Reprise
Page 33
It was like another kind of goodbye.
“I love you. I’m sorry I wasn’t braver for you.”
“Here you go, honey.”
She shrieked, hand to her chest.
“Oh, I’m sorry, darling.” The waitress looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“It’s fine,” she insisted, wiping the sudden wetness from her eyes. “I drifted off there.”
The waitress left her to her insanity. Mal played with the straw, pulling it up and letting it sink back into the shake.
On the first taste of the milkshake the tears started. She’d wept her share, yes. At the wake. When they told her what had happened and she sank to her knees as people she barely knew tried to comfort her.
But this wasn’t sadness. This was loss.
Loss of her daughter. Loss of the first man she’d ever loved. Loss of her mother. Loss of her father, in a way.
And then she’d lost Harlon again, this time for good.
Loss of that small taste of what she’d wanted her life to be.
She made herself drink that milkshake. It was impossible not to flashback to those midnight burger runs when she was six or seven months pregnant. She always told him she wanted a burger, but in truth it was these milkshakes. If she’d told him that, however, he’d just pick one up and bring it home instead of taking her out for a ride in the truck.
How sad was that? Why couldn’t she just ask him to take her for a ride? He wouldn’t have refused her that. He’d often come home after fourteen hours of driving and then take her out for a damn burger.
Thinking of him now only tore her in different directions. A part of her was furious. He may have only had a couple months, but those were her months, dammit. She wanted them.
But Christ, she loved him. And what’s more, she thought she understood the reason for what he’d done. Nothing specific of course. The conversations of his friends were deliberately vague around her, but from all that happened before he lit out of that clubhouse that night told her he was ready to be a distraction for whatever trouble Knuckles had gotten into.
The other rumblings—something about the law thinking Harlon had something to do with that doctor’s death—she dismissed as ridiculous. So did the others. And she noticed something else as well.
After watching those men in leather and their “old ladies,” she was still baffled at how those women could be shuffled off, content to be in the dark. Clearly, the club life didn’t transfer to women totally. The club was first, family next.
Maybe it was just better to be alone.
After her late breakfast Mal stopped at the home. Harlon’s mother was so delighted to see her, but she clearly had no idea who Mal was. They still had a nice visit and Mal promised to be back.
Next she went by her father’s room. Matthew Beck greeted her with a smile and outstretched arms, nearly making Mal break down. She accepted the hug by stooping over his armchair. Then she settled into a chair that belonged to the home, vinyl seat with a wood veneer.
“What are you up to today, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Heading to Montrose today, Dad. I’m going to record that album finally.”
He smiled broadly now, obviously pleased. “I’m so proud of you, Mallory. You are such a good singer. Listening to you is one of my favorite things.”
She knew the smile she gave him back was sad. “Thanks, Dad.”
“And how’s the baby?”
Mal’s eyes closed, and her voice was unsteady. “Angie passed away, Dad. Remember?”
When she opened her eyes he looked stricken. “Oh. Oh, yes. That’s right.”
Shit. Sometimes correcting him threw him off. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Harlon…is gone, too, Dad.”
“I know. But he’ll come back to his senses.”
She shook her head. “He died, Dad. He’s gone.” She covered her mouth, the sobs shaking her body.
“Oh Mal, honey,” her father cooed, arms out again.
Without a thought she crossed the room and snuggled into the chair next to him. He was thinner than he used to be, but her father would always be strong enough to hold her.
“My poor girl’s had a lot of hurt.”
“I’m sorry I got pregnant, Dad. I know you were ashamed.”
“Mal, sweetheart. I was never ashamed. I just knew how much potential you had. And a baby just made everything harder.”
Her sob broke through this time and he squeezed her tighter. “I’m sorry.”
“Never be sorry. You’re my beautiful girl, and I’m so proud of you.”
Now she was sobbing. Jesus, she’d done nothing with her life. How could he possibly be proud of her?
While she calmed down her father held her, then he reminded her that it was naptime soon. She helped him into bed, turned out the lights and reminded the home about her change of address.
After a second thought, she told them to keep her in the loop for Angelina Gray’s care as well.
After the home, Mallory stopped at the cemetery.
She rarely came here. What could she say? Remember? Wish for? Four months and the most love she’d ever known. But nothing was adequate.
So all she did was take a chain from her pocket, off of which dangled a heavy silver ring that little Angie’s father had worn up until the day he died.
She hung the necklace over the cross that bore Angie’s name and returned to her truck.
-oOo-
Her apartment in Montrose was found online. She parked at the yellow curb, then buzzed the building manager. The fifty-something woman that responded looked to be ages older than Mal, but it was hard to assess. She still lived like she was in her early twenties. Jade Silverman was lively with bright orange hair, and a generous chest that stretched her peasant blouse. A tattoo was visible on one breast.
“So good to finally meet you! Let’s get you moved in.”
Mal waved her hand. “I can do this. There’s not very much.”
“I don’t mean us, honey. I was given very specific instructions.” Then she was off into the building again. Mal had no choice but to wait. She didn’t have any keys yet.
As she stood next to her truck, a cruiser pulled up behind and she had a moment of panic. Shit. She was about to be ticketed for parking here.
The Sheriff himself got out. Not that she knew him well, but Sheriff Wexler had grown up down the street from her parents in Cleary.
“Mallory,” he greeted her, pulling off his sunglasses and giving her a bright smile.
“Sheriff,” she returned. “I’m sorry. I’ll move the truck.”
“Don’t worry. I know you’re unloading.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways.”
She had to laugh. Wex was always such a charmer. “Okay then. I’ll accept that.”
“I’ve come to offer my help.”
“That’s not necessary. The place is furnished. I just have these boxes.”
“Well, when beautiful women move into Montrose the Sheriff is obligated to help.”
“Wow. That is such bullshit.”
“Just the moving help. Not the beautiful part.”
She was likely blushing.
“I’m sorry to hear about Harlon,” he added, hands at his belt.
“Thank you.” There was nothing else to say to that.
Across the street, a van stopped. Five men climbed out, and if they weren’t large or vaguely familiar she wouldn’t have noticed.
“Great. Reinforcements,” Wex said curiously.
The first one she recognized was the Montrose biker that had saved her, Beast. Then she saw Patches, the medic that took care of V.
“What’s going on?” she muttered.
“Hey red!” Beast greeted, giving her a tight hug like they’d known each other for years.
“Hi Beast,” she replied, confused.
“We’re helping you move in,” Patches explained, leanin
g in to kiss her cheek.
“How—”
“There we go. Okay, guys. Third floor, far end. Door’s already open!” Jade spoke like a woman used to her orders being followed without question.
“And red,” Beast said, dropping the tailgate of her truck. “Anything you need, come to us. You’re under Red Rebels’ protection.”
Wex was also helping, and Mal had a moment of unease. These Sheriff and bikers, coming together to carry a dozen and a half boxes to her apartment. What the hell could that mean?
“Don’t sweat it, red,” Patches grunted under the weight of a box of dishes. “We’re Red Rebels now. It’s not really bike weather, otherwise we’d be here on bikes and wearing kuttes like the Markham boys.”
A strange warmth came from that. Mal even smiled as she hefted a box out of the bed and turned to her new apartment. It was like Harlon was still taking care of her, and it was help she’d accept. Actually, it felt really good.
About C.D. Breadner:
C.D. Breadner is a self-published author. She is honored to be a contributing author with The Freak Circle; a collective of amazing and supportive writers who encouraged her to delve into the genre of motorcycle club fiction with them, which brought about her second series, the stories of the Red Rebels MC.
Her first novel, Sin Eater, was the beginning of The Sin Eater series, an urban paranormal, slightly erotic series looking at the different forces of good and evil.
She has also published a standalone historical novel that takes place during World War II, Drawing Blood.
She lives in a cozy home in the woods with her wonderful husband and two German Shepherds.
Connect With C.D. Breadner:
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