

  He didn’t reply immediately. Fiddling with his glass, he kept looking down and I could see he was uncomfortable talking about this. But so was I, always having to guess and compromise on things a normal couple wouldn’t require compromise on.

  “What’s the matter?” I repeated. “Do you have someone else?”

  “No,” was his short answer.

  I knew as much. “Then? If you are as serious as you say you are, Ginger will have to find out eventually.” My appetite was gone, so I rose and placed my plate onto the counter.

  “It’s not that either. It’s…more complicate. Hard to understand, hard to explain…”

  “She called me Mommy this weekend,” I cut in, unsure if I should’ve said anything.

  He was silent for a moment and I turned to look at him. His lips were parted, eyes noticeably shocked. He seemed unable to speak. I continued.

  “If this was the issue, than I am pretty sure it’s not an issue. She needs a mother and she got used to me. She called me Mommy and she didn’t want to take it back. We’re already close and she might be already suspecting something…”

  “It’s not that. I’m glad, really, I am, that she called you that. You’re the best for her. But I just can’t right now. There are things I need to take care before…”

  “Before what?” I asked, feeling my knees weak and the commencement of a migraine getting stronger by the minute.

  “Before I can think of myself,” he whispered, as he sat up. “Look, I know this is an upsetting talk and I think it’s better I left. It’s late anyway and I need to check up on Ginger.”

  “Upsetting? Is that all?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “I…I don’t know what to say to that.”

  I was intent on clarifying the situation, but I felt I didn’t have the means to do it. I resigned myself to waiting, to thinking and considering. My body seemed to agree with me, as it weakened suddenly and I felt the need to sit down. I didn’t, however. I didn’t want to show him how pathetic I felt. I fell silent, as he watched me for a few long minutes, unsure of what to do, then finally deciding on grabbing his jacket and leaving quietly.

  I don’t know how I got to a chair, as tears were streaming down my face, blinding me with heartache.

  When I came to my senses, I felt drained and I wanted to sleep. I slugged along to put the dishes away and the leftovers in the fridge, then, as I was about to turn the lights off, I heard a motorcycle closing in. Dawson was already home and there weren’t many riders living in this neighborhood so who could it be?

  I looked out the large front windows and saw a man dressed in leather riding gear walking up Dawson’s lawn. He didn’t knock, just entered like it was his own place. Strange, I thought, and a vague uneasiness made its presence at the back of my mind.

  I waited patiently, straining to look for anything out of the ordinary. I didn’t know how much time must’ve passed, but it couldn’t have been long since the sprinklers on my lawn hadn’t activated yet when Dawson’s front door opened and he stepped out, followed by the stranger.

  Dawson looked angry, but holding back. He pointed a finger at the other man’s chest and seemed to threaten him. The other one smiled and removed himself from Dawson, walking towards his motorcycle without a word. He didn’t seem afraid, but amused. And that made me feel uncomfortable. This whole thing didn’t look like casual conversation and I feared to acknowledge more.

  Before turning back to my business, I saw the stranger ride away, shortly followed by a dark sedan that had been parked on the other side of the street for a while. “I’ve seen that car before!” I exclaimed, trying to remember where and when.

  If I recalled correctly, this car had picked Dawson up for work a couple of times, usually arriving much earlier and waiting suspiciously in the same spot. It was suspicious now, in hindsight, as, at the time, I didn’t think much of it.

  Dawson followed the two vehicles with a stern expression on his face. I guessed he knew the kind of bad news they appeared to bring and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. He seemed concerned and constrained. The uneasiness crawled on my skin and I felt suddenly cold. Something wasn’t right and the only thing I could think of was if Ginger would be fine.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In the week following the incident, I had spent many hours turning all the possibilities around, trying to find new views on it. All details seemed to point towards a vile situation, but the specifics of that were unknown. And not knowing was the scariest part.

  On Thursday, Ginger stayed home, sick. I could barely go through with my work, the day seeming so long and never ending. My classes over, I left without doing any paperwork and drove as fast as I could. The little girl was sick and I needed to see if she was all right. Dawson might have been a good father but I didn’t trust his medical skills. Besides, lately I hadn’t trusted Dawson, period.

  On my way home, like everything conspired to slow me down, I had to get gas. I couldn’t wait anymore, so I called Dawson. “Hey, I’m just on my way home. Wanted to ask how Ginger’s feeling.”

  Fine, he told me. No need to worry, just a common cold. He seemed distant. Before I could suggest a visit, he assured me that the little girl would be just fine by the weekend. I felt anger rising inside me. Was I just interested in an easy babysitting job? Or was I more concerned with her well-being?

  I wanted to ask him what he took me for, but I held my tongue. I wouldn’t have known how to proceed anyway.

  I heard Ginger’s voice in the background, probably asking who it was that he mentioned her name to. He said she could say hi but didn’t hand her the phone. She seemed fine with just yelling “Hi, Mari!” towards the handset, then I didn’t hear her anymore. I felt on the brink of crying. The bastard was trying to keep her from possibly asking to see me.

  I hung up, unable to believe such preposterous possibilities, and drove home. I unlocked my front door, eying his house with a concerned look on my face. I couldn’t see Ginger, so I stepped inside and closed the door. For some reason, I felt exhausted. And terribly hurt with loneliness.

  I sat down, dropping my purse on the floor, starting to feel tears on my cheeks. What was going on seemed like the worst dream I could ever have with Dawson. I felt stupid for having imagined happy times and a future into this relationship. It seemed that, regardless of what he said or what I thought to have seen in his eye
s, he didn’t want to be close. Ginger was the only thing bringing us together and he was taking her away when she needed me the most.

  What cruel man would do that? And what sort of sordid business was he involved with? Drugs? Prostitution? Surely, as a bouncer, he had access to just the right type of market.

  And Ginger?

  “Mari!” My heart jumped out of the ribcage. Ginger had cried my name and I darted through the door.

  She was running towards my house, wearing just a light little dress, barefoot. I kneeled on the grass and hugged her tightly, concerned for the weather that seemed to get cooler by the hour. I intended to have a word with Dawson when I heard him walk towards us.

  I raised my eyes as drops of rain started falling, big and round, at a slow, but determinate pace. His dark features looked even darker against the cold sky and, for a moment, I felt a stray ripple in my stomach.

  I stood, still holding Ginger, trying to shield her from the rain. I glanced once at Dawson, then dashed towards his house, where I could change the girl into something warmer, maybe tuck her in with some tea, make her comfortable. To hell with his unwillingness to have me there without prior arrangements.

  He reached the door before us and held it open. I stepped in and went straight for Ginger’s room. He walked in front and opened the door, leaving me space to get inside.

  The pink room had never surprised me. I expected him to provide her with anything she wished. I went straight to the small bed in the corner and laid Ginger down. She was mellow and her skin was hot to the touch. I looked at Dawson sharply. He looked down.

  “Okay, baby, we’re going to sleep now,” I whispered, gesturing for a warm looking bathrobe thrown over a pile of toys. He grabbed it and I dressed Ginger, caressing her burning cheeks.

  She seemed to be falling asleep, a little smile stapled on her face. I held her close to my chest, rocking her slowly, whispering a lullaby. I felt him watching me and when I stole a glance at him. His face looked open, warmed by the sight like it was something he pictured many times before.

  I felt confused and an aching knot formed in my stomach, trying to figure what was going on with him. Why the contradiction? I didn’t have time nor was it the right place to ponder the issue, as I felt Ginger’s breath even out, slipping into a calm sleep with, hopefully, sweeter dreams now that I was there for her. That we both were.

  I carefully stood and Dawson bent to cover her delicately. His manly smell, mixed with the smallest amount of cologne, brought me back into a teen-like lightheadedness. He took my hand and pulled me out of the room. Next thing, I was pinned against the wall in the most powerfully burning kiss ever touching my lips.

  He didn’t come across as sexual, no. He seemed protective of me, grateful even, for being here. It was as if he always wanted me here, like this. And the hunger in his kiss, like tomorrow the world would end, made me feel a pain I couldn’t describe. His pain, not mine, but I felt it just the same.

  He drew back to breathe, looking deep into my eyes. Mine were swimming in warm tears, ready to overflow.

  “Come,” he said, taking my hand again. “Let’s have something hot to drink.”

  I couldn’t speak. If I did, my voice would break and I knew I would cry and never stop. At the same time, I knew I had to make a decision but I wasn’t sure of anything anymore, I couldn’t make up my mind; I didn’t know what to make up my mind for. The pain simmering my insides was born from the uncertainty of what was happening and I was afraid that, if I asked, the beauty of this moment would perish forever.

  I sat at the dining table and hugged the hot cup of sweet tea with both hands. I felt naked and raw and I couldn’t look into his eyes.

  He lifted my chin and smiled but I could see he shared the same pain as me. Something was standing between us and I couldn’t see it. It’s magnitude, I felt it, but I couldn’t see it. I smiled back, as painful as him and we knew we didn’t need words.

  But regardless of how simple life would be without them, words needed to be said between us. I needed, we needed, for the sake of Ginger it was needed that things become clear. Only that I knew the same struggle went on inside him and none of us knew how to start these words.

  “What happened?” I asked, barely above a whisper, urging him with my eyes to uncover all that was hidden in his soul.

  “She was sick, crying, and saw your car. I couldn’t stop her. She just ran out the door,” he said, and I saw he knew my meaning but chose to ignore it.

  I lowered my gaze, beginning to feel the magic disperse.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” he followed, looking away. He had a guilty look on his face, a struggle showing its signs on his features.

  I waited, my lips parted, encouraging him to open up. He didn’t look at me. I suspected he couldn’t.

  “I…It’s hard. It’s…” he began, wary of choosing his words.

  “What is it?” I said, raising. My feet took me closer to him and I touched his face, making him look at me.

  He lost himself in my eyes, and I saw him fighting to draw courage from me. I opened up as well as I could, smoothing my features, trying to offer him a safe place to talk.

  “It’s just…It’s my job,” he finally said, deepening the mystery more.

  “Daddy…” Ginger’s feeble voice reached us. I turned to go, but he stopped me.

  “I’ll go,” he said and I understood he needed the time to collect his thoughts, to ready his words.

  I nodded and remained alone, feeling strange and uncomfortable. What could it be about his job? Being a bouncer surely wasn’t the worst job and it seemed to pay for a decent life.

  That started me into rummaging through my unanswered questions, through my dreadful suspicions, but I didn’t have time to lose myself in thoughts. Ginger was crying and I could make out my name. I ran to her room and grabbed her extended arms. She was shaking and the fever had gotten worse.

  “I’m here, baby. Shh!” I murmured, rocking her gently. “What happened?” I mouthed silently to Dawson.

  He whispered “Bad dream.”

  “It must be the fever. We need to get her to a hospital.”

  And with his nod, our moment of truth had ended. I took her in my arms and he covered her with the blanket. We agreed in silence that his Harley wasn’t suited for this task and took my car. He drove us, fast, and we got to the hospital through a tense silence, like a physical block between us.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Today felt like one of the worst days in my life. It would have been a usual Friday if it weren’t for Dawson taken Ginger home himself. I had to drive alone and the ride seemed terrible. I was growing quite fond of coming home with her.

  When I had seen him at school, he seemed distant, in a hurry and my reaction was to crawl into my shell and not say more than two words. He didn’t seem to notice, which only made me feel even lonelier.

  Once at home, I felt too drained to do anything productive so I left everything as it was and turned the TV on. I couldn’t find anything worth watching and my attempt at an afternoon nap turned out to be futile, too.

  With less than half of a grain of motivation, I got out of the bed and walked into the kitchen. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I really didn’t have anything to do, but then desperation hit me. What was I to do to settle my wayward mind?

  On the fridge I had put a page from an old-fashioned cooking magazine. I remembered discovering it a few weeks back and liking the idea of salty caramel and raspberry on a cheesecake base. Excitement at a premium today, I decided to try the recipe anyway. How could it hurt? I checked for ingredients and learned I didn’t have any cream. I looked out the window, at the heavy rain and shivered.

  “What the hell?” I said, and grabbed my coat.

  I ran to the car and drove away. In the store, a moment of clarity opened my mind to the fact that everything around me seemed to slow down. From the moment I left home, starting the car with delayed motions, to my perusing between the ais
les aimlessly, unsure of what I wanted. It seemed like some sort of physical sadness had engulfed me like quicksand, blocking my mind, slowing my life down. For a moment, I was unsure of why I had come to the store, then I remembered what I needed to buy. Still fighting my trance-like state, I grabbed the cream and left the store in a hurry.

  A weird energy was coiling inside me, in direct contradiction to my languid perspective. The result was unsettling and I needed to be busy soon, otherwise I feared I would break down.

  Too focused inwards, I almost bumped into Dawson, who was waiting for me by the front door.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked automatically.