Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Hey, dickhead, which permit is it you think you don’t have? I’m showing we applied for everything needed when you were in the shop last week.”

  Dickie responded, “I was wrong; everything’s good. I’m waiting in line now and should be at the inspection bay in about ten minutes.”

  J.J. frowned. “Okay, I’ll let Danny know. How long did you sit at the border thinking you weren’t permitted before you looked and found out you were wrong, Dickie?”

  “Not long, a couple hours maybe,” his little brother responded.

  “Okay, make sure your logs are in order, man. No more fines, okay?”

  Hanging up on his second brother of the morning, J.J. wondered if what he heard in Dickie’s voice was a hangover. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he strongly suspected that a bottle might’ve had more to do with missing the appointment in the import agent’s inspection bay than Dickie making sure his permits were in order. His brother usually depended on the mechanics to do that for him, along with pretty much everything else except actually driving the rig.

  At the end of the day, Marty came dragging back into J.J.’s office, flopping down in the chair with a sigh, asking, “Hansen’s?”

  J.J. nodded at him, no less exhausted. “Lemme lock up and grab my truck. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Truck keys,” Marty demanded holding out his hand, and he waited until J.J. tossed them over, “I’ll start it for ya.”

  At his truck, after locking up, J.J. attached the winch to the hook on his chair and leveraged himself into the driver’s seat. Using the controls to place the chair in the back, he closed the door and waited in the warm truck until Marty drove out the gate ahead of him. Pulling up at Hansen’s, the local bar, he reversed the process and met Marty inside at their normal table.

  “Penny’s working tonight, man,” Marty nudged his shoulder, “and she’s comin’ this way.” J.J. rolled his eyes, looking at the eagerness in his friend’s face, but not wanting to put a damper on his enjoyment at the moment.

  “Hey, J.J., Marty, how was work today?” She sat their usual beers down—two bottles of Booyah, a local favorite.

  Marty responded, “Same old, same old, Penny.”

  Looking around the bar, J.J. said, “Y’all are pretty busy tonight. Working by yourself?”

  “Nancy should be in anytime now. I’m off at 10,” she tossed over her shoulder at the two men as she walked back to the bar.

  J.J. restricted himself to a single beer, as he’d done for the last year. There was avid conversation between Marty and his friends about the Mallets’ chances this year; Daniel’s team was always a hot topic during hockey season.

  After a few hours, he was ready to go home. There was no sense hanging around a bar if you weren’t drinking; plus, he was tired and getting hungry. Telling the guys goodnight and leaving Hansen’s, he saw Penny standing outside by her car, which had the hood up. “What’s up?” he rolled towards her.

  “My stinkin’ battery’s dead. I hate winter.” She kicked her car tire.

  “Gimme a minute; I have jumpers.” He moved to go back towards his truck, pushing hard through the slushy snow just as a group of men came out of the bar. One of them saw Penny, and assuming what had happened, grabbed cables from his own backseat before J.J. could even get to the toolbox on his truck. He sighed and waved goodbye at Penny, knowing she’d be gone before he could make it back across the parking lot. Twisting in his chair, he started the process of getting into his truck to go home.

  Finally at home, J.J. could relax, wheeling slowly into his bedroom. Danny had remodeled the entire house for him after the accident, and everything was set-up for easy wheelchair access. Grabbing an overhead bar, he shifted to the bench near the open shelving that served as his clothing storage. Stripping bare, he put a towel down across the seat of the chair and moved back, heading in for a hot shower. Sitting in the steam, J.J.’s thoughts turned back to more than a year ago—the day everything went to shit, when he was sentenced to this chair and this life.

  He’d been standing to the side of one of the tractors, reading a clipboard of the maintenance needed for this rig. He was watching idly as Dickie ran the lift to pick up the tractor so the mechanic could work on it. There was an abrupt grinding noise, and then shouting. Something picked J.J. up and threw him face first into the wall, trapping him there. He had pushed ineffectually at the wall, unable to move away.

  Twisting and seeing what had him pinned, he knew why he couldn’t move. The tractor had slipped off the lift, and he was immobilized between the big wheels of the rear axle and the bay wall. He was surprised there was no pain, and he could clearly hear everyone yelling at once, but there were no constructive suggestions.

  It figured he’d have to organize his own rescue. “Hey, Marty,” he yelled, “call 911,” and people quieted down some. “Dickie, see if you can get the lift back down. Maybe the truck will slide back. I’m stuck, man. I can’t move here.”

  He heard Marty yelling into the phone, and twisted the other way to see Dickie looking at him with horror on his face. “Richard Rupert, see if you can put the lift back down,” he barked out an order as if he was still in the Army, using his brother’s proper name to try to snap him out of it, and as he did so, he felt a twinge of something not-quite-painful in his lower back. Dickie didn’t shift, just kept looking at him.

  “Don’t move, J.J.. Don’t move anything,” Marty screamed at them. “The ambulance is on the way.” Sliding as best he could between the truck and the wall in order to be next to J.J., he started asking questions. “Where do you hurt? Can you breathe okay? Where are you bleeding?”

  J.J. shook his head. “I’m just pinned, Marty. Get the damned truck off me.”

  Shaking his own head, Marty said, “Not moving you until the ambulance folks get here, J.J.. Just stay with me, man.” Marty’s voice was high with tension and fear, and J.J. wondered what he could see from where he was standing.

  J.J. felt something wet on his chin and lifted a hand to wipe the spit away, but his hand came away red. That should mean something, but he couldn’t decide what, because he was getting tired. “Marty, I’m tired, man. Call Danny…tell him I’m going home?”

  Marty’s eyes were big in his face. “Sure, sure, J.J., I’ll call Danny. Stay with me…”

  And J.J. didn’t hear anything else for a while.

  Waking days later in the hospital, J.J. found he no longer had a spleen, one of his kidneys, an appendix, or a gallbladder. Apparently, the docs had cleaned house while they were inside him, taking out all his spare parts. He had also lost the ability to walk. He could feel nothing below his pelvis, and his legs were like dead wood. He was paralyzed.

  Pulling himself from the memories, J.J. shook his head free of the water droplets and turned off the shower. He grabbed a towel off the warming rack, drying his skin roughly, rubbing viciously at the scars on his belly. Then, he began with what he thought of as his suck-it-up routine. He knew he was lucky. He had his life, and his family, and a job he still loved most days. He had few things to complain about, other than the accident. Dragging a shirt and shorts onto his frame, he headed to the kitchen to make dinner, wondering if his brother was still stuck in the hospital in Chicago.

  11 -

  Recovery

  Mica drifted slowly upward from unconsciousness, listening to the sounds surrounding her before trusting to open her eyes or move. Beeping, overhead speakers, squeaky-wheeled carts, soft voices… Hospital, she thought, I’m in a hospital. Eyes closed, she inventoried her body to see why she was in a hospital, evidently in a bed from the feel of it, and in a hospital gown to boot.

  Whispering her findings to herself, “Shoulder hurts like a son-of-a-gun. My head hurts, back hurts, wrist hurts, ankle hurts,” her lips turned down as she whimpered, “and I think that’s the sum of it…all the hurts. IV in my hand, a pinching pressure cuff, finger clip for something…” She slowly opened her eyes and shifted slightly, gasping softly at the pa
in. “Oh, oh, oh…it hurts.”

  She thought she’d heard someone a moment ago, but she could see that there was no one in the room with her now. That was a blessing, because she realized she had to pee badly. Plus, she was dressed only in a johnny gown, with the back gaping wide. She really needed to get up and find a bathroom, but no one needed that picture of her ass in their heads, so she was glad she was alone.

  As her mind slowly woke up and reengaged, she began remembering the fight in the alley and the men. Those men…so many men. She groaned as her breath quickened, her ribs aching. She remembered struggling...so hard, knowing there were too many of them. There was so little she could do against all of them. Having grown up in the rough-and-tumble world of ranches and rodeos had given her survival skills, some she never thought she’d need in the city, but even those skills couldn’t have been enough, or she wouldn’t be in a hospital now.

  Getting sucked into the memories, she heard the beeping beside the head of her bed as it picked up in pace. She remembered the hits and the pain, and the beeping increased in pace again as she saw a shadow edging into the door of her room. It resolved into a man she did not know, and panic started setting in. Squinting her eyes against the glare of the lights, she thought she remembered seeing him, but where? In the alley? Yes, the alley. He had been there. She remembered his eyes. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and it felt like they could look through her.

  Mica went motionless and quiet in the bed, tensing to flee. His face and hands were bruised. Was he one of the attackers? Was he coming back to finish what they started? Looking at the people coming through the doorway behind him, she saw Mason and then Jess, and oh, her body relaxed. It was only then she noticed her shoulder and back hurt worse now from tensing up like that.

  “Jess…Mason, I’m so glad to see you. What happened? Well, I think I know what happened. I got mugged, right?” Mica asked the room at large, hoping someone would answer her.

  Mason cleared his throat. “Yeah, pretty much, babe. Mugging, fighting, surviving. Same shit, different day.” Looking closely at him, she saw he had a small cut above his eye and some dark bruising along his jaw. He had his hands down at his waist, and she could see the cuts and abrasions on his knuckles too. She wondered if all of that was because of her, or from the other parts of his life they didn’t talk about.

  Holding out her hand to Mason, Mica nodded her head, clenching her eyes closed as a wave of pain hit her from moving. “What the heck?” she asked.

  Jess pushed past Mason and the other man to clasp Mica’s outstretched hand, saying in her ever-bubbly voice, “You, sweet pea, have a mild concussion. You have fourteen—count ‘em—fourteen stitches in your head. There’s your re-located shoulder—they said after it’s back in place it’s no longer dislocated, so it’s re-located. You have a fractured wrist, ten stitches total in your back, and a sprained ankle. You’re pretty fucked up, in other words.”

  The stranger with the blue eyes spoke up then, and oddly, his tone was one of admiration. “But your attackers didn’t fare very well, either. You broke one guy’s jaw, another guy’s nose, and tore a third guy’s ACL in his knee. Very nicely done.”

  She was a little confused at how pleased she felt at the tone of pride in his voice. “What the heck?” she softly asked again. Easing across the mattress, she shifted slightly, grimacing in pain. “I’m sorry. Who…who are you? I think I remember seeing you, but the whole day is really kind of fuzzy.”

  Jess clapped her hands, making Mica wince from the noise. “Mason and Mr. Rupert saved you! Not that you needed saving, it sounds like. They said you were fierce and holding your own, but they tore into those men anyway, and gave them new assholes I guess. The cops wanted to hang around and talk to you, but Mr. Rupert said they could get a statement ‘at a later date, when it is more convenient for Ms. Scott’, and turned them right out of the room.”

  “The bad guys are all in jail, or in the hospital handcuffed to their beds. They aren’t from the neighborhood, but they had a van and might have been planning to put you in it. That’s why they were there; at least, that’s what I heard…or uh…maybe it was your purse they were after. It is pretty stylish, after all. Anyway, um…Mason has been great; he hasn’t gone home…except to box up Michael’s stuff and kick his ass out…and to pay the locksmith. Tug and Dig have called a dozen times to check on you. Mr. Rupert has been back like six times. You’ve been out for nearly a full day, sweet pea. Um—I have your new keys, and uh, Donnelly’s happy…and…I think that’s everything, so I’m shutting up now…” Jess trailed off into silence.

  Mica thought fondly that she never seemed embarrassed by her run-on mouth, and loved Jess more for that unselfconsciousness. “Mason, you didn’t have to do that—with Michael, I mean. Thank you, though, you are a good man and a better friend than I deserve. So are you, my dear distracting Jessica,” Mica said the last part softly, looking at Jess. She wanted to make sure Jess knew there was no anger over her telling Mason about Michael, figuring that’s what all her stuttering was about during her rambled update. She took a painful breath, considering all the information Jess had tossed her way, and decided to focus on the stranger in the room first.

  “Mr.—Rupert, was it?” she asked, and he nodded in confirmation. “Are you the guy from the car? I didn’t know who you were or why you were there, but I remember being glad to see you.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she continued, “Mason, I know I heard your bike, but don’t think I ever saw you. I’m sorry. I hope you haven’t been badly hurt—either of you. It looks like you are both bruised up, and on my behalf. I’m so sorry.”

  Shuddering in delayed reaction, Mica’s eyes welled with tears. Mason reached out and put his large, rough hand on her head, gentling her with soft strokes of her hair as she struggled to hold onto control of her emotions.

  Daniel Rupert looked from Mason to Mica, noting the tender care in his touch, and he nodded slowly at her. “Yes, I was in the car. I saw you walking down the street, and then turn down the alley. As soon as you did, there were two guys that followed you in. It didn’t look safe, so I wanted to make sure everything was okay, but by the time I got there, you had practically disabled two of the men and they were on the ground. I was too slow though, because it was clear you were already hurt. I am sorry I was not there quicker to prevent that…more sorry than you know. So, Ms. Scott, if you will stop apologizing, so will I.”

  Daniel carefully moderated his breathing to mask his disappointment, it seemed that Mica was in a relationship with Mason after all. He was surprised that Mason hadn’t mentioned it; they had talked quite a bit over the past day, most of it about Mica. He found himself fascinated by her, and had not been able to keep himself from returning to the hospital again and again since they brought her in. There was no reason; he simply wanted to check on her, and maybe get a chance to watch her sleeping.

  Mason laughed out loud and grinned at Mica. “I saw a bunch of guys jumping a girl, and then realized it was you, babe. Rupert and I nearly killed each other before we realized we were both the good guys. I was taking the shortcut from our street to Main, looking for you. Thought we could go to Jackson’s after we threw Michael outta the house.”

  Mica saw a muscle clench in Mr. Rupert’s face as Mason spoke, and let herself really look at him for the first time. “He’s beautiful,” she mused, allowing her eyes to drift slowly down his body. “Mmmm, strong chin…chiseled, really… those deep, beautiful, blue eyes, and such wide shoulders, he looks like he works out. Love that brownish-red, barely-too-long hair. Let’s see…hands…I’m a hand gal. Mmmm, thick fingers—wonderful. Muscular thighs…probably has a nice package. Mmmm, nice, but I have to pee, and I’m in a granny gown, which is so unsexy.”

  Her eyes widened as she saw him react physically to her thoughts, his eyes coming to hers as he pulled in a deep breath that stretched the limits of the seams on the tailored suit jacket. Hopelessly, she realized she must have spoken her
daydreams out loud. Flushing scarlet, she murmured, “Oh, my gawd, I’m so sorry, Mr. Rupert. That was totally uncalled for, and I do apologize. What drugs do they have me on? Oh, my gawd.” Oh, shit, her accent was back too. Get a grip, get a grip, getagrip, she thought wildly.

  Jess guffawed, as did Mason, pulling Daniel’s eyes to him. There, he saw only affection for Mica, no anger or jealousy that she had been eyefucking another man. Maybe I misread them, he thought, wondering if she had anyone special in her life, and realizing he really wanted to know.

  “I want some of your drugs, girly,” Jess said. “That was fucking awesome, and I will never let you live it down. Gentry is gonna love this!”

  Daniel smiled at Mica. “I don’t mind at all, but please, call me Daniel. I believe we are well enough acquainted now for first names; don’t you, Mica? So, let’s get a nurse in here to assist you with your other needs, okay?” “Please,” she said, peering at him through her fingers as she splayed her hand across her face, “clearly I need all kinds of help.”

  12 -

  Remembering

  Emily laughed at something the guy sitting in the folding chair next to her had said. Her laughter carried clearly across the assembly room, audible over the speakers piping in Alabama’s When it All Goes South. Still filing slowly into the room with the mass of students, Mica struggled to get to a position to see who it was, and realized with a start it was her brother talking to Emily.

  As Mica was pushing through a row to get closer, Em looked over saw her, pointing to a seat on her other side she had saved for Mica. Slowing a bit, watching her best friend with her brother, Mica noticed that Mike seemed nervous. He was wiping his hands down his legs like they were sweaty, and flicking the hair out of his eyes with that head twist that made Daddy crazy. “Stop twitching like a rabid coyote or get a haircut, boy,” was the theme of the week in the Scott household.