Fearless

by Lauren Gilley

  “Oh please. I’m a mother. I know these things.” She turned to Mercy, still sitting on the floor. “She told you?”

  It was the first time he’d really grinned – impish twinkle, bright flash of teeth – in eight weeks. “Yeah. She did.”

  Maggie glanced between the two of them a moment, expression softening. “Congratulations.”

  **

  “Are you happy?” he asked that night, in the enfolding dark of her – their – bedroom.

  Ava sat against the headboard; Mercy lay on his side, his head at her hip, drawing aimless patterns across her bare stomach with his fingertips. His head shifted a little, so he could see some scrap of her face in the dark, the pillow rustling. Incoming light from the streetlamp painted him in shadows and triangles of orange. His face looked young, and wondrous, and hopeful.

  “About the baby?” She was realizing he would always seek her reassurance on that front. His great worry was that she’d wake one morning thinking she was too good for him, and resent him. Silly man. “I’m elated,” she assured, soothingly, sifting her fingers through his loose hair, tracing the shape of his skull, the shell of his ear. “Our second chance,” she whispered.

  His hand smoothed flat across her abdomen. From wrist to middle fingertip, it fit perfectly across the span between her hipbones.

  “If it’s a boy,” Ava said, “I want to name him Remy, after your dad.”

  She saw his lashes flicker. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I think that’d be nice, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “We’re going to be okay,” she assured, finger-combing his hair. “I know it.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh, his breath tickling across her skin. “Do you know how much I love you? I mean, do you really know?”

  She felt the thickness in her throat, the pricking in her eyes. “Yes. I know.”

  “I’m going to do the very best I can for you. Both of you.” He wiggled his fingers on her stomach. “However many of us there end up being. It may not be worth a damn, but I’m going to do it.”

  “I know that, too.”

  He shifted, rolling onto his stomach, settling between her legs. The light carved deep shadows along the high wings of his shoulder blades, the ridge of his spine down his too-thin back. She felt his breath against her, warm and damp. And she gasped at the first touch of his lips, and then his tongue.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, eyes half-closing, as she watched the shadows move across his back and endured the exquisite torture of his mouth between her legs.

  Maggie hummed to herself as she pulled an extra package of bacon from the fridge and peeled it open in the bright early sunlight of morning. Yesterday morning, Mercy had come to the breakfast table without his brace, eaten two bowls of oatmeal and then looked disappointed that there hadn’t been any more. Maggie and Ava had exchanged a startled, excited look. He was eating again. He was back.

  “Shit, if that’s all it took, I’d have told him I was pregnant,” Ghost had grumbled, and Maggie had swatted his arm.

  “Stop. And pick me up an extra pack of ground beef on your way home. If he’s going to come back to life, I’m going to feed him, damn it.”

  This morning was a big day on two accounts. Ava was going to sort her school situation. And Mercy was getting back on his bike for the first time, going back to his first church meeting at the clubhouse. The boys had to vote in a new Vice President, and Ghost had waited until Merc was ready to sit at table again.

  They did love each other, those boys, even if they fucked it up most of the time.

  The sound of a bike heralded Aidan’s arrival before he entered through the back door. It felt good for things to be back to normal, without all the constantly locked doors and prospect escorts. They could all breathe again.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she greeted as Aidan dropped a kiss into her hair and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Breakfast?”

  “Yeah, that’d be good.” He sounded tired and dull as he took a seat at the table. He’d been sounding that way a lot, lately.

  “Did you come for Mercy’s first ride?” she asked, deciding to press on with her brightness as she laid the bacon in the skillet with a hiss.

  “Yeah.” He reached to fiddle with the salt and pepper shakers, frowning to himself.

  Maggie toweled off her hands and said, “Aidan, is everything alright?”

  He glanced over, expression guarded. “Yeah. Why?”

  Now she frowned. “No reason.”

  Footfalls heralded Mercy’s arrival and she thought there was a certain air of a nervous kid on his first day of school about him, as he stood in the threshold a moment, without his brace, hair tidily knotted back, his flannel shirt looking a lot like Ava had ironed it.

  Maggie tried to keep her smile small. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” He went to the table with only the tiniest trace of a limp and exchanged a palm-slide with Aidan. “What’s up?”

  Aidan grinned. “I hear you got your mommy to sign your permission slip so you can get back on two wheels again.”

  “He doesn’t need permission to kick your ass, douche,” Ava said as she breezed into the room with a swirling of her knee-length sweater coat and a clicking of boot heels. She paused to kiss Mercy on top of the head which made him blush and didn’t help the whole mommy comparison.

  “Where are you going?” Aidan asked her. “Dressed like a yuppie?”

  “School.” She went for the coffee pot then retracted her hand, frowning.

  “It’s decaf,” Maggie assured, passing over a mug.

  Ava nodded, lower lip trembling in a small show of nerves.

  “Are they going to take you back?” Aidan wanted to know. “After you dropped out?”

  “I withdrew, I didn’t drop out,” she corrected. “So I hope so, yeah.”

  “You’re taking your new story, right?” Mercy asked her.

  “Yeah.” She sipped the coffee, made a face, and then set it aside. “Ugh. Maybe ginger ale instead.”

  “Who did I hear throwing up earlier?” Ghost asked, joining them and completing the family portrait.

  Ava raised a weak hand as she went to the fridge.

  “Oh, right. Morning sickness.” He made a face that was part-concerned father, part-angry-father-in-law, and ultimately useless. “You still going to school?”

  “I have to. I made an appointment. I’ll just…puke in a trash can, if I have to.”

  “That’s my girl,” Maggie said with a laugh. She plated the bacon with a few flicks of the fork. “You want to try and eat something before you go?”

  “Ugh. No, thanks.” Ava went to kiss Mercy goodbye. She had decided, Maggie noticed with an inner smile, that she wasn’t going to blush and slink around in front of her father and brother. She was married and she was going to kiss her husband full on the lips when she told him goodbye, no matter who was watching.

  “Good luck today,” she told Mercy as she drew back.

  “You too.” He made an apologetic face. “And you might wanna pop a Tic-Tac.”

  “Shit,” Ava muttered. “Alright, I’m off.”

  “Be careful,” Ghost admonished.

  “Love you, good luck,” Maggie called.

  Then it was just her and the three boys. She smiled as she brought the bacon to the table, earning three curious looks for it.

  “What?” Ghost asked.

  “Nothing. Just thinking what a cute picture you all make. Family togetherness,” she said in a false, saccharine voice. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  She laughed when they all rolled their eyes in perfect unison.

  “You withdrew from all your classes,” Mrs. Waltham said, clasping her hands together on top of her desk blotter. Over on the file cabinet, the calico goldfish fumbled through their bowl, scales shimmering. They were more fun to watch than Mrs. Waltham’s questioning expression, but Ava forced herself to maintain eye contact, swallowing another sur
ge of nausea. She clasped the arms of her chair with clammy palms and thought calm, cool thoughts, willing her stomach to quiet.

  “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t want to, but my husband had a terrible motorcycle accident, and I needed to put my time toward his recovery. It wouldn’t have been fair to him or my studies to try and do both at once.”

  “Hmm. I see.”

  “So,” Ava pressed on with a deep breath, “I was hoping I might be able to sign up for spring classes. I would still very much like to earn my master’s and…”

  Mrs. Waltham was smiling. “Relax, dear. This isn’t the Spanish Inquisition. I saw that there was some…drama…encircling your…family, and it didn’t surprise me that you’d withdrawn.”

  Ava winced. “Is this the part when you tell me that the grad program has no need of biker wives?”

  “No.” She snorted. “This is the part where I tell you that I read your new piece while you were out in the waiting room.” She leaned across the desk, eyes twinkling. “I love it.”

  The burst of relief eased the tension in her gut. “You do?”

  “With your last story, ‘Falling,’ you revive the Byronic hero. And with this new one, ‘Fearless,’ you manage to give him a happy ending. It’s interesting.” She propped her chin on a fist. “Most of the time, a hero like that doesn’t get the girl.”

  Ava twitched a small smile. “I think that’s because they don’t have the right kind of girl.”

  Mercy received the hugs and the back-slaps gladly from his brothers, grateful no one made a big fuss. Ghost rested a hand briefly on his shoulder, a quiet, inclusive gesture of support, before he said, “Alright, let’s head in,” to the group of them.

  Mercy felt the anticipatory shiver as he stepped into the chapel, that old feeling this room had always inspired in him, almost like that little spark of energy when Ava’s hand hovered above his skin, right before she touched him. A sacred room, steeped in the immediate traditions of this century, and those of centuries past, an echo of Arthur and his knights pulling up chairs at the Round Table.

  When they were all seated, even Troy, puffing away on what might be his last cigarette, Ghost settled in, and Littlejohn shut the door from the outside.

  “First off,” Ghost said. “A little good news, I think, given the last couple of months. Merc, you’ve got two things to celebrate, yeah?”

  All eyes came down to him at the foot of the table. He felt a faint fluttering of nerves as he lifted his left hand, touched his thumb to the new gold band on his fourth finger. Everyone nodded; they already knew he was married, but this was Ghost’s way of accepting it officially within the club. Ava was his old lady now. She was to be given the proper respect and homage as such.

  “And,” Mercy said, “we’re expecting.”

  Only Ghost and Aidan knew that part, and the group erupted in a burst of table slapping and sharp barks of congratulatory laughter.

  “That’s some deal the courthouse is giving out,” RJ teased. “Buy one marriage license, get the first baby free.”

  Rottie cuffed his friend playfully from the side. “Congrats, man,” he told Mercy. “You guys deserve that.”

  “That poor thing,” Hound said, “is going to have to give birth to your giant offspring.”

  “C-section,” Briscoe said. “That’s the way to go.”

  Walsh sent Mercy a small grin, his well-wishes silent, but deeply felt.

  Michael watched the rest of them with a robotic detachment, his expression unreadable as he regarded Mercy from down the table.

  Whatever. The most important face was Ghost’s, and he was smiling.

  “Alright,” the president said when things had quieted down. “We know why we’re really here.”

  Mercy took a deep breath, taking in the scents of old cigarette smoke and wood polish, letting the chapel reach into him, take hold again.

  He was back. Finally, after five years, he was back for good. And like Ava had said, he was free, too. All his life, and now, at this point, with his club stretched before him and his woman’s ring on his finger, he was free, and the taste was extraordinary.

  Ava found Bonita visiting, when she stepped into Maggie’s office. The former queen seemed to be on her way out, flipping her hair over the collar of her jacket, and she turned a beaming smile on Ava.

  “Mira,” she exclaimed. “Look, she’s glowing. Little madre.” She came to buss Ava’s cheek. “How do you feel, bambina?”

  “A little green,” Ava said. And a little overwhelmed. Back off, woman!

  “That will pass,” Bonita said with a wave. “What’s important is that you’re going to have a baby!”

  “That’s where pregnancy leads, they tell me.”

  The sarcasm lost on her for the moment, Bonita patted her face again as she breezed out. “We will plan you the most wonderful shower!” she called in farewell.

  Ava sank down in a chair when she was gone. “She exhausts me,” she muttered.

  “Me too,” Maggie agreed. She set aside the folder she was digging through. “How’d the meeting go?”

  “I registered for spring classes.”

  “Good.” Maggie propped an elbow on the desk, cupped her chin in her hand, and really settled in to stare at Ava. “You good?”

  Ava smiled. She knew all the layers behind the simple question, and appreciated her mother’s unparalleled ability to cut to the chase in the gentlest way possible. She leaned back in her chair. “I am good.”

  Maggie smiled back. “I know you know the ropes, but it’s a little different being married to one.” She made a gesture toward the clubhouse. “It’s riskier. You’ve got so much more to lose, and you’re more in the loop. It’s…” She sighed. “It’s nothing you haven’t already handled. But you’re my baby.” Her smiled twitched in one corner. “And you’ve been through so much.”

  Ava said, “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s always so much. And you couldn’t think of being anywhere else.”

  “My smart girl.” Maggie blinked and her eyes looked shiny. “You were made for this. I just want you to be happy, too.”

  “I am, Mom.”

  “I know it.”

  Five minutes later, she walked across the Dartmoor lot, in search of her man. It was a cold day, the wind biting and smelling of the river, the sky cloudless, a sharp blue that hurt her eyes, and struck unforgivingly on the acres of corrugated steel. The air was redolent with the old perfume of exhaust and pavement and motor oil. Ava pulled the halves of her long coat together against the wind and thanked heaven for the chance to return here, unscathed, to home.

  She ran into Aidan in front of the clubhouse. “He’s working,” he said of Mercy. “I’ve got a buncha imports for him to take a look at.”

  “Really?” She was surprised and pleased, and a little bit worried.

  “I told him not to overdo it,” Aidan said. “Not that he’ll listen.”

  “Thanks.” She started to turn, to double back to the bike shop, but paused, catching her brother by the sleeve. “Hey, Aidan. I mean it. Thank you.” For all that he’d done, since he’d headed to New Orleans for them.

  He looked awkward, like he didn’t know what to do with her gratitude. “Just don’t get into any more bike crashes, okay?” he said, gruffly, tugging at a lock of her hair.

  She smiled, eyes going to the front of his cut, the empty place where an officer’s patch would be stitched. “You didn’t get voted in as VP,” she said, quietly.

  “Walsh did,” he said, and made a good show of looking like he didn’t care. “He was the obvious choice. I knew it wasn’t going to be me.”

  She made a sympathetic face, reaching to brush dirt off the breast pocket of his cut, and he stepped back.

  “I haven’t earned it yet,” he explained, his smile grim. He gave her a little salute as he walked away.

  “Hmm,” she murmured to herself. No, he hadn’t earned it yet, but that didn’t mean the overlook hadn’t crushed him anyway.

>   She shook the thought away and doubled back to the bike shop.

  Mercy wasn’t working anymore, but he had been, and looked happy as a clam standing in one of the garage bays, toweling grease from his hands, a black smudge along one high cheekbone. The way his face lit up when he saw her warmed her insides, left her smiling.

  “Having fun?” she asked, after he’d kissed her. He smelled like bikes. Like a mechanic. She loved that smell.

  He nodded. “Got my hands dirty again.” He held them out to her to demonstrate the dirt deep under his nails. “Feels good.” He went back to toweling. “Things go alright at school?”

  “Yep. I start back in Jaunary.”

  “She liked your story?”

  “ ‘Fearless’? She loved it, apparently. She wants me to submit it for publication in a literary journal she recommended.”

  His smile was full of pride, the husband and father roles getting all mixed up again. She didn’t care; secretly, she liked it, if she was honest with herself.

  “Let me wash up a little,” he said, “and then we’ll get out of here. There’s something I want to show you.”

  Nerves flared up in her stomach when it came time to mount his bike again. She shoved the butterflies down with a few deep breaths. There was no evidence left of the crash. Walsh and RJ had fixed the Dyna up while Mercy recuperated; she looked as beautiful and matte-finished as she always had.

  “I know,” Mercy said quietly, giving her waist a little squeeze. “It happened to me, too.”

  Which meant that if he could get past it, so could she. With one last deep breath, she swung her leg over behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. It felt immeasurably good, holding onto him again like this.

  She hitched her chin up onto his shoulder. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The last of her worry melted away once they were out on the road. The bike felt solid and strong; so did Mercy. She settled in against the beating of the wind against her sunglasses and bare face and let the trip wash over her, the way the world seemed to be standing still from this vantage point, the two of them the only living things moving at the same speed, breathing at the same rhythm. Like it was just them, alone in a wilderness made for two.