by K. Ryan
"Dom."
He shot me a sideways glance. "Sorry, Isabelle. I don't have a whole lot of options right now. I need to get to the clubhouse now and you need your starter fixed. It's just a means to an end for both of us."
"If I remember correctly, the shop you're taking me to doesn't exactly service BMWs."
Dom grinned at me with a hearty laugh. "Yeah, well, Caleb knows how to replace a starter on a car. Trust me, helping you out won't be a problem for him."
At this point, I figured I'd do us both a favor and changed the subject to something a little more user-friendly.
"So," I started easily. "You're the big VP now, huh?"
"Oh, you heard?" Dom laughed. "That's sorta old news, isn't it?"
"I haven't seen you in awhile," I reminded him, a sad smile crossing my lips. "Is it everything you hoped it would be and more?"
I'd meant to inject some lightness into the conversation, but all that comment did was send a deep line into Dom's forehead.
"It's alright," he allowed slowly. "I can't say I mind the status. A little extra money never hurt either. It's kinda weird though, especially since I never thought I'd actually get the VP patch until Caleb was..."
He trailed off, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. None of our lives had turned out the way we thought they would, but then again, did anyone's? If someone had told me eight years ago I'd be right where I was and that Caleb would be where he was, and that we wouldn't be in those places together, I would've wanted to punch that person in the face for even suggesting life could go any other way than according to plan.
I couldn't take the silence anymore and seeing as how I was trapped in this truck and heading right back to where I'd been just a couple hours ago, the least Dom could do was give me some answers.
"Do I have anything to worry about?" I asked him quietly. "How would that guy even know me? Would he know Caleb and I used to..."
I trailed off, unable to finish that last sentence and, luckily, Dom jumped in to fill in the blanks for me without dwelling too much on the past.
He pushed out a rough sigh and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "I'm gonna spare you the details, but things between us and the Warlords have been pretty tense for awhile. Pretty much since we got out of prison. Wallace was there that day we made the exchange and all of us got our stupid asses arrested and ever since then, things have been escalating. It's all been really subtle, petty kind of shit these last few years, but ever since he got the president patch six months ago, we've had some problems."
My eyes narrowed and even though I didn't really want to know the answer, I had to ask anyway. "What kind of problems?"
Dom shot me a tight smile. "Not the kind you're thinkin' of, or at least not yet. Wallace is smart. And resourceful, too, especially since he's been systematically shutting down our business contacts pretty much the day he got the gavel. We've been bleeding in the red for months. Every time we take one step forward with a new business contact, Wallace steps in and either offers them more cash or the kind of muscle we just don't have. We don't have a leg to stand on, even when we retaliate."
Thankfully, he didn't divulge those particular details.
"Why would he do that though? That just seems really extreme to have that kind of vendetta over, what? A two-year prison sentence? He probably didn't even get that much because he didn't cross state lines like you guys did."
It was strange to talk about Caleb's arrest so openly and when a thin, grim line crossed Dom's face, I knew this conversation was just going to keep heading south.
"We heard some rumors about Wallace. I don't know how true they are, but it sure as shit explains what he's doing. Apparently, Wallace had a sick kid when he went inside and another one on the way. With him gone, his wife couldn't afford all the hospital bills and she lost their house. I heard his older kid, the sick one, died before he got out, but I don't know if that's true or not. Anyway, by the time he did get out, his wife had filed for divorce and took off with his kids halfway across the country and won't let him see them."
I blew out a deep breath and shook my head. Well, if even part of that was true, it certainly explained the vendetta. Now Theo Wallace also had the power to put some real clout behind it. And then a terrifying thought gripped me.
"He blames you and Caleb for everything, doesn't he? It doesn't even have anything to do with the club."
Dom scratched his beard in thought and sighed heavily. "I suppose if I were in his shoes, I'd probably feel the same way."
The whole thing from start to finish was just so awful. Everyone involved in that arrest had lost something and now, everyone involved was still paying for it one way or another.
"And Caleb knows about all this, right?"
Dom nodded tightly. "We keep each other updated, yeah."
"Okay," I allowed. "But you still haven't answered my question. Should I be worried? Should I talk to my dad? I mean, if this guy—"
"Like I said, Isabelle," he cut in quietly. "Wallace is smart and he's resourceful. I'm sure he knows everything there is to know about every single current and former member of the club, including the people we love."
I bristled at that last part, but Dom charged on.
"But I also don't believe he'd go after my wife and kid or you, for that matter. He's attacking the club, not me or Caleb directly. I think if he did wanna do that, he'd be doing more than just offering to help you when you're having car troubles. He's never come within a mile of Lex or Chloe either."
That you know of, I thought darkly.
"And besides, we're on it. Wallace won't be an issue pretty soon if he keeps going after our business the way he has."
Again, Dom thankfully didn't dig any deeper. I didn't need to know and I didn't want to know either. So I changed the subject instead and immediately regretted it.
"I know you said you've been talking about all this stuff, but do you ever see him? Are you two still...."
And again, I couldn't bring myself to finish that sentence.
Pain flashed across Dom's face for just a moment and disappeared just as quickly. "Not really, no."
"I'm sorry."
He just lifted a shoulder. "It is what it is, you know? He made a decision and I have to respect it. He stays on his side of town and I stay on mine."
"That's pretty generous of you. Just from what my dad told me, it sounded like you were the only one that actually did accept it."
"Yeah, well," Dom smiled at me briefly. "If what happened to you guys had happened to me and Lex, especially the way it happened, I can't say I'd make the same choice, but I understand why he did what he did. I just wish it didn't have to come to that."
And on that note, it was probably for the best for both of us that he pulled up into Sawyer Custom Builds another moment later. This conversation had taken an uncomfortable, personal tone too quickly and as much as I'd always liked Dom, he was just one more piece of my past I needed to keep buried.
"Well, this is your stop," he told me lightly, but I was too busy focusing on Caleb to really hear him.
My body just didn't know what to do—did it want to run toward him or away from him? Leap into his arms or smack him? This push and pull only left more heartache and confusion in its wake and I was already sick of it.
Despite all that, I couldn't take my eyes off him even as Dom climbed out of the truck and headed to the office. Caleb was standing just outside the door with Saul, Lucas, and two other guys wearing Sawyer Custom Builds work shirts, all of them with cigarettes in their hands. It wasn't so much that he was still smoking that had me rooted to the passenger seat; it was the fact that the second he saw me sitting in the truck, the cigarette in his hand sailed through the air until the burning cherry landed on the concrete.
The gesture was so familiar it hurt.
That momentary paralysis still didn't prevent me from sliding out of the truck and making my way over to the small group assembled in front of the office. We'd clearly i
nterrupted a smoke break, but that seemed to be the furthest thing from Caleb's mind as he concentrated on what Dom murmured in his ear. His eyes widened and then flashed with something I couldn't quite place. It wasn't worry. It wasn't quite anger either. Maybe I didn't really want to spend too much time decoding that; I had a feeling I wouldn't like what I found.
Caleb shook Dom's hand with a tight, albeit appreciative smile as I approached the office door.
"Don't say I never did anything for you," Dom told him lowly and then winked at me before clasping a hand on my shoulder.
"Give Lex a call, alright?" Dom called out to me as he backpedalled to the tow truck. He didn't wait to hear my answer, but I waved anyway. Unfortunately, we both knew I probably wouldn't be calling her.
Now that I'd joined the group, Saul took one second to grin broadly at me and then pushed Lucas and the other two guys into the garage. Caleb shoved his hands deep into his front pockets as his eyes followed them and then, when his gaze flicked back to me, that lopsided smirk that seemed burned into my memory curled his lips and something inside me curled up too.
"Hey, Iz," he murmured.
I sighed and pushed some hair out of my face in defeat. "Hi, Caleb."
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"
His eyebrows lifted in surprise and it took me a moment, but yeah, there it was. Just being within reaching distance of him again had momentarily short-circuited my brain and I'd completely forgotten the pseudo-run-in I'd had before.
"It wasn't a big deal," I recovered quickly. "Dom told me not to worry about it."
Caleb nodded slowly and his eyes shifted to the cement at his feet for just a moment. "I'm sorry that happened. That's the first time any of the Warlords have been seen in town since Wallace took the gavel."
"I guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," I shrugged nonchalantly.
His frown only deepened and when his lips parted, he surprised me by changing the subject completely: "So it looks like I'll be replacing that starter for you."
"Yeah," I narrowed my eyes at him. "It looks like it."
Right away, I picked up on two things: he clearly planned on doing all the work himself and also, knowing him, he clearly planned on doing all that work for free. I didn't get a chance to call him out on that though because just as I was gearing up for another fight, he unearthed a hand from his pocket and tossed me a pair of keys.
"You better hang on to those," he told me as I caught them. "You're gonna need something to get around until I get it fixed. It might take awhile to get the parts I need, too."
I glanced down at the keys in my hand. I didn't like where this was going.
"These are your keys, aren't they?"
His grin only widened. "My truck keys, yeah."
I tossed the keys right back at him. "I'm not taking your truck."
He caught them in one hand and sent them flying my way again. "Yes, you are. I've got my bike. I can get around just fine without my truck. Besides, I don't really have anywhere else to be except my shop anyway. And you're not going to rent a car or take a cab anywhere. Just take my truck."
"But—" I started, but he never let me gain any traction.
"What if I said I'd let you pay me in full?"
"For the house or the starter?" I shot back.
Caleb's lips twitched in amusement. "The starter. You take the truck and I'll charge you all the way. Labor, parts, everything."
He had me there. If I rented a car or took a cab, he wouldn't let me pay for the work. Shit. He knew me too well. God, I was really sick of men. Every single one of them. They'd been nothing but a pain in my ass today.
"I really hate this just so you know," I told him through clenched teeth.
"I know you do," he grinned.
I jabbed a finger at his chest. "And if I find out you gave me a discount or conveniently left something off my invoice, you and I are going to have some serious problems."
That smile, the same one I saw in my dreams, the same one that used to melt me down into a puddle at his feet...that smile just curved up the side of his mouth and sent me plummeting down to the concrete.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Word Vomit
Isabelle
"It's okay, Dad," I rubbed his back soothingly as he heaved into the toilet bowl. "I got you."
He squeezed his eyes shut, leaned back to ready himself, and then dove headfirst into the toilet once more. Cooper, who'd been perched just a foot away through the whole ordeal, inched forward until he could rest his head on my dad's shoulder to offer him as much comfort as he could. My dad rubbed Cooper's huge head in slow, exhausted movements before throwing his head back in the toilet one last time.
All I could do was rub his back and pretend my eyes weren't stinging. Every day it just got worse: the nausea and vomiting from the cocktail of meds he was on, the weakness and lack of energy, the appetite loss and subsequent weight loss. He was withering away right before my eyes. Deteriorating into a shell of his former self. Again. And here I was, helpless and desperate to help him any way I could. Again.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Every day he moved a little slower, ate a little less, and slept a little more. Every day brought us closer to the end. Every day tore me apart just a little bit more. Every day I just wanted to run away. Maybe then I wouldn't have to face all this bullshit and maybe, when I finally came back, everything would magically be good again. My dad wouldn't be dying. My life wouldn't be one epic, pathetic mess. Maybe I'd actually figure out how to be happy again.
But for right now, my focus was getting my dad off the bathroom floor and back into his bed where he could rest and hopefully, get a little peace for himself, too. I pulled with all my strength to get us enough momentum where he could slide to his feet, but I just wasn't strong enough.
What you need is an extra pair of hands, I thought. Maybe a little back-up.
I could do this—I had to. There was no else. So I gritted my teeth and lifted him up by the shoulders, but his body just slipped out of my grasp and back down to the floor with a soft thud.
"Come on, Dad," I whispered in his ear as I gripped underneath his shoulders. "Gotta get up, okay?"
He nodded weakly and squeezed his eyes shut. Then with a surge of whatever strength he had left for the day, he pulled himself off the floor with my help and together, we shuffled stiffly down the hallway until I could help him get into bed. After I tucked him in and leaned in just once to remind myself he was still breathing, I closed his bedroom door behind me with Cooper right at my side.
I leaned back against the door and my head fell into my hands. My breath came in and out in haggard, rough spurts and my shoulders heaved against the door. I didn't know how much more of this I could take. I knew this was going to be hard, but I never thought it was going to be this hard. This devastating. This excruciating.
It was never going to get better. He was just going to keep fading away until there was nothing left. And I would sit here until the very end, holding his hand and praying we had more time.
Then a wave of guilt washed over me.
All I wanted was more time with him while he was suffering. It was so selfish it wasn't even funny. Wanting him to finally find some relief, that it wouldn't take too long, and yet, hoping the end wasn't here just yet. I wanted to let him go, I knew I needed to let him go, but I just wasn't ready yet.
I covered my face with shaky hands and inhaled sharply. I couldn't do this. I couldn't sit here in this house filled with so much sickness and suffering and imminent death. And tomorrow...tomorrow was the day I dreaded more than any other day in the entire year. Tomorrow I might as well not even bother getting out of bed.
The walls seemed to be closing in on me and just as suddenly, the hallway spun, but my feet were still rooted to the carpet with my hands tingling numbly around the scruff of Cooper's neck. I couldn't move. Terror gripped me. Panic smothe
red me. And then my legs gave out on me as I sank weightlessly onto the floor, clinging to my dog like my life depended on it.
This feeling of debilitating powerlessness was a familiar one, but this was the first serious panic attack I'd had in a long time. The first real one I'd ever had had happened after Padilla's break-in eight years ago and they'd never really left me since then. In fact, they'd only gotten worse right around the time I moved to New York, which, in retrospect, didn't really make sense considering that entire move was centered on taking control instead of losing it. In between then and now, I thought I'd had it under control. Therapy, some counseling, Cooper, and medication had seen to that. Then I found out my dad was sick.
With slow, focused breaths, my eyes flitted shut and finally, some oxygen started flowing through my lungs. I could breathe again. They never lasted that long and after one more deep inhale, I pulled my shit together and got up on my feet. The walls didn't seem quite as suffocating as they did before and my hands weren't clammy and tingly anymore, which was all a good sign that one had passed.
But I was still terrified. Still plummeting toward something I couldn't stop and couldn't control.
"Hey, Coop?" I murmured hoarsely into his fur.
His ears perked up at the sound of my voice and his big, brown eyes watched me intently, waiting for direction.
"Wanna go for a car ride?"
. . .
"What are you doing?" I muttered.
I shook my head at this stupid recklessness that found me here once again. After driving around aimlessly for an hour, something snapped. Ridiculously and impossibly snapped. This was the last place I should be and the only place I really wanted to be.
Cooper glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, gave me one more chance, and then pounced, nearly knocking the drinks all over the center console of Caleb's truck. Ugh. Now I just needed to get out of this truck.
