by Bijou Hunter
“Heck, boy, you got tall.”
Dad—like Bev days ago—isn’t reacting to my height. I just grin at his subtle shock at seeing his tatted son up close.
“It’s good to see you. This is Yarrow.”
“Come closer,” Dad says, and Yarrow immediately squats next to the chair. “Do you like TV?”
“Yes.”
“Want to watch TV with me while Billy and his mom catch up?”
Nodding, Yarrow plops down on the floor next to his chair. Mom and Dad both look surprised.
“You can sit in my chair,” Mom offers.
“She likes the floor,” I explain and gesture for her to follow me. “Yarrow’s fine. Trust me that she’ll say something if she’s not.”
Mom and I walk into the galley-style kitchen where the hideous vegetable curtains remain after all these years.
“She’s beautiful,” Mom says.
“Yeah. She’s something special.”
“Is she why you called after so long?”
“In a way. I mean she wanted to see my baby pictures, and it got me thinking about how I hadn’t talked to you in a while.”
“Why was that?” she says in a soft, scared voice. “Why did you stop coming around?”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter, not wanting to point fingers.
Mom glances into the living room and then returns her gaze to me. “Your father and Yarrow are enjoying cookies and watching TV. They’re fine, so we have time for you to explain why it’s complicated.”
Crossing my arms, I notice her gaze taking in the sight of my tats. “Things were different after juvie,” I say because I don’t want to have this conversation.
“Yes, they were,” she nearly whispers and reaches out to touch my inked forearm. “You were so angry.”
“Yeah, I was angry. I didn’t think I should have been locked up.”
“One of those men had a rich brother. They wanted to punish you, and the lawyer said the deal was the best you’d get.”
“Those men deserved to die.”
“I know.”
“Did you?”
Mom’s eyes reveal hurt at my question. “I didn’t want you to go to juvie, but they were talking about trying you as an adult. They said they could keep the rape out of the trial. Make you look like a thug. We didn’t want you to spend your life in prison when you only wanted to help that woman.”
“Whatever happened to the woman?”
“She moved soon after everything happened. I didn’t blame her from getting away from a town where no one cared. The police and prosecutor were so corrupt back then.”
Her words make sense, but they don’t fit what I remember. I’d felt abandoned by them. Judged too. Not just them either. Everyone treated me like the bad guy. I’d been a fucking Boy Scout my entire life, and they acted as if I were a career criminal.
I can’t say these things to my mom, not when she’s looking at me on the verge of tears. Besides, deep, deep down, I’m still the lame little mama’s boy who thought his mom was super cool for making Kool-Aid. That part of me doesn’t want to cause her pain by accusing her of long-ago wrongdoing.
“I got so angry until anger is all I knew. I changed, and maybe I didn’t think you’d want that new guy around.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” she says and tugs me into the hallway where family pictures hang from the walls. “I don’t care who you become because you’re still my Billy.”
Holding my hand, Mom caresses a picture of me from second grade. My front teeth are missing, but I smile confidently. Eight-year-old me knew where I belonged in the world. Until Yarrow, I’m not sure the adult version understood my place. No wonder I was so pissed for so long.
“And you’re still my mom,” I say, embracing my inner sap.
Hugging her, I still struggle to blend her view of the past with my own. I need time to accept that the chip on my shoulder kept me from seeing the truth.
Yarrow’s rolling laughter draws our attention away from the photos. Mom and I walk into the living room.
Standing next to my father, she sees me and points at the TV. “They’re eating people.”
As Zombies eat Tom and Judy in the old black-and-white Night of the Living Dead, Yarrow’s giggles confuse my parents who look to me to explain.
“Have you seen this movie before?” I ask Yarrow.
“No,” she says, still laughing. “Ginger said people aren’t food, but they are.”
I wrap an arm around her. “They usually aren’t. That’s why eating people is in a horror movie.”
Yarrow rests her head on my chest. “It’s still funny.”
“Why don’t you change the channel, Will?” Mom suggests.
My father agrees, though he clearly wasn’t done watching the movie. He begins flipping through the channels while I ask Yarrow about the cookies.
“They have marshmallows,” she says, offering me one.
“You always loved baking,” I tell Mom.
“Made those from scratch.”
“What does that mean?” Yarrow asks.
“They aren’t pre-made.”
“Oh, that sounds hard.”
I open my mouth to explain recipes when Yarrow jerks away from me and falls to her knees in front of the TV.
“Those are the people!” she cries. “Go back!”
My startled parents look to me for an explanation, but I only gesture for him to flip back to the last channel.
“CSPAN,” I say while kneeling down next to Yarrow.
“These were the people on the TV in my room.”
These suits babbling about laws, regulations, and politics were what Yarrow grew up listening to rather than Big Bird and Elmo. She sits in front of the TV, wide-eyed that she finally found the channel from her youth.
“I never understood what they were saying,” she tells me.
“No one does. They speak bullshit.”
Yarrow smiles relieved at the sight of the channel. “Do we have this at home?”
“Yes.”
Standing up, Yarrow smiles at my parents and me. “Then I don’t want to watch it. Can we see the people eating people again?”
Once Dad returns to his movie, Yarrow again sits on the floor. They eat cookies and talk about what zombies are. The only time she loses interest in the movie is when Mom brings out my baby pictures.
By the time we walk out the door an hour later, Yarrow is filled with sugar, obsessed about zombies, and holding one of my baby pictures. I know my parents aren’t sure what to make of her. Hell, they’re not certain about me either. Despite those misgivings, they can’t stop smiling while waving from the porch. Somehow, I ended up promising I’d bring Yarrow to their church’s trunk or treat event next week.
Something about this woman forces my world to expand with every passing day.
➸ Yarrow ☆
Blackjack doesn’t remind me about the work on the townhome, and I totally forget by the time we’re done seeing his parents. I had so much fun eating cookies and talking about zombies with Will. By the time we return home, I’m only concerned with finding out what channel CSPAN is on and if I can watch zombies on the TV at home too.
Then I walk into the living room and feel overwhelmed by how different it looks now. Blackjack stands right behind me, waiting for me to tell him if he did a good job.
“Wow,” I whisper. “I love orange and blue, and you have both.”
“Bev said the orange wall is something called an accent wall. She used the elephant picture as her inspiration and went with a few different blues. Is it too busy?”
“Busy?”
“Just tell me if you like it,” he says, sounding ready to lose his shit.
“It’s so cool,” I say and take his hand. “It looks so different.”
“She put nightlights in all the corners and closets that scare you. She used a special one for the mechanical room you hate.”
Blackjack guides me to the room I fear the most. I
am too happy—and full of sugar—to stop him. Inside, an orange starlight nightlight brightens the room. Before I can speak, the lights shift into the color blue. After a minute, they’re yellow.
“This is so amazing,” I say and jump into his arms. “Let’s go fuck.”
“Only if you’ll sleep here tonight.”
I lose my smile and exhale unsteadily. “Okay.”
Blackjack leans down and sucks my throat. Unlike our first attempt at this move, I’m fully onboard now with him going crazy on my neck.
“Feels so good.”
“Hang on, monkey,” he says and picks me up.
I wrap my arms around his neck and mark his throat like he did mine. Blackjack walks upstairs, and I take in the view from the stairs.
“I love the living room. It’s so perfect that I never want to leave.”
“My plan worked.”
“You’re so smart,” I whisper as we reach the top of the stairs where nightlights shine. “I can see in all the rooms.”
Blackjack turns on the bedroom light and sets me down. “I made a few changes in here too.”
The mattress rests on the floor with my sleeping bag set up next to it. I jump onto the bed and bounce.
“I love you! I love you!” I cry, deaf to everything besides my beating heart. “You’re perfect!”
Blackjack wraps me in his arms and tugs me onto the mattress. “We’re forever, Yarrow. I’m staking my claim on you, right here, right now. I know you’ll need time to get used to living here, and I’ll need time to get used to being responsible for someone besides myself. We’re both changing, but what won’t change is how I love you.”
“I’ll be whoever you need me to be,” I say, suddenly terrified that someone as perfect as Blackjack will one day see I’m not good enough for him.
“You are you, and that’s all you need to be. I’m a sucker for fucked-up women, but they always left me miserable. That’s never going to happen with you. I feel it in my gut, and my gut is rarely wrong.”
I trust his words, not because they sound good. I trust them because he looks at me with the clearest eyes. No anger or fear, no male bravado where they say stuff to sound cool. Blackjack is being square with me and himself. I’m what he needs in life, and he isn’t blind to my faults. He loves me—fucked-up and flawed me.
Chapter Sixteen
Life Lesson #16: yes, violence is an answer
➸ Blackjack ★
Oz invites me to join him at the park with Makoa. Alani spent last night at her grandmother’s, and Tana plans to take the girl shopping. I assume Ginger will answer Yarrow’s million texts and join her at the townhome. That means I can play the third wheel with the ladies or join the boys at the park. Not much of a choice.
I swear Makoa grew a few inches since he was shooting hoops with Yarrow. He takes after his dad, and I get a little hopeful about having a son of my own one day. The fantasy feels only half-realized with my inability to picture Yarrow pregnant or giving birth. How will her thin body carry a baby? Can she handle childbirth? That shit hurts, and she reacts to pain by sinking her teeth into someone. Now that she knows about zombies, Yarrow believes biting isn’t off-limits. Will she go feral during delivery?
“When are you marrying Yarrow?” Oz asks once we park our Harleys at the park.
“Who says I am?”
“I can’t have you living in sin. We’re a high-class club, you know?”
I smirk at his tone. “I did not know that actually.”
“Well get the fuck on with it.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Might even throw something fancy like you and Ginger had,” I say, thinking of their quickie wedding.
“I made it fancy in the bedroom.”
“I don’t even fucking know what that means.”
“Use your imagination, loser beast.”
I swing for his head, and a few fingers graze his hair, but Oz blocks a majority of my punch.
“Don’t make me kill you in front of my kid,” he warns.
“If you don’t laugh the next time you say that, I’ll promise to give a shit.”
“Stop cussing,” Makoa announces. “Or I’m telling Tutu.”
Oz frowns at having his son rat him out to his mom. He tosses a baseball to Makoa, and the boy runs a few yards away. Once he’s created a solid distance, Makoa throws the ball.
“Nice,” Oz says and throws it back.
Makoa’s catcher mitt misses the ball, and he runs after it.
“How much do babies cry?” I ask Oz while scanning the park for trouble.
“A whole fucking lot.”
“Huh.”
“Are you looking to make babies with Yarrow?”
“Eventually. She really digs babies.”
“Yeah, she’s been asking me to knock up Ginger for weeks.”
“You should get on that.”
“I’ve tried, but my woman’s birth control keeps her eggs in a fucking vault.”
Shaking my head, I walk over to get the ball Makoa threw, and Oz missed. “Yarrow’s daycare idea for the hookers seems to have caught on,” I tell Oz after handing him the ball. “The trailer park foxes don’t want child services causing them issues.”
Oz nods, remaining silent while he and his son throw the ball back and forth.
“Oh, by the way, I’m making you my VP,” Oz says while Makoa chases his father’s bad throw.
“Do I have any say in the matter?”
“No.”
“Good. I’ve been thinking too much lately.”
“I seriously doubt that, asshole.”
I consider taking another swing at him before deciding to let him be. “Now that I’m VP, can I tell you when you’re being a fucking twat?”
“Sure, but your helpful advice will likely be rewarded with a punch in the head.”
“I’m okay with that. You might want to punch Camo too. See if you can knock some sense in his fat head.”
Oz scowls something ugly. “The kid pisses me off. He’s a tough little shit and could be a decent enforcer, but he wants to be every dealer and user’s buddy.” Throwing the ball back to Makoa, he adds in a lower voice, “I’ll let you beat Camo while I make sure Vile doesn’t get any ideas about saving his ass by selling out ours.”
“Is that a real concern?” I ask.
“He’s been an antsy fucker since I took over. I wouldn’t be surprised if we need to bury him before Christmas.”
“I’ll bring the shovel.”
“And that, motherfucker, is why you’re my VP,” Oz says and pats my chest hard.
“You hit like a bitch.”
Oz gives me a side glare. “Ginger is my woman and Yarrow is her kid, so I guess that makes you the son-in-law I never wanted.”
“Is this where I hug my daddy?” I ask, punching him in the arm.
He swings at me in retaliation, and his fist makes contact with my shoulder. Laughing at his expression, I throw up my hands and call a truce. We don’t need the fine Rawlins citizens to call the cops. The last thing Ginger needs is to throw her weight around to free the Heretics’ president and vice president.
➸ Yarrow ☆
I’m dying for Ginger to come over and see the townhome. After texting her a hundred times—I counted—I’m so relieved when she appears at the back door. I pull her inside and point at the living room.
“He made it so beautiful, Ginger,” I say, holding onto her so she won’t run away before I’m finished showing her everything. “It’s not scary anymore.”
“Blackjack did all this in a day?”
“His sister helped him. The club bros did too, but it was his idea. He did this for me.”
From the beginning, Ginger fought against my dating Blackjack because she wanted to protect me. I need to show her how Blackjack protects me too.
“He loves me,” I say, holding her hand while we walk through the townhome. “He doesn’t just say the words. He shows me too.”
“Blackjack did
a good job,” Ginger mumbles as we end up in the master bedroom.
“He knows me too. Not just the good stuff like people show on dates. He knows the bad stuff.”
“Well, you did try to disembowel him a few weeks ago.”
“Yes, and he still loves me. He knows I get scared sometimes, and I get angry too, but he also sees the good stuff in me.”
Sighing, Ginger wraps an arm around my shoulders. Her hug reassures me, and I realize I’d been shaking. Ginger doesn’t have to like Blackjack or even me. But I need her to understand us.
“Oz helped me see how lucky I am with the situation,” she says and hugs me tighter. “I worried about losing you, and he pointed out how you’re right next door. I won’t lose you when I see you every day.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, wrapping her tighter in my arms so she can’t escape. “I want you and Blackjack. I don’t want to have to choose.”
“You don’t have to,” she says, and I think she might cry.
“You saved me, and now I get to be in love with him.”
Ginger lets me go and wipes her eyes. “Blackjack did a good job with the townhome. He isn’t what I expected. I guess I was thrown off by what an asshole he seemed most days.”
“He is an asshole, but I love him. Flaws and all because that’s how he loves me.”
Cupping my cheeks, Ginger smiles at me. “I should have trusted you. I didn’t see you as a woman, but you knew what you needed.”
“I’m only here because you took me out of the dark room,” I murmur, hugging her again. “Sorry for all the times I hurt you.”
“Sorry for bullying you.”
“Are you really?”
“A little,” she says, grinning as she takes my hand and tugs me downstairs toward the couch. “I have one request.”
“What’s that?”
“No babies for a while.”
“I’m not ready for one. I know that.”
“Good,” she says and sits sideways on the couch to look at me. “I want to get the hang of being a mom to a baby before I become a grandma to your baby.”
“You’ll be a tutu like Tana.”
“Yeah, but not yet. I’m still learning to be a mom to Alani and Makoa.”
