by Bijou Hunter
“If I had to pick a song to listen to for an hour,” I say, thinking about my bitchy answer earlier, “I’d probably tolerate ‘Silent All These Years’ the best. Anything else would drive me crazy. I can’t do that thing you do where I’d imagine the song I wish was playing.”
“When I was in prison, I had plenty of time to teach my brain to hear what it wanted.”
Though I think to ask about his time locked up, I can’t imagine I’d like to talk about that shit if I was recently released.
“How come you picked that song?” he asks, likely never having heard of it.
“Do you like your lunch?”
“You’ve got a talent,” he says, digging in for another bite.
“My mom taught me to cook. I never had any interest, but I’m trying to be more creative in Pema than I was in Ellsberg.”
“Like how you changed what you want to be called?”
“Yes. I also don’t like being named heaven backward. Guys were always turning that into asking me if I was an angel.”
“I assume your answer was a foot to the junk.”
“Sometimes, yeah,” I say, laughing quietly. Sam shares my smile. “That song isn’t special or anything. I just went through a super intense Tori Amos phase and listened to her a lot. I figure that one would drive me the least crazy.”
Sam pulls out his phone and fiddles around like a man with a new doohickey he hasn’t mastered yet. I wonder if he’ll take a call or ignore me. Those seem wrong. Finally, Tori Amos starts singing. He places his phone on the table and returns to eating.
“I never had much talent for cooking,” he says.
“Back in Ellsberg, I never took charge of meals. I let the better cooks feed me. Occasionally, I might help. Often, I faked an injury until the meal was completed.”
Sam gives me a little smirk. “I like a woman who knows how to maneuver a situation.”
Once again, I consider asking about Teigh. I’m immensely curious about their relationship. Mostly, I wonder if what they shared was the kind of closeness impossible to replace. Like what my parents have together. No way would either remarry if the other died.
Not that I’m thinking marriage with Sam after several rounds of sex and half a lunch. But I feel something here atypical for me. Much like my urge to move to Pema, I plan to feed this new craving. That doesn’t mean I want my heart stomped on by a guy who’ll never let go of his lost love.
Though I avoid asking about his former woman, Sam breaks the silence with a question about mine.
“You were in a relationship before moving to Pema.”
Frowning, I’m forever shocked by how gossipy men can be. “Did Kiefer tell you that?”
“Seems he memorizes everything Avery tells him.”
“Yes, he is her pet.”
“And proudly so,” Sam says without judgment.
“His whipped behavior makes more sense after I got additional info about his ex-girlfriend. Avery is a huge step up for Kiefer. Like moving from a swamp to the Taj Mahal.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“I rarely am.”
Sam smirks at my defensive tone. “Your wisdom must be real convenient for living life.”
“It does come in handy,” I say, responding to his teasing by again smiling too much.
“Was your Pema relationship ended by you or her?”
“Me.”
“Mind explaining the details?”
“Why do you care?”
“I want something juicy to share with the bros next time they get to gossiping.”
I share his grin. “Yulia is a history professor at the college in Ellsberg. We dated for a few months and ended up living together. But she has a possessive streak I couldn’t deal with.”
“Possessive how?”
“She expected me to tell her wherever I went and who I was with. She checked in with me constantly. At first, I figured she was insecure since I’d been with guys. Or maybe she thought I was flaky because I was younger. But it was just her personality.”
“How much younger?” he asks while enjoying his beer.
Smiling, I get his meaning. “People my age struggle to find themselves, and I can’t force myself to care about their crap. That’s one reason I fell for Yulia. She had her life in order, knew her place in the world, and was past all the dramatic crap of her twenties.”
“So, you have a type.”
“Apparently. Before Yulia, I mostly dated younger guys from my dad’s club. I didn’t want to hide my life from a guy, and they understood my family. But those men were lame. That’s the problem with having a family full of bikers and then dating bikers. I can’t help comparing the men to my dad or brothers.”
“Can’t live up to those high standards, can they?”
“No. My dad is cool. Those guys were always showing off. I got a lot of small-dick energy from them. I mean, I guess it’s not fair to compare a twitchy twenty-year-old to my father, who was older than that when he hooked up with my mom and had a family. But I don’t care if my feelings are reasonable. I want what I want, and those guys weren’t it.”
“But Yulia was?”
“Until she wasn’t,” I say, feeling like a failure.
“How you’d figure that out?”
“One night, we were in bed at our apartment that I loved. Cornflake was snoring nearby. The dogs were just puppies and in their cage. Everyone was asleep, but I sat up and thought about how Yulia bugged me all that day about where I was at. And I purposely hadn’t responded to her texts, just to fuck with her because she was driving me nuts. That night, I looked at her and knew I loved her. But I was also fairly certain if I stayed, I would one day take a pillow and suffocate Yulia in her sleep.”
Sam surprises me by chuckling. “Welp, no one wants that.”
“No. The thing is I did love her, but I wanted to be happy more than I wanted her. It felt right to leave. I mean, it also sucked moving back to my parents’ house with my pets. Mostly, I was disappointed after thinking Yulia was mine like my parents belonged to each other. Yet, in the end, I couldn’t put her needs before mine.”
“Of course, I don’t know Yulia, and I can’t be sure if you’d have killed her if you stayed,” he says, sitting back and resting his bare feet on a nearby chair. “You don’t strike me as a flaky gal. And some things can be changed about a person. However, if Yulia needed to track your movements, that wasn’t changing over time. People change, sure. I see them doing that all the time, but most of those changes are superficial. Eating healthier, being more daring, whatever. I look at Brick and how he’s more open to things. That’s all good, but he’s still the same guy.”
Thinking about my sister and her man, I admit, “Kiefer found someone who saw his potential. Like Avery was sure he had all these great qualities. I used to hear her and Savannah babbling about how Kiefer just needed this or that to be awesome. I figured they were stupid.”
Sam’s chuckling makes me laugh. Still grinning, I continue, “As their little sister, it’s my job to assume all their choices are dumb. But Avery wasn’t wrong. Somehow, Kiefer went from hating kids to working his magic on Io. Trust me about that kid. She isn’t easy to woo. So, Avery ended up being right. She shined up the dull parts of Kiefer and made him what she needed. I sometimes wonder if I should have done that with Yulia.”
“Hmm, can’t really tell you. I do know I have no interest in changing. If some woman, even one with your qualities, tried forcing me to change, I can’t imagine she’d be satisfied with the result.”
“You wouldn’t alter anything about yourself?”
“Do you see something you think needs adjusting?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.
Grinning, I shake my head. “I barely know you.”
“Welp, I’ll tell you. I like improving myself in those superficial ways I mentioned. I learned Spanish in the joint. Took up soccer despite lacking any skills. I read books about stuff I could have spent a dozen lifetimes never knowing. I lik
e those changes. But the core part of me? Naw, that’s never going to change. I’ve been me since I was a kid. Got through my teens without turning into a different person like my old friend, Garbage, did. I like the man I am, and I’m unbothered by those people who don’t agree.”
Smiling at his confidence, I lean forward and kiss him. I’m desperate to get Sam back in my bed before he leaves. He says what I want to hear, yet I never sense bullshit coming from him. Sam really doesn’t worry about disappointing me.
There are few things sexier than how this man owns his choices.
THE CHARMER
Nev is a difficult woman to get a read on. She quickly shifts from hot to cold and back. I also sense her holding back often. Like how Nev clearly wants to see me again but refuses to ask.
“I’m on vacation,” I say while tying up my black boots. When Nev doesn’t respond, I add, “If you’re free tomorrow, I can bring lunch.”
Her face doesn’t hide her relief. Women are wild that way. This is a gal who killed the former owner of this house. She reveals no fear in the face of violence but seems worried I might be bored of her after only a few hours.
I suppose some of her insecurity comes from her age. Or other people giving her the runaround. Who knows why? But I appreciate the relief on her face when I kiss her goodbye and say I’ll be back around at eleven.
Returning to my house, I feel a shift in my mood. Of course, an afternoon in bed with a sexy woman is bound to be easier than dealing with the lowkey awkwardness from my kids and parents. But I feel I can be straight with Nev while I get the sense I need to tiptoe around Caesar and Raimi.
I arrive home with plenty of time to spare. Walking outside, I stroll up the block, enjoying the weather and thinking over my time with Nev. I’m on my way back home when my parents’ neighbor—an old fella with a strong curiosity about the kind of pussy I land as a biker—starts talking me up. Only when the bus appears down the block does the old-timer finish up.
As Raimi and Caesar exit, they don’t see me. I catch them both looking in the direction of their grandparents’ house, not seeing me a bit down the block. To my surprise, my daughter bursts into tears. Caesar immediately wraps an arm around her and starts moving through the other kids and toward home.
“Crybaby crying again,” I hear one of the older boys bitch.
Several of his shithead friends snicker. Of course, none of them see me.
I call out to Caesar, who turns to look back with Raimi. My baby is a mess, reminding me of her mama on a bad day. Instead of joining them, I walk up to the kids still bunched around after the bus drives off.
“Hey there, bud,” I say to the bully, who acts as if I’m not talking to him. “What’s your name?”
When he ignores me, I glance at his friends. “What’s his name?”
Immediately a boy snitches, “Peyton Seal.”
“Don’t tell him,” Peyton hisses.
As soon as I cross my arms, the little shits eyeball my tatted arms. No doubt, I don’t look much like the other Idyllwild dads.
“Naw, you did right by telling me,” I tell the snitch. “I just got out of prison, so I’m not feeling in the right place to chase down a little kid’s name. Now, Peyton, you best tell your parents I’ll be by later to discuss how you’re bullying my kids. They’ll want to know what you’re up to when they’re not looking.”
“No,” he says in a panicky voice.
“And if that doesn’t help, I’ll visit the school and see about making sure you’re not hassling my kids in their place of learning.”
“No,” he says again before tears come pouring out.
“Now, who’s a crybaby,” mutters one of his friends.
“Hey, let’s not make things worse,” I tell the other boys. “It’s human to cry. Plenty of big strong men cried in prison from time to time. Life’s difficult, and we shouldn’t make it worse.”
“Don’t tell my parents,” Peyton begs.
“Wish I could give you a break, but consequences need to happen. When I did something wrong, I went to prison. Now, you’ve messed up, and your parents ought to know how their little prince is turning out.”
“Please, I’ll leave Raimi and Caesar alone.”
“I’ll be square with you, kid,” I say, scratching my jaw as if thinking. “When I was your age, I lied a whole bunch. I think you suffer from the same affliction. I also get the feeling you’ll view me as weak if I let this slide, just a man of words and no action. Instead, I’ll be around your house this evening to talk to your parents. I’d want to know if my kids were turning into little shits crapping on everyone’s day. Now, get going and deal with the mess you’ve created for yourself.”
Once inside the house, I find Caesar outside the upstairs bathroom where Raimi hides. He looks at me as if I’m an interloper in my own home.
I enter the kitchen, where Mom sprinkles mozzarella on her casserole. Dad stands nearby, sighing.
“When I try talking to her, she cries harder,” Fred tells me.
“Does she cry a lot?”
Pricilla looks toward the hallway bathroom as Caesar whispers to Raimi through the door. “Not as much. But she’s been in a tizzy since you got out. Just the change of things. Raimi doesn’t adjust well. Like Teigh, no doubt. They’re both so sensitive.”
“Gentle spirits,” Fred adds.
Walking toward Caesar, I spot him tensing the closer I come.
“Is she alright?”
“She’s fine.”
“Do those boys hassle her often?”
“Sometimes,” he says, shrugging and then adds, “Not really. No.”
“Why was she crying?”
“She’s just tired.”
I reach to knock on the door when Caesar’s hand grips my wrist. “She doesn’t want to be bothered.”
As much as I love my boy, I refuse to back down to him no matter how hard he frowns at me.
“Raimi, are you feeling okay?” I ask, holding Caesar’s gaze.
She opens the door and stares at me with her big blue eyes. Though her tears are over, she’s given herself the hiccups.
“What’s bothering you, squirt?”
My daughter doesn’t say a damn thing. She can’t find the words or won’t share them in front of her brother. I even wonder if Caesar’s doing something to her. Is that why he won’t let me get close?
Once I stroke Raimi’s head, she wraps herself against me. I caress her dark hair as she grips me tightly.
“It’s okay,” I say as she hides her face against my rib cage. My gaze holds an edgy Caesar’s. “I’m not a fragile doll. No one needs to keep anything from me. Bad news won’t break my heart.”
“We know,” Caesar mutters while Raimi doesn’t let go.
“Your words and your face aren’t matching, son.”
When Caesar reaches for Raimi, I casually turn away with her still attached to me. My daughter suddenly stares up at my face.
“You weren’t at the bus stop.”
“No, I was. Just got roped into talking to a boring neighbor. He was curious about prison. I told him it was like Sunday school. He wasn’t impressed.”
Her big eyes watch me as we shuffle toward the family room. Then, Raimi rewards me with a smile she used to wear all the time.
“What did you say to Peyton?” she asks, still holding me around the waist.
“I plan to talk to his parents tonight.”
“They won’t care,” Caesar spits out. “The apple didn’t fall far from that rotten tree.”
I grin at how he sounds just like his grandfather. “You’d be surprised how much people will care if you make it a problem they can’t weasel out of.”
“Nev made some bigger boys stop bothering Caesar,” Raimi says.
“No,” her brother nearly growls. “Don’t tell him.”
“I’m an open book,” I say, gesturing for them to keep moving the rest of the way to the family room. I hold Raimi against me and glance back at my sullen
son following us. “Your grandparents share everything, too. Don’t want my kids to have secrets.”
“Fine. What did you do today?” Caesar demands as if this is his gotcha moment.
“Had lunch over at Nev’s house.”
Raimi leans into me when we sit down and rests her head on my chest. “She has three cats and two dogs. The black-and-white cats are brothers, and the dogs are sisters.”
“Have you ever been to her house?”
“No. She showed us pictures on her phone when we went to the skating rink. She said the brother cats are named after a song about Romeo and Juliet, but she changed the one name to Julian since he’s a boy.”
Realizing my baby could talk about pets for hours, I ask, “And she took care of your problem with the bullies?”
Raimi nods. “She didn’t say how. She just smiled, and her sisters laughed. They’re twins like the dogs.”
Grinning, I keep an eye on Caesar, who checks the parakeets. “Do you like to skate, squirt?”
“Yes. When I get older, I get to be on the roller derby team. Nev said so.”
“Wear lots of protective gear,” Pricilla calls out from the kitchen. “And a helmet. We’ll get you a pretty purple one.”
“You’re supposed to wear black helmets,” Caesar mutters.
“I can’t imagine Nev would care if someone told her to wear what she didn’t want to wear,” I say, hugging Raimi, whose hiccups are over. “Bet you could wear whatever color you wanted.”
“I’m not afraid to get hurt,” Raimi says, revealing more of her old bubbly personality. “We watched her team play, and they got banged up.”
“They lost,” Caesar says.
Raimi grins. “They always lose.”
“But they have a load of fun,” Fred adds while settling into his favorite recliner. “We go to their bouts. Not games or matches. They’re called bouts. The sport has its own lingo.”
I love when my father gets jazzed up about a topic. Some people find him boring or obnoxious. I catch them fidgeting when he gets going. Even seen the assholes roll their eyes at his kindhearted antics. Fuck those idiots. Deep down inside, too many people are already dead. They lack passion. Can’t enjoy a damn thing. Always looking for something they’ll never find.
