FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (45 page)

Emmy

Isn't there anywhere else you can go?

The intelligent part of me knew I was being crazy. The rational side shouted at me to calm down.

But the panicky part, the traumatized, protective part of me was shouting louder.  And the stubborn, prideful part drowned out everything else.

I wanted to run, to hide.   I wanted to find a place that was mine and mine alone, a place where I could belong.  A place that felt normal to me.  A place where I could regroup and figure out what the hell I was going to do next.

The front office was dark, but I knew where the phone was.

I picked it up and considered my options. 

Sammie was gone back to her home in Upstate New York.  It would be five hours before she could come get me.  I knew she would, but I couldn't wait that long.

The only other people I knew who would come for me were the last people on earth I wanted to see.  But I was broke and alone, and had no one else to turn to. 

I dialed the number I knew by heart.

"Hello?"

I didn't recognize the voice that picked up the phone.  It wasn't my father's rum-soaked drawl, nor was it my mother's pinched, nasal whine.  This was a smooth baritone rumble that would have been comforting if it wasn't so startling to hear.  "Who is this?"

"Em?  It's Andy."

My mouth fell open.  My little brother didn't sound so little any more.  I swallowed at the realization of how much had changed since I'd left. 

Andy had been a scrawny late-bloomer, always the smallest kid in his class, always the high, piping voice in the background.  He had made up for his size by being the hardest scrapper in his school, ready for a fight even and especially if his opponent was bigger than him.  He was constantly on suspension for bloodying someone's nose.  And then my dad would bruise his backside, using his size as an advantage over his own son. 

"If I'm going to get beaten, it may as well be worth something," Andy had informed me the first time we picked him up from the police station.  The charges of theft and vandalism had been dropped as it was his first attempt and the shopkeeper knew us from church.  But it was the first of many, and Andy soon grew into an accomplished petty thief, keeping just below the radar of the law.  The more he stole, the better he got, and the better he got, the more my father hated him.  At fifteen years old and still as tiny as ever, Andy Hawthorne had had enough.  He started punching my father back.

The last fight before I left for college had ended with me throwing myself in between them.  If I hadn't, they probably wouldn't have stopped until one or the both of them were dead.

But now the voice on the phone was that of a grown man.  My guilt over leaving, always poking at the back of my mind, flared to life.  I hoped against hope that my father no longer saw him as an easy target. 

"Holy shit, Andy," I breathed into the receiver.  "I didn't recognize your voice."

"I barely recognized yours," he replied pointedly and I swallowed.

"Andy, I'm sorry."  A lie sprang to my lips but I pushed it back down again.  That wasn't me anymore.  I was living my truth no matter how badly it hurt.  "I needed to get away.  You would have too if you could."

"So why're you calling?"

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, choking on the words.  "Because I need to come back."

Andy still was dubious.  "Why?" He didn't sound so much like a man anymore.  More like the teenager he was.  Petulant.  Confrontational. I inhaled deeply and steadied myself against the counter.  I could hear the Sons moving in the garage behind me.  I had to leave before J. found out and tried to stop me.

Or worse, if he saw me go and didn't stop me.

"I have nowhere else to go," I choked into the receiver.

There were a few moments of silence.  I could hear the hum of the line and Andy's slow breath.  A bell sounded tinny in the background and I recognized the chime of our old mantle clock.  That sound had tolled away the hours of my childhood, a constant reminder of how time raced forever forward.  I liked to put my ear to the face and listen to the low mechanical hum of the innards, the whir and growl when it prepared to strike the hour was just as familiar to me as the chime itself.

I waited through the silence.  I could hear him there, his breath as slow and steady as it was when we would camp out in the yard in those peaceful summer nights.  The memory calmed me before his words did. 

"Okay Em," he rumbled in his new voice, sounding like a man once more.  "I'm coming for you.  Just tell me where to go."

J.

There were no seats in the circle.  J had to endure the humiliating moments of scraping a folding chair across the floor from across the room.  It felt like a lifetime.

"Thanks for getting me a seat, asshole," he muttered to Case.

"Didn't think you were ever going to show up," Case shot back with more venom than J. had ever heard from him.  He turned sharply to look at him, but it was at that moment that Teach brought down the gavel.

"I'll make this short," he rasped painfully.  J. wondered if his wound was bothering him.  "I've been on the phone all fucking day and my fucking voice is almost gone."  He coughed and reached over the card table that served as his podium and took a sip of water.  "I've reached an agreement with the Storm Riders."

He held up his hand to ward off the mutters of dissent.  Case sat up straighter in his chair and winced at the pain in his ribs.  Mac took a slug from his ever present beer can.  Crash closed and opened his fists, and muttered obscenities and boasts. 

"Terms are good.  Livable.  We meet them two days from now.  Six on six."

"That's all of us," J. couldn't help but notice.  "They've got us outnumbered four to one.

"Six on six," Teach repeated.  "We get to pick the meeting place.  That's on you, of course," he gestured at Case who nodded seriously, the wheels already turning in his mind.

But something still nagged at J.  "Why do we need peace with them? It ain't like there's a chapter of the Storm Riders here in Philly.  Who gives a fuck what those assholes do from now on?"

Teach looked at him soberly.  "It's exactly because there are no Storm Riders in Philly that they want peace.  That fight impressed them.  They saw what we were made of.  That we stick together and don't back down in the face of impossible odds."

He paused.  "They want us to become a prospective chapter," he announced, his ragged voice dripping with pride.

Crash clapped his hands together in surprise and Case sat up even straighter.  Even Mac's normal sneer diminished slightly.  J. felt a rumble of panic in his belly.

"We're strategically located," Teach continued.  "We have this huge clubhouse we barely use half of.  And we're right off of 95.  Getting us on board is a good business decision for them.  And it's a great fucking thing for us."  He widened his hands, inviting them to look around.  "Look at us.  We're only six.  We're small time, a joke.  No one is interested in joining the Sons as a prospect.  But they sure would want to join up with the Philly chapter of the Storm Riders."

Crash and Case nodded eagerly.  Mac's expression grew less sour, a sign of pleasure. 

Doctor D. looked at the eager, pleased faces and winced, his long beard waggling in agitation.  "Have you assholes forgotten already? Those fuckers nearly killed us in our own house.  As guests.  Invited fucking guests.  How can we ever trust them again?"

Teach held up his hand.  "That was a case of one in, all in."  His tone was conciliatory.  "Desmond swore this to me.  They know their guy was a fuck-up, but they had his back in spite of it.  Isn't that what brotherhood is all about?" 

The slow nods let him know they understood.  "Besides," he grinned, wincing, but clearly pleased with the idea, "That brawl is what made them decide to offer us prospect status to begin with.  We're small.  But we're tough.  And we broke their asses even though they outnumbered us."

"Fuck yeah!" Crash yelled excitedly.  J. could tell he was about to launch into one of his wildly descriptive tales of fights real and imagined, and quickly made to interrupt.

"Do we get to vote on this?"  This was moving too fast for him.  He'd barely endured anything as a prospect beyond extra work in the shop, but he had heard stories.  Stories of what it took to prove yourself to one of the big MCs.  Stories that sounded like a good way to land himself back in prison. 

"Of course," Teach nodded.  "You want to say anything before we do?"

"Yeah. I don't fucking like it," J. couldn't meet his mentor's eye as he spoke.  It pained him that they were so clearly of two different minds.  It made him nervous and confused.  He picked his words carefully as he continued, knowing that he was only going to get this one chance to make his case.  "I didn't join up with The Sons of Steel for the name."  He shook his head and clasped his hands together, needing something to hold on to. 

The sight of Emmy grabbing her pack jumped back into his memory and he had to forcibly push it away, needing to concentrate on the issue at hand.  "Or the prestige.  I joined up because I liked you as men.  As brothers.  I don't give a shit about numbers, I give a shit about who's got my back.  How'm I supposed to know who's got my back when it's a bunch of strangers who don't know a thing about me?"

Case's enthusiasm looked like it was wavering in the face of J's words.  Emboldened, he pushed the thoughts of Emmy aside and pressed on.  "And can I just remind you all of what one of those strangers thinks about his prospective "brother's" skin color?"

Teach winced visibly and J. knew he had struck a nerve.  He knew the president had suffered far worse things because of the color of his skin that he ever had.  The racist heritage of biker gangs was history to J. 

Teach had lived it.

"We're gonna deal with that," Teach proclaimed, his voice hard.  "I give you my word."

J. felt some of the fight drain out of him at Teach's solemn tone.  A man's word was law.  A man's word was his life.  "Fuck," he sighed and sat back in his chair.  "Can we at least postpone the vote until we see how the peace deal pans out?"

"That's actually a pretty solid idea," Crash piped up, and J. looked at him in surprise. "Only interaction we've had so far with them ended kinda fucked up like.  I wanna see 'em again before I decide one way or another." 

His sudden and lucid rationality must have taken more than J. by surprise.  Teach looked positively stunned for a brief moment.  Doctor D. shot Crash a fond smile. 

"Fair enough, Ben," Teach nodded, affording Crash the respect of his given name.  "Negotiations in two days.  We'll hold the vote once we know who we're up against."  He dissolved into a sudden fit of coughing and gulped down his water with quiet desperation in his eyes.  "And now," he wheezed, "I'm done talking for the rest of the day."

"That a promise?" Case called and J. grinned in relief to hear some of his friend's evil humor returning. 

"Not quite," Teach whispered.  "Meeting adjourned.  But you stay."

Case nodded and stood up.  J. sat amidst the scraping of chairs, trying to process what had just happened.  He was so lost in thought that he didn't see Case and Teach walk off together.  And he didn't see Case shoot him an anguished look, and then nod resignedly.

Emmy

Andy's voice was staticky on the line. "Where are you?" he called, a note of panic in his voice.  He was still a country boy, through and through and the city frightened him more than he cared to admit.

"Allen Street," I repeated into my phone, checking the street sign to be sure.  I held my head up high and kept moving, trying to stay aware of my surroundings, while also paying attention to Andy's voice.  "I'm walking towards Front, I can meet you at the corner there."

"Okay, I think I'm almost there." His voice was still tinny and robotic, but I was afraid to disconnect from him and redial.  And it was good to hear his voice.

Cars slowed quizzically as they passed me, and my heart leapt at each one.  I tried not to let my fear show.  I balled my fists, remembering how J. had taught me to punch.  But the memory of that sweet day in the park hurt too badly to dwell on. 

I needed to move.  And I needed to get the fuck out of this city.  "Where are you now?" I demanded, panic creeping into the edges of my voice.

"I think I see you," he replied.  There was a pickup truck turning slowly down the one-way street.  The man behind the wheel looked at me.

"Is that you?" I gasped.

I got my answer when the man pulled hastily over to the side of the road, earning several angry honks and one shouted curse.  The man reached over to open the passenger side door, and then his face crinkled into a boyish smile and I suddenly recognized the face of my beloved little brother.

"Andy?" I gasped.  "Jesus, you've grown!"

He clasped my hand and helped me heave myself into the passenger seat.  "Hey sis," he rumbled in that deep baritone that startled me even further.  "You okay?"

I wanted to nod and make light of it.  It was my job to make things easier for Andy.  I hadn’t forgotten my role.  But when I looked at his face, so much like a man's face and yet still somehow my little brother's, I felt the tears that had been threatening for hours finally assert themselves.  I inhaled, and my breath caught in my throat, choking me on a wordless sob.  Andy quickly pulled my head to his shoulder.  I buried my face into his shirt, inhaling his familiar smell that still lingered under the outward assault of aftershave. I closed my eyes and sobbed out the fury and hurt and trauma of the last weeks, months, fuck the last year of my life. 

"You okay?" he repeated, the worry in his voice demanding an answer. I pulled back, wiping my nose, embarrassed to see the soaked patch I had left on the shoulder of his T-shirt.

"I've been better," I replied truthfully, my breath still hitching in unfulfilled sobs.  "But I've been a lot worse too." I knuckled away the tears and blinked at him. "It's so good to see you."

"Let's get the fuck out of this cesspool," he gritted, looking at the skyline with distaste.  I felt a rumble of defensiveness for my adopted city but decided it was best that I kept it to myself.  So far my track record in Philadelphia had been pretty dismal.

"Did you come down 95?"

"I came how the GPS said to go."

"I can direct you home," I offered brightly, eager to feel useful.

He was about to wave me off, I could tell.  Andy always loved and put immense faith in his gadgets.  But he must have heard the note of pleading in my voice. 

"Okay fine," he sighed.  "I know I need to go north."  He executed a clumsy U-turn, sending the pick-up rocking.

I gripped the armrest.  "How long have you had your license?" I asked, trying to keep the wariness out of my voice.

"I took Driver's Ed at school so dad wouldn't have to take me to work anymore.  I was seventeen and a half on May 8th."

"I know," I quietly interjected, half to remind myself, half to prove to him I hadn't forgotten everything about my family since I'd left two and a half years ago.

"So that means I got to get my senior license. "

"Soooo, three weeks?"  I prodded.

"Three weeks," he sighed.  "But I'm a good driver.  And I'm rescuing you, so you can't complain."

"I won't complain, Andy," I smiled and leaned back in the passenger seat, hoping to approximate relaxation.

"What am I rescuing you from, anyway?" He darted a quick look at me, then went back to his laser-like focus on the highway in front of him.

I searched for the words to describe the last couple of weeks and came up lacking.  Now that I was settled safely next to my brother, I was suddenly very tired.  "Homelessness," I said simply.

"You break up with your boyfriend, that rich guy?"

"Pretty much," I laughed. 

"I'm glad," he said fervently and I looked at him, startled.  "I didn't like who you became when you started dating him.  The way he kept you away from everything?  It was like he was the dragon and you were a princess all locked in the tower and shit.  Fucked up.  He was bad news, Em.  A real asshole, if you ask me."

"I should have asked you," I sighed.  "Took me too long to realize that for myself."

"Yeah, you should have asked me, I'm a good judge of character." 

"You actually really are."

"Don't sound so surprised," he rumbled in his new voice and I laughed out loud.

"I'm not surprised that you're a good judge.  I'm surprised that you know that about yourself. "

"I'm a good judge of myself too," he grinned.

"I'll be the judge of that," I smiled back, happy to be playing one of our little word games again.

"Judge not, lest ye be judged."

"Who made you judge, jury and executioner?"

"Uh," he foundered, "I judge, uh, shit!"

"Ha!" I pointed at him.  "I win."

"I'm out of practice." he sighed.  "It's been too long."

Guilt pricked at me.  "You mean none of your friends are into seeing how many parts of speech one word can be used in?"

"No, my friends are actually cool," he mocked.

"No they aren't, they're friends with you."

He sighed. "Why did I come get you again?"

"Because you love me."

"Yeah I guess I do, sis."  He shot me another look and I felt the smile drain from my face.  "In spite of everything."

"Andy," the word came out in a choked gasp.  "Has it really been so bad with me gone?  Look at you; you're at least five inches taller than dad now.  He can't be laying a hand on you anymore, right?"

"Nooo," he answered slowly, dragging the words out as if they pained him.  "No, he's too much of a chickenshit for that, but mom's still smaller than him."

I stifled a gasp, the blood freezing in my veins.  For a moment I couldn't move.  The lights of the city were falling away, giving over to the tidy rows of suburbs, each house lit from within in a tableau of welcome that had always made me somewhat melancholy.

"He's..." I didn't want to say it.  Saying things made them true.  "Mom?"

The slow nod told me everything I needed to know, but the pain in Andy's eyes made it certain.  Deprived of his favorite punching bag, my father had moved back to his original punching bag. 

My mother.

Guilt washed over me at the same time as resentment.  Why was I feeling guilty?  I had gotten out, and now I was willingly going back.  I wasn't the same scared, confused girl who had left at eighteen.  I knew myself now.  I knew what I was capable of.  I balled my fists, feeling the stiffness still left over from when I had punched Robert.  I knew how to fight.  Thanks to J.

J.  His name clanged inside my head like a bell, echoing through my thoughts as if there was nothing else in my head but him.

Everything swirled around.  I pressed my knuckles to my temples, squeezing them together, willing myself to hold on.  To not break down. If I started crying now I would never stop.  The tears would overwhelm me in a flood and I would drown.

"Andy, do you remember camping?" I croaked, desperate to think of something else.

"Camping?" He sounded incredulous. "We never went camping. We never went out in public." He dropped his voice. "If we went in public, Dad wouldn't be able to hit us.  People would see."

I laughed ruefully. "That's true. I never thought of that." Grimly I remembered all the days I had sat hidden in the penthouse, waiting for Robert. He had kept me hidden away from the world just as effectively as our father had isolated us. "No, we camped in the yard though."

He nodded, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "That old green thing? I think Gran gave us that. She was always trying to help us, in her own quiet way."

I looked at my brother again, startled to hear such poignancy out of his teenaged lips. He was wiser than his years.

"I was remembering those nights just this morning," I said slowly. This morning I had woken in J.'s arms. "How we'd just lie there, being next to each other. Not talking. Just listening."

Andy nodded slowly.  "Are you trying to tell me something, Em?"

I looked out the window at the dim landscape.  We were heading west now, along the Pennsylvania Turnpike.  The sun was setting in a red fireball in front of us, the heat in the air making the colors shimmer.  "I think I am, yeah.  Sorry Andy."

"Don't apologize," he said gruffly.  "We're family."