by BB Miller
“Is it Zach again?” I ask. I know they want to give Zach every opportunity to pull himself out of the anger he’s currently wallowing in, but I can’t help but wonder if this time their goodwill is misplaced. There’s something about that kid that’s disturbing.
Tom glances over to me and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Nothing that we need to worry about tonight,” he assures me. I look at Matt for confirmation, and he skims his hand over his blond hair before slinging his arm across the back of my chair.
“It’s just the same old shit, Cardinal, I promise.” He presses his lips briefly against my temple, and then sits back as the well-trained team of waiters begins their intricate dance around the tables with trays laden with food. “Zach isn’t involved; he’s not even there tonight.”
“Fuck.” Matt’s groan of relief brings a smile to my lips. “I hate wearing a tux.” He throws his jacket on a chair and yanks at his tie like it’s strangling him.
“You may hate wearing it, but you looked fantastic tonight.” I retrieve the offending jacket and hang it up out of harm’s way. His lips quirk in a smile, and he comes up behind me, pulling me against his chest.
“Is that so?” His lips tickle my ear, making me squirm in his grasp. “I’ll tell you what’s fantastic, and it’s what’s under this dress.” I hold my breath as his skillful fingers draw down the long zipper of my gown. Yards of red satin settle at my feet with a soft rustle, and then I’m lifted into his strong arms and tossed on the bed.
He’s on me in an instant, and we’re a tangle of lips and limbs. I struggle to undo his shirt buttons, but it’s hard to see what I’m doing because he won’t stop kissing me. It finally comes free, and I’m starting on his pants when his ringtone for Tom splits the air.
Matt mutters a curse and rests his forehead against mine for a beat, before rolling over with a huff to answer. “Your timing is—” he begins, but stops abruptly. “Seriously? Fuck.”
I sit up and hold a pillow over my chest, alarmed at his tone. “No, don’t do that,” he continues, reaching to take my hand. “Come here. We can pull out the sofa bed for you.” He meets my curious gaze and smiles. “We wouldn’t have it any other way. Right.”
He ends the call and tosses the phone on the mattress beside me. “Someone’s vandalized Tom’s house. Broke the windows and smashed a bunch of stuff. He was going to sleep at the group home.”
“No, of course he should be here,” I say instantly. Giving the pillow a squeeze, I let out a chuckle. “Guess I’d better put something on.”
He grabs it from me and tosses it aside, making me laugh. “It’ll take him a while to get here.” He pulls himself over me and smirks. “I can be speedy.”
“I love this dress!” April slaps a newspaper down on my desk. “Do you think your mom could make me one?”
I lift the paper, which she conveniently folded open to the society section. There, among a few other photos of last night’s gala, is a shot of Matt and me on the red carpet. We’re smiling at each other, and he’s gently moving a strand of hair out of my eyes.
I love it.
“Sure, of course she could.”
April picks up the paper and sits opposite my desk. “You look sensational together,” she declares, looking at the photo. “Did you have a nice time?”
“It was great. They raised a ton of money. Matt’s dad was thrilled.” I pull out the stack of business cards I collected last night and hand them to her. “I made a lot of good contacts, too.”
She shuffles through them, nodding with approval. “How did it feel walking the carpet together?”
“It was a little unnerving at first,” I admit and take a sip from my coffee. “But Matt was so relaxed, he made it easy.”
“Well, he certainly has experience, considering all the awards Redfall has won.” She folds her arms. “So, are you guys living together now?”
I grimace. “Not technically, although I have almost as much clothing at his place as I do at mine. Jada was complaining last week that she’s hardly seen me since he’s been home.” A twinge of guilt hits me again when I picture my roommate’s pout. A girl’s night with her is way overdue.
“Well, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.” She stretches her arms above her head before standing up. I’m about to argue with her prediction, when she continues, “Do you guys have New Year’s Eve plans, too? I’m going to a party over on Treasure Island—why don’t you and Matt come with me?”
“I’ll ask him, but I’m not sure what’s going to be on his plate. His dad ran into a little trouble last night after the gala.” Tom had been troubled when he arrived at Matt’s last night, but he hid it behind a knowing smile when he saw me looking much more disheveled than I’d been a couple hours earlier. He helped me make up the sofa bed while Matt arranged for security for Tom’s place until he could get the windows fixed. They both repeatedly assured me there was nothing to worry about, but it was hard to believe them. Especially when I saw the photos Tom had taken of the damage. It wasn’t just simple vandalism. It was rage.
“Just let me know. It’s no problem to add two more to the guest list.” She rises and starts to walk out, when Abby appears in my doorway. She and Kennedy returned yesterday from visiting his folks in Minnesota, and she’s in the office today to catch up a little before they venture to her parents’ in Napa tonight. She’s been in a happy little love bubble all morning. But the stricken look on her face now makes my heart stop.
“Tess . . .” She swallows heavily, her hands gripping the doorframe. “You need to come with me. Now.”
Matt
“WHAT A MESS,” Tom grumbles as he wades through the broken glass on the floor in front of the living room window.
Tucker’s team of security worked well into the night, trying to get Tom’s place back into some sort of order. They removed graffiti from the garage door and installed a new state-of-the-art security system despite Tom’s initial reservations. It’s a battle he knew he wasn’t going to win. One look at the sheer destruction and my mind was made up. The first call I made was to Tucker.
The police have a couple of leads from the neighbors, nothing concrete. I think Tom and I both have a sinking suspicion of who’s behind this, even though he’s not going to admit it.
“We need to talk about Zach.” Tom levels me a look of warning before glancing out to the disaster on the front lawn. It will take more than a couple of days to clean up the damage.
“We have no proof of anything.”
I feel my jaw clench with mounting tension. “Seriously? Have you seen his attitude?”
Tom sweeps up more broken glass. “If I had a dime for every kid with an attitude.”
“Smart-ass.” I plant myself in front of him. “I’m trying to be serious. If something ever happened to you . . .” The thought of something happening to Tom because of one of these kids sits like a dead weight in my gut.
He gives me a half smile, his tired eyes saying more than words ever could. It’s rare to see him like this. I know he’s worried about Zach, about all of them. This has rattled him more than he wants to admit. “Matty, I’ve been doing this my whole life. I’ve seen worse. If Zach was involved—” I scowl and he squeezes my shoulder before continuing, “If he was involved, I’ll find out. None of these kids are very good at keeping a secret.”
“I’d be happy to talk to them for you, Tom,” Tucker offers, his arms crossed in that familiar protective way I’m used to seeing.
Tom lets out a laugh. “I appreciate it, but one sight of you and I’ll never get anything out of them. What are you benching these days? 350?”
Tucker shrugs, leaning against the wall all smug. “Something like that. Offer stands if you change your mind.”
“Thanks. I’m glad this one has you in his corner.” Tom nudges me in the shoulder. “He can be a handful.”
“Don’t I know it. The stories I could tell you.”
“That right?” Tom leans against the broom. “I’m
all ears.”
I narrow my eyes at Tucker. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“So many choices. Where to start? Mexico City or the Tonga Room at the Fairmont.”
I shake my head. “I should kick your ass for even bringing that up.”
“I’d love to see you try. Tom, come with me. Let me show you the security system and we can swap stories.”
It took everything in me not to confront the kids when we arrived at the group home this afternoon. With the cops dropping by to question the boys earlier, the tension is thick in the air. You can feel it, like a dark cloud threatening to engulf us all.
For once, I’m glad Tess isn’t with me. She doesn’t need this kind of shit, and if anyone was to step out of line, I don’t want to think about what I’d do. My wandering thoughts are interrupted by Tom’s authoritative voice as we stand in his office.
“It’s just a normal day, got it?” A rare warning from him. “Besides, they’ve been looking forward to seeing that bike finally hit the road. I don’t want to spoil it for them. They’ve worked really hard on getting it ready.”
Fuck, I know how important this is for these kids. How important it was for me finally to be part of something that wasn’t tainted, that was your own hard work. Rebuilding all those bikes in the garage changed my life. I know that now, even if I didn’t then.
Tom pushes my helmet into my hand. “Aaron did a safety check earlier this morning with them. It’s good as new. Probably better, thanks to you.”
Words of praise from Tom, from anyone, are still hard to hear. “Take it for a spin and then we’ll set up a schedule for the boys to ride it.” I give him a mock salute and he laughs. “Remember to take Aaron with you. The boys need to know the rule about never riding alone is one we all follow.”
“Even though Zach takes the dirt bike all the time by himself?” I fire back at him.
“Matty . . .”
“I know, I know. Be nice. I am capable of that sometimes.”
“Always knew you had it in you, kid.”
Shaking my head, I make my way down to the garage, the smell of oil and rubber drifting to me. A small group has gathered around the Harley, with Zach and Beck giving it an intense looking over.
“I hear it’s ready to hit the road.”
Zach glances up from the bike, his scowl firmly in place. “So, we did all this work for you to have another toy? Nice.”
“No. You did all this work because you should know how to take care of a bike. And because you’ll all be riding it.” He looks warily between the bike and me.
“Right. Like we’d be allowed to ride this,” Zach challenges.
“You can. If you follow the rules.”
“I knew it. There’s always fucking rules.” Zach’s voice drips venom, his eyes narrowed as he watches me like a hawk.
Aaron steps beside Zach, clearly not in the mood for any of his shit. “Watch your language. And you all know the rules. Be home by curfew, help around the house, and stay out of trouble.” He pauses, looking purposefully at Zach, before continuing, “And never ride alone. You always ride with one of the volunteers. We’ll set up a schedule and teach you the basics. That’s it. It’s that simple.”
“Sweet,” one of the boys says, excitement evident in his face.
Zach squints down at the bike before his eyes land back on me. “This isn’t your bike, then?” he asks suspiciously. So much distrust. The kid’s had a lifetime of disappointment. How many broken promises has he heard? Zach and I are more alike than I want to admit.
“We talked about this. It’s for all of you. But like Aaron said, you have to respect it, take care of it, and follow the rules of the house.”
“Well, Beck here just got his learner’s permit.” Zach lifts his chin in Beck’s direction. “Let him take it first then.”
Straddling the bike, I shove my helmet on. “I’ll take it. Make sure it’s okay, and then, if any of you have a permit, you can go for a ride. How’s that sound?”
Zach runs his hand across the back of his neck, giving me a noncommittal shrug. “Whatever.”
Beck gives me a nervous smile while the group steps away. The bike roars to life in that distinctive, deep rumble that can only be a Harley. It grounds me like my bass does. It’s freedom, a promise, a rush of adrenaline that will always keep me coming back for more.
Beside me, Aaron grins as he revs his own bike, and we give a nod to the boys, accelerating smoothly out of the garage.
The open road has always been a heady call for me. Today is no different. There’s nothing quite like riding over the Golden Gate Bridge, hugging the curves in the road, and putting the Harley through its paces.
It handles like a dream with the exception of the brakes that seem a little soft. Nothing a minor adjustment won’t fix. The wind whips against my leather jacket as we climb to the Marin Headlands with hills jutting out on one side, and a stellar view of the Bay on the other. Cardinal would love this ride. I can almost feel her pressed up against my back, her arms firmly around my waist, tempting me like she always does.
The winding road is perfect to test the Harley, although not for the faint of heart. Snaking along the edge of the Pacific, I come out of another tight turn, starting to brake for a car that’s moving at a glacial pace. They’re gawking out the window at the view, some girl in the passenger seat leaning out to take pictures. Never mind that there’re a few designated spots up here to do that, let’s be idiots and take some ridiculous selfies off the end of a hairpin turn.
I catch sight of Aaron in my mirror as his bike slows, but the brakes on the Harley aren’t responding. My heart hammers as the back wheel locks, and I try to remember every safety tip Tom ever gave me.
It’s a blur, a whirlwind of spinning chrome and burning rubber as I lose the battle to keep the bike steady. The Harley wobbles and my shoulder hits the asphalt first, pain searing through me like wildfire. The bike slams into the guardrail, flipping me off in a jarring slam down the steep hillside.
I’m thrown and tossed against the rocks, disoriented as I tumble; the sky, the Pacific, jutting rocks and thick brush run in a burning loop that doesn’t seem to want to end. My head pounds inside the helmet, my vision blurred when I finally slam to a stop.
Disembodied voices drift down from somewhere up above as the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. It hurts to breathe; my lungs are on fire, my arms numb. I try to lift my head, but it weighs a thousand pounds.
Opening my eyes is a monumental task, but I can hear Tom’s voice in my head, steady if not a little muted, telling me to try to stay awake. Choppy breaths burn, each one worse than the last as I force my eyes open. I catch sight of a small white butterfly hovering near the carnage of the Harley. A sign of life amongst the bent and mangled chrome. The hammering in my head intensifies, and I squeeze my eyes shut to the red-hot heat of pain, until all that remains is darkness.
A jackhammer has taken up shop in my head. It feels like my eyes are sewn shut. A faint, steady beeping and muffled voices slowly drift to me. I can only make out a few words. None of it makes sense. Why can’t I feel my arms? Flashes of light keep blinding me. Distorted faces peer down and then move to make way for the darkness.
“Separated shoulder . . .” I don’t recognize the voice. I hear a sharp scrape of a chair across the floor. I fight to open my eyes; my throat feels like it’s on fire. “Nerve damage, numbness . . . would be a shame.” And then the only voice I want to hear.
“Please . . . I’m sorry . . .” I can feel the light touch of her hand on my side, her breath against my cheek. Cherry fucking almond. “Come back to me.” And then there’s nothing.
Tessa
The cab ride to the hospital passes in a blur. A choking fear envelops me, and I have to concentrate to keep breathing. All I know is that Matt was in an accident and is being taken to St. Francis’s by ambulance. I clutch my purse in a death grip and play with the zipper pull until Abby places a hand over mine.
“
He’s going to be okay, Tess,” she whispers, although she doesn’t sound confident at all. It’s not until she wraps her arm around my shoulders that I realize how badly I’m trembling.
The cab lurches to a stop outside the unassuming emergency entrance on Bush Street. I’m vaguely aware of Abby handling the payment as I scramble to get out and sprint to the ER door. Matt’s name is on a loop in my mind, and I can’t get my feet to move fast enough. There’s an ambulance in the loading bay, and I wonder if that was the one he rode in.
I’m babbling at the admitting clerk like a lunatic when Abby saves me again. She speaks to the girl in low, calm tones, while I slam my mouth shut and try to calm down. If I don’t, they won’t let me in to see him. And I have to see him. We’re given visitors passes and directed to a waiting area. Despite the soothing colors and cool wood tones, the dreaded smell of antiseptic and bleach turns my stomach. The last time I was in a hospital was when my sister died.
I want to throw up.
We follow the staff person through the crowded ER waiting area and down another hallway to a smaller room. Tom is standing in front of a vending machine, staring at his feet, when we arrive. He turns, and I see everything I’ve been dreading in his expression: despair, regret, and pain . . . so much pain.
“Tom,” I gasp, my knees buckling. He quickly pulls me to his chest in a rough hug and guides me to one of the hard chairs. Kneeling in front of me, he closes his calloused hands over mine.
“Deep breaths, Tess,” he murmurs, his voice coarse. It’s unnerving to see such an imposing man holding back so much emotion.
“Is he going to be okay? What happened? Is he awake? Is anyone else hurt?” The questions tumble out of me so fast I’m amazed he understands, but somehow he does.
He swallows and takes a deep breath. “No one else was injured.”
“Where is he? Can I see him?” I try not to yell, but the fact that he only answered my last question is alarming.
