by Bijou Hunter
“Blackjack is special. I like the way he looks and how he talks. I like how he smiles at me. If someone else smiled at me like that, I’d want to throw a rock at his fat face, but I like Blackjack’s smiles. He makes my body hot and wet.”
Ginger sits up and shakes out her shoulders. “I hate when you say shit like that.”
“I hate when you and Oz come out of the bedroom with those flushed looks on your faces, and I know you’ve been fucking. It’s gross, but I don’t ask you to stop fucking him. I just ignore it.”
“Uh-huh. You bring it up a lot, though.”
“Well you fuck a lot, and I can’t keep up with all the ignoring.”
Smiling, Ginger reaches for a brush and gestures for me to cuddle closer. I obey because her smile is forced. She worries so much about me screwing up or going wild. Now she’s anxious that I’m trying to be an adult.
Instead of talking about what’s upsetting her, Ginger brushes my hair and mentions cookies. She tells me how the kids are excited about Halloween and how we’re going to a pumpkin patch tomorrow. By the time Ginger gushes about our first Thanksgiving in Rawlins, I’m relaxed enough to sleep.
Except now Blackjack feels very far away as if he were no more than a dream I had long ago.
Chapter Eleven
Life Lesson #11: take care of those you love
➸ Blackjack ★
Waking up again in the townhouse, I feel at home for the first time in years. If I think back, I don’t remember getting comfortable in any place since I went to juvie. I moved a lot when I was released, thinking my unease at the rentals was based on the specific place. Eventually, I realized I was the problem.
This townhome feels like mine. I walk downstairs naked and turn on the coffee pot. Glancing to my left, I see the elephant art on the wall. My gaze moves sideways, noticing the lava lamp and finally the couch where my broken dick enjoyed a rebirth thanks to Yarrow. Here in the kitchen, we ate our first dinner together.
I’m no romantic dreamer, but with every fiber of my being, I know this is our home and Yarrow will soon see things in the same way. She needs time to adjust to a new way of thinking. More than anything, Yarrow needs to disconnect from the crew enough to cling to me. They were her everything for three years, but she’s ready to slide into my arms and out of theirs.
Before stepping into the shower, I look out the bedroom window to check if Yarrow is outside with Duffy. The back area remains empty, likely too muddy from the autumn rain. I text Yarrow to let her know I have to go out for a few hours. She doesn’t respond. Her silence worries me, but I assume she’s sleeping late.
After a shower, I leave the townhouses and head to Denny’s to meet my sister for breakfast. Bev called me back not long after I hung up with my mother. Thinking she might help me fix the townhome for Yarrow, I ask to meet her as soon as possible.
I nearly don’t recognize Bev when I arrive. Her natural dark hair is bleached blonde, and she has a different nose. I realize this is the first time I’ve seen her in person in a decade. I somehow managed to live in the same town as my sister without running into her. That takes talent, no doubt.
“Billy,” she says after a moment of shock at my appearance. “You’re so tall.”
I smile at her comment since I doubt my height is what threw her off. “It’s been a long time.”
Bev and I awkwardly hug as we struggle to reconcile how adulthood changed the kids we once were.
“I was so surprised when Mom said you wanted to talk,” Bev explains after we’re seated and have our coffees. “She said you even wanted decorating ideas.”
“I’ve wanted to catch up with you for a while, but you know how it is. Months turn into years, and it gets harder to make that call.”
“I know. I really do, Billy. I’ve even seen you around town, and I wanted to track you down and say hello. I heard you hang out at that bar, Rusty Cage, and I thought about stopping by.”
“Well, we’re talking now.”
I spend the next twenty minutes asking questions about Bev’s family and business. She smiles so much when talking about what she loves. I’m glad she got the life she wanted. As kids, we were both honor students and took part in the right clubs and sports. Never were there two lamer fucks than Bev and me. If not for my decision to beat a man to death, I’d have ended up selling insurance or some other boring shit. I’d bring my boring wife and kids to holiday functions and laugh at twit jokes that only white Midwest Americans find funny.
Remembering how the bat vibrated when it came down on the rapists’ faces, I don’t feel too bad about the life I gave up. I look at my hands resting on the table and smile at how they burned when I finished with those assholes.
“Tell me about your special lady,” Bev says after our food arrives and she dives into her pancakes.
“Yarrow is young and fucked up. The fucked-up part is why I need your expertise.”
“Fucked up how?” Bev asks, struggling to sound cool while cussing.
Shrugging, I down half my coffee and return to my eggs. “In a million ways, but the one I thing you can help me with is that she hates her townhome. I’m staying there, but she isn’t. Sounds bizarre, but let’s skip that part and focus on why she doesn’t like the townhome.”
“And that would be?”
“I think it’s the beige walls. The few objects she bought for the place are full of color.”
“Are you thinking colorful like a kid’s room?”
“No,” I say too sternly. “She isn’t a kid and doesn’t like cartoons. Besides, I live there and will have to look at this stuff too.”
Bev isn’t sure what to think of the crap I’ve dumped on her. I probably should have eased her into the idea of Yarrow, but I haven’t been that kind of guy for a long damn time. Any sweet and sugar words in me were used up while talking about Rick’s train set and her kids’ recitals. All I’ve got left is the man who freaks out his sister and stole the heart of a fucked-up chick like Yarrow.
➸ Yarrow ☆
Halloween is stupid. No amount of cheerleading for the holiday by the crew will make it fun. People put on costumes—usually terrifying ones—and wander the streets looking for free candy. Why would anyone want to dress like that? Or give candy to strangers? And how do those weirdoes not get shot when walking in the dark dressed like monsters or killers? The entire thing is dumb.
Duffy doesn’t eat candy, and she’ll never wear something on her face. The only part of the holiday Cayenne enjoys is taking Duffy to the pumpkin patch. Once the girl picks one, she draws a face on it. The one-time Pepper tried carving a face in a pumpkin; two-year-old Duffy cried for hours. That’s the story they told me anyway.
Though Halloween means nothing to me and pumpkin tastes like shit, I do enjoy going to the pumpkin patch with Duffy.
Today, she wears her Hello Kitty knit hat complete with a pink bow on its right ear. Bundled up in a winter coat, Duffy shivers dramatically to show me she’s cold. I mimic her, and she smiles. I love when I make her happy because so much in the world scares her.
I hold her gloved hand as we walk around the patch for twenty minutes while she investigates every pumpkin. Cayenne stands a few feet away, taking pictures. The patch is nearly empty until the roar of motorcycles announces the arrival of Blackjack, Oz, and some of the other guys whose names I don’t remember. Alani rides with the dumb, blond club brother while Makoa is with his dad.
I wave at Blackjack who makes a beeline for me. His gaze gives me the once-over, and a smirk warms his face.
“She’s narrowed it down to her favorites,” I explain and use my free hand to hold his.
“Do you want one too?”
“No.”
“I can cut it up for you.”
“I know how to slice a face,” I whisper and cock my eyebrow. “Want me to show you?”
“Not in front of the children.”
Smiling, I nudge him gently. A child’s voice draws our attention to where one of th
e club brothers walks with a boy around Alani’s age. I frown at how loud he’s being, but Duffy’s headphones protect her from the kid’s shouting.
Blackjack stays close while I walk with Duffy toward the other pumpkin she likes. She squats next to it and grins up at me.
“Banana,” she says with a huge smile.
Blackjack nudges me. “Why banana?”
“She likes those Despicable Me movies, and the yellow creatures say that word all the time. Now everything is a banana.”
“I want this one,” announces the boy who reaches down to take Duffy’s pumpkin.
“Trevor, that girl already wants it,” the club brother says and tries to move the kid away.
“I don’t give a shit.”
Shrugging, the biker asks Blackjack, “What can I do?”
Blackjack glares hard at his brother. “Are you seriously asking me? Because, man, I have more than a few fucking ideas.”
When Trevor reaches down to pick up the pumpkin, Duffy’s big brown eyes widen until I worry they’ll pop out of her sweet little head. She’ll scream if he takes away her pumpkin. She picked it. The pumpkin is hers. He’s wronging her. That’s how she views the situation, and she isn’t wrong.
“Listen up,” I say, grabbing the kid’s jacket collar, “you better get the fuck away from this pumpkin and Duffy. If you don’t, I will climb through your window and cut your fucking throat while you beg for your life. And, Trevor, your daddy won’t stop me. He’ll just stand there while I gut your ugly ass. Do you understand?”
The kid tries to break free of my grip but fails. “You’re crazy.”
“Yeah, I am. And I will kill you. Do you want to die, you little fucking shit?”
I don’t look to see if his father wants to step in. I’m only interested in scaring the living crap out of Trevor. I never want him to so much as look at me again. I hate him more than I’ve hated anyone in my life. That’s how my rage works—it wants to destroy whoever is pissing me off at any given moment. Once the target is out of my vicinity, I don’t care anymore. Though I suspect I’ll want to kill Trevor again in the future. He has that kind of face.
His father gestures for Trevor to come with him, and I let go of the kid’s jacket. Each time I catch him looking back at me, I drag my finger across my throat. Once he’s out of sight, I turn to smile at Duffy.
“That’s your pumpkin.”
She nods and says, “Banana.”
“Exactly.”
Glancing at Blackjack, I find him smirking. “You’ve got the protective mama part down. That’s for sure.”
“I protect those I love, and I love Duffy,” I say and give her a hug before picking up her pumpkin.
Cayenne wears a massive smile when we walk to where she stands near Oz. I know there are times she’s worried I’ll hurt Duffy. She can’t help thinking the worst because she knows how fragile her daughter is and how impulsive I can be.
Today, though, I prove I’m worthy of her trust. I also made a brat cry— based on the whining I hear from nearby. Halloween just got a whole lot more festive for me.
➸ Blackjack ★
Yarrow rides on the back of my Harley to the townhomes and then ditches me to hang out with Duffy. Waiting for her to return for dinner, I look over pictures Bev sent me. I like some of her ideas and think others are the ugliest fucking things on earth. Based on what she sends, I can’t tell if Bev is talented or a hack. I guess the final look of the townhome will be my answer.
“I stole sandwiches,” Yarrow says after I answer the ringing front door to find her arms stuffed with food. “I took cookies and whatever the pink things are.”
In the kitchen, we realize the pink things are cupcakes. Yarrow eats one of them first, of course.
“Where did you steal this from?”
“Cayenne’s place. She had extras from the last card game and said I could take a few to Ginger’s.”
“That’s not stealing.”
“But I took all of them, and I brought them here, so, yeah, it is,” she says with her smiling mouth full of pink frosting. “We can have dinner, and there are extra subs for you to keep.”
We sit in the living room to eat so she can see the lava lamp. I show her a few pictures my sister sent.
“It was just painted,” Yarrow says when I explain about Bev’s ideas.
“Beige is the color of boring people. You and I aren’t boring.”
Yarrow smiles and shakes her head. “Can we fuck after we eat?”
“That’s not a real question.”
Yarrow shakes her head again. “I don’t care if you paint the townhome.”
“Good.”
“I asked Oz if I was in trouble for threatening that kid, and he said no. He also said I could threaten Trevor again if he ever messes with Alani or Makoa. Then I told him he should teach them to threaten him themselves. I mean, they’re almost as big as he is. I think they could take him.”
“Oz wants his kids to grow up to be soft.”
“How come?”
“His mom had it tough growing up, and then he had it slightly easier growing up. That’s what people do. They make each new generation more pampered than the next.”
“I want my kids to know how to punch someone in the face,” she says and rests her bare feet against my leg. “I wish I punched better, but I like kicking and biting more.”
“Even knowing nothing about raising kids, I understand why Oz doesn’t want his turning out shitty.”
“Did you like seeing your sister?”
“Yeah. Made me feel like an old fucker, though. She’s changed so much,” I say before adding, “And yet not at all.”
“Can I see pictures of you as a baby now?”
“I’ll talk to my mom.”
Yarrow smiles softly and looks at her sandwich. I know she’d rather eat the cupcakes in the kitchen. Sighing, she returns her gaze to me.
“Can I tell the crew to kill Annie?”
“Why are you asking me that now?”
“I saw her today at the pumpkin patch. She was hanging out across the street.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, instantly angry at myself for not noticing.
“You were happy, and Duffy was happy, and Cayenne was happy. That’s a lot of happy to ruin with the truth. Sometimes, lying is better.”
Setting the sandwich aside, I crack my knuckles while thinking of that crazy bitch watching us today. Does she view Yarrow as her competition? What insane shit will she pull next?
Yarrow takes advantage of my lack of appetite and climbs onto my lap. Smiling softly, she grips my shirt.
“I want to take off my clothes.”
“You and me both.”
Jumping up, Yarrow tugs off her clothes as if they’re on fire. I watch her excitedly dance around the room and accept how lucky I am to have this moment. I’ve spent my life since juvie being an asshole and shitting on my every opportunity. I ought to have died or ended up in prison years ago. Instead, I’m still alive and free to spend this evening with a very animated naked chick who thinks I’m the sexist fucker on the planet.
Lucky isn’t strong enough of a word for how I feel.
Chapter Twelve
Life Lesson #12: cheating between friends ain’t personal
➸ Yarrow ☆
Clove’s mother was born in a place called the Philippines. I’ve seen pictures of it on the computer and where the country is located on a map, but I have trouble understanding where everything is in connection with where I am now. Miles make no sense to me. All I know is I can’t drive from Arkansas to the Philippines.
Another concept I don’t get is something called heritage. Like Clove wants to decorate her townhome with touches from her Filipino heritage. What that basically means is the fireplace needs brown stones instead of brick, and she bought a lot of brown furniture. Oh, and she likes long bamboo poles with no leaves that stick out of giant planters.
I don’t get why she likes any of
this stuff any more than I understand why Pepper and Bay like only black and white décor. One of the first things I ever learned from the crew was that people are different. How they decorate their homes is an example of those differences.
“What’s with the man stank in your place?” Pepper asks Clove before sitting in a chair at the long folding table we use for our weekly card games.
“Glitch was over earlier, moving around furniture.”
I sit between Ginger and Cayenne. Each week, we take turns on who will stay with Duffy during the game. Since Bay can’t drink alcohol because it would make her baby dumb, she volunteers to babysit for the next eight months.
Since Pepper can drink, she sits across from us and pours sake into everyone’s shot glasses. “Is Glitch your personal handyman now?”
“He offered to help, so I let him help.”
“He wants to fuck you, so are you letting him fuck you?”
“Who cares if I am?”
“No, no, nope,” Pepper says, shaking her head. “Why fuck him if you can use his lust to make him your bitch?”
“He’s harmless. In fact, Oz ought to worry about having such a pussy in his club. The guy is about as scary as a puppy bouncing and slobbering all over the place.”
“You’re not wrong,” Ginger says. “Camo and Glitch are like big kids. Vile and Devo have long rap sheets, and I sense they’re afraid of doing anything that’ll get them sent back to prison. Blackjack is the only one with any edge, and now he’s lost his balls to Yarrow.”
“I don’t keep his balls. I give them back once I’m done playing with them.”
The crew instantly reacts to my comment. Pepper and Cayenne “eww” in unison. Ginger fake pukes. Clove, though, gives me a high five.
“Don’t listen to them. You own what you do,” Clove says.
“I’m too old to worry about impressing people.”
“You sound like Blackjack,” Ginger mutters.
“How do you know?”
“Well, that’s not something you would say. For one thing, you’re fucking eighteen.”
