by B. N. Toler
“Black,” I replied, curtly.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“I just wouldn’t have taken you for a black coffee drinker,” he shouted to me.
“I’ve always taken it black,” I muttered. After a moment, Max appeared and handed Pim a sippy cup of milk. I slid her to the floor, careful not to let her hit my ankle, before letting him hand me the steaming mug.
I murmured a thank you before taking a sip as Max stood, watching Pim and me with a grim expression on his face. The quiet that hung between us blared. He didn’t know what to say; neither did I—it was awkward. We were married once; we shared our bodies. I’d had this man’s baby, yet making simple conversation felt impossible. How did that happen? Here we were living in a somewhat intimate way, like a family, when we were the furthest from it. I racked my brain for a topic, something I could ask that would evoke conversation yet nothing too heavy, but I came up short. Until . . .
“When we were together,” I began.
Way to keep it light, Waverly, I scolded myself.
“I don’t remember you liking motorcycles.”
“Oh yeah?” he replied, scratching the back of his neck before taking a seat on the loveseat across from me.
“Has it always been an interest, or is it new?”
God, this was so awkward. I didn’t care if Max liked motorcycles or not, but I hated awkward silence. I swear if I were in the FBI or CIA and were captured by the enemy, all they’d have to do is lock me in a room with someone that wouldn’t speak to me, and I’d blab all our secrets just to fill the silence.
“I guess you could say it’s a new interest.”
I paused, waiting to see if he would elaborate more, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Again, I filled the silence. “Do you own one?”
Tilting his head, he looked at me, his mouth curving up on one side as if something had just occurred to him. “At the moment, no. Would you like to come with me to buy one?”
I snorted because I knew he was kidding. When he continued to stare at me, his brows raised in question, I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Why would you want to go out and buy a motorcycle today of all days?”
“Why not today?” he pondered as he lifted Pim. “Today’s as good as any other day.”
I had no idea what was happening. I was only trying to make conversation, and now we were going to buy a motorcycle? I was exhausted trying to keep up with it all.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I sighed deciding not to entertain his ridiculous suggestion. I scooted and tried to stand when Max held out his hand. “Let me help you.”
My gaze darted from his hand to his face. I wanted to smack his hand away; tell him I didn’t need his help. It may have taken me longer, but I knew I could stand on my own. What use was there in rejecting his help? Like I said, hate is heavy, and it doesn’t hurt anyone but the person giving it. Taking his hand, my body tensed, bowing, as a sensation tingled through me. We both paused, staring at where our hands were joined. What was this? Did he feel it, too? After a moment, he gently pulled me up, and I somehow managed not to spill my coffee. Once I was balanced, he took my mug so I could grab my crutches. Neither of us acknowledged the moment . . . how could we? I realized that since I met Max at The Mill a few nights before, we hadn’t touched once.
Taking a step back he ran a hand through his hair. He suddenly became fascinated with the floor as he stared at it. “You need help getting to the bathroom?” He knew I didn’t, but I could tell he just wanted to say something, anything, to move past the moment.
“I got it. Thanks. You good with watching Pim while I shower?” I jutted my chin toward Pim.
Looking down at Pim, he smirked. “I think I can handle it.”
When Helen arrived that morning, we all ate pancakes, and the conversation stayed cordial. Helen was a huge help in not only aiding me in making small talk with Waverly but also helping me learn things about Waverly that Max would know—or should know. Thanks to my extremely inquisitive sister, I discovered Waverly was in school studying to become a social worker; her mother had bailed on her father, leaving him with two kids when Waverly was only three; and her Dad passed away five years before.
“Sounds like you’ve had a tough time,” Helen told her as she took her plate.
Waverly tilted her head. “Matt and I have always had each other. I’m thankful for that.” Then, almost perking up, she asked, “Where’s your family? Do you have any siblings?”
Helen let her gaze drop as she cleared her throat. Cutting a quick glance to me, she answered, “A brother. Our parents have been gone a long while, too.”
Waverly let out a weighted sigh. “I’m sorry. Are you and your brother close?”
“We are. He’s a great guy,” Helen replied with a loving tone, her mouth curving into the slightest smirk. “A dumbass sometimes, but still great.”
I rolled my eyes where only Helen could see. She thought she was hilarious.
“Where is he?” Waverly continued, undeterred by Helen’s vagueness. Apparently, Helen wasn’t the only inquisitive one in the room.
“Actually . . .” Helen murmured, pausing briefly as she glanced my way, a short flicker of panic in her eyes. She had no idea what to say.
Widening my eyes, I warned her not to say a damn word about me in the hospital.
“He’s here and there,” she finished, taking my hint. The answer was as vague as it gets, but in a technical way, it was true. I was here and there.
When Waverly’s mouth flattened, I decided to change the subject. It was clear she wanted more information and was frustrated Helen wasn’t giving it to her. Before I could find a good topic to switch us to, the doorbell ring.
“I’ve got it,” Helen announced as she practically flew out of her seat from the table, desperate to escape Waverly’s mild interrogation.
“That’s so sad about her brother,” Waverly asserted, her gaze fixed on me as she rested her chin in her hand, her elbow on the table. “Is he in New York?” With Helen gone, I guessed she was now turning her interrogation on me.
Clearing my throat, I stood and gathered the syrup and strawberries from the table. “He is in New York.” The answer was vague, like Helen’s answers, and when Waverly’s mouth flattened, I could tell she wasn’t happy about it.
“More coffee?” I asked.
Sliding her mug toward me, she huffed, “Yes.”
Taking her cup, I went into the kitchen and stopped when I saw Helen round the corner from the foyer. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes narrowed as she spoke.
“There’s someone at the door for you,” she stated slowly, letting me know to be wary. I tilted my head in question to which she widened her eyes, telling me not to ask her who. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”
As I passed by her, she whispered, “I’ll keep her busy, but you need to get rid of them quickly.”
Shaking my head, I shrugged, my silent way of asking, Who?
“Just hurry,” she ordered, her voice low.
I’d barely opened the door when a short bald man with dark eyes and stained teeth, cackled, “Max-a-million.” Reaching out his hand he grabbed mine and attempted to do some weird bro handshake, knuckle-dap thing I didn’t know how to do, so it ended awkwardly. Stepping back, the man assessed me, looking me up and down with confusion. “Switching up the wardrobe, I see,” he laughed.
Glancing toward the elevator, I saw Braxton waving frantically at me. “I tried to stop them sir, but they bulldozed right through. Should I call security?”
“I told you we’re friends,” the bald guy hollered at Braxton. Then returning his attention to me, seemingly forgetting all about Braxton, he added, “You got the whole ruffian/metro look going. I like it.” He laughed some more, incredibly humored by himself. I hated to be someone that made assumptions about other people, especially ones I just met, but something told me this guy probably got
the shit beat out of him in high school on a daily basis. The way he moved quickly, kept lightly punching my shoulder and laughed, annoyed me ridiculously. He was trying too hard. And for a moment I wondered if this was really who he was, or if this was who he was around Max. This stranger, loud and obnoxious, was already enough for me to deal with, but of course, there was more. As it always seemed to be when it came to being Max Porter, there was always more.
Flanked at the bald man’s sides were two women, both beautiful, wearing heels and trench coats. Even with the coats on, in the middle of summer I might add, it wasn’t hard to tell there wasn’t much else on underneath them.
“You haven’t been to the club, and Wallace said you like to approve all the girls. He had to take his kid to summer camp today and asked me to bring ’em.” Then, leaning toward me, “I didn’t mind volunteering for this one,” he divulged in a hushed voice before rolling into laughter again and slapping my arm.
“The club?” I questioned. My question wasn’t meant for the short man. I was speaking to myself, trying to understand what was going on here.
“Yeah, you forget about it? Wallace said he hadn’t seen you in about a week. Anyway,” he moved on before letting me answer, “Here they are. Can we come in? Unless you wanna give the stiff over there,” he jabbed a thumb in Braxton’s direction, “a free show.”
From inside the apartment, Pimberly cried out, and I jerked the door shut. “No!” I boomed.
Baldies mouth pursed, and he raised one brow. “You got a baby in there, Max?” His tone was riddled with equal amounts of shock as his expression.
“And if I do?” I snapped, becoming increasingly annoyed with this guy. Even if he did know Max, it wasn’t any of his business whether he had a baby in his apartment or not. He was like a flea, bouncing around everywhere and annoying as fuck.
Holding his hands up in surrender, he took a step back. “Sorry I overstepped, boss.” He looked at each lady, before saying, “Boss won’t be sampling today, girls,” he informed them. My stomach turned as realization dawned on me. Max must’ve been involved in some kind of strip club and apparently liked to approve the women the club hired himself. Did he make these women perform for him? Or did he make them do more? What a fucking skeeze.
“Boss man can still get a peek,” Baldie added. “Open those coats and give him a look.”
“Uh . . . no . . .” I stammered, panicked. But it was too late, the women had their coats open in the blink of an eye. I only got a quick look—giant breasts and hairless skin—before I groaned and turned away, clenching my eyes closed. “Cover the fuck up,” I ordered. After a few seconds, I turned back to find the girls frantically tying up their coats. Grabbing baldie by his shirt collar, I dragged him toward the elevator.
“Don’t bring these women or any other women from the club here again,” I seethed. “You heard I had a baby in there. This is my fucking home, and you’re going to have them get naked in my hallway where my neighbors could see? What the fuck kind of douche bag are you?”
“I’m s-s-sorry, boss,” he stuttered as his hands clutched my wrist. Shoving him away, he landed against the elevator doors with a hard thud. Both women rushed to him, one calling, “Vince.”
“Get ’em out of here, Vince,” I ordered. “And don’t come back.”
“I’ll escort them out myself, sir,” Braxton added. “You better get back inside before your lady friend sees. That wouldn’t be good for any of us.”
I scowled, unsure of what he meant by ‘us,’ but I didn’t bother to ask. I didn’t care, really. I just wanted Vince and the women gone.
The women helped Vince get back on his feet, checking him over. He glared at me, the look of a man that had just been embarrassed and belittled, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he feared Max, his money and stature, or maybe it was me since I just pushed him around, either way, he didn’t want to rock the boat, which was smart. If he’d tested me, I’d likely have knocked his teeth out. I was pissed at this situation, the obnoxious guy, at Max for once again proving what an asshole he was, and I didn’t doubt my coming off the steroids was adding to it. I wanted to punch something. The one and only bright side to this incident was Waverly didn’t see them. I can only imagine the rampage that would have set her on and rightfully so.
Helen met me at the door and cringed when she saw me. “You okay?”
“No,” I spat back. “I need to get out for a while.”
“We have to talk about what the doctors said this morning,” she murmured as she leaned toward me.
“I know,” I grumbled, running a hand through my hair, struggling to keep my cool. Waverly staying here was already stressful enough, what with her hating the man whose body I inhabited and all. Then add in the surprise visit from the skeeze patrol on top of the bad news from the hospital, I felt like I was about to blow my top. Apparently, my liver enzymes had skyrocketed, which was a sign of organ failure, and the doctors felt strongly that it was time to pull the plug. Helen argued with them, and in the end, they all agreed they’d give it a week. Which meant our two weeks had dwindled down to less than one. Time was running out. My imminent demise was in sight. I felt like I was watching a train rolling high-speed toward me, intent to plow me down, but I could only move in slow motion as I tried to get away.
“I know,” I sighed loudly. “We will, but I need some time to cool off. Can you hang for a bit?”
“Yeah, I got them.”
Grabbing the keys, I left without saying another word. Waverly would probably be pissed about that, too. God knows Max can do no right now, and there would likely be hell to pay later, but I couldn’t speak with her. I was afraid if she pushed or said something smart ass, I’d snap, and I didn’t want to do that to her. She might’ve been a smartass, but she had a right to be when it came to Max.
I spent the morning hours walking around the city, looking for Pearl. I needed to see she was okay. It took some time, but I found her perched on a park bench, the little stuffed cat I’d asked Mary to give her on her lap, her hand absentmindedly petting it. Her clothes were clean, and her hair was tied back. She was no Elizabeth Taylor, but she looked good. That gave me some relief.
An hour later, I made my way down to the shop I used to work at before I fell down the stairs injuring myself. Eight years I’d worked at that shop. Rob, the owner, had inherited the business from his father two years before, and was barely managing to keep the place afloat. The truth was he didn’t know shit about bikes. With business income dwindling, my unfortunate injury gave him just the excuse he needed to reduce his labor while maintaining his salary without looking like a total asshole. Needless to say, he wasn’t my favorite person, but he was the least of my concerns right now.
When I heard the buzz of drills and loud rock music playing from two blocks away my shitty mood and negative thoughts began to dissipate. Damn, I missed this place. I loved mechanics. There was something to be said about knowing something so intricately and trying to figure out what might be wrong with a machine when it wouldn’t work right.
When I was a few hundred feet away, I saw it.
My bike.
Even though it wasn’t mine anymore—it was Lenny’s technically—in my heart it would always be mine. My chest tightened as I approached, a feeling of nostalgia washing over me as I remembered the years I had with that bike. I know to some people it was just a bike; a death trap on wheels my Grams used to call it. But to me it was freedom; history, hard work and fun rolled into one. Damn, I missed riding; the feel of the wind and roar of the engine, the way the machine vibrated beneath me the faster I went. I even missed the feel of a woman behind me, her arms wrapped around me, her chest pressed to my back. As I stopped beside it, I snorted to myself as I imagined Waverly riding with me, probably yapping in my ear the entire time about how I was going too fast. Of course for her to even yap I’d have to get her on the back of my bike first, and call me skeptical, but I doubted that would ever happen. Then it occurred to me—I
was daydreaming about Waverly riding on the back of my bike. What in the hell was that about?
“Can I help you?” My head snapped up, and I found Lenny, staring at me, his forehead creased in suspicion as he wiped at his grease stained hands with a rag.
“Just walking by and saw this Bobber here.” I motioned to the bike then crossed my arms. “Is it yours?”
Lenny shook his head as he took a few steps toward me, still wiping his hands. “No, it’s not.”
My stomach dropped. He sold it. Damn. He said he wouldn’t. Even if he did, I couldn’t blame him. He paid for it fair and square, but I’d hoped to buy it back from him some day. Of course . . . there may not be a someday for me.
“It’s my buddies. I’m just . . . holding it for a while.”
I nodded, feeling like an asshole for doubting him. Relief flooded through me. Lenny was a good guy. I should have never doubted him.
“It’s a nice bobber,” I noted, wanting to engage him in conversation. He may not know it was me, his best friend Liam, but I missed my friend. I didn’t have many, and Max certainly had none. “Heritage Softail?” I inquired about the model. Any real motorcycle enthusiast would know it was a Heritage, but like I said, I just wanted to keep the conversation going.
Lenny smiled as he shoved the rag in his back pocket. “My buddy built the motor himself and cut the frame to lower the stance.” He nodded, his mouth curved down in a frown as he scratched at his red beard. “He had it a long time.” As he stared at the bike, I wanted to go over and give him a pat on the back. He was thinking about me and my bad luck. I wondered if he knew about the accident. I’m sure Helen called to tell him. With everything going on, I hadn’t thought to ask her if she had.
Moving my gaze back to the bike, I couldn’t help smiling, remembering the work I’d put into it. Lenny helped a lot, too. We spent a many a night working on this bike after the shop closed. Sometimes I think we just stayed and made up shit to do to it just to have a reason to hang out and drink beer. We’d stripped this bike down. The mirrors were gone and the signal lights, too. It was a pretty badass bike, if I did say so myself. It may not have been the most expensive, but it had a lot of time and sweat in it, and that made it worth more to me.
