Craving Me, Desiring You

by C. M. Stunich

  “It might've been a blessing if you had,” she snaps at me, and I gasp. For a second there, she reminds me of an evil step-mother from a fairytale, like at any moment she might grow a tail an turn into a fire breathing dragon.

  “That was quite rude of you to say,” I whisper. I almost call her a trollop, but the words won't come through the relief. She's okay, I think, letting my palm lie flat against my belly. We're both okay. So where's Austin? I'm not silly enough to think he's left me. He would never. My best guess is that he's not allowed in here. I bet none of them are. “What did you say to the staff?” I ask her, but I know she's not likely to answer that question either.

  “Jesus Christ, Amy,” she bursts, the words exploding from her puckered lips like poison. I catch myself cringing away and berate myself for being weak. Forcing my tired, aching muscles to lift me up, I glare at her. “Bound and gagged? It's like something from a horror movie. You disappear, and I don't hear from you, and then Christy … ” Mama huffs. “You'll tell me where she is right now. Mr. and Mrs. Hall are here to collect her.”

  “Christy is a grown woman, as am I. If she wants to see her parents, she'll pick up a phone.” Mama's lips get so tight, they turn white.

  “Not if she's bound and gagged in the back of some mafia gangster's car, she won't.” I almost laugh.

  “Mafia? They're bikers, Mother. At least get the terminology right.” My mom steps forward, like she wants to hit me, but she doesn't. She drops her arm and freezes in place next to the hospital bed.

  “You're coming home with me and your father. We'll send you away for a little while, and then you'll come back, all sins forgiven.” I grit my teeth and feel my hands turning into fists. You'd think I was sixteen years old, just come off the Mayflower, a young slut in Puritanical America. Not a twenty-one year old woman with a lover and a baby on the way, a woman who survived a gunshot wound. Yes, I am very proud of that fact. I may gloat about it for some time to come.

  “You expect me to say yes to that proposition?” I ask, glancing down at my left arm. It's in a sling now and since Mother doesn't seem to be in a very giving mood, I'll have to wait for a nurse or doctor to come in and tell me what's wrong with it.

  “I don't expect you have a choice. Do you see your bikers here now?” She gives me a triumphant look, eyes flashing dangerously. If I were whole and well and not such a proper lady, I might've slapped her in that moment.

  “I don't know what you've told the staff here, but when they find out Austin is the father of my baby, they'll let him in.”

  “You're nothing but a dirty, useless little slut that doesn't know the value of her own life.” My mother's brown eyes fill with tears, and even though she's just insulted me, I feel bad for her. I do. She loves me, and she's worried. Understandable considering the circumstances, but if she wants me to have a relationship with her, then she's going to have to redirect her focus to getting along with me instead of simply trying to control me. “What is wrong with you? Where's the daughter I spent my life raising right?”

  “Mama, please calm down,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice steady and even. “Austin has been nothing but a perfect gentleman to me – ” Mama interrupts me before I can finish my sentence.

  “By sticking in his dick in my daughter? Over a pool table? In a bar?” She snaps the last word off her tongue so fast I almost get whiplash. Oh, yes. The video. I'd not forgotten that Mireya sent my parents Austin and my sex tape, but I'd wished to. Now, here it is, the topic of conversation. Well, this is quite embarrassing.

  “He's the first and only man I've ever been with, and he loves me.” Even if he's never said it, I think to myself. “And I love him. We're having a baby, Mom.” She shakes her head, and I have to wonder if she's even heard a single word I've said. My mom isn't easily reduced to curse words or vulgarity, so the fact that she's using them now is a bad sign. I open my mouth to speak again when the door to the hospital room opens and my father enters. He's got a nurse with him, a nice older lady with dark hair and a gentle touch. She checks in with me first, asking some questions and monitoring my vitals, keeping me from focusing too hard on my dad.

  I dread the moment she leaves the room.

  “Amy,” Papa says, quite pleasantly. He knows there are eyes and ears everywhere in a hospital, and I can't imagine he'd do anything to tarnish his good name. Mama stands close to him, fingers curled around his arm. I try not to look into his face, but it's so severe, much sharper than I even remember. “There are some police officers waiting outside to speak with you. As soon as you're well enough, they'd like to come in.” He smiles and I look away, almost defiantly. Fuck. I think the word in my head, not for my parents' benefit, but because I don't want them to know how worried I am. If there's a story, something I'm supposed to say for the club's benefit, I don't know what it is. Do I implicate Margot?

  “Send them in,” I say, lifting my chin. I have nothing to hide. That's what they have to think. It's what everyone needs to think. My hope is that they're only here about the accident, that they don't ask about the gunshot wound on my left arm, or anything that's happened prior. The murders, the gunfights, the bank robberies. My dad smiles at me and disappears, returning with two detectives whose names I completely blank on. My mind is too busy coming up with a story.

  “Margot Tempe,” I tell them, deciding to leave out anything MC related in this conversation. “She was jealous that her ex-girlfriend dumped her for my best friend.” I relish the expressions on all of their faces.

  Chapter 22

  Amy

  After the detectives leave, my parents disappear for awhile, and I end up falling asleep. Part of me wonders if I really am tired or if I'm simply avoiding the inevitable conversation with my papa.

  When I next open my eyes, the room is mostly dark, lit simply with a light glow from the machines that surround me on either side, a sea of beeping electronics that pulse in time with the beat of my heart. I'm alone for now, blanketed under a wave of blackness and draped in anonymity. Here's my chance. I struggle to sit up, breaking out into a sweat that sticks my hair to my forehead. It takes me awhile, but I manage, giving myself a mental high five for the effort. Good job, sugar, I tell myself with a small smile.

  There's a white corded phone sitting on the nightstand near my bed, surrounded by flowers and obscure in all of its antiquity. While the machines monitoring my body look like something out of a sci-fi novel, this phone is practically an antique. I lean over, crying out at the pain in my side, reaching for it with questing fingers. It might only be a couple of feet away, but it feels like a million.

  I pause, sitting back and taking another deep breath. One last lunge and I end up with the phone in my hand, dragging the entire base of it along with me. I put the handset up to my ear, dialing Austin's number from memory. I made a point to memorize a few of the numbers when he first gave it to me, just in case. It seems it was a skill well learned.

  I close my eyes tight and wait. It only takes two rings for him to pick up.

  “Austin Sparks,” he barks, voice gruff and full of emotion. I tear up then. I don't mean to, but goodness, it feels nice to hear his voice. I sniffle once before answering and right away, he realizes it's me. “Sugar?”

  “Austin,” I whisper as salty tears leak down my cheeks. “I'm okay, Austin.” I hear him growl under his breath, both cursing and thanking God for my phone call. I take a deep breath and whisper, “So is our baby.”

  “Amy Cross, I miss you so hard it hurts.” He squeezes the words out quickly, cursing again. I wonder where he's at right now?

  “How long have I been here?” I ask him. It might've been a day, could've been a week. I have no sense of time right now.

  “Four days,” he says, and then, “I wanted to come see you, Amy. I've tried everyday since, but they won't let me in. Won't let any of us in. I even told 'em we were married, but I couldn't prove it, and your parents said I was a liar, that you didn't want me there. I'm not exactly as convinci
ng as a preacher, so they threw my ass out.”

  “Where are you now?” I ask him, heart thudding nervously inside my chest. I don't owe my parents anything, and they certainly aren't in control of my actions, but I simply don't want to deal with them right now. If they walk in and find me on the phone with Austin, another fight might break out, and I just don't have the strength for it at the moment.

  “At the clubhouse,” he says, voice suddenly low and quiet. “We didn't want to risk anyone else getting kidnapped. Margot's gone, you know. Left the hospital before we even figured out what room she was in.”

  “It's not your fault, Austin.”

  “Amy,” he says firmly, stopping me in my tracks. “It was my fault. I'm the leader of Triple M. It's always my fault if something happens to one of you. I don't think I've been a very good leader thus far, but I promise you, princess, that is going to change.” I touch my fingers to my throat, surprised at how much this small speech is affecting me. Austin is … hot when he's taking control apparently. Amy Cross! I scold myself. Now is not exactly the best time to be wetting the hospital sheets with lust. “Amy, about the baby – ” My turn to cut Austin off.

  “No,” I tell him, shaking my head even though he can't see me. “Not over the phone, not right now. Whatever it is you're going to say, I want you to say it in person.” I twirl the cord around my finger, like a high school girl from decades prior, before cellphones were even invented. “I'm not in such bad shape. Now that I'm awake, I imagine they might release me in a day or two.” I touch my fingers to my head. I still don't know all the details – whether I had a concussion or whatnot – but I feel okay. A sprained arm instead of a broken one, some bruising, a few cuts here and there. I don't see any reason that I should have to stay in the hospital. “You'll come here and get me?”

  “I'd ride to the ends of the earth to find you, sugar.” I smile and then immediately frown when the door starts to open.

  “I'll call you back when I know more.” I pause as my dad's face appears in the doorway. “I love you.” And then I hang up before Austin gets a chance to respond. The phone clicks gently back into place as I look up and meet my father's eyes. They're blue, like mine, but much, much darker. Perhaps the eyes really are the windows to the soul, and I'm simply gazing deep inside of his? He acts as if he's full of holy light, but all I see is darkness. Those who are truly happy, inherently divine, they don't judge others for their differences. “Papa.” I say the word slowly, letting him hear the power in my voice. I will not be swayed.

  My dad moves over to sit on the end of my bed, his best minister face fully locked in place. His dark hair is perfectly combed, and he's got on a very nice suit. It must be new because it's one I've never seen before. The air in the room smells of my father's particular scent – tobacco and cucumbers. I don't mind it; it's certainly better than the rancid sharp stink of iodine.

  “Amy.” His voice is the same as mine – firm, unyielding. This is a battle he already believes he's won. When he reaches out to place one of his hands on mine, I let him. If Papa were to apologize to me right now, say that he was genuinely sorry for all of the beatings, all of the moral and psychological hurt he's heaped on me all these years, I'd probably forgive him. But he won't. And knowing that is one of the hardest things of all. “I have a friend with a ranch a couple of hours outside of Wilkes. He's agreed to let you stay there for the rest of your pregnancy.”

  “Because having a baby out of wedlock, even if it's with the man I love, is entirely unacceptable. How will the people in Wilkes talk? What would the church think?” I put a hand over my mouth in a pretend gasp, enjoying my father's accompanying frown.

  “We all make mistakes in our lives, Amy. You're young, but when you get a little older you'll realize a life like this is no life at all. Honey, you were kidnapped. Any why? Because two lesbian bikers got into a lovers' quarrel? Do you even hear the words that are coming out of my mouth?”

  I stare him straight in the face and then switch our hands, so that mine is covering his instead of vice versa.

  “I will admit that the kidnapping was not entirely pleasant, but there are risks in every life, and I've chosen this one. I accept the price. Father, a few moments of tragedy are worth a lifetime of joy. If you can't be happy for me, then we can't have a relationship. I'm sorry, but the door is always open. When you're ready to be a grandfather to this baby, I'll have you around.” I release him, watching a flush of red climb his neck onto his face. This is not how he wanted this to go. He's used to controlling me, and I let him. For twenty-one years, I let him. Not anymore. I don't regret my choice.

  “Don't be unreasonable, Amy. Think of your mother. She's been sick with worry, waiting for you to call her, and you never did. She's spent nearly all of the last three months crying.” I don't doubt his words. In fact, if he'd said anything else I would've called him a liar.

  “You and Mama might be a couple, but you're still separate people. You each have your own decision to make.”

  “That's not how this is going to work, Amy,” my dad interjects, rising to his feet. I watch him stand. “If you say no to coming with us, you say no to having a relationship with your mother. I know you don't want that. She'll be devastated if you do this.” I swallow back tears. I have to be firm with them. My whole life, my father thought to train me up as a child. Right now, I feel like the tables have been turned. As Glance Serone might say, You'll always owe a debt to your parents for raising you. At some point, the debt has to be repaid. You can do that by teaching them a thing or two. They might be surprised to learn it, but there's wisdom in every child. Of course, then he'd grin and probably fuck Sali over the back of the sofa, but there's still intelligence and a hint of reason in his words.

  I stay firm.

  “If this is what you want to do, I can't stop you, but I beg you to reconsider. Take my phone number and call me when you change your mind.” Papa ignores me, dark brows drawing low over his eyes.

  “Where's Christy? Her parents are worried, especially after that nonsense you told the police.”

  “Christy is a grown woman, Papa. If she wants to speak with her parents, she'll call them.” I pause. “And she's a lesbian, Dad. And proud of it.” My father's nose wrinkles and he spins on his heel, disappearing out the door and storming down the hall with as much self-control as he can muster. I relax back into the pillows, suddenly exhausted again. The emotional toll of dealing with one's family can be likened to a terrible car accident – trust me, I've been a part of both, and I can easily testify to which is more painful.

  I'm about to drift into sleep when the door opens and my mother enters. She pauses at the foot of my bed while we stare at one another.

  “Your number,” she says, her voice clipped. Her gaze keeps flicking back to the door, as if she's afraid my father might walk in and catch her. I search around for something to write on, groaning with the movement, when she sighs and tosses a pen and a small pad of yellow sticky notes towards me. I scribble the numbers down and hand them to her, nearly jumping from my skin when she moves close and … presses a kiss to my forehead. Without another word, my mother disappears and on my lips, is a smile.

  This car accident may not be the worst thing that ever happened to me. To be honest, it might just be one of the best.

  Chapter 23

  Austin

  I've spent almost a week in misery, waiting for Amy, unsure what was happening at the fucking hospital. Goddamn red tape and two holier-than-thou parents kept me from her side and put an aching hole in my gut. I've been a crazy man, I'll admit. My fellow Triple M'ers have taken to avoiding me at all costs. Today, I'm even worse, pacing the length of the bedroom like a caged bear. No, not the bedroom – our bedroom.

  “Stop acting like a man gone mad, Austin Sparks,” I tell myself, pausing to look in the mirror over the dresser. Yeah, that's right – dresser. Even though the house isn't done, I got furniture for Amy. At first it was just a bed to rest in, but then it became a
nightstand, a lamp, a picture, even a fuckin' potted plant. Mr. Austin Sparks cut a real strange figure at all the furniture and antique stores he's been visiting. Even though the employees looked at me like I was convicted murderer, walking around in my club's leather vest and my favorite boots, I managed to put together a real nice set of stuff for Amy. I might be a man, an uncouth one at that, but I had a momma that ran a bridal shop. I watched her work in there everyday after school, saw her put together a place that was every woman's dream. Girls used to gasp and cry when they walked in there. My momma knew how to decorate, so fuck anyone that doesn't like it, but I know how to decorate, too. I look around at the walls, the high ceiling, the crown molding. It's done. Finished. I wish I could say the same about myself.

  I touch my hands to my stubbled face and my unkempt hair. Fuck, I smell like sweat and dirt, and don't look much better. Kimmi's probably on her way back now, sitting with Amy in our new car. Yes, car. It's a fucking dirty word, I know, but what am I going to do with a baby? Shit, with two babies? Put 'em on the back of my bike? So I bought a car. It ain't fancy, but it'll do. I wanted Amy to see more than hear, that I'm ready for this new life.

  “I should've gone to the fucking hospital,” I mutter, peeling off my clothes and tucking them in a clothing hamper. My grandmomma would be proud o' me. The room wasn't quite ready for Amy though; I had to finish it up. Or I keep tellin' myself that. In reality, I think I was just worried about my reaction. When I see her, I might go bat shit nuts.

  I shower quick as I can, admittedly enjoying our fancy ass new bathroom, and come out to find that Amy's already sitting on the bed waiting for me. There's a look of raw wonder in her face and a discarded book lying by her side – of course.