I’m such a bad father.
I’m turning into a desperate man.
I’ve missed our nightly phone chats, but more so I’ve missed her touch, her kisses, her laughter. She’s easy to be around despite the fact she thinks she’s awkward. I love to learn about her, hear her philosophies. She grounds me, and I need grounding.
By Friday afternoon, I’m already on edge for the evening which is creeping closer by the minute when Deputy Sheriff James arrives to investigate an issue at the project site. Someone’s been in the framed house again, although we have a security door and Tyvek sheeting over the window cutouts, not to mention a privacy fence around the project. It’s obvious someone had a little soirée at the construction site and dislodged some supports. Whoever it was, they were lucky the place didn’t collapse on them. As the builders, however, we were equally fortunate the place didn’t ignite as the floor was littered with used matches. The scent of pot permeated the enclosed space. It must have been some party.
“I bet it’s that witch next door,” Dwight mutters to me as he stands next to me, knowing I won’t touch him with our foreman Garrett Monroe present. Bill is also here today.
“Nathan,” Jackson addresses me, walking to Garrett for the particulars. Beer bottles and a lighter were collected for evidence. Jackson speaks with Garrett and Bill a few minutes while Dwight remains next to me.
“It had to be her practicing some ritual or voodoo or who knows what,” he mocks.
“Shut up, Dwight,” I mutter, keeping my arms crossed so I don’t strangle him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ah, see she’s got you under her spell, too,” he teases without humor.
“Unrequited love isn’t a good look on you,” I snark and Dwight’s head spins to me.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Dwight sings, tipping his chin upward.
“You’re a little old to still be hanging on to a schoolboy crush,” I say.
“You’re crazy,” he snaps. “Just like her.” Dwight stalks away from me, and I have a mind to follow him and knock some sense into him, but then again, you can’t hammer into rotted wood.
“Nathan.” The sharp tone of Bill’s voice brings me to Jackson and Garrett. “Nathan, I’ve just learned some disturbing news about next door and in light of this party—”
“What happened?” I growl, turning on Jackson.
“Now, Nathan—”
“Don’t you ‘now, Nathan’ me.” I tolerated Jackson’s flirtatious innuendo with Naomi at Genie’s but I’m not playing around with him.
“We understand there was an issue next door. Jackson just wants to know if you know anything, seeing as you’re dating Naomi Winters.” Bill’s calm tone draws my attention. I’m not about to correct him on my relationship status. I want to know what happened.
“We also understand there have been sightings of a few motorcycles stopping here at night. Know anything about that?” Jackson’s tone drops, but it drips with suggestion.
“Are you insinuating I’ve had something to do with this?”
“Just heard they’re looking for new recruits. Thought you might be one of them.” Jackson nods his head, acting like he has any authority, when he’s more like a glorified traffic cop.
“Not everyone who rides belongs to a club,” I bite, and then decide arguing with Jackson isn’t worth my time. “Tell me about Naomi.”
“Seems someone removed all the signs along the property …” Bill begins. I noticed they were gone this morning, and thought it was a statement from Naomi. Like she’d given up on her cause. Given up on us. I swallow back the lump in my throat as my body vibrates, and I cross my arms to hold myself steady.
“And,” I prompt Bill to continue.
“Someone set them on fire in her yard, leaving a sign of their own to her,” Jackson adds.
“What?” I screech. My arms fall to my side, fisting in anger, frustration, and fear. “Is she okay? Did something happen to her? Her house?”
Shit, her house means so much to her. It’s more than a building but a precious gift.
“She’s shaken but fine. Seems this is the second fire in two weeks. Damn kids, I think.” Jackson is an idiot. It isn’t kids.
“What did the sign say?” I growl, glaring at Jackson who is almost gloating under my growing agitation.
“Capture the witch.”
Son of a bitch.
“Naomi Winters doesn’t need any trouble from us, like I don’t want trouble with her. Arson this close to a project could be disastrous,” Bill adds.
Forget the damn building. I want to know if she’s okay.
“And you’re certain nothing happened to her?” I ask, my voice vibrating with tension.
“She’s fine,” Bill dismisses. “I went to see her this morning at the library, ask her if she needed anything.”
“And what did she say?” Does she need me?
“She blamed it on some kids, but I’m not convinced,” Bill says, shaking his head.
“I’m not convinced either,” I harshly offer.
“Oh really, and what do you know?” Jackson asks me. Here’s where the crossroads begin for me. I can’t rat out Junior as I have no evidence and I don’t want to turn into a tattletale like Dwight. And whether I want to admit allegiance to the Wraiths or not, I’ll always owe Catfish, so mentioning his name is a death sentence for me.
“I’ve got nothing but a hunch,” I say to Jackson and Bill snorts.
“Well, we can’t go with our gut,” Bill adds.
Still. Sometimes we need to let our heart lead, and that’s my decision. First, I need to get Naomi to talk to me. I’m not making light of her predicament, but I have my own capturing to do this evening.
I need to get to the community center and speak with Naomi, tell her how I feel, beg her to give us a chance. We can work through this, I’m convinced. I practically vibrate as I finalize securing the construction site from additional trespassing. With tonight being the Halloween party, who knows what trouble hooligans will want to cause in a vacant building. Or teenagers. Or MC prospects.
As I’m heading to my truck, I notice I’ve missed three calls. The first is from my mother who is most likely calling to tell me I’m late, as if I don’t already know. The second two are from my brother who would rather text me than call.
“Toad,” I gruffly address him as I hop in my truck. “What’s up?”
“You’ll never guess who’s at the Fugitive.”
If he’s about to tell me Charlese, it won’t surprise me. Charlese would move on to someone else if we didn’t last, which we obviously didn’t. We had a good thing going. No complications. Which is certainly not what I have with Naomi, but I’m rethinking my thoughts on that. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing. I still have to prove myself to her, but I don’t want her giving up on us.
“Who ya got?” I chuckle, waiting for her name. Maybe it’s someone special for him.
“Dahlia.”
“What?” I slam on the brakes as I’m reversing out of the Bickerton drive.
“Walked in with two friends, looking like her own kind of Halloween nightmare.”
“What’s that mean?” My stomach pitches.
“She doesn’t look seventeen.”
Shit. “Don’t let her leave.”
“Didn’t plan to. In fact, she’s lucky I don’t haul her ass to my room and lock her up.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Why does she need to try my patience? And why tonight of all nights? Clem’s waiting for me at the community center. So is Naomi without knowing it. Then it hits me. Dahlia is counting on me going there.
“Has she seen you?” I ask, reversing with tires squealing, kicking up gravel as I rush down Green Valley Road. Taking the Dragon in my truck, in the dark, is the last thing I want to do right now. It will take me an hour to get to her and an hour to get back. I need to get to Naomi, but Dahlia is my priority.
“I’m sure if she did, she’d turn tail and
bolt.”
I can’t have Dahlia seeing her uncle and getting skittish. Who knows where she’ll go next?
“Keep an eye on her. I’ll be there.” I call Ma next, leaving a voice message she won’t know how to retrieve. My mother’s worse than Naomi in refusing to use modern technology.
“What’s I need a cellphone for?” Her accent thick in disgust.
“To call me.”
“If I holler your name, you hear me.”
“No, Ma. For emergencies. When I’m not here and you’re out with the girls.”
“What emergencies? I always have everything under control.”
I can’t even list all the times she hasn’t. Apparently, I don’t either.
I take the steep ascent up the mountain road, palms sweating as I maneuver my truck slowly through the curves. If I were on my bike, I might risk some speed, but my pickup is too big. I could use this time to strategize—figure out how I’ll win Naomi back—but instead, I’m cursing my seventeen-year-old for being a rebel and a pain in my ass.
As I hit the true Tail of the Dragon, my thoughts travel back to that night, and I sober thinking of the loss of life. All of our losses. Naomi’s brother is dead, but that night also changed the course of history for her and me. We could have been together all those years ago. Guess the universe had other plans in between that time and now. I definitely wouldn’t have Clem or Dahlia if I changed my past, and for those two reasons alone, I can’t wish it all away.
I navigate the road, old ghosts at every twist and turn.
“You need to ride again,” my brother told me. “Prove to yourself you can do it.”
I have. When I eventually returned to Green Valley, I took the slithering curves at high speed. Part death wish. Part proof of life. I needed to prove to myself I could handle the road and the memories.
A frustrating hour later, I enter the Fugitive hellbent on hitching my daughter over my shoulder and carrying her ass out of the club, but not before I make it known she’s my daughter and I’ll murder anyone who touches her. Fortunately, I don’t need to do any Daddy-caveman routine as I don’t find her in the bar.
“In Todd’s room,” Big Poppy tells me. I head through the pool room and out an emergency door to the attached motel where Todd lives. Owned by Big Poppy, the bar and motel are a mecca for riders to stop and hang out, putting aside club differences for the risk of riding down the Tail.
I don’t knock when I get to the room but turn the handle and find my daughter sitting on the edge of Todd’s bed. My brother sits casually in a chair with his booted feet kicked up on the mattress.
“You called my dad?” she snaps as she turns to Todd, glaring daggers at him.
“Whatcha think I’d do? Thought I brought you here to watch television?” Toad asks. He was the one watching out for my baby girl those years I was gone, and Dahlia and I were separated. She has a closeness with him that I lack as her father. It stings sometimes.
“What are you doing here?” I interject, drawing her attention back to me.
“You wouldn’t let me go to Knoxville for Halloween.” The university boy in Knoxville hasn’t called her as often when I didn’t allow the quote, unquote “college visit.” Surprise, surprise.
“You never let me do anything,” she pouts, crossing her arms at her waist. I finally take in my seventeen-year-old’s appearance. A racy red bra fully exposed under an open black shirt. Her midriff on display. A short leather mini-skirt, fishnet stockings, and a giant red bow in her hair. With bright blue eyeliner and deep pink cheeks, it looks like the 80s vomited her.
“I’m trying to protect you from a broken heart.”
“You’re trying to keep me from living my life.” Ouch.
“That’s not true.”
“You’re always asking me to do stuff for Clem. I have my own life.”
“Dahlia,” I sigh. She’s right. I need her help. But then I look at her and despite the woman she’s becoming I realize she’s still a child. She isn’t my wife or my partner, she’s my kid. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been able to do it all alone. We’re a team.” It takes a village, Ma always says. Or in my case, a valley.
“I don’t want to play.” She swipes at tears leaking from her eyes and my chest constricts. It’s rare to see Dahlia cry. She’s grown more confident and stubborn since the move here. I might know someone like her.
“And now you have another girlfriend.” Dahlia’s voice takes on the sarcastic sassy tone that makes my skin crawl. “And Clem’s all like, Daddy’s in love,” she mocks.
My breath hitches. What?
“She’ll just leave you like the rest of them.”
Man, can my kid throw a sucker punch.
“Dahlia,” my brother warns, and I’m reminded we have a witness to her meltdown.
“It hurts to be left behind, doesn’t it?”
It does hurt, but I don’t know what she’s getting at. Becca was a mistake. Margie wanted more than who I was. Both left me. My brows pinch.
“When did I leave you?”
“When I was little. You left me with Gramm until you fell in love with Margie. Ha.” She drags out the words before her big finish. Dahlia didn’t like Margie who didn’t even try to get to know Dahlia. With Clementine as Margie’s focus, Dahlia felt rejected by someone I thought would be my wife. Fuck Margie.
“Dahlia, I’ve explained this. I had to work. Green Valley didn’t offer much. I sent home everything I had.”
“Except you. Then you got another baby.”
“What are you saying? Do you resent Clem?” I’ve never, ever heard Dahlia speak negatively about her sister. I mean, sure they fight as sisters do. Todd and I still fight, but in general, Dahlia’s been an amazing big sister minus the menstruation books.
“No, I love her. I just …” She’s crying uncontrollably now, and I don’t understand what she’s trying to tell me. I don’t understand seventeen-year-olds! “I want you to let me be my own person.”
“And what? Visit some random guy at a college or hook up with a biker in a bar?”
Her head snaps up and just when I think she can’t rachet up the death glare, she does.
“You don’t understand anything. I hate you,” she says.
I’ve heard enough. “Well too bad, because I love you, and now we’re going home.” I don’t reach for my own child. I’m too upset. I nod at Todd who stands from his chair and steps forward, scooping her into his arms. I’d do it myself but I’m shaking so badly I wobble as I walk. While I want to hug her and tell her she’s wrong, I’m afraid to touch her. Either way, we’re getting out of here.
When we settle in the truck and I’m preparing to give Dahlia a lecture of a lifetime, I receive another call from Ma.
Goddammit. I answer instantly.
“Ma?”
“Daddy,” Clementine’s voice chokes and my heart aches. I hate that I’m disappointing her for Dahlia’s behavior.
“Hey baby, I’m sorry I’m—”
“Daddy,” she interjects, her little voice choked up. “They took Naomi.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dewey Decimal Classification: 391 Costume and Personal Appearance
[Naomi]
The annual Halloween party occurs before the weekly Friday night jam session at the community center, an old school converted for valley gatherings. The party will go in waves as couples with young children will leave first for trick-or-treating. Then, the older members will return to their homes, and finally, the younger crowd will head to bonfire parties throughout the valley. I tell myself the party won’t be so bad, and mustering courage I hardly feel, I pull into the center’s lot because I promised Clementine I’d attend.
“Get in. Get out. How hard can it be?” The difficulty lies mostly in seeing Nathan. I don’t know what to do about him. Would it be wrong to forgive him? Is there anything to forgive? I’ve been so confused, muddling through my emotions this past week. Am I angry that he was involved in my brother’s acci
dent or am I angry he didn’t tell me? Am I worried that he knew all along and played me out of his own sense of guilt? Or is he really attracted to me? We haven’t spoken since his confession, but he’s been leaving me little treats. Flowers. A pumpkin. More poems.
I’ve been constantly thinking about him, and my determination to stay away has turned into desperation to see him again. In my heart, he’s forgiven. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t mine either, and I need to forgive myself, like Beverly often admonishes me. I just needed a little time to come to terms with everything. Now I’m back to putting my fate in the hands of the universe. If Nathan shows at the party, and doesn’t run from me, then I’m taking it as a sign our connection might be destiny.
Does he love me? Does he love me not?
I’m scared either way. I wring my hands before I pull open the door of the former school building and find it bustling with people. Julianne will be here somewhere with her grandchildren, who are visiting from Knoxville. Sabrina will hopefully be here with Harry, and possibly Wyatt Monroe. Familiar faces stare at me, questioning who I am as I wander through the crowd. My costume is quite different from what I normally wear, but then again, it is Halloween, a ritual I don’t celebrate but I will participate in for the sake of Clementine.
Jackson James is the first person who speaks directly to me.
“Miss Naomi?” His eyes roam my costume and I’m not certain if his surprise is my presence at the festivities or my appearance. I’m wearing something more revealing than I’ve ever worn before. On that note, so is Jackson.
“Deputy James,” I drawl. “Why, who might you be?”
Jackson juts his hips side to side, like he’s impersonating Elvis Presley, but with his uniform unbuttoned to almost his waistline, he looks more like someone from the Village People.
“I’m a hot cop. You see them all the time on social media.”
Love in Due Time Page 23
