FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Vivian Lux

  With the garage open, there was no hope of sleeping further. The noise from the road was picking up with the Friday morning traffic. Soon enough the roads would be clogged with cars on the way to the AC Expressway and the Jersey Shore. J. loved summers in the city. Because everyone fucking left.

  His client would want to do the same. He could imagine the portly doctor sitting proudly atop his expensive, customized chopper, believing he was a badass as he and his fat wife tooled to their shore house. That was probably why he insisted on delivery before Memorial Day.

  J. swung his long legs onto the concrete floor and tested his body. He wasn't hungover, not too bad anyway, and his hands were steady. Good enough to stand is good enough to ride.

  He pulled a clean pair of jeans out of his cubby and pulled a tight black T-shirt over his chest, covering the patchwork of tattoos that made up his torso. J. loved some of his tats and regretted many, but all of them were a narrative of his life up to now.

  It paid to remember where he came from. He pulled on his cut.

  "Teach, you up?"

  The old man poked his head back through the shop door, dreads swinging free. He hadn't even bothered to wrap them this morning, so he must be hurting from last night celebration. J. grinned. "Should have known. Don't you ever sleep?"

  Teach's face twitched as he suppressed a smile. "You do enough sleeping for both of us."

  "Yeah and I'm up now, see?" J. shot back. "Got that delivery today. I wanted to take it for a test run first, then I was gonna ride it right to the guy's place. Where's he live?"

  The old man bent his head and J. was surprised to see sorrow furrow his brow. "J. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news again. But your sister called last night. Twice actually. She left messages both times begging you to call back. To come home." Teach sighed heavily. "That girl's got a mouth on her," he observed.

  "Yeah, no shit," J. grumbled, willing his heart to stop hammering in his chest. "Did she say why I gotta go back? Or did she just cuss out the phone?"

  "Something about your mama, J."

  J.'s blood went cold. "She sick?" It shouldn't be a surprise. Meryl Johnson had every chronic condition that came with a life of bad food and worse habits. And though he hadn't seen his mother in close to four years, he could still picture her wide body planted on the faded plaid couch, directing him and his sister to fetch, carry and serve.

  He had often wondered if Meryl had children specifically for the free labor. Sons take care of their mamas. It was the mantra she had drilled into him over and over when he was small, and he had believed it for a long while. As the man of the house, it was up to him to care for her, to bring her the pills that eased the pain in her joints, to light the cigarettes that dangled perpetually from her mouth, to fetch the beer from the friendly corner store whenever she ran out. Which was often.

  When he had gone to prison, his biggest fear had been that no one would care for her. As much as he hated her for being a terrible mother, he was still her son and he still felt that duty.

  "She's sick, isn't she," he repeated. It wasn't a question.

  "If I had to guess, I'd say yes," Teach said carefully.

  "Fuck."

  "Do you know what you're going to do?"

  J. plunged his hands into his pockets to keep his fists from balling in rage. "I'll deal with it," he said, but even he could hear how unconvincing his tone was.

  But Teach merely nodded, taking him at his word. A man's word was all he had. "I ever tell you about the time my daddy cut out on us?"

  The blood was rushing in his ears, making it hard for him to hear his mentor. "What was that?"

  "My daddy, you know how he lost his job way back when."

  J. nodded at the familiar story. It was why the Sons of Steel were so named. Teach grew up up in Bethlehem, where his father had a good job with the Steelworks. When the plant started closing, he was one of the first to be laid off, most likely because of the color of his skin.

  It had broken him and pulled the family down into a spiral of poverty that they were never quite able to break free of. When Teach was eighteen, he formed the first chapter of the Sons from the remnants of that workforce, pledging brotherhood and solidarity and help to the families who needed it. And that included finding money for the families of fallen brothers, by whatever means necessary. It was them against the world. For years he kept their dignity up and their noses clean. The Sons ran the neighborhood, then the town, then the city.

  Then people started to die.

  Teach lost control of the club he had helped form. And then came the crackdown by the police. In spite of the Teach's best efforts, the lure of drugs and guns got too big for the rest of the brothers. War broke out, the Sons lost and Teach fled to Philadelphia. He tried to reform his ideal brotherhood from the wreckage. Keeping your head down and out of trouble was the first order of business for the new incarnation of the Sons.

  J. remembered his fight with the guard last night and wondered if he should tell Teach about it. It was the kind of thing the President liked to keep a close eye on. The Philadelphia police were just itching for a chance to rain down on the Sons and shut the whole club down once and for all.

  Teach was watching J., waiting for him to respond. The old man's placid gaze was just as it was in the prison classroom; implacable, stoic. He was a man who was content to wait forever for what he wanted.

  Quickly J. nodded again. "Yeah, I know the story. The Steelworks. Your dad got real bad."

  "Real bad. Left us a bunch of times. Always broke my mama's heart too. She had six kids clinging to her skirts and no one to depend on. One time he came back after being gone nearly two weeks, and I had had enough. My mama cryin', my little brothers and sisters asking when he'd be back and us not knowing. I called him out."

  "You fought your dad?"

  Teach nodded, his face unchanged, but his eyes registering old and deep pain. "We had a patch of lawn in front of our house. Everyone in the neighborhood had these little iron porches. Evening time, after supper, the whole neighborhood would be sittin' out there watchin' the kids run up and down, tumbling around like puppies. That little grid of streets was the whole world to us. So when my daddy finally came home that day, I sat with him at dinner time, I listened to his apologies. And then I stood up from the table and told him to step outside.

  "Now my dad wasn't a bad man. But he had his pride. I knew I had to hit him where it hurt. I told him to meet me on the front lawn in five minutes to take his lumps. Well of course he's ready to beat me down for my insolence. But when we get out there and the whole neighborhood's watching, he suddenly felt that shame. And I used it. I yelled out all my bad feelings at him, right there in front of the world. I made him hear what I needed to say in the place that would hurt him the most."

  "He didn't whoop you?"

  "Oh I think he wanted to. But everything I said was true. He wasn't being a man, wasn't being a father. From that day on, he never left us again. Found work in a grocery store that didn't pay nearly as good, but I was fourteen by then and could start bringing home some money to help. Started working at the auto repair place a month later."

  J. shifted on his feet. "So what're you telling me here?"

  Teach sat back on his stool. "I'm saying that you need to say what's gotta be said. Your mama may be sick for real this time. But you can't know until you talk to her." Teach leaned against the counter, looking very tired all of a sudden. "I'm saying you gotta decide to move on, J. The past can't define you anymore."

  J.'s mind was blank. There wasn't anything else to say. Teach was right. He knew that.

  But actually going through with it was a different story.

  It was a gorgeous summer's day outside and he had a custom chopper that needed to be put through its paces before delivery. A ride would clear his head, he told himself. A ride would tell him what to do next.

  "What're you thinking?" Teach prodded.

  J. shook his head. "I'm thinking about it," he li
ed. "But today's not the day. I got that delivery."

  Teach sighed, then nodded in resignation. He went over to the file cabinet where he kept open orders. "How you gonna get back if you ride the customer's chopper?"

  J. scoffed. "The El goes right over our heads. And failing that, my feet work."

  Teach grunted. "You're avoiding."

  "Yeah, a little I guess," J. grinned winningly but the old man wasn't buying it. He grunted angrily and turned his back to J. for a moment, letting the younger man cool his heels. J. waited, familiar with this tactic.

  Teach finally pulled out the white carbon copy and squinted, holding it out at arm's length. "219 South 18th Street," he read.

  J. felt a frission run through his body. "That in Rittenhouse?"

  "Right the fuck on the Square," Teach nodded.

  J. remembered the address on Emmy's ID. He remembered the guard and the glass doors and the stares of the people on the sidewalk. He would be crazy to go back there.

  "Got it," he heard himself say. "Call the guy. I'll have it outside by ten."

  Chapter 14

  Emmy

  Our standoff felt like it had taken hours - me feigning sleep, Robert watching me feign sleep. He had finally left, his heavy tread sounding across the floorboards as loud as thunder. I lay motionless until I heard the ding of the elevator, then lay motionless for even longer.

  When I was absolutely sure he had left for work, I finally dared to open my eyes.

  Panic coursed through my veins like flashes of silver minnows. I thought about calling Sammie, but the shame of confessing my relationship troubles was too much to overcome.

  Then I thought about J.

  The patch on his back had said 'Sons of Steel.' Maybe that was a way I could find him. Maybe he would listen to me for a while. Maybe he would kiss me again and tamp down the fear for just a moment. Maybe he could hold me in those strong arms and keep me safe from the hell of my own making.

  Maybe I was fucking crazy.

  I wracked my brain trying to remember how I got home last night. I remembered the kiss - that I would never forget as long as I lived - and then I remember getting very sleepy. I remembered him telling me to hold on...and I remembered that when he said it he sounded angry.

  Sudden doubt rushed into my fantasy. J. was angry with me. I was suddenly certain of that. Something I had done, or said, was wrong and I had messed up the nicest thing to happen to me in months. Maybe the nicest thing ever.

  I licked the corner of my lips and tasted my tears.

  I was alone.

  Sitting up carefully, a tiny ghost of a plan began to materialize in my head. If I lay in the bed any longer I would go crazy for sure. I would shower and dress. I would go out into the world and be with other people. I would go somewhere for myself.

  Immediately I knew where I wanted to go.

  When I stepped out of the shower I could still hear the rushing water in my ears. The sound followed me through the penthouse as I dressed and gathered my things. I scooped up the box off the floor and shoved it back in its hiding place, wishing the pounding in my head would subside. But as I padded down the stairs and grabbed my handbag, it only grew louder.

  When the doors of the elevator opened, the sound was everywhere. And my head flooded with sudden understanding.

  It was the rumble of a motorcycle parked outside of our building.

  It could be anyone, I told myself. It was the first really warm day of the summer. The bikers would be out in full force. Hearing a motorcycle out on the street was not a remarkable occurrence at all. My heart should really stop beating so fast.

  "Good morning Officer," I nodded to the young guard half asleep in the booth. I was glad Officer Wilkens wasn't here today. He had seen me leave last night. I wondered if he knew how I had gotten home.

  I stepped out of the lobby onto the baking heat of the sidewalk. There was indeed a motorcycle in front of our building, but a pudgy white man with close cropped, thinning hair was straddling it and revving the engine. It was a gleaming chrome chopper, clearly a custom piece and it clearly cost the man a lot of money, because he was absentmindedly stroking the handlebars as one would a cat. I swallowed the disappointment that shouldn't have been there in the first place.

  Then from below the bike rose the figure I had been hoping to see. He looked different in the daylight, but I recognized him immediately and my heart pounded wildly. I shuffled my feet, trying to move forward, but I felt frozen to the spot. It was like he had appeared on command, my wish come true, but I was too terrified to go to him.

  I could only watch. J. had a wrench in his hand and tossed it deftly to the other.

  "Try 'er now," I heard him shout over the din, and the pudgy man revved the engine up to a scream. A wide smile broke across his face and he nodded, then reached his hand into his pocket and shoved some bills into J.'s hand. J. looked momentarily annoyed and shoved the money into his back pocket without counting it.

  The pudgy man roared off into the early morning traffic, grinning like a maniac. J. stood on the sidewalk and watched him go north on 18th. I figured he was probably headed right for the highway. I watched him disappear and a sudden thought crossed my mind.

  "Now how are you going to get home?" I blurted.

  J. whirled around. When he saw me, his face registered several emotions at once. I saw a flicker of anger, a burst of annoyance, a hint of regret. Then an open, honest eagerness that made my heart leap as well as my feet. Suddenly unfrozen, I danced towards him, unable to hide my excitement.

  "You're up," he remarked.

  "Barely." Seeing him had made me forget how terrible I felt only moments ago.

  "How's your head?"

  I grimaced as I checked my self and realized it was still painful. "I'm ignoring it. What are you doing here?" The little hopeful thought that he had wanted to see me again buzzed around me like a gnat.

  "I swear, I'm not stalking you," he began defensively.

  I froze and held up my hands placatingly. "No, I saw, don't worry. You brought that guy a bike. I think he lives on the fifth floor."

  J. nodded slowly. "Some kind of doctor?"

  "Plastic surgeon, yeah."

  "He must make a lot of money, huh?" There was a look in his eyes that told me to tread carefully.

  "He's done well I think. I've never talked to him, just heard about him."

  J. looked over my head, not making eye contact. "And you?"

  "What about me?"

  "You make a lot of money?"

  "Oh god!" I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh. His eyes blazed and I quickly swallowed it down. "Ah, no. I'm a hick from Carbon County."

  "So how can you afford to live in a place like this?" He gestured towards my building, rising high above the square.

  I was suddenly flooded with shame. "I live with my fiancé," I confessed, flicking my engagement ring around my finger. "He bought it."

  "Is he a doctor?"

  I let myself laugh this time, but there was no mirth in it. "Ha, no. I think you have to have some compassion to be a doctor." As soon as I said it I bit my tongue.

  J. looked at me sharply but didn't press. I felt compelled to continue, letting the words flood out in a torrent. "I was going to college, working at a restaurant. We met and I was suddenly in this place where I didn't belong."

  J. shifted his hips a little and looked at the ground. "I never said you didn't belong here."

  "No, you didn't." I sighed and looked up at the building. I couldn't even see our floor from where we stood. "I did."

  He looked up at me, his eyes flicking back and forth across my face. I could tell he wanted to ask so many questions.

  And I suddenly wanted to answer them. My words came tumbling fast and loose, spilling out of my mouth before I could catch hold of them and stuff them back in. I had no time to catch them and form my lies. I was terrified to hear the truth spew forth in a waterfall.

  "I'm living this life where eve
rything I do is wrong, everything I say is stupid. I keep making mistake after mistake and I don't know how to get free of it. Everything I do just pulls me further into this hole and I don't even know which way is up anymore."

  I blushed at having revealed so much and hung my head. When his fingers brushed across my arm, I nearly jumped out of my skin. "It's your life," he said simply.

  "Is it?" I felt tears gathering at the edges of my eyes. People were passing us on the sidewalk, a million eyes there to see me losing my mind. "Is it mine?"

  He pulled back. "If this ain't what you want, then change it. Fight back. Do what you want to do."

  I coughed and looked down at the sidewalk. What I wanted to do was have him kiss me again like he had last night. "So you didn't answer my question."

  "What was that?" He sounded impatient.

  "How're you getting home?"

  He gestured up the block. "The El runs right by my place."

  "Do you have to get back quickly?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "No. Not exactly."

  "I'm going to tell you what I want then."

  He crossed his arms, making the leather squeak. "And what's that." It wasn't a question.

  "I want," I swallowed. "I mean I'd like it, if you'd come with me."

  He blinked. I saw a little smile quicken then die on his lips. He looked wary again. "Where are you going?"

  I grinned. "Art Museum?"

  The tension in his face drained immediately and he burst out laughing. "Are you kidding me? You must be high." He gestured at himself, making me look him up and down, taking in the tattoos, the leather, the muscles. I didn't mind the invitation.

  "Okay fine," I pouted. "Then how about just to the steps?"

  He laughed. "You wanna do that Rocky shit?"

  "We can if you really want," I teased.

  J. nodded, slowly at first, then faster as the idea took hold. "But ain't you got a fiancé?"

  "I do. But I kinda really need a friend right now." I knew it was true the moment I said it.

  Beyond the butterflies in my stomach that fluttered to life the minute I saw him, there was also a calm that came over me when we spoke. He listened to me in a way I had never experienced before. He seemed to consider my words carefully and then choose his own with equal care. I needed to know someone heard me. Especially since I still couldn't figure out what I wanted to say.