Drifter

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Smiling, she reaches out and touches my cheek.

  “My son has good taste,” she says with a wink. “Green eyes, they’re so very rare and so unique.”

  She pats my cheek gently before dropping her hand and turning around.

  “Claire?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I think you might be my hero,” I whisper.

  She turns around, immediately shakes her head but smiles widely.

  “Be your own hero, Gina.”

  “I don’t know if I can be,” I admit as my voice crackles and tears slide from the corners of my eyes. “I was attacked…I was…” My words trail off and I can’t bring myself to say that one word, too afraid if I say it out loud it will be the word that defines me for the rest of my life.

  “My name is Claire Kincaid,” she whispers, taking my hands in hers and squeezing them. “And I’m a victim of domestic abuse,” she declares, eyes full of tears.

  They’re similar to mine.

  Not just in color, but also by the story reflected in them.

  “And I am a survivor,” she adds. “Go ahead,” she urges, squeezing my hands reassuringly.

  “My name is Gina Spinelli,” I cry, my voice trembles as I introduce myself—both versions, the old me and the new me. “And I am a victim of…”

  I bow my head as my body shakes with sobs.

  “And I am a victim of sexual assault.”

  Before I can finish the final word, Claire pulls me into her arms and rocks me against her chest.

  “The next part is the most important,” she whispers against my hair.

  She continues to hold me as I cry against her chest, and in another lifetime I would’ve been mortified. In another lifetime I’d be chastising myself for completely blowing the whole meet the parents thing, but in this lifetime I embrace the comfort I find in Stryker’s mother and when she turns me around and I stare at the both of us in the mirror, I say the words I’ll come to know as the words that set me free from the nightmare.

  “I am a survivor,” I whisper to our reflections in the mirror.

  She smiles as tears slide down her cheeks.

  “One day you’ll shout it, sweetheart,” she promises. “Until then the world better watch out.”

  She doesn’t say the final part of that sentence.

  But silently I remind myself of her words and the truth they hold.

  There is nothing more ferocious than a woman reclaiming her life.

  Claire helps me dry my eyes and by the time we both walk out of the bathroom Stryker is walking through the front door. He lifts his head and his eyes dart between me and his mother. His handsome face contorts with concern and confusion before his mother lifts her hand and smiles.

  “It’s okay,” she assures. “I was just telling Gina about the time you threw a dozen eggs all over the house thinking they were balls.”

  I sniffle a laugh.

  Actually it’s more like a snort.

  Then I turn to Claire and wrap my arms around her tightly.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into her ear.

  “I think the two of you have bonded over my youth enough,” Stryker says, clearing his throat.

  “You’re no fun, Chase,” Claire says over my shoulder. “I was just about to tell her how you wrote all over my couches with a pink permanent marker. Or maybe how you put my shoes in the microwave and tried to nuke them.”

  “I was two.”

  “They were my favorite shoes and the only reason I got through your terrible twos is by promising myself that when you brought home a woman I’d embarrass the shit out of you.”

  She releases me and turns to her son, crooking her finger.

  “Come here,” she whispers. “I think it’s time you give your mother a hug. I’ve been waiting a real long time.”

  Stepping aside, I watch as Stryker’s eyes wander around the room before he turns his attention back to his mother.

  To her eyes.

  And her open arms.

  A mother looking for her son’s forgiveness.

  A son looking for signs she’s real.

  He closes the distance between them, wraps his arms tightly around her as he lifts her off the ground and hugs her with all his might.

  In a single embrace years of regret, sorrow and mistakes fade away.

  The ugly disappears.

  Leaving just beauty in its wake.

  Beautiful.

  Just beautiful.

  Chapter Forty

  Four days.

  Four days spent reconnecting with my mother, learning things I never knew. Like, she wrote a book. A real book she published on her own two months ago. It’s a romance story, something I’ll never read but something I’m so proud of her for doing. I never knew it was her dream to write. I never knew my mother had dreams.

  But she did.

  And she made one of them come true.

  She told me I made another come true when I rang the doorbell four days ago.

  And another when I told her I loved Gina.

  She loved her too.

  I would’ve known it even if she hadn’t of said it by the way she looked at her.

  Which eased my mind a bit since today was the day I’d be leaving my pretty girl in my mother’s hands, trusting my mother with the fragile parts of Gina—fragile parts she’s collecting and piecing together.

  Stepping out into the front yard I find my mother on her knees in pile of dirt fixing her flowers. She doesn’t do it for the sake of the lie anymore, she does it because she enjoys it. I walk down the three steps and take a seat on the bottom one, watching as she pats the dirt around some freshly planted pink thing.

  “Where’s Gina?”

  “The shower,” I tell her, dropping my elbows to my knees as I lean forward. “Thank you for being so welcoming toward her. It means a lot to both of us. Her especially, she misses her own mother.”

  “She told me,” she says, shaking her head. “Such a shame.”

  “Yeah,” I say thoughtfully, wondering if Gina’s mother would’ve been receptive to me. Probably not considering the club and all. But maybe if she knew how much I loved her daughter and would do anything for her, maybe then I would’ve been able to sway her to team Stryker.

  “She mentions her brother a lot,” my mother adds. “But she said they’re not very close, or they haven’t been since her mom’s passing.”

  “She loves him,” I say instantly. I pause, thinking about pretty boy and the grief he’ll carry for the rest of his life knowing the men who attacked her were truly after him. “He loves her too,” I say finally.

  “Then there’s time for them to find their way back to each other.”

  “Yeah.”

  I guess that means pretty boy will be a fixture in my life.

  I can deal with it.

  “I couldn’t help but notice your bike in the driveway,” she says, brushing the dirt off her hands and onto the front of her pants. “Do you still ride with that club?”

  “The Satan’s Knights,” I remind her.

  “That’s the one,” she smirks.

  “What?”

  “That’s some name.”

  “Yeah, well there aren’t many motorcycle clubs that call themselves Holy Rollers,” I say sarcastically.

  “I think I’ll make my next book about a motorcycle club. They’re all the rage these days and I’ll name my fictional club the Holy Rollers.”

  “It’ll be a bestseller for sure,” I tell her.

  She smiles.

  “One day,” she says wistfully.

  Yeah, look at that. Who knew my mother was a dreamer? Not me.

  “My non-fictional motorcycle club has something going on today. Something I need to take care of,” I tell her.

  “You want back up?”

  My mother’s got jokes.

  Most of them are funny, some not so much.

  Anothe
r thing I never knew.

  “Thanks but if you show up with your gardening tools you might intimidate the fellas.”

  She laughs.

  A beautiful laugh.

  “Well, if you’re telling me this and you don’t need back up then I can only assume you’re telling me because you will be entrusting me with your pretty girl.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  “You caught that, huh?” I ask, running my hand down my face.

  “She’s going to be fine you know.”

  I drop my hand from my face and stare back at my mother as she walks over to me and takes a seat on the step next to me.

  “She’ll be fine because she’s a woman and we’re not wired to stay broken,” she says as she pats my knee. “It’ll be hard at times. She’ll want to give up, sometimes she will, but she’ll pull through and scrape all her happy from the floor.”

  I nod in agreement.

  She will be okay.

  “You’ll want to save her. You’ll see her struggle and you’ll want to help, but there will be times when your help won’t be what she needs and you must take a step back and trust her. Trust her strength. It’ll be hard. You’ll see her hurting and you’ll lose it, you’re too good of a man not to. You’ll see her hurting and your first instinct will be to make it better. When this happens, you call your mother and I’ll talk you off the ledge.”

  Sighing, I drape an arm over her shoulder and bring her close.

  “I’m glad I came here,” I admit.

  “Does that mean you’ll come more often?”

  “At least on holidays,” I tease. “Always on your birthday,” I promise.

  “Your girl is safe here,” she assures me.

  “I know, that’s why I brought her here,” I reply, kissing her cheek.

  “Do you think you’ll marry her?”

  “I already proposed over meatloaf,” I wince.

  Maybe I should read my mother’s romance novel. Maybe I’d learn a thing or two.

  “I didn’t say yes.”

  We both turn around at the sound of Gina’s voice. My mother laughs beside me as I remain silent and stare at her.

  She’s not wearing any make-up, all she’s wearing is a smile that lights up the whole fucking world.

  “So, what does that mean?” I ask as I stand and climb the few steps so I’m standing in front of her.

  She chews on her lower lip as she shrugs her shoulders.

  “It means you’ll have to ask again,” she says simply.

  “It means you need to get her a damn ring when you ask and get down on one knee,” my mother says from behind me.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” I tell her.

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yeah, pretty girl, that’s a fact.”

  “I think I owe you some facts,” she says, stepping closer to me.

  “How about we get out of here for a little while and you give me all the facts you want?”

  “Okay,” she smiles as she closes the few steps between us and wraps her arms around my waist. I take her in my arms and kiss the top of her head.

  “Let me get the keys to the van,” I say, pulling back a fraction as she gives me her eyes and shakes her head.

  “I was thinking about what Jack said,” she says, toying with the zipper of my hoodie.

  “Christ, that can’t be good,” I joke, earning a pinch from her.

  “Let’s ride,” she whispers.

  Shit.

  That’s all kinds of beautiful right there.

  “Yeah? You sure you’re up for it?” I ask, pushing her hair away from her face as I tip her chin up and study her expression.

  “Give me the words, soldier,” she says softly.

  “I’ve got you, pretty girl,” I rasp.

  “Then yeah, I’m sure.”

  Beautiful.

  So fucking beautiful.

  Ferocious.

  That’s me.

  And this is me taking the first step at reclaiming my life.

  Holding onto Stryker as he takes me on the ride I’m sure I’ll remember for the rest of my life, I close my eyes and let the adrenaline take over. I lose myself to the wind and find the beauty in life, the beauty we sometimes take for granted. There are things ordinary people don’t realize are precious gifts. Sometimes it takes the ugly in the world to remind us of those gifts.

  A nation healing.

  A soldier coming home alive.

  A flag, tattered and torn yet still beautiful in all its glory.

  A club that’s still breathing.

  A brother and sister forgiving one another.

  A mother and her son embracing.

  A woman becoming her own hero.

  That same soldier finding peace in a pretty pair of green eyes.

  That same soldier giving peace in the form of words to his pretty girl.

  He turns off the engine and dismounts from the bike before he helps me off. I unclasp the chin strap and remove my helmet as he takes my free hand and leads me toward a park. Silently we walk hand in hand down the path and then I spot a bench and pull him toward it. It might not be a beach, but it’s similar to our first date.

  Then it dawns on me.

  This is our first date.

  The first date of the new us.

  He sits next to me on the bench and I lift my hand wiggling my five fingers in his face.

  Jack Parrish was wrong.

  The medicine that heals all is hearing Stryker laugh.

  “Five facts,” I begin, leaning my head on his shoulder as I hold up my thumb. “I love your mom. Oh, and I downloaded her book.”

  “Of course you did,” he mutters.

  “Two, I called and quit my job today.”

  His body goes as stiff as a board as he leans back and glances down at me.

  “You did what?”

  “I quit my job and not for the reasons you think, although they probably have had a hand in the decision but I’m not ready to admit that kind of defeat. The reason I quit is because I’m reevaluating my life and I’m changing the things I didn’t like about the old Gina. I hated that I worked all the time and didn’t enjoy the simple things, things like this. I love being a financial advisor but I can do that in a bank. There’s a Chase on the corner of my block. I think it’s fitting.” I wink at him. “And if I change my mind, then I’ll slip into my heels and jump on the express bus.”

  He doesn’t reply at first and I know it’s because he’s searching my face making sure that it is really what I want and not something I’m saying out of fear.

  “Three.” I wiggle three fingers. “I want my brother to know I forgive him. I want him in my life and you two will just have to try to play nice,” I say, giving him the stink eye for extra emphasis before my lips break into a smile. “Four, and this is a big one, like huge…I want to be a mom someday. I want boys too, like a whole house full of boys that always remember their mom’s birthday.”

  “Jesus,” he hisses.

  “Yeah, I know…big stuff.”

  “What’s fact number five?”

  “It’s the biggest fact of all. I don’t know if you’re ready.”

  “You just told me you want a shit ton of kids; I think I can handle it. Lay it on me,” he rasps.

  “I love you, Stryker,” I whisper, wiggling all five fingers. “Five facts but that last one—”

  “That last one is everything beautiful in the world, pretty girl,” he says softly as he touches his forehead to mine.

  When you feel like there is nothing beautiful in this world, look around you.

  Find your beautiful.

  And remember the girl who wakes up every day and finds hers.

  Remember me.

  Chapter Forty-one

  When we pull up to my mother’s house her yard isn’t only decorated by the pretty flowers she’s been planting all morning, but with some pretty impressive chrome. They’r
e all there, just as Jack promised they would be. Even Wolf is ready to roll, straddling his bike as he checks my mother out.

  “Is everything okay?” Gina asks as I kill my engine and throw down my kickstand.

  “Everything’s better than okay,” I tell her. It’s the truth. We’re okay. She’s okay and what’s about to go down is just the cream.

  “You mind hanging out with my mother for a couple of hours?” I ask her as I climb off my bike and glance at Jack.

  He’s leaning against his bike with his arms crossed against his chest as he chews on a toothpick and tips his chin toward me. Diverting my eyes to the man next to Jack, he’s the man who led our army the last time we rode looking for retribution. Blackie sticks his finger in the air and rotates it in a circle.

  Round ‘em up boys.

  Riggs fits his sunglasses to his face and smacks his hands together before mounting his bike. Cobra and Deuce are already itching to go with the engine purring and their knuckles white around the handlebars.

  Then there’s Wolf.

  Still, eyeing my mother.

  Two prospects, Petey and Rage dismount and take a seat on the front porch.

  Turning back to Gina, I watch as she takes in the same sight as me, but then she turns to me and her face is full of worry.

  “I don’t like this,” she admits, taking a deep breath. “Don’t go,” she pleads, before shaking her head. “No, that’s not fair. It’s just…I’m nervous. I may not know much about your life but I’m pretty sure you’re not going to play poker with your buddies,” she whispers, fisting my shirt. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

  She pauses for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at my brothers before she turns back to me and gives me her eyes that are full of unshed tears.

  “You come back to me, Stryker,” she demands, poking my chest. “I need you.”

  “No worries, pretty girl,” I bend my knees as I take her face in my hands. My eyes question hers, seeking permission to give and not to take. “I love you, Gina,” I tell her, giving her my words.

  She gives right back, stretching up on her toes and presses her lips gently to mine.