She pats my hair and says, "Yes, we could talk about that for a start, and then we could talk about Brian. I heard him leaving the house a few minutes ago."
I nod, and she says, "I figured that even if he never visits Nancy anymore, there was no way he could resist coming to see you." I turn my head and study her face. Funny how I thought she was lost to the world, but she saw more than I suspected. "You know nothing good can ever come from stringing two guys along, right? You need to choose between Brian and that young officer. Ernest, I think his name is?"
"I know, Mama," I say. "Ernest is nice but Brian is..."
I can't find the words to say it without hurting her. David and Brian were the two pillars of my life. I believed that no matter what they would always be there for me. Now that David's gone, I can't seem to let go of Brian. Not right away. He's the only anchor I have left. Even if it does look bad, even if everything points to his falling on the wrong side of the fence, I can't let go.
"Brian was your first love, and maybe you think you still love him, but that shouldn't prevent you from going on with your life," my mother says.
She feels me stiffen and keeps on petting my hair. "When your father passed, I thought I had died as well. If not for you and your brother, I would have followed him the next day. I felt as if someone had ripped away my heart. I was empty, and I remained that way until David died. His death jolted me back. It made me understand that I had been wasting something really precious that we're given so little of: time. We have very little time to live, to be happy. As I was standing by David's grave, I decided I had to start living again. I resolved to grab whatever life had left to offer before I ran out of time, and then a miracle happened: there was this lovely man, standing right by my side."
A smile creeps across my lips because I'm not sure “lovely” is the adjective I would have picked to describe that man.
"What are you smiling about?" she asks.
"Your description of Captain Williams," I explain. "I will agree that he's strong, powerful, possibly handsome in a rugged sort of way, and impressive. But lovely? Nope. That didn't make the list."
She laughs, and I realize I haven't heard her laughter in years. It brings tears to my eyes.
"Oh Mama," I say. "I'm glad you came back from wherever you've been hiding all these years."
"So am I, baby girl. So am I."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Another week has passed, and I'm becoming a bit anxious about money. I've interviewed with several local restaurants but without success. The issue is that I'm up-front with my situation. I explain they can work me to death all summer, but then in the fall I'm not sure I'll still be around and if I am, I'll only be available for evenings and weekends. That makes everyone reluctant to hire me. Work is quiet here in the summer. In Florida, the season starts after Thanksgiving, when the snowbirds start flocking in from up north.
I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my mother, arranging apple slices on a pie she's baking for dinner for Captain "call me Steven since we're practically family now" Williams when the phone rings, and my mother picks it up.
"Yes, sir. May I ask who's calling?" she says. "Just a minute; I'll go get her." She puts her hand on the lower part of the phone and says, "It's the manager of Les Délices."
I wipe my hands and take the phone. "Lisa Mayfield speaking."
"Hello, Lisa, this is Thierry from Les Délices. I'm calling to let you know you have the job. You can thank Lyv Clark. She gives a glowing recommendation. She practically ordered me to grab you while I had the chance." He laughs.
"I'll be sure to call her and thank her. When do you want me to start?"
"Sunday for brunch. Be there at ten."
"Thank you, sir. I'll be there."
I hang up, and I feel like jumping up and down. Looking at my ear-to-ear grin, my mother says, "I take it you got the job."
"I sure did, thanks to Lyv. I love that woman. I'll have to send her flowers or something," I say.
"I still don't understand why you didn't go back to New York for your summer internship, or at least look for one in one of the local firms," she says.
I've explained to her a thousand times how the summer internship programs work, that all slots are allocated almost a year in advance, but she still doesn't get it. The truth is that she's right—I could have tried, but I didn't. The real reason I went for a restaurant job is because I'm still not sure about her. She's fragile, and some days she still looks very lost. Just in case she does flip, I want to be able to quit my job to stay with her without jeopardizing my reputation in the local legal market.
I shrug and put the last slices of apple on the pie. I abandon my mother in the kitchen with her classic-rock radio channel blasting. She's singing Van Morrison's "Gloria." I rush out of the room just as she starts spelling the name at the top of her lungs. Sometimes I think a crazy alien possesses her.
Tonight, Everest's taking me to a rock festival. It's a huge event that will last the entire weekend with plenty of bands. I run up to my room to get ready. We're riding there with two of his friends from the task force.
I'm going for a total biker look. My nicely weathered leather pants, a white T-shirt, a pair of riding boots, and David's old leather jacket, the one he used to wear as a teenager. I know it's silly, but when I slip it on, I feel like he's not really gone. Can a spirit haunt leather? As I enter the kitchen, my mother does a double take.
"You look about eighteen tonight," she says.
"Thanks, Mom. Don't wait up for me. If the shows are any good, we're probably going to stay fairly late."
"Fine. Have fun!" She's smiling, and I can't believe how much she's changed in just a few weeks. It's as if she's absorbed all the joy that has been sucked out of Nancy. I feel sorry for my aunt, but there's nothing I can do for her.
I hear the sound of engines roaring in the street, and I walk out through the garage door with my helmet. I love the wind in my hair, but not as much as having my brain inside my skull, so for me, it's safety first.
I can tell from the smile on Everest's face that he likes my bad-chick look, and I think he's not looking bad himself. I wave to the other couple, Thomas and Catherine. I press a light kiss on Everest's lips and hop on behind him. I really like him—he's sweet, and he's been very patient with me.
We get to the festival, and it's huge. I don't think I've ever seen so many people in one place. It's a bit overwhelming, but you can't make for a better escort than three police members of a special task force, especially because while wrapping my arms around Everest, I was able to feel that he's armed.
We find a decent spot for the bikes where the ground isn't too soft. Everest looks for a rock to slide under the side stand, just to be on the safe side. I refrain from making any comment because if there's one thing I learned from watching my brother and his bikes over the years, it's not to make fun of a biker's attention to his first love.
Looking around at all the couples on shiny machines, it's difficult to miss—if the guys gave jewelry to their partners every time they got another piece of chrome for their beloved Harleys, the poor women would probably be too loaded with gold and diamonds to walk around.
"Ready?" Everest asks.
"Yessir," I say. "Lead the way."
We get a spot not too far from the main stage as a band starts to play, and the music is good. We're surrounded by people in various stages of inebriation, but they seem to be happy drunk, unless they're high on something else. I take a big breath and smile at Everest, who smiles back at me.
Yes, we're going to have fun tonight.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After a while, Thomas and Catherine decide to get some food. We follow them to where the vendors have set up their kitchens-on-wheels. It's next to a picnic area with tables, chairs, and barbecue pits. Catherine and I sit down while the guys go get food.
"I really liked your brother," Catherine tells me. "We're gonna get the bastards who did that to him, and we'll all be able
to sleep better at night."
"Thanks" is all I can come up with. It's not that I don't want to talk to her; I just don't know what else to say. I'm a bit intimidated by her as well. I'm sure it took a lot of guts and a strong spirit for her to make the task force. And Catherine's persistent because she does not get discouraged by my brief answer.
"I hear your mother is dating Captain Williams," she says. "I would pay good money to see him courting someone. What's his style?"
That gets me started, and I tell her how devoted and caring he is with my mother, and how it took them about ten hours to fill in three miserable pages of paperwork. The guys return with cold beer, fried chicken, and fries. The food isn't bad, and Thomas and Catherine tell me they started dating while on an undercover assignment.
"I couldn't believe my luck when I realized that her brains were just as fabulous as her looks," Thomas says.
Catherine rolls her eyes and looks at me when she says, "Right, because if you're kind of pretty, you must be either silly or shallow."
"You're more than pretty," I tell her spontaneously.
Catherine laughs and explains, "It use to drive me up the wall when most people spoke down to me like I was some kind of idiot, just because of the way I look. Now I take advantage of the stupid stereotype any time I can."
I'm wiping some ketchup away from the corner of Everest's lips when he freezes and looks right behind me with a frown. Thomas's expression changes, too, and I'm about to turn around to find out what's happening when Catherine puts her hand on mine and tells me, "Don't move, and keep on talking."
She looks at Thomas, who shakes his head and puts his hand down on the table, thumb folded. I try to think of something to say, but my mind stays blank. I search for inspiration around me, and my eyes fall on a festival flyer that someone's pasted to a vending stand.
"So how many bands are attending this event?" I'm actually talking to myself. It's fascinating to watch Everest turning from a cool, laid-back guy into this intense police officer. Under the pretense of scratching his back, I think he's taking the safety off his gun. Catherine shifts position and straddles the bench with her hand in the bag she's been carrying on her shoulder since we arrived, and I'm pretty sure she's holding her service weapon as well. I close my eyes and pray they're not considering a shoot-out; in this crowd, it would be a disaster.
When I open my eyes again, there are four guys standing by our table. One of them is Waxer, another is the friend who taunted him and then tried to calm him down during our encounter at the pharmacy, and the two others look just as fierce as Waxer.
"Look who we have here," Waxer says, looking straight at Catherine and me. "I know you, right?" he asks. He's really not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
I ignore his question, but his friend answers for me. "Yeah, that's Ice's chick. You know, the one who guessed your dick was the size of a popsicle."
That gets a laugh out of Catherine. "I've got to hand it to you, you know how to sweet-talk a guy."
"What are you doing here?" Waxer asks me. "I thought you were Ice's sweetie."
Thomas looks as if he's about to say something, but before he does, Waxer says, "Let the chick talk."
"I'm just hanging out with friends to enjoy the music," I say. "There's no harm in that."
"Is that so?" Waxer's friend asks, looking directly at me. "We'll see about that soon enough, as he's meeting us here," says one of the other guys. "This will be very interesting."
"Come on, let's get some food," one of the other guys says, and they leave in direction of the taco stand.
"Fuck," says Everest, between clenched teeth.
"Who's Ice?" Catherine asks when she feels they're really out of earshot.
"Brian Hatcher, my aunt's son."
"Doesn't that make him your cousin?" Thomas asks.
"No. My aunt had him before she married my uncle."
"Who cares whether he's your cousin, or your step-cousin, or whatever it's called? Why do they think you're his girl?" Everest asks.
"That's what he told them to protect me from Waxer."
"You really told him his dick was the size of a popsicle?" Catherine asks. "You've got guts."
"He asked which lubricant flavor I'd like if I was giving him a blow job, and the answer came out before I got a look at him and realized what he was," I say. "I'm not suicidal."
"So what did Ice say to calm him down?" Thomas asks.
"That I was his, and that he was gonna teach me manners," I say, looking at Thomas.
Everest is staring at me and prompts me, "And…"
"He made me apologize, and then dragged me out of the pharmacy and told me to scram, which I happily did," I say, avoiding Everest's gaze.
"And…" Everest is relentless. There's something in my body language that's betraying me.
"He kissed me in front of them. I think he was trying to demonstrate that I was really his."
"I see." Everest looks away from me and frowns. "Fuck. Here he comes."
"Shouldn't we get out of here?" I ask.
"Oh, no, we're staying right here until we play this out."
I turn around and watch Brian arrive at the taco stand. His "brothers" tell him something, and he turns around to look in our direction. He turns his back to me, and they talk animatedly.
"I've got a hundred that says they're provoking him. He'll have no choice but to come over and claim her," Catherine says.
"What should I do?" I ask.
Everest keeps his eyes on Brian and ignores my question.
"You'll go with him," Catherine says. "You really have no choice."
Brian turns around and starts walking toward us.
I look at Everest and ask him, "Is that what you want me to do?"
He keeps on ignoring me, his gaze set in Brian's direction.
"Fine. If that's what you want, I can do that."
Really, I can—I'm pretty sure Brian won't hurt me. At least he won't be physically abusive. I'm starting to feel sick.
I'm so far out of my comfort zone that my heart is about to burst in my chest
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Brian reaches the table, he acts as if I'm sitting alone. He grabs my arm and says, "Let's go now."
Everest ignores me as I get up. He's watching the four other bikers coming toward our table. All I can read in Brian's eyes is determination. Catherine whispers behind me, but I can't understand what she's saying.
I grab my leather jacket from the bench and follow Brian. I don't really have a choice since his hold on my arm is strong. We reach the others, but Brian keeps walking, and as we move away, he says, "Don't wait for me. I need to remind her who's the boss."
We get a few catcalls, and I think I see the hint of a smile on Brian's lips. We keep walking until we reach a parking area where a younger guy is watching over the machines. His cut is almost bare except for the Iron Tornadoes logo and a "prospect" patch.
Interesting how a bunch of guys who are supposed to be rebelling against society and setting up new rules are actually recreating the most traditional initiation rites. They are no different from the army or religious orders or even college fraternities. Men are reinventing the wheel over and over again. MC prospects are just like the candidates for all those groups—they get to do all the grunt work for one year and get mistreated for another one or two until they've swallowed enough crap to be admitted as full members of the team.
The young prospect can't be a day over eighteen. When he spots Brian, he stands up taller, like a solider standing to attention. But then that's precisely what he is: a soldier of organized crime. Okay, maybe I'm being unfair. He's a soldier in a motorcycle club that harbors criminals. He probably has no idea what's really going on. He'd need to be higher in the food chain to know stuff.
That's when the million-dollar question pops into my brain. Did Brian skip the prospect trial period? Less than a year ago, he was in the police academy. I have no clue about rank insignia in general, but I'm pre
tty sure that some of the patches on his jacket indicate he's not low on the totem poll. What did he do that allowed him a quick rise through the ranks? As he starts his engine, I wonder if I really know him at all anymore.
"Helmet," he barks at the prospect, who hands him one from a pile at his feet.
"Get your sweet butt over here," he says, patting the saddle behind him and putting on his own helmet, which had been resting on the handlebar of his ride.
I roll my eyes but climb on behind him. When I'm settled, I sit as straight up as I can and grab on to the backrest. He turns his head and laughs. "Seriously, babe?"
It takes me about five seconds before I give up on the uncomfortable position. I let go of the metal bars of the backrest and wrap myself against him. Right away, one of his hands comes to rest on mine for a second, and strangely, this simple gesture makes my heart flutter. The Brian I know, the one who's always taken care of me, is still somewhere in there. I rest my head against his back and close my eyes. Who cares where we're going? The instant is delicious.
But when we stop and I open my eyes, I become aware that I should know better.
We're in land, in the middle of nowhere, next to the club's main house. I've never been here before but I know. The property must have been a farm to begin with. There's a main house, a very wide A-frame, and then a few other buildings that must have been barns and stables. The doors of one of the largest buildings are open, and it looks like it's been turned into a motorcycle repair shop. We've stopped a few feet away from the house on a patch of concrete, which must have been poured to create a solid surface for parking.
There are a few tables outside. About a dozen men, all sporting the club colors, are sitting or standing around the tables. They're having what seems to be a serious conversation. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or worried by the fact that reality doesn't match the fiction in my head. I would have sworn it would be like a permanent frat house orgy, but I'm the only female in sight.
Stone Cold (An Iron Tornadoes MC Romance) Page 5
