Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel

by Cate C. Wells

  Parker glares at me when I come out of a corner of the garage wearing it. Honestly, when I asked to go riding, I had it in my head that it’d be like back in Dalton. My brother Robbie had a bike, and we’d go out to the fields at the end of our street and ride. No helmets or pads. I should have figured on the gear. The kids were all geared up when I ran into them on the trails that day I got busted.

  “Is that the chest protector you were goin’ to give me for Christmas?” Parker scowls at his dad.

  “Yup.” Dizzy doesn’t look the least bit abashed.

  “This mean I can get the better one I showed you?”

  “Guess it does.”

  Parker smiles. Darn. Kid’s face totally changes. “Sweet.”

  Carson already geared up, and he’s revving his engine in the yard. He’s big for his age, so you tend to forget how overall tiny he is until you see him on the bike. It’s adorable.

  There’s no one else around outside. It’s early yet. From my week of squatting, I know that on the weekends, no one stirs much before noon.

  The weather’s damn near perfect. Sixty degrees. Sky so blue it’s hard to believe it’s real. A hint of woodstove in the air.

  Dizzy rolls my bike outside and holds it steady while I mount and check it out. It’s got more bells and whistles than Robbie’s, but the basics are the same.

  “You know how to ride, right?”

  I raise an eyebrow and smirk.

  He grins. He’s backlit by the sun, all wild dark hair and beard and sparkling eyes.

  He checks my chinstrap, tests my helmet. It’s on tight.

  I lower myself to the seat. Oh, shit. This was not my best idea. I’m not that sore, but in an hour? I might need to ride back standing on the foot pegs. Last night was intense. Dizzy wanted to stop, but I begged for more. He’s more cautious than I am. Always checking in and searching shit on the internet to make sure he’s not gonna hurt me. I love it, but in the moment, I just want him to keep goin’.

  “Follow me,” Dizzy orders, heading for his own bike. “Not the boys. They know the trails.”

  “Yes, sir. Follow the boys. Gotcha.” I salute.

  I expect a swat, but I get a scratchy-bearded, smooshed-up, through-the-open-visor-of-my-helmet kiss instead.

  “Smart ass.” He hops on his bike—no helmet, I guess ‘cause his hair won’t fit in and he’s invincible—and we head out to the tree line.

  We ride for an hour, the boys racing ahead and then circling back on side trails, showing off. Dizzy does a fair amount of showing off, too. We reach the bottom of the low mountain—a foothill, really—that looms a few miles west of the clubhouse.

  There’s a stream running through a gully before the trail disappears up a sharp bank. A downed tree lies in a clearing, covered in moss and surrounded by beer bottles. Dizzy gestures for me to pull off. The boys’ bikes are already here, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Probably climbing the boulders that rise on the other side of the water.

  I dismount, bend, and stretch, and Dizzy does the same beside me. Oddly enough, my ass is numb. I tug off my helmet and shake out my hair. The cool breeze soothes my hot scalp.

  Dizzy rests a cold water bottle against my shoulder. “Drink.”

  I grab it and guzzle it down. I’m parched.

  It’s so gorgeous out here. The leaves are fluttering to the ground in slow motion like red and yellow confetti, and it’s quiet except for the occasional howl or crack or hoot in the woods.

  There’s a soothing bigness to it all. An openness.

  I don’t know what New York City will be like, exactly, but it won’t be like this at all. It’s a sucky thought.

  “What’s that?” Dizzy runs his thumb along my frowning bottom lip. “You hurtin’?”

  I shake my head and lope off to check out the stream. I don’t want to think about how this is temporary. And it is, right? I’m the house mouse. Free pussy and maid service in exchange for room and board. That’s the deal. Isn’t it?

  No matter how comfortable it is, how natural it feels.

  I can’t stay here. This can’t be for real. He’s a dad with a real job and a house and responsibilities. I’m—Well, I don’t have any of that. He might be into me now, but how long is that gonna last?

  This isn’t a fairy tale. In real life, Cinderella is underemployed, and the prince isn’t gonna want to support her indefinitely when he’s got bills of his own.

  Something inside me turns mean and grumpy. I kick some rocks in the steam, make a splash. It doesn’t make me feel much better.

  There’s a crunch as Dizzy comes up behind me. He stops a few feet back. I ignore him.

  He shuffles his boots.

  I squat and root through pebbles for a nice flat one to skip.

  He coughs.

  My nails are long again now. Grit sticks under them.

  “Fay-Lee.”

  I can’t find a good skipping stone. They’re all round or lumpy. I grab a handful of pebbles and roll them in my palm.

  “Fay-Lee.”

  I squeeze and let the pebbles dribble from my clenched fist, bit by bit.

  And then Dizzy’s crouching next to me. In terms of size, it’s like a silverback gorilla sidled up and popped a squat. He gives me space, but he’s still imposing as hell. Makes me feel even more ornery.

  I start tracing my initials in bubble letters in the dirt.

  He sighs. “The boys’ mother did this.”

  He’s bringing up his ex? Now?

  “She wasn’t so childish about it, but she did the same thing. She’d get mad, wouldn’t say why. I was supposed to guess. But I’m shit at guessin’.”

  Oh. My shoulders slump. That is what I’m doing, I guess.

  “You tell me what’s wrong, I’ll fix it. If what we’re doin’ is too much for you, we can slow down. If somethin’s happening that you don’t want, it stops.”

  A lump swells in my throat.

  That’s literally never been the way life has gone for me ever. If something was wrong, I had to fix it myself or deal. If I didn’t like something, I could suck it up. There were a dozen other mouths to feed, and most were younger or sick or in a bad way.

  Nothing in me believes him—that’s not the way the world works—but the words have such a wonderful ring to them. I want him to say it again, but I can’t think of how to get him to repeat himself. So I try the truth.

  I glance up and meet his eyes. “I like it here. I don’t want to leave.”

  His brow furrows. “I don’t want you to leave. Why are you thinkin’ about leaving?”

  “Well, I can’t stay forever. I mean, I need a job. Stuff. My own place.”

  His face falls. “Okay.” He stares at the stream trickling past, carrying tiny elm leaf boats. “What job do you want?”

  “I don’t know. I worked at the Gas-and-Go where I’m from.”

  “You want to work at a gas station?”

  “No, I don’t want to work at a gas station. I mean, it was all right for what it was. Not many jobs in Dalton.”

  He tries to run a hand through his hair, but it’s majorly tangled after the ride. “Okay. So what stuff do you need? You mean like makeup?”

  “Yeah, I guess. And food and all the other things a person needs.”

  “You’ve got all the food you need. You want something, we can stop by the grocery store on the way home.”

  This conversation is getting stranger by the minute. It’s like a dubbed movie where the voiceover doesn’t quite match the actor’s lips.

  “There’s enough food at the house. But I can’t live off you forever, right?”

  “You ain’t livin’ off me.”

  I roll my eyes. “I am. I don’t really have a choice—y’all didn’t give me one, either—but I am.”

  “Is that why you’re letting me fuck you?” His body’s rigid. If I pushed him, he’d topple over. Timber. I’d never do it, though. Well, yeah I would. When we’re playing. But we’re not playing now.

&n
bsp; “I like what we do. I want it.”

  His shoulders lower, and his muscles relax.

  “I have no idea what that says about me, but I don’t really care, either.”

  Rylan Dorset and those other boys were more a chore than a good time. My sisters had me convinced I needed a boyfriend, and to get a boyfriend in Dalton, you have to put out. They were wrong on all accounts.

  The spanking hurts, and that sucks. But everything else I love. The anticipation. The weird headspace after the tenth or eleventh smack. Afterwards, when he holds me and fusses over me. And I love that he wants it so bad.

  People always want something from me. My nieces and nephews want a few bucks or a snack or help unscrewing something or finding a lost blankie. Mama and my sisters are pretty much the same. They need to borrow twenty bucks until the EBT deposit, or they need me to watch the kids, or they need to borrow my makeup or my high-heeled shoes.

  It’s a taking kind of wanting.

  Not a powerful kind of wanting.

  I let Dizzy do things to me—things I’m growing to crave—and right after, I suspect he’d do whatever I asked him to do. It’s a heady feeling. A rush. This enormous, wild man wrapped around my finger.

  Hold up. “Do you mean that? You don’t want me to leave?”

  “No,” he says immediately. “I mean, yeah. I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay. With me. And Parker and Carson. Not just until shit is settled with the club. But as long as you want.”

  “For the free sex and maid service?”

  “Nah. For the hassle and the smart mouth.” His lip curls up at the corner. “You’re my woman. I told you so.”

  “You can’t mean it. We hardly know each other.”

  He sits flat on the ground, knees bent, and grabs a stick to draw swirls in the mud.

  “You’ve got nothing to say to that?” I sink to my butt, too, and cross my legs. I take my own stick and mess with his swirls, give them ears and tails.

  “I got no reasons, girl. It’s just the way it is.”

  “What would you do if I left?”

  “Chase you. Bring you home.”

  “What if you really get to know me, and you decide you can’t stand me?”

  “It’s a definite possibility.”

  I slap him, and he chuckles.

  “This is crazy.”

  “I ain’t bothered. You really want a job?”

  Do I? In my head, I get off the bus in New York City, and I’m looking up at all the skyscrapers like they do in the movies. Maybe twirling around with a suitcase in my hands. I didn’t get much beyond that.

  I kind of figured I’d waitress since I’m friendly, and I’d be able to sneak leftovers. I wasn’t stoked about it, though.

  “I guess I should get one.”

  “You don’t have to. You can stay home. Take care of the house and the kids.”

  I shudder. Ugh. Not interested. I’ve been doing that as long as I can remember. I don’t want more of the same.

  “No. I want a real job. Then I can pay towards rent.”

  “The house is paid off.”

  “Well, groceries then.”

  “Your money is your own. I do all right. You can buy yourself more sparkly blue dresses.”

  I’m not sure why I’m arguing. Any of my sisters would have their hand jammed in his pocket long before this point.

  “I got my high school diploma. What kinds of jobs are there around here?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.” If I had a choice, what would I do? I’ve never had choices. Not in Dalton. Not when I had no reliable transportation. “I like people.”

  “You get on well with the women at the club, don’t you?”

  “I like Story and Crista.”

  “Not Harper.” He’s teasing me.

  “I don’t like lawyers.”

  “Smart.”

  “Yes, I am.” I rest my head on his shoulder and tilt to ease the pressure on my butt cheeks. The ground is hard. “I wouldn’t mind an office job. Or a job in a store. Where you work with people, and it’s okay to chat.”

  “I got an idea.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Lemme talk to Big George. I don’t want to get your hopes up if it don’t pan out.”

  “You’re gonna help me get a job?”

  “Yeah.”

  There are shouts in the distance. Carson. But it’s rambunctious, not cause for alarm. Sounds like the boys are heading back this way.

  “Okay. I’ll stay. What will the boys say?”

  “They seem to like you fine.”

  “They do? Parker doesn’t seem too happy.”

  Dizzy lumbers to his feet and stretches his back. “He’s got some shit goin’ on. Don’t have to do with you. He likes you fine.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  Dizzy snorts. “I brought a woman named Faith home about two years ago. They didn’t take to each other. Parker told me he’d sleep out in the garage ‘til she was gone. I do believe he would have done it.”

  “There they are.” I catch flashes of neon green through the trees. They come tumbling into the clearing, ruddy-cheeked and laughing, talking over each other. Apparently, they caught a salamander, and it got away.

  They’re happy in a way that my sisters’ kids never are. Confident. Carefree.

  They want us all to race back to the clubhouse, but Dizzy says I’m not a good enough rider. He may be right. He tells the boys they can race each other, but they stay with us, circling and looping and waiting in the trail when they get too far ahead.

  They want to go to a place called Duck’s Diner for lunch, and Dizzy agrees like it’s not a thing. We only get sandwiches, and it still costs thirty bucks with tip.

  Afterward, we stop by the kid’s elementary school and let them run off some more energy on the playground. Parker’s a brand-new kid. In the outdoors and sunshine, he’s finally shaking off whatever’s been weighing him down. When I show them how I can flip over the monkey bars, he even flashes me a shy smile, identical to his daddy’s.

  That kid’s got big worries. I recognize the slump in his shoulders. It’s a cryin’ shame. He has everything he could possibly need, and still, the world’s messin’ with his mind somehow. It ain’t fair, but it sure is how life goes.

  Dizzy and I are sitting side-by-side, and I’m tucked as close to him as I can get. I’ve got my arms wrapped around my knees, and he’s manspreading with his arm resting on the back of the bench.

  We’re alone except for two mothers with their little girls. They steer clear of Parker and Carson, sticking to the swings, and their mothers steer clear of us. They’ve got their heads together, casting Dizzy dirty looks.

  Could be ‘cause even without his cut and his ride, he’s every inch an outlaw biker. But I guess it could also be ‘cause he’s so much older than me. These past few weeks, we’ve stayed home or gone to the clubhouse. We haven’t been in public together much at all.

  “They’re talking shit about us.” I jerk my chin toward the women. Dizzy’s had his eyes on either the boys or me. I don’t think he noticed.

  He sniffs. “They’re talkin’ shit about me.”

  “They should find somethin’ better to do.”

  “Let ‘em have their fun.” Dizzy stretches his legs and raises his face to soak in the sun. Then he winds his arm under my braid and drapes it around my neck.

  One lady takes this as an affront. Her nose goes straight in the air, and she folds her arms tighter, giving us her back. The other lady glares.

  “That bitch needs to mind her own business.”

  “You need to mind yours.”

  “What?” I squirm in indignation, try to wriggle loose, but he holds on and chuckles.

  “Who gives a shit what Lori McClure and her friend think?”

  “You know those women?”

  “Lori’s kid is in Parker’s class. They been together since pre-K.”

  I’d f
orgotten it’s a small town. Dalton was the same. Everybody knew everybody, but half the people acted like they didn’t. Folk will be snobs, even if it’s people in twenty-year-old beaters pretending they don’t see folks hitchin’ rides.

  “Not very friendly, is she?”

  “I wouldn’t expect so. I think she bought her house from my ex. They talk.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “That means my ex don’t have much nice to say about me.”

  On the one hand, I’m not surprised that divorced people don’t like each other, but my stomach still sours. A crazy ex is a red flag. I learned that from my sisters. Nine times out of ten, the man drove ‘em crazy.

  “Why is that?”

  Dizzy sucks his cheek. “I’m a biker. I hang around with criminals. I don’t got ambition.”

  “You don’t have ambition? You’re a mechanic.”

  “Yup. That’s what I always wanted to do. And I don’t never want to do anything else.”

  I don’t see how that’s problematic.

  Dizzy frowns at my confusion, huffing a sigh as he tucks a flyaway behind my ear. “Sharon and I started in the same place, but we went different directions. That happens long enough, one person looks at the other and don’t understand them no more. It’s human nature.”

  “That’s bullshit. Mechanic is a real good job.”

  “I agree. But that’s life. One day you’ll decide for sure what you want to do, and you’ll head that way. The people in your rearview won’t mean the same to you anymore. It ain’t a bad thing. It is what it is.”

  He turns to watch Carson dangle from the rock wall, his face closed off. He resettles his arm, resting his forearms on his thighs.

  I get what he’s saying. I’ve heard people say similar shit before, generally when they’re trying to justify doing what they please. Dee’s changed her life so many times, she’s outgrown everyone in Dalton at least twice.

  I ain’t against self-improvement, but I think I’m fine the way I am. I’ve only got complaints about my circumstances. I’ve done what’s needed doin’, though. I’m on my way. To where, I’m not so sure anymore.

  “I already did what I wanted to do,” I say.

  “Yeah?” He keeps his eye on Carson. “What’s that?”