by A. J. Downey
“What you scowling at, boy?” I grumbled.
“Only time I ever seen your hair this short was when you came home from prison when I was thirteen,” he said flatly.
I chuckled and shook my head, only reason it’d ended up short that time was the lice infestation at the state pen. I’d gone up on a nickel but had been out in two. It’d taken three years to get it out back long again.
“Yeah, well, seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Uh-huh, right,” Trig said dubiously.
“You’re next, big man.”
“Over my dead-ass fuckin’ body,” he grumbled and raised an eyebrow at Reave, who just sat there grinnin’ like a loon.
“I think it’s safe to hand him back, now, babe,” Everett murmured and Dray handed their son back to her.
“Won’t go down for y’, huh?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and forced a smile over her gritted teeth.
“Only for his daddy,” she said.
“It’s a phase. That one,” I jabbed a finger at Dray, “did the same damn thing when he was Stevie’s age.”
“Stephen,” Everett automatically corrected. She had a thing, like her dad, she said, about shortening a perfectly good name. I smiled and she leaned over and kissed Dray.
“Be in in a little while,” he said gently.
“Better be,” she murmured huskily. My boy smiled and didn’t even hide the fact he was checking his woman out.
She grinned, a feral look and I asked, “When the fuck you two gettin’ hitched, again?”
“Language,” she reminded sharply, even though the baby was out. “And, whenever he decides to put a ring on it,” she shot over her shoulder as she stalked away, light on her feet in that graceful dancer’s way that she had.
I raised an eyebrow at my son and he raised both of them back at me. I nodded and said, “Grab the tequila and let’s talk.”
“Meet you out back,” he said, adding, “none of the rest of you fuckers are invited.”
“Fuck you, too,” Trig said, laughing.
My boy grinned, “Pretty sure I just fucked you first, asshole.”
Reave laughed like a maniac and Trigger’s booming laugh rolled out across the common room. It felt like we’d missed an opportunity when it came to a road name, just then. Shoulda named him Thor.
I went out back, shakin’ my head and chuckling, expecting to run into more of the guys, but it was quiet. Dani had the big bay doors open on her shop, and gave me a nod as she went to and fro, between her little forge and work table. Red ducked around the corner of the door and gave a wave and went back to sitting near his woman, the two talking, Dani smiling at whatever he had said.
Those two were a pair. I was proud of how far both had come. Best friends always did tend to make the best lovers. That’s what my Tilly had been for me. My best friend, my woman, my confidant. Mother of my child; my everything…
Until you killed her.
That voice of self-loathing and derision was always present whenever I thought of her anymore, and I hated it, but bore that cross just the same because it was true. It may not have been my hand that pulled the trigger, but the blood was all over my hands just the same. It was my choices, my decisions, that’d written my woman’s name on that bullet. It was me.
I walked up to the big fire-pit and gave a nod. The fire had been set by someone for tonight and I aimed to take advantage. I walked over and pulled out my trusty Zippo, the one Tilly had bought for me, with the roses on it and the back engraved. I flicked back the lid with that satisfying click and rolled my thumb over the wheel, lighting her up. I touched the flame to the paper of the presto log under the wood and got it going before snapping the lid closed and putting it back in my pocket.
I crouched there, watching the flames lick along the paper and char the wood and felt my old emotional wounds throb, burn, and ache – though admittedly, not as keenly as they once did. The first indication that my boy was coming up on me was the scuff of his boot against the gravel behind me.
“Spill it, Old Man. What’s eating at you?” he asked.
I stood up, my knees popping, a groan escaping my mouth even as my joints groaned in unison to the sound. I was starting to feel every bit of my age lately, and I blamed it squarely on being a grandpa.
“Went and saw your mom this morning,” I said with a sigh, looking my son over.
Immediately, his expression became guarded, shuttered. I knew we didn’t talk about her nearly as often as we should; I also knew it was something he wanted, but I hated doing it because of the look on his face right now. Which I knew he didn’t even know he did.
“Yeah?” he asked, and his voice was guarded against his own hurts.
He gestured over to two of the solid wood loungers in front of the fire with the tequila bottle and I went to one while he came around and dropped into the other. He set the bottle and two glasses down on the little table between them and I picked it up, uncorking it and pouring a couple of fingers into each glass.
“Yeah,” I echoed. “Was a good visit. Showing off that boy of yours. Your mama would be damn proud of you, boy. I know I am.”
“Yeah?” he repeated, the flavor of the word taking on the seasoning of surprise.
“Hell, yeah,” I said gruffly, and handed him one of the glasses. “Just wish you’d put a fuckin’ ring on that girl’s finger. Make it permanent.”
“About that…” he drawled carefully.
“You want the ring I gave your mama?” I asked.
“Would you be cool with that?”
“Anyone else, I’d probably say go pick something out at the jewelers, or have Dani make you something, but for her?” I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket and pulled out the worn red velvet ring box I kept Tilly’s set in, close to my heart. I handed it over and was surprised myself to feel a little lighter for it.
“Thanks, Pops,” my boy murmured, and instead of tucking it immediately into the inside of his own jacket, he cracked the lid, let out a heavy breath, and opened it up the rest of the way to look at the set.
I didn’t look. Instead, I took a hearty sip of the tequila, glad he had brought the good shit out here. It went down with a smooth and sexy burn, whispering the promise of oblivion if I indulged in enough. Maybe later tonight, but not right now. This conversation had been a long time coming and, though it promised to be painful, it needed to happen before anything else.
He clicked the ring box closed and gripped it in his fist. He bounced that fist a couple of times against his lips as he choked up, glancing away and blinking a few too many times to clear the moisture from his eyes. He sniffed, cleared his throat, and turned the conversation back on me asking, “So, what’s with the haircut?”
“Well, like I said, I went and saw your mother early this morning.”
He stared at me intently, cocking his head to the side and asked, “Did she have something to say or was it just the smell of roses?”
It’d happened to both of us, but it was still uncomfortable talking about it. We didn’t subscribe to mystical mumbo-jumbo bullshit, but what went on with Tilly, after she was gone, was too strong for either of us to really ignore. For Dray, it’d happened a few times. The one time it’d happened to the both of us at the same time had been when Everett had given birth to their boy. Dray had come out of the delivery room grinning like a fool, crying ‘It’s a boy!’ and as soon as his eyes had fell on me, his expression had changed and I knew he smelled it, too. The overpowering perfume of his mother’s favorite roses had descended on the both of us like a cloud.
No one else had said anything about it, but for us it’d been so strong, choking, cloying, and so full of pride and joy it wasn’t about to be ignored by either of us. We’d talked about it late that night in Evy’s hospital room, Dray holding his boy, both the baby and his mama fast asleep. That’d been the last time we’d talked about it until now.
“A little bit of both,” I confessed.
&nb
sp; “That doesn’t explain the haircut. Mom would be pissed if you cut your hair.”
I nodded. “Well, I wasn’t the only one at the cemetery this morning.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Oh, yeah?”
I told him about Marcie and he listened quietly. He sipped his tequila and stared off into the distance, calculating for a bit.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. “That fixing her worldview on Cell and making her feel like she isn’t some kind of murderer, or whatever shittin’ thing she has in her head, is somehow going to tip the scales back in your favor with the universe?”
I shook my head. “No, just hate seeing another human being hurt over that asshole.”
“Pops, why you let this woman cut your hair, of all things? Couldn’t you just go talk to her?”
I stared at the licking flames, the crackle and pop of the burning wood filling the silence that stretched between me and my boy, and I confessed, “I think I’m lonely, Son. What’s more, I think your mother knows it.”
“How’s that?”
I shifted, uncomfortable with poking at these feelings, like they were a sleeping bear. I cleared my throat, and unable to hold off anymore, went for my pack of smokes. Dray watched me, patient, while I lit one up and took a deep drag off it. I let my lungs fill with smoke and plumed the air with it on a harsh exhale and told him the rest. About smelling the roses, about the compelling feeling like I should go and see what the fire-hair’s deal was.
He nodded and said, “Don’t get me wrong, I love Mom and I honestly can’t picture you with anyone else but…” It was his turn to let out a harsh breath and he downed the rest of his tequila in one hard swallow. “I think it’s time. It’s pushing nine years, going on ten. Maybe it’s time.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “I’m not planning on tapping that ass like a club-girl or hell, even wanting anything romantic – but a friendship might be nice, that’s all I’m saying,” I said.
I thought back to those keen blue eyes staring into mine in the mirror at her station and didn’t know if I was a liar right then or not. She had some spark under what had her shook up. I half wondered if, like Tilly, that meant her temper would flare.
I frowned slightly and polished off my own glass of tequila, immediately admonishing myself that comparing the two women was a bad idea, a slippery slope, and that I just shouldn’t do it. It wasn’t fair. Period.
“You don’t need my permission, Pops, but if you came looking for it, you got it,” my kid said gently. “You can’t change the past, all you can do is work your ass off and build a better future. Not just for this club, but for yourself.” He laughed a little and bowed his head. Sweeping his chin length hair behind his ear, he said, “Look around, Pops. The club is doin’ just fine. We’re all set, we’re good. If anything, you need to focus on you now.”
“Your mama would be damn proud of you, boy,” I said a bit incredulously. Again, my son shook his head.
“She only got me the first sixteen years; it’s been all you for the last nine or ten, and the shit we’ve been through in that time? She got the boy ready, you shaped the man. I’m proud of you, Pops. Of how far you’ve brought us all.”
“I destroyed us in the first place, son.”
“Maybe, but you didn’t wallow and you didn’t quit. You rebuilt us; better, stronger. That counts for something, Dad.”
“Pour me some more of that fuckin’ booze, boy.”
He obliged and poured me some, a shit-eating grin on his face as he asked, “What, you getting choked up?”
“Fuck you,” I muttered before taking a mouthful, and he chuckled deeply.
“I love you, Pops.”
“Love you, too, son.”
Silence filtered between us and he asked, “So, you going to see this woman again?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I was kind of thinkin’ about leaving it up to fate, but it doesn’t seem right leaving her to drown in guilt. Especially over Cell.”
“Agree with you there, that dude was bad news. I hate to speak ill of the dead – especially a dead brother, but that guy?” He raked his bottom lip between his teeth and I waved him down.
“It weren’t for Blue, he wouldn’t even have lasted as long as he did,” I said unhappily.
There was no changing Cell. He was born wrong. We all knew it. Moreso when his folks and his sister came. They’d been gracious, and grateful that we’d buried him proper, given him the service every brother got.
But I got the impression they were relieved he was gone and even more relieved they didn’t have to pay for it – which would have been financially crippling to them.
The stories they’d told in hushed whispers, the nervous looks, his sister wanting to see him and make sure he was dead… it was bad.
He’d been a true sociopath. Barely a step off from a serial killer.
If he hadn’t had Blue as his real-life Jiminy Cricket, he would have flamed out a long time ago. Given a few years more, he would have taken Blue down with him, and maybe even Hayley. As it was, they were keepin’ a sharp eye on the baby. He was Cell’s.
We was all just hoping he wasn’t Cell’s through and through.
4
Marcie…
It was maybe a couple of weeks later that he walked into my shop again. I looked up from my books where I sat at my small front receptionist wrap, and there he was, standing under the swinging brass bell above the door.
“Back again?” I asked, curious. I hadn’t really expected to see him again.
“Wanted to see how your son-in-law fared as much as I needed to get this trimmed up,” he said, running a hand through his hair. I felt myself rear back slightly in surprise.
“You remembered about Rich?” I asked.
“Well, not his name. You never told me that. Just that he was married to your daughter, Devon.”
“Well, I’ll be…” I said with a note of wonder in my voice. I stood up, both surprised and surprisingly tickled that he’d remembered.
“So, how is he?” he asked.
“Well, he had his spleen removed, and some broken ribs. A fractured wrist, and was overall pretty banged-up and bruised, but he’s doing all right. Should be going back to work here, soon.”
“Yeah? What’s he do?”
“Why, he’s a county Sheriff’s deputy.”
I had to say, I rather enjoyed the devilish gleam in his dark eyes and the slow sexy grin that overcame his lips. He dipped his chin and chuckled deeply, “Is that right, now?”
“It surely is,” I said, and opened up the swinging gate so that he could come back into the salon.
“Yet you still serve the likes of me, eh?” He looked me up and down and stepped through, the tread of his motorcycle boots heavy on the linoleum floor. He shrugged out of his jacket and I looked him in the eye, boldly.
“Honey, I don’t care about that. I don’t turn no one away from here. It’s not who I am.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly, and I noticed he’d changed his facial hair. Instead of an unkempt beard, he’d trimmed it down some, taming it, in line with what I’d already done to his hair.
It was hot, and for a moment, I honestly felt like I should be too old to be thinking such thoughts now that I was a grandma – or about to be. Then I dismissed that thought; I was who I was, which was a red-blooded American woman. If I thought the man was attractive, then that’s what I thought about him. I could think what I wanted, didn’t mean I had to act on it. Didn’t mean I had to share those observations, either.
Unfortunately for me, he must have seen it written all over my face, because he asked me, “You like what you see, sweetheart?”
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of blushing, but rather answered boldly, “I do believe I do. I like what you done with your beard. Looks nice.”
He grinned and hung up his jacket, taking a seat in my stylist’s chair, and said, “Why, thank you. I’ll take that for the high praise it is, coming from a professional and all.�
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“You do that,” I said. “You just want cleaned up around the edges, then?” He nodded and I put a drape on him, tucking his collar and fussing over it when it didn’t like to cooperate.
“Marcie, I’d like to ask you somethin’,” he said, as soon as I had wrestled his collar into submission. I glanced up into the mirror above my station and his coal-black eyes caught mine with that burning intensity they had.
“Well, what is it? I ain’t got all day,” I said with a smile.
He grinned at me and chuckled before he said, “How’d you like to come have a drink with me after this?”
I cocked my head and thought about it a minute before I said, “How you know I ain’t got another client after you? That I ain’t just fittin’ you in?”
“You don’t,” he pointed out with certainty, and I put my hands on my hips.
“Now, how do you know that?”
“Truth between us?” he asked.
“No, lie to me,” I said dryly, feeling like my old self, and swatting him playfully on the shoulder.
“No, now I mean it. Truth between us. I don’t do secrets and lies if I can help it.”
I raised an eyebrow, the hair on the back of my neck standing up, and nodded finally, “Well, go on, then.”
“You keep your calendar online. I had one of my men hack into it, which is how I knew your afternoon was free and you was just hoping for some walk-in’s.”
I felt my jaw drop open and a shocked little “Ah!” came out of my mouth. I closed it and shook my head.
“I suppose you know it’s all kinds of illegal, hacking into someone’s personal business like that.”
“By citizen’s rules, sure, but I ain’t no citizen. We live and die by a whole different set of rules.”
“So I gathered,” I said dryly. No judgment. I knew how things were. I weren’t stupid. I gestured for him to get his ass up and head for the shampoo bowl. “But if you want to know something like that, all you have to do is pick up a phone and call me. It’s much easier that way.”
