Reprise

by C. D. Breadner

  Her throat clenched. It would appear as though Harlon—sorry, Tiny—had found family after all. And she was glad for it.

  When she caught sight of Harlon again he was leading his mother across the grass. She was stepping carefully, dressed in a navy sheath with matching blazer. Her arm was hooked around her son’s and he held her hand. When they were closer the nurses from the home stood and helped settle Angelina Gray in the seat closest the grave marker.

  Eight chairs weren’t enough, after all. The law man at the end, of course, gave up his seat immediately, accepting a hand shake from Harlon. That was odd but Mallory felt relief seeing it. The newly arrived women all sat, holding smaller children where needed. The man holding the little girl kept her with him, and her head was rested on his shoulder quietly. A blonde woman was sitting right next to Mallory, holding a boy on her lap who looked to be about seven. The man holding the girl stood right behind them. In front of Mallory a tall, stunningly gorgeous black woman was sitting down, with a giant man helping her even though she seemed to have it under control. Before he straightened the man kissed her cheek, his long hair falling around both their faces. When he pulled back the woman beamed up at him with nothing but radiant love.

  The men all wore dark jeans, boots—and in the case of the large man in front of her, cowboy boots. The ones that had arrived on bikes wore leather jackets. Their women, however, were all dressed almost like Mallory. Knee-length skirts and black tops, and they were all quite beautiful. Not exactly what you’d expect to see with bikers, as harsh as that sounded.

  Two seats down a little boy was sitting, his hand clasped in the hand of a blonde woman on the far end. He was wearing black pants, a white shirt and a little black tie, which was adorable. He was older than the boy right next to her, but there was something about him that made her suspect he was the most scared person in their group, which made her wary. The woman with him looked normal enough, but she certainly wasn’t his mother. You could tell by their coloring. She was very blonde and fair, and the boy was almost Middle Eastern-looking.

  That worried Mallory, and she didn’t really know why.

  Looking around, she realized that all the seats were taken now and the guilt was instantaneous. She stood, and then held out a hand to her seat as she spoke to the man holding the little girl. “Please, you should sit.”

  He smiled at her, and Mallory wasn’t too slow to realize the smile was bright and gorgeous, making the lined face around it even more gorgeous. “No, no. That’s fine, Ma’am. Go ahead.”

  “Please,” she insisted. “And anyway, in fifteen minutes when she’s restless she’s going to want to sit on her own anyway.”

  His smile broadened. “Must be a girl thing,” he muttered, then leaned back to peer down at his daughter. “This nice lady is giving you her seat, Libby. Do you want to sit on your own like a big girl?”

  Mallory’s heart melted. The man’s face was lined, the stubble looked permanent, and she could see the ink peeking out around the cuffs of his leather. But talking to his daughter in her puffy pink dress like that...it was almost too much.

  Apparently there was an answer because he set the girl down on her shiny, patent leather shoes. She toddled around to the front of the chair, paused, then looked up at Mallory.

  “Your hair is pretty.”

  Mallory had to smile. “Well thank you. Your dress is quite pretty, too.”

  “I know.” Then the little girl climbed up onto the chair with a dismissive “Thank you.” It was either for the chair or the dress compliment. She huddled close to the arm of the blonde in the next seat, who put her arm around the girl while the boy stayed put on her lap.

  “Thank you,” the man next to her repeated, and she just nodded, crossing her arms around herself. She moved a few steps back as he stood next to his daughter.

  She looked around the group, catching Harlon’s eye. He must have been watching her, but he didn’t look away. He just nodded like he appreciated her being there. That’s how she read it, anyway. It could have just been a hello.

  “Miss Mallory,” a voice said, and she turned to face Knuckles, who was grinning at her. “Stunning. As always.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  “And yet you’re always stunning. It’s good to see you.”

  She shook her head as he surprised her with a kiss on the cheek.

  “The big lug won’t say it, but it’s good you’re here.”

  “Thanks, Knuckles.”

  He nodded in return, then appeared as though he was going to spend the funeral standing right next to her.

  Well, all right then.

  The ceremony was decidedly non-denominational, but that was no surprise. It all passed with sniffles and nodding and hands being patted. It wasn’t until everyone readied to leave that Angelina Gray made the proceedings more interesting.

  The priest or reverend or whatever he was came forward and shook her hand. Harlon stood near, hand on her shoulder, as quiet words were said. Knuckles was just starting to say “So everyone will be meeting up at the homestead—”

  “That’s not it. It’s not done!”

  All heads turned to the widow, and her son crouched at her side.

  “But, the eulogy. And there was no music, Harlon. There’s always music. Why isn’t there music?”

  It wasn’t confusion. The woman was visibly distressed, and how could anyone explain the memorial service of a suicide to her?

  “At least a song, Harlon! He’s your father!”

  Not sure what came over her, Mallory stepped forward. She hadn’t sung acapella in years, and she was only about ninety percent certain of the words, but she opened her mouth anyway.

  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound...”

  Heads swiveled her way, even the official. When Angelina Gray looked her way there were tears in her eyes, but her face softened and she allowed a gentle smile, hand going over her mouth. Her gaze didn’t waver for one second.

  Both palms ached to be holding a guitar. She hated this song. For some mysterious reason halfway through, around When we’ve been dead ten thousand years she always choked up. She was raised religious, but conveniently so. Still, that verse of the song made her eyes sting and it was no different now.

  She skipped a verse just to end the spectacle, and as she stepped back to her spot Knuckles squeezed her elbow. “That was beautiful, red,” he mumbled.

  She nodded, distracted. In the seats the women had turned to appraise her, and she had no idea how to take their interest. Their eyes, as one, seemed to go to Knuckles’ grip on her elbow. She moved her arm away from it, then looked for Harlon.

  He was standing now, and as he caught her eye she noticed his sharp inhale. He swallowed hard and she felt the prickle return to her nose. She had to look away first.

  Now it was over. People were standing, talking in small groups. The little baby she’d noticed earlier began wailing, obviously from being wrenched from his nap by all this visiting. The truck was a short distance away. She had the irrational urge to flee, and while everyone was occupied she made a casual break for it.

  In the small clutch her keys were easy to find, and her head was down but she still managed to miss the dip in the grass. Her foot planted much lower than anticipated and her weight hit her ankle bone, effectively rolling it. She went down on one knee, her “Shit!” luckily gasped out rather than shouted.

  “Mal!”

  Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. Shit, it really hurt and she just wanted quiet to let the initial shock pass. And with that voice she felt tears spring up into her eyes.

  “Holy shit. Are you okay?”

  A large, warm hand took her elbow and helped her up. Looking at him would make her instantly start the waterworks, so instead she nodded.

  “Try putting weight on it.”

  “I’m fine!” Even though it was quiet she still managed to sound like a major bitch.

  “Fuck, Mal. I’m just trying to help.” Despite
swearing, Harlon’s voice wasn’t rough or nearly as abrasive as hers. That made the water in her eyes rise higher.

  Head still down she took a step on her wounded limb, and sure enough the ankle was compromised. She dipped slightly but her other leg came to the rescue.

  “Whoa, honey.” And now Harlon had an arm around her waist. How had he done that?

  “I’m fine,” she repeated, managing to sound civil with it this time. Now she risked looking up, right into those gorgeous eyes. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “Those shoes are meant for aerating, not walking on sod.”

  She smiled, sniffling. Her eyes were fine but now her nose had decided to catch up with the program. Lovely. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry for twisting your ankle. And uh...thank you for that.”

  “For what?”

  His face softened. “For singing for Mom. I mean, she wasn’t even sure who’s funeral we were going to, and then she knew exactly what was going on. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “And she knew who you were after that.” Harlon inhaled. “She said to me, That Mallory always had such a lovely voice.”

  Mal smiled. “She said that?”

  “Yeah. She knew who you were. So...thank you.”

  Mallory nodded, then moved away on her good leg to get his arm off of her. “You have a lot of visitors here. That’s...that’s good.”

  “Yeah. Listen, the old ladies put together a spread at Mom and Dad’s place. I sprung mom until after supper today. You should come by. If you’re not busy,” he was quick to add.

  His face was hard to read. She couldn’t be sure of her welcome, but he didn’t have to tell her about the gathering, either. “Um, sure.”

  “Yeah?” His smile was slow and holy hell, there went her legs again. Just her knees anyway.

  “Sure. Do I need to bring anything?”

  “The way these ladies work, no. Just yourself.”

  Hell no, she wasn’t showing up empty-handed when all these women had gone to efforts to feed a huge group. That wasn’t how women worked. “I’ll go by the bakery I work at. See what’s left.”

  -oOo-

  She was able to snag the last black forest cake and a dozen large, bakery-fresh donuts with various toppings. After some debate she added two apple pies to the mix. There were a lot of people involved, and no lack of large, grizzled men to feed.

  And really, was there such a thing as too much dessert?

  Her damn ankle was still throbbing and felt heated, but she was able to put a little bit of weight on it as long as she placed it carefully. With wistful longing she recalled the pair of Sketchers up in her closet but decided the yellow and orange running shoes would likely ruin the look. She was a woman, she could tough it out.

  But these shoes were so coming off once she was inside the Gray’s home.

  As she pulled the truck along the curb next to the Gray’s neighbor’s place she double-checked herself in the mirror. Hair had held so far. Small victories.

  The stretch of sidewalk directly in front of the Gray’s was lined with sleek, black and chrome motorbikes. The SUV from the cemetery was parked across the street, and Harlon’s truck was in the drive. Good, she wasn’t showing up awkwardly early.

  One bag held the boxed donuts and pies. The cake was in a box all its own which she balanced with both hands, the bag slung over her arm. She used the patio stone walkway to get to the front door. These heels weren’t trying grass again anytime soon.

  As she was moving the cake to free up a hand to knock someone started pushing the screen open, and she had a moment. Just a little one. But Harlon Gray was now standing there in just jeans and boots, everything else bare.

  So very bare. Right out there, on display.

  Jesus. The width of his chest, still plenty ripped and wide. His chest hair had turned a dark steel color, trailing down his stomach. And his arms. They were huge, one of them holding the screen door wide.

  “Mal?”

  She blinked and shook her head, trying to reestablish her casual cool. “Where are your clothes?” It wasn’t a good attempt but she’d tried.

  He looked down at himself, then back up at her with a rueful smile. “Construction work.”

  “Construction?”

  “We’re fixing the fence to help the place sell. Come on in.”

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?” she muttered, following him into the house.

  “Needed in Cali the day after tomorrow, so we’ll likely be leaving in the morning. The money will help keep Mom in the care home so I don’t want to put it off.”

  That, she knew, was a monologue for Harlon Gray. “No, I get it.” Her eyes were on his back and the large, black tattoo that took up most of that impressive real estate. A circle marked with Red Rebels and Markham, a fist at the center. The fist had bits of red worked into the design, adding depth.

  She’d never known anyone in a biker club. She knew they were around but any she’d seen kept to themselves. There was even a small club in Cleary, but their hangout was outside town limits and she rarely saw more than two of them at a time.

  For Harlon, she supposed that life made sense. He liked being on the road, moving around. Expecting him to stick close and be a family had been silly. He would have eventually left her, she’d always suspected that. But the way he did end up leaving her was pretty damn brutal.

  In the kitchen he turned to take the cake box, then frowned at the bag on her arm. “Jesus, how much did you bring?”

  She smiled. “There are a lot of large men in this group. And if it doesn’t get eaten today, it eventually will be. It’s dessert.”

  The door that led out to the back deck opened, a blonde she recognized from the memorial stepping inside, followed by the little girl in the bright pink party dress. “Uncle Tiny!” she called out, clear as a bell and with surprising sass for someone so young.

  “Yes, Libby?” he spoke formally but as he set the cake on the cupboard he was grinning broadly. With a groan he crouched down to be eye-level with the little girl.

  “There are carrots in the garden.”

  “Yes, I know little one.”

  “May I please pick some carrots?” It was recited as though she had been told she had to ask before doing things. She seemed singularly unimpressed by that, as well.

  “Of course. Vegetables are good for you.”

  “Say thank you,” the blonde woman reminded her daughter.

  “Thank you, Uncle Tiny.” Chubby arms were wrapped around Tiny’s neck, then she backed off and hit the screen door at high speed. Luckily it hadn’t latched completely.

  “Libby! We’re not digging in the dirt in that dress!” And mom was off behind the little sweetheart, leaving Tiny chuckling.

  Throughout all this she’d tried to just watch without interfering, or even having a reaction. But of course, that’s not what happened. Her loss was suddenly fresh and new, even with twenty years healing that wound over.

  He would have been a great father. Maybe not a great husband, but a father, definitely. Impossible not to imagine it watching him interact with that little girl.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Mallory blinked rapidly, setting the bag of goodies on the counter next to the cake. Jesus, she really shouldn’t be here.

  “Mal?”

  Gently, his hands on her hips turned her to face him. He pushed some hair behind her ear and her knees were ready to give up on her again. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  His lips went in a straight line, like they did when he was angry, but his brow also furrowed in concern. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

  She nodded. “If I’d just waken up sooner—”

  “Don’t. Don’t do that. We know what the doctors said, there was nothing that could have prevented that.”

  There it was. Twenty years late, but an absolution of sorts. She’d needed that back when the hurt happened, though. That would have made all
the difference in the world.

  “I know,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes.

  One warm hand moved to thumb a tear from her cheek, his palm pressing to the side of her neck. “Mallory,” he murmured, eyes flicking to catch hers. That was it, nothing but her name, but she held her breath anyway.

  She swallowed, her throat feeling hot and swollen. Never, even if she lived to be a hundred and ten years old, would she forget the absolute terror of walking into her daughter’s bedroom and finding her not breathing, already cold and losing color. Harlon had been on the road, she was on her own to deal with that. Her stomach rolled, regret churning its way through her even as he said exactly the same things everyone else had told her hundreds of times over.

  Still, his eyes held hers, his hand sliding further around the back of her neck. It moved her closer, and she fought the urge to sway towards him. He had his own gravity, and she was always attracted to being closer. Like thirty years hadn’t gone by at all.

  She licked her lips, nervous. His eyes caught it and his head began to lower towards her, and that’s when she did lean in, her chest making contact with his skin. As his eyes slid closed she breathed deep; he smelled the same. Same soap, same sweat.

  “Fuck, it’s hot as fucking balls out there!”

  She swung away quickly, turning back to the counter and starting to open the bags to arrange her offering to the meal.

  “Shit. Sorry, guys.”

  “Knuckles, give us a minute, would ‘ya?”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly, sounding a bit manic. When she turned Tiny hadn’t moved, he was still large and in her space. Just around his arm she could see Knuckles frozen in the door, his face blank as he looked from her to Tiny’s back. “I...I need fresh air.”

  “Mal—”

  “Please,” she whispered, looking up at him and blinking rapidly.

  He stepped out of the way and let her hobble towards the door. Knuckles grabbed her elbow. “Shit, what happened to your leg?”