Scratching at the edge of my scar, a sure sign of anxiety seeing as that’s the only time I do it, I say,
“Seven hours under the knife, four weeks in hospital due to an infection I picked up, and months of recovery time only to be told I needed another operation. My heart was rejecting the first valve, and they didn’t know why. Francesca wasn’t happy about having to cough up even more dough but saw the benefit in me being out of action for longer. Cash would have to stay under her roof to take care of me, which worked for her and figured she could draw it out if she started replacing my painkillers with aspirin. Not a good idea for anyone with a heart condition, by the way.”
My memories are fuzzy here. I was so out of it most days since my heart was beating sluggishly and my lethargy was at an all-time high. Cash spent day and night by my side for weeks until the pain got too much to bear that I begged him to find me something to take the edge off. And that’s where it all began.
For months, years even it was easier to blame Cash for starting me on the road to addiction. But to be fair, I was fucked up. High as hell, I would have said anything not to have to take responsibility for my own actions. When I came down from whatever high I was riding – Speed, E’s, Meth, Coke, or a combination all of the above worked its way out of my system – I knew I was just using Cash the same way I used the drugs. As a scapegoat. A way not to deal with my problems. Something or someone external to myself that could shoulder the blame.
Fortified by my own weakness, I shake my head in disgust. I really am a fucking asshole.
“Aspirin thins the blood, which means my heart and the new valve was having to work ten times harder than it should. The pain was so fucking extreme; I’ve never felt anything like it before or after, and I’ve been fucking shot for Christ’s sake. Cash didn’t want to do it, especially after what happened with our mom, but he didn’t want to see me suffer either. I don’t know where he got it, I didn’t ask, but Cash came home one day with a few pills, told me to take one and get some sleep, that he’d see me in the morning. The fucking thing worked too; I hadn’t slept that well in months. That’s when it all began. I started taking pills every day for the pain, but eventually the lines blurred somewhere, and it turned into me chasing the numbness I felt when I was high.”
I crave it. I need it. The pills. The lines. The pipe. However I can get it, my body and mind desires the world it transgresses into whenever I take a hit. I like living in the void somewhere in between unconsciousness and bliss. Dreams can’t bother me there, neither can memories so vivid they seem real.
“I can’t remember when liking being high turned into having to be. It could have been months or as little as a few weeks,” I admit, deeply ashamed of myself for the first time ever. “All I know is that without it, I feel like I’m drowning. Things get murky and intense all at the same time.”
Boss interjects here, asking,
“Do you want to get clean? Is that something you want or are we only doing this because Cash forced it?”
I mull that over for a long time before coming to a decision. My brain works furiously trying to find excuses and reasons for me not to do this. My body revolts at the very thought of taking away something it’s become so dependent on. But my heart knows it’s time. Long past if I’m honest with myself.
Nodding my head, I exhale,
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
~ Kennedy ~
“During the day, I don’t believe in ghosts. At night, I’m a little more open-minded.”
– Kennedy to Beth
Wrapped in Cash’s arms, my heart is attempting to beat its way out of my chest. Everything Jump said turns into a jumble of words I can’t make sense of when disturbing images of Cash being taken advantage of invade and take hold.
Lost in thought, I almost miss Jump’s admission that he wants to get sober. This is going to be the hardest thing he’s ever done without exception, but I know he can do it. I just hope he’s doing it for himself and not some misplaced sense of obligation to his brother or the MC.
See, the reality is that out of five addicts who attempt to get clean, four will have reasons other than themselves for doing it. Of those four people, all four will fail. Why? Because relationships, friends, work, even family can be fickle. Relying on outside influences to be there for you, to motivate and support you is foolish. People move on, relationships fail, families have falling outs, and situations change. Addicts can’t expect the world to stand still while they battle their demons, regardless of how much they want it to.
Making a split second decision, I look at Jump and offer,
“I can help. If you’ll let me that is.”
Cash’s arms constrict around my waist, not hard enough to hurt me, but firmly communicating his surprise.
“I have plans for you and I this week, baby, so I don’t know how you’re going to manage to be in two places at once,” he says, allowing a sly grin to tip the corner of his lips.
This is the first I’m hearing of any plans, and while the thought of doing something, anything with Cash for a week no less excites me, I want to be here for Jump more. He’s going to need all the help he can get, and with my training, I just happen to be the best suited for the job, which means I’m going to have to do a little confessing of my own.
Patting his rock hard stomach, I push back so that there are a few inches of space between us.
“I have to tell you something,” I murmur.
“What’s wrong, gorgeous?” Cash replies, his eyes filled with genuine concern.
Biting the bullet, I tell him,
“While I was working, I was also going to night school. Most of the courses I could do online, which worked out well for Talon and me. It was only part-time so it took seven years to get my degree, but I graduated as a psychologist with a specialty in addictions counseling.”
Okay, so I might have played it down a little before, but I didn’t lie. I did go to school so that I could help rehabilitate people with drug and alcohol issues; I just wasn’t entirely honest about how qualified I actually am.
Just to set the record straight, my parents aren’t addicts, I wasn’t touched inappropriately as a child, and none of my immediate or extended family suffered from drug or alcohol related issues. I did well in school as a kid and lived in a nice house in an even nicer neighborhood.
My life up until the age of thirteen was governed by my strict live and die by the cloth Christian parents. Everything we did revolved around the church, the congregation Our family didn’t only go to church on Sunday’s, we went three or four times a week at a bare minimum. My brother and I had to kneel at the foot of our beds every night and say our prayers, each morning we were required to say five hail mary’s, and at meal times give thanks to God for the bounty before us.
Sounds normal, right? Well, that’s where you’re sorely mistaken. Nothing about our home was normal.
My brother Abel – named after one of two brothers in the Bible – was put on a pedestal from the day he was born. He was a product of unrealistic expectations placed on him by our parents and enforced by harsh discipline and prayer.
All my sweet, caring, loyal brother wanted was to experience life. He wanted to play football, baseball, try out for the track team, and go to his senior prom. Abel’s friends were accepting of the way we lived to a point, but they couldn’t begin to understand what it was really like, and he refused to tell them.
Three years older than me, I covered for Abel as best I could when he snuck out of his bedroom window at night, not coming home until the early hours of the morning. I tried to distract my parents as he made phone calls from a cell phone – contraband in our house – that he bought with money he stole over time out of my father's wallet. And occasionally, I lied for him, telling my parents he was at youth group when really he was out on a date with a girl from school. The problem was, all good things have to come to an end.
The year I turned thirteen – Abel
was sixteen – I began to mature rapidly. My breasts grew to what my father called an obscene size, my hips widened, and I got my period, which sent my mother into a tailspin, ranting about how it was too early, that I was supposed to stay pure for longer. They hated everything about my newly developed womanhood, a fact they made known until I couldn’t bear it anymore.
Abel did what he could to return the favor and protect me, but my parents were determined to make sure I was firmly under their thumbs. The methods they used to achieve that were implemented along with sermons about temptation, sex before marriage, procreation, and a woman’s place in the world. I could have ignored them if that’s all there was to it. I wasn’t a stranger to long diatribes about impurity and sinning, after all. But it didn’t end there because their cruelty knew no bounds.
The kneeling board was something my father built in our garage one afternoon, believing that the messages from God he was trying to teach me weren’t getting through. In essence, it was a piece of timber with dozens and dozens of tack nails hammered through it from underneath. Only half an inch of the top of the nail protruded, but that was more than enough to hurt like hell when you’re forced to kneel on it for hours at a time.
I hated him for doing that to me, and I hated my mother for allowing it. She didn’t stand by silent and let her husband do all the dirty work, though. No, my mother went to extremes to make me appear younger than my years.
Strapping my chest tightly to compress my breasts, my mother dressed me in unflattering, too big clothes, twisted my hair into harsh buns at the nape of my neck, and forbid me from going anywhere unchaperoned by either her, my father or a member of our church. I wasn’t permitted to use the telephone, the internet or watch TV, and I couldn’t have friends over, not that I had any.
My days and nights were repetitive; every sunrise bringing more of the same. I couldn’t even convince myself to have hope, that tomorrow was another day because I knew what the next day would consist of before it dawned.
To cut a long story short; the day Abel enlisted in the Army – so the day he turned eighteen – I ran away from home. There was no way I could stay in that prison a moment later without my big brother’s shoulder to cry on. Abel was my lifeline, the one thing I held onto when I thought I would sink into a bottomless pit of despair. But with him leaving, I knew it was do or die; I had to get out of there before my parents crushed the little piece of my soul I had managed to keep safe and hidden from them.
Interrupting my memories of Abel,
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cash asks carefully. “He’s not your responsibility, but right about now, I’ll take all the help I can get.”
Placing both of my hands on his biceps, I focus intently on his deep blue eyes.
“Of course, I’m going to help,” I say as if it’s a foregone conclusion. “I’m trained for this, Cash. But not only that, I want to.”
“Right. Well, we’re not doing it here,” he tells me. “I want to get him home to our place, but first, I’m going to send some of the guys over to search for his stash. I know he’s got one, it’s just a matter of finding it.”
That would have been my advice too. Addicts are talented liars, manipulators, and experts at hiding their drugs of choice. Their extreme paranoia has them planning for a time when they may run out, not be able to score, or their stash is found.
With this in mind, I nod.
“Check the freezer, inside boxes in the pantry, in and behind the toilet cistern, taped underneath drawers, and any pot plants you may have.” In all the time I’ve been here, I haven’t actually seen Cash and Jump’s house so I can’t give him any more specific advice than the usual hiding spots.
“Seriously?” He questions, cocking an eyebrow at me.
“Absolutely,” I deadpan. “Honestly, I would check his bike, car, anywhere he frequents daily, and his room at the clubhouse too. You might think you’ll be able to contain him, but if Jump gets desperate enough, and mark my words, he will, you should cover all your bases.”
Calling out for Fury and Gage, Cash instructs,
“Go through my place, his room at the clubhouse, and his truck. I don’t give a fuck if you have to tear shit apart to find it, just make sure it’s all gone.”
“How long have we got?” Gage asks, his face set in a look that can only be interpreted as focused.
“A half hour, tops,” Cash mutters.
“We can work with that,” Fury replies. “I’ll get started at your place. Boss can check the clubhouse, and Gage can do his truck, bike, and your garage. What else do you need us to do?”
Cash doesn’t speak for a moment, and more than anything I wish there was something more I could do for him. But since there isn’t, I burrow into his side, silently giving him my strength and support.
Tucking me in close, he lets out a heavy sigh.
“Can’t think of anything, brother, other than some time off for Kennedy and me, that is. He’s going to need us for a while, so give me a day or two to get the lay of the land and I’ll call to let you know how long we need.”
“Sounds good,” Fury says, shaking Cash’s hand.
Gage does as well, but adds,
“If you need us, call. Any time day or night, you know we’ve got your back, brother.” Turning to me, he states, “You might not know them well, Kennedy, but our women are good listeners. If you find yourself needing an ear, get their numbers from Cash, yeah?”
I smile at him and nod.
“I will. I know you guys are worried abut him, and rightly so, but I promise you Jump will make it through this. I won’t have it any other way.”
That earns a chuckle from the both.
“I’m inclined to believe you, darlin’,” Fury grins.
*****
When everyone except for Emily has left, she sits at the dining table beside me with a mug of tea in her hand and her eyes downcast.
“You know, I thought I knew all these boys like the back of my hand,” Emily mutters sadly. “Most of them, have been hanging around since they were kids. Jonas, Boss, and my Diesel were best friends since grade school. They were inseparable. I always knew when they were old enough they’d join the club, but Jonas surprised me. He went his own way, made a name for himself as a military man, but he eventually came home,” she admits with a rueful smile.
“Maddox drove into town cocky, stubborn, and full of piss and vinegar at eighteen. I figured he’d grow out of it, but well, you’ve met him, he’s the same today as he was then. Fury’s a good man; rough around the edges, has the mouth of a sailor but loves harder than any man I’ve ever met. Gage is different, though. He only patched in eight or nine years back, but just like the rest of them, he became like another son to me,” Emily recalls, telling me more about these men than I’ve heard from anyone else.
“Those two, though,” she says, gesturing to the living room where Jump and Cash are sitting quietly across from each other. “I knew they were special the first time I laid eyes on them. So strong, so fierce is their love for each other it wouldn’t surprise me if one took a bullet for the other willingly. I worry about them, Kennedy.”
Acknowledging her concern, I confess,
“I do too. I don’t know why, it’s just a feeling I get, but I can't help thinking there’s more going on with them than any of us know.”
“I’m positive there is,” Emily murmurs, taking my hand in hers. “They’re so joined at the hip, I didn’t think there would come a day I’d see one do something the other wasn’t a part of. They live together, eat together, ride together, even play together. I’ve never known two men to be able to spend so much time in one another’s company without one of them killing the other, but somehow it works for them.”
I don’t have a chance to dissect the ‘play together’ part of her statement before she goes on to offer,
“I’ll stay here with your boy. I think it will do an old woman like me good to spend some time around a teenager again. All those
little ones are cute as buttons, but I wouldn’t mind looking after a kid who can wipe his own ass for a change.”
Laughing at her description of her surrogate grandchildren, I thank her profusely.
“As long as you’re sure? I can come back any time, but I know Talon would like the chance to get to know you better too.”
“Pssh,” Emily huffs. “We’ll have a great time. And don’t you worry, we won’t be alone so he’ll be safe with me.”
This gives me the perfect opportunity to ask about what I’ve been dying to know for weeks now.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what exactly is going on between you and Sarge?”
A slight frown creases Emily’s brow at my question but does nothing to detract from how beautiful the older woman is. At sixty-three, Emily doesn’t look a day over fifty. I don’t know if it’s her clothing choices – she’s still rocking the biker babe chic, just a more mature version – or if it’s because she genuinely loves life that keeps her young. But whatever it is, I wish I knew her secret.
Her usual uniform of tight, light wash denim jeans, a T-shirt, and the female equivalent of biker boots, Emily’s wardrobe according to, Avery only changes with the addition of a leather jacket in winter or flip flops to replace her boots in summer. She’s comfortable in what she wears and in her own skin, that’s apparent.
Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 2: Gage ~ Cash ~ Knight (Vengeance MC series Book 8) Page 39
