by Tia Lewis
“You want a drink?” I asked.
“What?” He blinked once, twice.
I smiled, getting up. “It sounded before like you might need a drink.”
He eyed me up and down like he was getting ready for me to turn it around and make a joke. I didn’t. Instead, I poured him a whiskey and slid the glass his way. He finally relaxed once he decided that I wasn’t making fun of him, and I watched as his shoulders fell and he seemed to slump over the bar a little.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I told him. “Drake’s freaking out right now because he’s taking over the club. That’s all.”
“Yeah, I know. Try telling him that.”
“Did you?” I asked, my eyebrows shooting up.
“Oh, hell, no. Am I still alive?”
I chuckled, pouring myself another cup of tea.
“He’ll get over it. I guess it’s not easy coming back to real life after you’ve been in paradise.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he muttered, looking into his glass.
“No?”
“The closest thing I ever came to paradise or sandy beaches is Coney Island and the North Jersey shore. Unless you consider the desert, and that’s no beach.”
“No, I guess not.” I sometimes forgot that Creed had been in the Army. He’d lost a hell of a lot of his discipline, that’s for sure. I couldn’t imagine him strong, fit and fighting. He had it in him, I could tell, but all of it had been lost somewhere along the way.
What had I ever seen in him? I couldn’t remember at moments like this when he appeared weak and vulnerable. I was always hurting when we got together, and I guess that was all there was to it. Like the first time, only a week or two after my old friend and member of the club, Austin had died.
I remembered Austin so well, sometimes it was like he was still alive. He was the kind of person who was so totally alive, so vital and real; it didn’t seem right when he was gone. I could still feel him around me when I stood behind the bar when the clubhouse was silent. When it was just me and my thoughts, he would be there as a listening ear.
And I had loved him. I couldn’t help myself. I wished that I had told him how I felt when he was alive. I had wished it for over two years that I had the courage to tell him that I loved him. I had so many regrets, ever since we got the call about the ambush at the warehouse. Even when I didn’t know he was dead yet, the first thing I thought was I wish I had told him I loved him. I never told him. I have to tell him. But I never did, because it was too late.
Nobody had known about us, just the way that they never knew about Creed and me. I didn’t even know if Austin had felt the same way about me as I had about him. Maybe we never would have told anybody since there wasn’t anything to be told. We were sleeping together, and one of us had fallen in love. That was the oldest story in the book.
Austin had the thickest, darkest hair. Like dark chocolate. And he was just as delicious as dark chocolate, too. I could still taste him on my lips, my tongue, years later. I closed my eyes, remembering what we had shared. Wrapped up in my memories. They were so thick, sometimes I couldn’t think straight.
I told myself back when Austin died that I would never love a biker again. Ever. No matter what. It wasn’t worth going through that pain again. I didn’t think that I could stand it. A person could only stand so much heartache in one lifetime.
“What’s up with you?” Creed’s question brought me back to reality.
“Nothing. Just thinking.” I turned away, unable to look at him. I didn’t want Creed to see what was going on in my head. He had an irritating way of reading me that I didn’t like. Just like he’d figured out the real the reason that I was so broken up after Austin died.
He hadn’t needed to ask. It was like he saw my pain, recognized it as being close to his own suffering, and had reacted. We had been alone at the time, everybody else having gone upstairs to sleep it off after a wake in honor of Austin, Lance, and Pete.
I had been cleaning up by myself when Creed stepped in to help me. We hadn’t said a word to each other, moving back and forth behind the bar. We would touch each other every now and then, but just in passing, the way people do when they’re casually working together. It hadn’t been a big deal.
Only once we were finished cleaning up and I was ready to call it a night, we’d stood there looking at each other. We hadn’t had to talk about what happened next. I couldn’t forget it any more than I could forget Austin. My memories of that first time behind the bar lived in my heart the way the memory of Austin’s face did.
That first kiss had been electric. My immediate instinct had been to push Creed away, to ask what the hell he thought that he was doing by kissing me that way. That reaction had lasted for a split second before something had sparked inside of me. I hadn’t known it was there—if anybody had told me that I’d be standing there with Creed’s hands on my ass and his tongue down my throat and I’d be loving it, I would have laughed my ass off. As it was, my entire body had leaped to react to him. I’d tangled my hands in his hair, holding his head close to mine, crushing my lips against his, feeling the way his beard scratched my skin and not caring about the burn. Reveling in it, in fact, the way that he marked me. I’d wanted to be marked by him. His tongue had massaged mine in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent heat straight between my legs and left me wanting more and more.
He’d backed me into the bar, and I’d hopped up onto it, wrapping my legs around him as we kissed. His hands had wandered up beneath my top, running over my bare skin and sending shivers through my body. He’d groaned, turning me on, even more, and making me want all of him. I’d melted against him, molding my body to his, pressing my breasts against his chest. I’d felt his heart pounding against mine in the same frantic, rapid rhythm.
Another groan from him and my nipples had peaked and hardened. His hands had found them, kneading them through my bra. I’d unhooked it, desperate for his touch. His hands had slid beneath the cups, groping me as he grunted and panted like an animal. I realized that he was just as desperate as I was. When his mouth had met my skin, licking a trail down my throat, I’d let out a cry that had echoed throughout the lounge.
It had only been a matter of moments before my jeans were down and he was positioning himself against me. I’d made sure he’d worn a condom—so careful then—and by the time he’d pressed against my hot, wet opening I’d been just about ready to burst with need. My legs had even tightened around him like my body was trying to draw him inside.
That first thrust… I shivered just thinking about it. We’d gripped each other tight, both of us overcome with passion. I’d dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding on for dear life while he drove himself hard, deep inside of me. We didn’t make love. It wasn’t sweet. We’d fucked each other senseless, both of us sweating and gasping for air by the time that we exploded together.
I closed my eyes on the memory, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart. It was the past and that night seemed so far away. It would never happen again, I told myself. I wished I would have listened, but I fell into temptation. We continued to sleep together repeatedly in the weeks before Drake and Nicole’s wedding. I had proof of that. I put a hand over my stomach, reminding myself how much bigger the proof would get before it was all said and done.
6
Creed
I didn’t usually spend a lot of time at home. I was always either in the clubhouse or out doing something related to the club. My apartment showed how little I cared about it, too. Hell, why bother with the upkeep when the only time that I ever spent there was usually with my eyes closed?
I kicked off my boots when I walked in, leaving the Chinese food I’d picked up on the table by the door. I flipped the five locks before doing anything else—no sense in taking chances, even though people in my neighborhood knew who the Blood Riders were and that we were nobody to fuck around with. But there was always somebody out there who thought they were hot shit or that the rules didn’t apply t
o them. And they would get cocky and try to hold one of us up. Of course, we were usually carrying. I almost always did. I took off my holster, leaving my semi on the kitchen counter before grabbing a beer from the fridge.
I wasn’t the sort of person who needed a lot of things. I had a couch, a TV, and a bed. Everything in the kitchen and bathroom worked fine. That was about it. It was just me—after all. Why would I spend money on things that I hardly ever used?
I flipped on the TV and cracked open my food. Two egg rolls, a quart of fried rice and a large sweet and sour chicken. All my favorites. I opened my beer, too, taking a long drink from it. It was good to be home. I didn’t usually get the time to sit down and chill.
My DVR was totally full, and I started flipping through it to see if there were any shows that I wanted to catch up on. Most of it was stuff that had already been spoiled for me. I knew how the last season of Game of Thrones had ended. Same with the other shows I liked. I found a movie that I must have set to record in a drunken stupor. The Ring.
Not that it was a bad movie. It was actually very good. Scary as hell when I first saw it back when I was seventeen, and it had just come out in theaters. My friends and I were dead set on seeing it since we had heard it was fucking scary from everyone that we knew. I didn’t think it was so terrifying. Creepy, yeah, but not terrifying.
That wasn’t why I remembered it. I remembered it because it was the first movie that I went to see with Angie. That had been our first date. I was never the kind of guy who believed in omens, but if I had, I would have known better than to think we would ever stay together. That movie had set our relationship in motion, and things had never been good.
But I had been in love, or so I had told myself. I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. You met somebody, you liked her a lot, and you spent a lot of time with her. You learned about her, and you made out a lot, and you eventually got laid. And after a while, you told her that you loved her. That was how I thought it was supposed to go when I was a stupid kid of seventeen who believed that I had it all figured out. Didn’t we all believe that we knew it all when we were seventeen?
Only I had taken it one step further. I was never one to go only part way. I’d saved up all the money I could from the hours I spent working at the clubhouse, running errands for Jack and the other guys, helping to fix bikes and I had bought Angie an engagement ring. I was already set on going into the Army right after graduation, and I wanted to be sure that she was waiting for me at home when I was finished with my tour.
I could remember the night that I gave her the ring. It had been hot, and sticky as hell. Late June in New York, what else was new? We had been at her parents’ house, on the front porch, trying to get a little air. The house had air conditioning, which was a major plus. It also contained her disapproving, overprotective father. We’d decided to talk without him leering over our shoulders so we thought that it would be better if we remain outside.
“I have a question for you,” I’d managed to croak out. God, I was so fucking scared. My knees had shaken like crazy, and I was sure that in my nervousness I would drop the ring in the dark. We didn’t dare turn on the porch light since that would only attract bugs. So, it was just the two of us in the darkness, and me fumbling around for the tiny diamond ring that I had bought and was so proud of.
“What is it?” she’d asked. She’d known that I was set to leave in a few weeks, and she’d been sad for days. I’d taken it as a sign that she loved me, that I should go ahead with the proposal. What the hell had I known?
“I wondered if you would be here waiting for me when I get home.”
“You know I will, baby. I love you.” She’d leaned her head on my shoulder, sniffling a little. My heart had soared. I was so sure of myself back then.
“Will you marry me?”
“What?” Her head had popped up, and even in the darkness, I had seen her eyes go wide and round. “Do you mean it?”
I’d fumbled around for her hand in the darkness, sliding the ring on her third finger once I’d actually found it.
“I love you, and I want you to be my wife. I wanna know when I’m over there that you’re back here, waiting for me. I want something to come home to. I want something to think about when I’m lonely or scared.”
“Oh, baby! I love you so much!” She’d just about tackled me, and we’d sneaked into the house after her father went to bed to have sex in her rec room. She’d even gone down on me, both of us thinking that we knew how sex worked and neither of us having a really great idea of how to pleasure a partner. I didn’t care, though. I didn’t have much experience to judge by, and I thought that the way that she gave herself to me so freely meant that she loved me. I had thought that what we shared was meaningful, profound and sincere.
I had never been more wrong, but I didn’t know that at the time.
When I went to Fort Drum, she’d met me at the bus station with tears in her eyes. “I’m so proud of this ring, and of you,” she’d sworn, and she’d kissed me full-on in front of everybody at the station. I had been so happy; I didn’t know what to do with myself. I remembered sitting down in my bus seat with a big, joyful hard-on, wishing that I could sink it into her one more time. She had waved to me the whole way out of the station, crying legitimate tears.
It was easy to look back and see that everything that was wrong but at the time all I saw was what was what appeared right. I had a girl back home, waiting to start a family with me. Angie loved me. She used to send me letters and emails telling me how much she wished that we could be together without the physical distance between us. She would describe, sometimes in incredibly vivid detail, the things that she wanted me to do to her, and the things she wanted to do to me. I couldn’t remember how many times that I had jerked off to one of her letters, written in scrawling cursive with hearts drawn over the top of the I’s. It was so ridiculous. Looking back, I recognize how snowed I was over this girl and how childish we both were at the time. I guess that’s why they say that hindsight is 20/20. At this point my life my vision has never been clearer, but back then it was clouded by lust, and I was looking for love in all the wrong places
But I’d thought that I was a grown-ass man since I was in the Army and about to go to Afghanistan once my ten weeks in basic training was up. I figured that I was hot shit and I was barely eighteen. But then again, the kids who fought in World War II and the war in Vietnam were the same age, and they had to do a lot of things out there in the field that grew them up right quick and in a hurry. I saw myself as one of the young trailblazers that would make sacrifices to set the tone for a new path for America’s future. I was young, but I knew that I would be a man by the time that I was finished paying my dues and contributing to my country’s cause as I served in the military.
And I was growing up, in a lot of ways. But there was one way that I was still a kid. I was still hung up on Angie. She was my angel; I’d tell her so in my letters. I thought that she was the one real, pure thing that I had in my life. I had already witnessed so many horrific things out there. Suicide bombers, little kids loaded up with explosives to trick us into letting them come close to us and snipers who would blow your head off from a mile away before you ever knew what hit you.
And the heat. The fucking heat. Sometimes I would laugh to myself back then, thinking of how I used to think that New York was hot in summer. I’d had no idea. There was nothing like the desert, absolutely nothing. Soon I’d become lean and mean, tough as leather. But inside I was still a kid. Despite the distance and time, I was still thinking about Angie. With every terrible thing I saw, it would only make me want her more and more. She would become that much more important to me because she was good. She was pure. She was right. Everything else was fucked up. I couldn’t wait to get home to her and start making up for lost time, especially when everything else around me was going to shit.
I had been so wrapped up in the past that it never struck me as odd when Angie had stopped writing
. I’d figured that she was too busy with college since she dreamed of becoming a registered nurse someday. I’d been proud of her academic accomplishments. She had a goal, and she had set her sights on it. The Army wasn’t even a goal for me. I’d enlisted out of a misplaced sense of duty post-9/11, heading down to the recruitment center the minute that I’d turned eighteen. So, knowing that she was doing something that she wanted to do sort of added hope to my life, like there could be something out there for me, too.
After four months without so much as an email to say hello, I’d started to get concerned.
Was she okay? Did something happen to her? I realized then that anything could have befallen her; she could have been hurt, hospitalized or worse and I wouldn’t have known. I’d started emailing friends whenever I got the chance on the computer, even if I could just shoot off a quick message or two to get an idea of where she was and why she wasn’t writing. I’d made up all kinds of scenarios in my head by then. What if her father had hurt her somehow, or had forbidden her from writing me? What if she’d been in an accident? What if she’d gotten sick? What if, what if, what if?
The possibilities were endless, and it was killing me.
It was one of those life-changing events that slapped you in the face with reality, and I soon found out the hard way that I should always expect the unexpected.
I sighed in my little apartment in Queens, remembering how it had felt to get that email from Angie’s best friend.
How my heart had broken, shattered by deceit.
I could still remember what it said: “Angie met a new guy at school. They’re dating. I think it’s so wrong, and that’s why I’m telling you. We had a big fight about it, but she’s still with him. I’m sorry.”
