by Harlow Brown
“Look, it is worth bringing up if Briar called for backup and refused to let you go back, but I won’t press the issue. But I know it was serious shit or Briar wouldn't have asked me to help.”
“Briar just cares about me, that's all.”
“Sexy, Briar loves you. You’re like his little sister.”
Beer, emotions, and the fact that the big fucker had no regard for my wishes made me walk over to him and gently touch his abs. As he looked down, I racked him so hard with my knee that he screamed in pain. He hit his knees on the porch, holding his junk in his hands. “Motherfucker! What was that for?”
“I said don't call me sexy again or I'd bring you to your knees. I also said that the last time was the only warning you would get. I fuckin’ meant it. I'm sick of men having no regard for what I want.” I started backing away from him and memories of me asking—no, begging—Hensley not to hit me or throw me to the floor and tie me up started flooding my brain. Tears stung my eyes as I continued to stare at him.
When he saw the tears and the anger on my face he stood slowly, took a breath, and said, "I had no idea shit was that deep.”
“You know jack shit. Don’t act like you do.”
“I know that some dumb son of a bitch burned and broke you. To what extent, no, I have no clue. I'm real sorry about the sexy comment. If you don't like it, I'll stop.” He dropped his head and said under his breath, “Hell, my balls are begging me to.”
“I'm not going into it anymore. Apology accepted. There will be no more warnings, so do it again and I'll make sure you don't stand for a while.” I turned away from him only to spin right back around and spout off, “Or reproduce.”
“I believe you.” He cocked his head to the side. “You never introduced yourself.”
“You know who I am, and you know my name. I didn't figure you needed an introduction.”
“You don't remember me, do you?”
“No. And I would remember if we met.” I wasn't about to tell him it was because no one in their right mind could forget something that gorgeous.
“I remember you from Briar's birthday party a few years ago. You were with some pretty boy. And it's rude not to give me a name to call you by, especially seeing as you don’t like the one I picked out for you.”
Well, touché. Biker boy had a point. Telling him my name wouldn't hurt anything. “I’m Charlie. I'm also going in to grab dinner and catch the game. Thanks for coming and helping Briar with my junk.” It was as much politeness as I could muster.
Briar and I passed in the living room. “Hey, thanks for cooking. I’m going to grab a plate and head to my room. Braves are playing, and then I'm turning in. I'm wiped out.”
“Welcome, Charlie.” I was going to talk to Jazz but I guess she went to shower, seeing as I was alone. All alone with my memories and hate and liquid courage in my veins. My emotions were playing tug-of-war. Confusion versus sadness, accomplishment versus defeat, joy versus fear. I'd start to feel strong, like I was going to be able to move forward, and then his fucking memory would surface again, knocking me back down.
I grabbed my plate of food and headed to my room, flipping the TV on to the game. Atlanta- 5 St. Louis- 3 in the bottom of the seventh inning. Finally, peace and a good distraction to help push his memory out of mind for a while.
“BRIAR, THAT GIRL is a pistol.”
“That girl has a name and it’s Charlie. What makes you say that?” he growled.
“Ask my balls.” Whiskey laughed as he rubbed them.
“Huh?”
“She kneed me in the nuts, man.”
“Well, what did you do to her? She doesn't ever start shit with anyone, but makes no bones about finishing it.”
“I called her sexy. She warned me twice. I didn't take her seriously, though. She’s too small to do much harm, right? Lesson learned on the third time. She took me down.”
“She warned you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you deserved it. I told you she’s been through hell lately, yeah?”
“Yes, and she ain't sharing that information either.”
“You asked her?” Anger was evident in his tone.
“I asked her why she couldn't come with us.”
“Dude, leave it alone. It's not nice, it's not pretty, and it's damn sure not something that she’s going to discuss with a stranger. It took three years before she told us.”
“There’s something about this girl that makes me want to help her.”
“No way, hoss. You like to have different women every night and Charlie won't be one of them. The last few years of her life have been pure hell. She doesn't need your shit to add to it.”
“So what’s her story?”
“Our senior year in high school her parents were killed in a car wreck by a drunk driver. The rest of it isn't my story to tell. Just stay away from her, okay?”
“Dude, I'm moving back here. I'm going to be around her. I just want to be her friend. Looks like she could use a couple.”
Briar slapped Whiskey’s shoulder and said, “The Whiskey I remember don't do friendships with women. You love ’em and leave ’em.”
“Briar, I'm telling you that there’s something about her. It takes someone special to bring a biker to his knees the first time you meet. She has a fire in her that is so evident now, even though her world is so dark.”
“Good luck to you, then. She ain't interested in making new friends. Especially guy friends. Men are on her shit list.”
“Her story’s brutal, huh? Like ‘I’m going to beat somebody’s ass’ brutal.”
“Yes, she’s mind-fucked right now.”
“Care if I crash on Jazz’s couch? I don't have anywhere to go just yet.”
“Go ahead, man. Glad to have you back. Hey, Charlie's house is for rent, but only to you. If you don't want it, she’s selling it.”
“Really? I mean yes, I’m interested. I’ll look at it tomorrow when we go over to get her stuff.”
“I think she said four hundred, but it's hers so ask her.”
“Where's she at, anyhow?”
“In her room watching the game.”
“The game? Like there’s only one?”
“To her, there is only one. Braves are playing the Cardinals. Charlie’s a diehard Braves girl.”
“A chick who’s into sports, feisty, and drinks beer? She’s getting more and more interesting by the minute!”
“Whiskey, I'm telling you, leave it alone. I’m not above kicking your ass, and I’ll do it in a heartbeat over Charlie or Jazz.”
“Jesus, I'm not going to make a move on her. I don't even know her. Chill the hell out, would ya? I get it. I have a past, and you don't want her treated like I used to treat women,” Whiskey spat angrily.
“Damn straight. She’s trying real hard to get herself back to normal. She can't handle being hurt and used again.”
“Things change. People change. Don't forget that. Shit happened in Texas that put life in a different perspective. I see the error in my old ways, and I’m not that same person anymore.”
“What happened, man? This sounds real deep, and that look on your face says so too.”
“Not going there, not now. But yes, it is deep.”
Briar clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, man, you know I'm here if you need me, yeah?”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks. Which way to Charlie? I want to ask her about her house.”
“Down the hall, second door on the right.”
“I'll crash on the couch.”
“Nah, man, I'll go get her air bed and you can sleep in the living room.”
“Cool, I appreciate it.”
NERVES SEEMED TO take over my body, and I didn't exactly know why. I was just asking about a rented house, not taking her to dinner. I found the door and was just about to knock when I heard her scream, “Bullshit, he was out! Watch the replay, you douche bag!” at the top of her lungs. She was passionate about baseball, that was for sure. I waited
a minute and heard, “Ha. In your face, ref, ya cocky bastard.” She didn't sound like a crazed lunatic now, so I seized the opportunity and knocked.
“Come in. It's your house, so you ain’t gotta knock,” she said, not prying her eyes off the television.
I opened the door and very delicately said, “Is it okay if I ain't Jazz?”
At the sound of my voice she jumped and backed against the opposite wall, fear and pain etched all over that beautiful face. She was by far the most breathtaking woman I’d ever laid eyes on, and trust me, that’s saying something.
“Hey, Charlie, it's just me. I'm not going to hurt you. Are you okay? What can I do?”
I wanted to make it all go away for her. I wouldn't want that for any woman. There is no good reason that hearing a man’s voice should put a look of terror on a woman's face. I had to know her story. It wouldn't be soon or easy to get, but I was going to help this girl.
“Fuck me! You scared the shit out of me.” She caught her breath and slowly peeled herself off the wall. ”Why are you in my room?”
“Who’s winning?”
“You like baseball?” she asked, confusion written all over her face.
“Yes, why is that so hard to believe?”
“You’re a big badass biker. Forgive me for thinking that doesn't exactly scream ‘I like baseball.’”
“I guess it doesn't. I’ll give you that. Although you should know not to judge a book by its cover. Bikers aren't always about bikes, babes, and beer.”
“Fair enough. Now what do you want?”
“First, who won?”
“Atlanta is up by one in the top of the ninth.”
“Close one, eh?"
“Yeah, and I’d like to get back to it.”
“Care if I watch? I’ll stay away from you.”
“Fine, if it’ll shut you up.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Three up, three down, boys,” she said as her attention reverted to the TV. I was shocked. None of the women in my life had ever liked baseball, so I didn't watch it. I do love it, though. It reminded me of a simpler time when I was young, although I wasn't a Braves fan; I was a Rangers fan, had been since the Nolan Ryan days.
“Come on, y'all have two more.” She moved over to sit on the futon. “Shit. Get it, Kemp.” A pause hung in the air momentarily and then, “Good job! One more, boys. One more.”
She didn't act like a girl with deep dark issues. This chick was in her element. The unadulterated bliss made her glow, and I couldn't help but stare.
“What are you staring at?”
“You. You’re so happy.”
"I love baseball, and softball. It's my only happy place,” she said as that sad expression came over her face again.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up. I just noticed a huge change in you from out on the porch earlier to right now.”
“Strike," the umpire barked.
“Sweet. Two more, Ramierez. Two more.” And just like that, she was sucked back up into her game.
“Strike.”
“Hell yeah, baby, come on. One more.” Molina was up. First pitch was a money shot right down the center of the plate. CRACK. I watched the ball sail to the left field wall.
“Get it, Markakis, get it!” She was fidgety and tense, “Go, go, go."
There was a pause in her chants as Upton leaped into the air and snow-coned the fly ball.
“Hell yes! Wooo Hooo. That’s it, my boys, good game!”
She was screaming and pumping her fists in the air. She was sexy and happy in her little baseball-filled world. I’d never been attracted to that type of woman.
“That was incredible.” Her smile would definitely be my undoing.
“Briar told me you were going to rent your place, and I'm interested. What's the details?”
“Four hundred a month. You get utilities in your name, make sure to pay them, and don't trash it. That's all I ask.”
“I’ll take it” was out before I could think about it.
“You haven't even seen it. You want to wait a bit before making up your mind?”
“Nope. Price is great, and I miss being home. Texas sucked.”
“Okay, well, I don't want to get all legal and shit, so rent is due on the 15th of every month. If you’re late more than three times, I’ll change the locks and you’ll have ten days to get your stuff out. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Please don't trash it. Daddy bought it for me and I'm just not ready to part with it, but I can't stay there.” All the joy and glow was gone with that one statement. She just stared out the window.
“Hey, I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
No response. Well, that’s weird.
“I’ll even handle all the repairs,” I stated.
Still nothing, so I started towards her. She turned away from the window, and the reason she hadn’t responded was etched on her face. Fury. What the fuck did she see?
“Charlie, talk to me. What's wrong? Do I need to get Briar?”
“My. Car,” was all she would say through gritted teeth.
I ran to get Jazz and Briar. Hell, I didn't know how to handle her.
Jazz came over to Charlie. “Baby girl, what happened?”
“The sorry bastard fucked with my car.”
Jazz looked out the window and then shouted, “Son of a bitch! Briar, will you go check it out? I got Charlie.”
Briar looked to me and quietly asked, “You in?”
“You know it, brother.”
THE BOYS LEFT and Jazz went to get a beer. What I could see from the window pissed me off—two slashed tires and a basket resting on my roof—so I decided to go down too. Staying inside wasn’t going to help me. Jazz met me in the hall with the are you sure look and tried to hand me a beer. I just took a deep breath and nodded, nerves and anger engulfing me as I walked out.
Whiskey just quietly handed me the basket and stepped away, giving me some privacy. Inside were a single rose, a note, and a picture. The picture was one of Whiskey and me from just hours before. When the actual fuck did he get that? That sick fucker’s been watching me. I felt violated by him again, which nauseated me. It turned out reading the note was a bad idea, seeing as how I already felt sick. Upon finishing it, I dropped it and ran to the ditch to throw up. The vile words and threats appalled and frightened me to no end. The words on that paper kept repeating in my head, each time evoking a new round of vomiting.
Char, I see you didn't believe me when I said you were mine. I saw you with that guy on the porch. You must be getting around already. You always were my little slut. Did whatever I said so I didn't hit you. Dirty girl. I will get you back. Then I will tie you up again and make you beg for me to stop fucking that pussy. I know you used to love it. And after I'm done, I'm going to make sure you understand that you are mine and no one else's. Use your wildest imagination on how I plan to fulfill that promise to you. Just know that it won't be pleasant for you at first, but you will grow to love it, just like all the other dirty things we did. There is nowhere you can go that I won't find you. I love you. Come home and make it easier on yourself. -H
Jazz was beside me holding my hair. When I stopped for a minute, she picked up the paper and read it. “Briar!” was all she had to yell before he was there at our sides.
Out of breath, he gasped, "What, baby? What's wrong?”
She handed him the note. After he read it, he calmly said, “Everyone inside. That sick son of a bitch is probably still watching.”
And he stormed into the house, leaving the rest of us behind. All I could do was curl up in a ball and cry. My legs wouldn't work even if I wanted them to. Why had my life turned to shit? What did I do to deserve this? I mentally shut down and rocked relentlessly, crying on the ground. I remember Jazz trying to get me inside, but I wouldn’t budge. She couldn't pull me out of my head that time. Briar had already gone inside, and Jazz couldn't carry me. “Whiskey, could you get Charlie, please? I can't get h
er, and she isn't okay,” she begged.
“Of course I will. Is she going to be okay with me touching her? I'm not Briar.”
“Just be gentle. She’s bru…. Shit.”
“She’s what?”
“She’s bruised, okay. Be easy with her.”
“How did she get so bruised?”
“You’ll have to read the note to find out. I'm not telling anyone. She probably doesn't want anyone else knowing,” I heard her say, still unable to form words or movements.
“Fine, you get her some fresh clothes and I’ll get her inside.”
“Thanks, Whiskey.”
SHE WENT QUICKLY back inside, probably to talk Briar down, and I was left outside with Charlie. Witnessing her so scared, so broken, so fragile after seeing that beautiful face so full of happiness a few minutes before made my heart hurt. I couldn't explain the feeling of protectiveness I had, the rage I felt at him for her. I knew at that moment that I would do whatever it took to help her. I was going to make sure the fucker paid for his sins against Charlie.
Bending down, I said, "Charlie, can you stand? We’ve got to go in. It isn't safe for you out here.”
No answer, only a blank stare and a river of tears.
“Hey, I'm going to carry you inside, okay?” I half expected to get decked but I scooped her small frame into my arms, proceeding to the door with swiftness and caution. Briar met me at the door with a scowl on his face, and I returned it. I wasn't doing anything wrong. Hell, if he hadn't called me I wouldn't be there. We had to have words, and the carefree Whiskey wasn't going to show up to that conversation.
Jazz pointed me to the room we were in just a few minutes beforehand.
I looked at Briar. “We need to talk” snapped from my lips before I could stop it. Then I carried Charlie to her room.
Jazz said, “Thanks. I can take it from here.”
“Can I come back in a bit to check on her?”
“I don't see why not. Hey, would you get the camera out of the hall closet for me? I need to take pictures of the car, note, and the basket. Can you handle that for me?”
