by Shyla Colt
“Amen,” I echo the response and cram a slice of bread into my mouth to keep from squealing like a twelve-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert.
“This is Shayne. He’s here to learn the ropes of the food truck business. He’ll be shadowing, helping us out on the trucks, and with the new expansion.”
Swallowing, I lean forward. My father’s eyes are twinkling. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Daaaaad,” I whine.
He chuckles. “Okay. I’ll stop.”
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“You guys know how well Smoke has been doing. It’s making good money, along with the restaurant and Fresco I and II. So, we feel it’s the right time to take on a new project.”
Visions of a black truck with pops of pink dance in my head.
“Smoke II will be coming in the next couple of months.”
My jaw drops, and my stomach rolls. I grip the table. “What?” I snap.
“The boys are ready to open up another truck to meet the heavy customer demand.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I shake my head. You’ve got to be kidding me.
The boys exchange a guilty look, and I take a deep, shaky breath to keep the sobs from breaking free. I blink rapidly to fight back the tears. I can’t even look at the men in my family. They all know how badly I want this, and yet my brothers said nothing when Dad pitched the concept for a second truck? Selfish bastards.
“I want you to be the one who trains Shayne here.”
I’ll bet you do.
“I don’t know, Dad. Do you think I can handle it?” I ask sarcastically.
“Of course. I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else. Caspian and Ellis will have their hands full running Smoke I and getting the other truck up and moving.”
“Right. I mean, what else do I have to do but train?”
HIs lips turn downward, and the mirth leaves his eyes. “We all have to pitch in to make things work,” he says sternly.
Right. Except some should give their all constantly for the dreams of others.
“Congratulations, boys. I’d love to stay and help you celebrate, but I find myself feeling ill.” After wiping my mouth with my linen napkin, I drop it onto my plate.
My father’s brow furrows, and I meet his gaze, daring him to call me on it. He looks away. We all know why I’m angry. I refuse to make eye contact with anyone else. The tension mounts. An invisible shield of disharmony falls over us.
“Shayne, it was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” I direct my words toward my father without looking at him. “Let me know when the training schedule will begin once you get it figured out.” Pretending I’m okay with any of this is not going to happen. It’s all I can do right now to walk away and not cause a scene.
I want to rage, vent, and purge my soul of all I’ve held inside. My time as an employee is limited. This blatant disregard for my wishes has started a countdown clock. I’ll be training Shayne Spencer to take my place. I can’t help but see the poetic justice in that. There’s freedom in this betrayal. No longer will I allow the chains of familial loyalty to bind me.
I have money saved, and excellent credit. I’ll apply for my own damn loan. Tears fill my vision, blurring the surroundings. I keep my head held high and my pace steady, though I’m bleeding out metaphorically. Bile threatens to creep up my throat. My mouth waters and my throat closes.
I take a shaky breath as I retrace my steps out of the house. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. The cracks begin as I cross the threshold of the front door. I have to make it out of here before I fall apart. I cover my mouth to hide the sobs.
My head pounds. I close my eyes against the shame flowing through me. Nothing I’ve done swayed him. To Dad, my hard work and sacrifice will never be worth as much as my brothers. Balling my fists, I dash away the tears with the back of my hand. He won’t get more of my tears. If he thinks he can box me in and force me to do things his way he’s wrong. I’ll show him just how much of his daughter I am.
My dad never lacked for money, but my grandparents didn’t understand or care for his passion for food. Both lawyers, they regularly tried to steer him toward more conventional career choices. It was why he’d ended up taking out a loan on his own for school and making the journey to L.A. to study under chefs. You’d think he’d relate to me. Instead, history is threatening to repeat itself. Furious, I stalk to my car, pull out of the driveway, and call the one person who knows me inside and out.
“You’re calling me before noon on a Sunday, what’s wrong?”
Jas’s voice washes over me like a cooling rain. The sister of my heart knows the good, the bad, and the ugly about my life. She’s seen the darkest parts of me and never shied away.
“Dad made an announcement today during family brunch.” My voice waivers.
“Oh, crap.”
“Wait. This is priceless. Guess who’s getting a second food truck.” My voice cracks.
“Oh, babe, I am so sorry. That’s fucked up.”
I sniff. “I really thought we were there for me. That I finally was going to get my turn, Jas. I sat there beaming like a jack ass. Hell, he’s even brought in a new guy to help offset the load placed on poor Casp and Elli.” I spit their names out like poison.
“I can’t believe he did this.” The horror in her voice is a reassurance.
“Why not? He thinks I’ll stay and continue to either try futilely to get into his good graces or fall in line.”
“You’ve been ready to branch out on your own for a long time. You have the degree, the work ethic, and the experience to do it successfully. You’ve saved, planned, and prepared. It’s time to spread those wings, baby bird.”
“I know. I kept hoping change was around the corner, but now I see it’s nothing more than wishful thinking.”
“Come on over. I don’t want you to be alone right now.”
“What’s going on?” her husband asks. I smile. When your two childhood friends are high school sweethearts, it creates a unique dynamic. We are a tribe.
“I’ll tell you in a minute, Andy.”
Thank God for friends who become our family.
“I’ll be there soon.” Depleted, I disconnect and turn my full attention to the road. As reality continues to set in, I find myself questioning not only my family but myself. When did making everyone else happy start to outweigh my own joy? I think back to my mother handling the household and everything child related. From Girl Scouts to soccer, Cub Scouts and basketball, she did it all alone so my father could continue to chase his dream.
Even when she tried to hide it, I saw the tears and loneliness over the years. I promised myself I wouldn’t be that way, and yet here I am. I respect my mom for all she did for us, but I also viewed it as a cautionary tale. I don’t want to be on the sidelines of my own life or always stuck compromising to the point that I lose myself. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime.
***
Jas opens the door with Andy hovering behind her. I walk into her arms. After a lengthy hug, I’m passed off to Andrew.
“I’m sorry, Xi. You deserve so much better than this,” he says.
I return his gentle squeeze. “Why can’t you be my brother, Andy?”
He laughs. “Family is more than blood. I’m your brother in every way that counts.”
I inhale his sandalwood oceanic scent and pull away, uplifted by two of my favorite people.
“Here.” She pushes the prescription-shaped coffee mug I claimed as mine ages ago toward me.
I wrap my hands around the ceramic, willing the warmth to seep inside of me and chase away the chill working its way to my heart. I have to take responsibility for my own part in this mess. I take a sip and sputter. There’s a lot of Baileys, a healthy dollop of whiskey, and a wee bit of coffee.
“Figured you needed something more than caffeine.” Jas winks, and I laugh.
“I love you.”
“You know I love you, too,” she replies.
“Tell us what happened,” Andy says as we walk over to the couch.
Sighing I carefully lower myself to the couch and recreate the scene with words. With every draw from the mug, I feel a little more removed from the situation. I can handle it better when it’s from the third person point of view.
“He’s stuck in the Stone Ages.” Andy shakes his head.
I can’t disagree. “I’m done.”
Jas and Andy exchange a confused look.
“With what?” Jas asks slowly.
“All of it. I’m living life on my terms now. Being patient got me nowhere. I’m done operating under their guidelines.”
“I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you say this,” Jas whispers. She stands, and I watch her, curious. “Wait here.”
She walks to the room she and Andy use an office. As a graphic artist and a systems analyst, their house is a techie’s haven. She returns with a manila envelope.
“Is this a spell that’ll change my father’s mind, so I can have the next truck?”
“Ha, I wish. No. This,” she waves the folder, “is everything you need to get started.”
Taking the folder from her, I gasp as Magical Munchies is realized in plans. The black truck contrasts with the beautifully illustrated unicorn across the side. Done in bright colors with a unicorn it’s everything we discussed.
“Jas,” I whisper, moved by the time she must’ve put into this.
“Do you like it? I’ve been working on it for months off and on.”
I hold the plans to my chest. “I adore it,” I whisper.
“Good, keep looking … I made up shirts and potential uniforms. I figured I’d incorporate your obsession with unicorns.”
“That was my idea,” Andrew remarks.
I laugh as I sift through the pages. The almost anime-style unicorn is adorable.
“He or she needs a name,” I murmur as images of merchandise dance in my head.
“Yes, she does,” Jas says.
“I should run a contest, get people involved once I start to set up my marketing.”
My mind is going a mile a minute as the things I’ve long imagined suddenly seem within reach.
***
Shayne
I don’t know what kind of strings Stone pulled, but the Foley’s think I’m an average Joe coming to learn everything they have to teach about the food truck industry. The Kings of Chaos and their connections never fail to amaze me. Richard wants me to meet up with Xia every morning. That way I can store my bike at her place, and not worry about navigating to the locations where they’ll be setting up until I’m more familiar with the city.
I also think he expects me to be a distraction. I don’t know the family well enough to get their internal politics, but the guilt-laced glances being exchanged over the table Sunday told a story all their own. I’m good at observing others. My life often depends on thinking ahead and predicting what the other person is going to do. I watched a soul be grievously injured while the others rejoiced. I have to give it to her, she did a great job of hiding it outwardly.
But the windows of the soul never lie. Those cocoa brown eyes went from dancing and full of stars to an endless black hole of pain and fury. I saw a world full of emotions be born and die in a matter of moments. Getting involved in family drama isn’t on my to-do list, no matter how intriguing the dark-haired beauty with full lips, a heart-shaped face, and delicate features is.
I know that level of devastation she’s experiencing. It draws me to her. I clear my head as I drive onto the busy highway. I don’t know how people manage this mess in a cage.
I weave through the cars, mindful of the exits. It’s weird being in L.A. The vibe is completely different from San Mateo. Hustle, bustle, high fashion, and flashiness abound. The one bedroom feels like a time out. I’ve never existed in such a quiet environment. There’s always someone around in the clubhouse, and growing up I had Echo, and my dad always had brothers over.
This must be what it feels like to go to college for the first time. Everything is unfamiliar, and I know no one. Still, there’s a type of freedom in that anonymity. There’s no past, except the one I create. It’s a fresh start, and days full of simple tasks.
The decisions I make aren’t going to be life or death, or affect an entire group of people who depend on me. People think being in a M.C. is the ultimate freedom, but there’s a lot of rules and obligations. The President keeps us a tight leash. If we don’t answer to each other, it’s chaos and not the controlled kind we thrive on. After parking in her garage, I make my way up to the third floor.
It’s a new experience, heads don’t turn, whispers don’t start, and I’m not judged for my appearance. Matter of fact, I know I look like a schmuck. I miss the weight of my cut. I feel naked without the leather and my steel-toe boots. In blue jeans, a white T-shirt with the Smoke logo across the chest, and slip-resistant shoes, I’m a caricature of my former self. If the brothers saw me right now, they’d piss themselves laughing.
The apartment is swank and new. Whatever they’re paying her, she’s not hurting for money. I take the elevator up and find myself at her door, unsure about what I’m walking into. People have a tendency to kill the messenger. I knock on the door and wait. She opens the door, and I feel my pants grow tighter. Her lips are a deep red that has me itching to smear her lipstick with my mouth.
She peers up at me through her long, dark lashes and purses the pouty lips that have me thinking about what she looks like out of those black pants and the T-shirt that hugs her ample breasts.
“You’re punctual. I like that. Come on in. I’m finishing my coffee, and then we’ll be off. You don’t want to work with me if I haven’t had enough java.” She steps inside, and I scan her space. Dark black curtains contrast with a white leather couch and zebra print rug. Framed posters of graphic novels and anime line the wall.
The furniture is a dark espresso wood, and odd items catch my eyes. An old timey copper phone rests on an end table, and I can see an old black typewriter and intricate iron candle holders. Xia has hidden depths. Ones I can’t imagine going over well with her tightly laced family. From their home to the food they served, and the khaki and polo T-shirts they wear, they scream conservative.
“You want a cup?” she asks over the rim of her unicorn plastered mug.
I nod my head. “Please.”
She moves over to a shiny, dome-shaped machine and recreates a trip to Starbucks. “I’m pretty laid back. If you listen and observe, you’ll do fine. There’s a lot that goes into the food truck industry. You have to cook, market, sell, and provide excellent customer service and a unique experience. You have to do all of these things well, and that’s a tough balancing act. That’s where people fail. Cream and sugar?”
“Black is fine,” I reply.
She scoots the plain mug over to me.
“So how do you learn the balance?”
“Trial and error, and an immense amount of research. You’ll be starting from scratch, so you’ll have a different experience than we did. We’ve had years to figure out what sells and what doesn’t. I highly recommend you do your research in the area you want to set up in. Find out what sells, what doesn’t, and most importantly, what they don’t have. It’s all about finding your niche and doing it well.”
“And how did your family choose?”
“Well, Fresco was a no brainer. We adapted our favorite dishes. My brothers have always been into BBQ, and there was a real lack of that at the time in the mobile industry, so they went for it.”
“And you didn’t want to branch out?” Her mug clinks against the counter.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Her li
ps thin into a line, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “When I start the day, I like to post where we’ll be on our social media sites, and if we’re running any specials or contests. Since I’ve already done that, we’ll head straight over and jump into the opening process.
An icy wall comes up between us. Who says it never snows in Southern California? It’s going to be a long day.
***
I never knew I could miss prospects so much. My back and feet are aching. Hell, my face hurts from forcing myself to smile at people when I wanted to do anything but that. I’m not used to dealing with the general public as a civilian. That’s what I have baby bikers in training for. There are perks to wearing a patch.
Right now I’m moving, help whenever you want it, to the pros and con list I’m creating for staying with the Kings. After a grueling day of following Xia around, taking in too much information, and serving customers, it’s time to break down, clean, and prep for the next day.
“You having fun yet?” Xia asks, raising an eyebrow.
I study her, not sure how to respond. She has a way of saying words without inflection, so you can only guess at the tone. I don’t want to make an enemy of the person training me, but I’m not the type to take anyone’s shit.
“It’s sweet of you to be so concerned about my well-being.”
Her eyes widen, and I smirk. “Must be the southern hospitality I hear Texans are known for.”
“You must be mistaken because I’m a SoCal girl.”
“Then it must be your sweet nature,” I counter.
Her lips turn downward at the corners, and I stave off a chuckle. I like the fire in her eyes. I step toward her.
“You wanted to show me how to break things down, right?”
She gives me a once over that takes longer than necessary. Whatever she feels for me, the physical attraction between us is mutual. She huffs and looks away. I step even closer. I’ve never been one to back down. She might run things where the truck is concerned, but outside of that, I like to be in charge. Her breathing speeds
