Authors: JC Emery
Where Souls Spoil (47 page)
Nic
Sometimes I feel it in my bones—Duke loving me. Sometimes I don't feel anything but sheer terror at the thought that he might be telling me the truth. Because when you love and you are loved by someone else, you have something to lose. And way too many times in my life have I lost things I've held dear to my heart. But things are looking up. I tell myself that every day, because the gifts I've been given are outweighing that which has been taken from me. And it's because of him.
I turn over on my side and look down at the most precious thing in my life—my daughter. She's covered in a pile of blankets, nestled beneath the muted pinks and creams. And even among a sea of pretty, she stands out. She’s gorgeous. Robin is close to nine months old now. She grows so much every day, but we’re often so busy I wonder if we’re missing some of it. And I don’t want to miss a single second. She’s mobile and chatty and so damn opinionated already. I love it.
Every moment I spend with her, the less I understand my own mother’s bailing on me and Jeremy. Even when my baby grows up and she’s all mouth and sass and her daddy’s piercing blue eyes, I’m going to love her. And I’m not alone.
“Wanna go see Daddy?” I ask her. She kicks her chubby little legs out, makes a gurgling sound that I swear is an excited affirmative, and smiles up at me with the cutest, toothless grin on the planet.
“Da,” s'he says. I know she’s saying Daddy in her own little way, but I like to pretend she’s saying “duh,” because that’s just funnier.
“I love you so much I think I’m gonna make myself sick,” I say as I scoop her up and walk her out of the room and into the living room and try unsuccessfully to ignore the dull ache from my right hip. The new tattoo on my hip is a gift for Duke. After he got the tattoo on his lower left arm, I knew I had to get something for him, too. On the inside of his wrist is a tattoo of my signature, and on the other side is the word forgiven. Once I told him that everything that’s in the past is done and gone, he wanted to commemorate it in a very permanent way.
Robin wiggles in my arms and reaches out to pull at my hair. I remember back in the day when her pulling my hair would hurt, but she does it so often now that I barely notice it. Even in her sleep she pulls at my hair or at Duke’s beard. It’s our fault, I suppose. Neither of us is very good at making her sleep in her crib in her own room. Duke tries to make up crap, saying that she screams like a banshee when he leaves her in there—which is true—he just also refuses to acknowledge the fact that if he left her in there long enough, she’d eventually quiet down and get used to it. But he doesn’t like to hear her scream anymore than I do.
I load her up into her car seat inside my Corolla and then climb into the driver’s seat. She runs almost like a dream now that Duke’s fixed her up for me. Pulling away from the house, I admire the fresh coat of yellow paint that’s on the exterior and the way the lawn is cut and the edges are trimmed. The outside of the house looks a lot better now, and the people on the inside are a lot better now, too. Only, I try not to tell Duke that. He likes to rub it in my face.
Robin’s been to the clubhouse a few times before, but it’s usually smoky inside and no place for a baby. But today it’s mostly clean, family fun. Barbara’s bringing Stephen and Izzy by for a rare appearance. The only member she really keeps in touch with these days is Grady, and that’s by virtue of Elle. We’re still her family, but she needs space. I can respect that. Mary and Fish are bringing their kid by, and Grady’s supposed to have his daughter, Cheyenne, over as well. Duke said he was going to see about getting Grady to chill long enough for Ryan to bring Alex by, even though she’s on the fence about showing up. I know she won’t let me down, because I don’t let her down. And even if the club never accepts her, she’s my family just as much as the club is my family. Today’s kind of a big day for my family.
Today’s the day they voted me in.
It’s a big deal to be voted in. It means I’m officially Duke’s Old Lady. It means the club considers me one of their own. I don’t sit in on Church, I don’t know—officially—club business, and I don’t vote in on their business dealings. But I’m one of them in a way that matters just the same. My mother was never voted in because the club never got a good feel for her, which is not surprising. When she left my dad, that was it. She was gone. I’ve heard rumors that she called the club for help a few years after she left. But she wasn’t voted in, so she wasn’t family. Even though my dad couldn’t be here, he’s sent us his best. Duke makes sure Jeremy and I see him regularly now, and every time I visit, I end up spending half the time telling Dad about how Robin’s growing. He says word around the yard at San Quentin is that The Butcher is whipped by a seventeen-pound baby, and he can’t wait to meet her when he gets out. We still don’t have any realistic idea of when that’ll be though, because he incurred another infraction for going off on a guy over something or other.
When I pull through the gates, the first thing I see is Jeremy. He’s standing by my usual parking space with his prospect cut on, and he gives me a chin lift as way of greeting. I used to hate seeing him in that cut, but Dad’s calmed me down about it. If the club’s good enough for Duke, then it’s good enough for Jeremy. Still, the longer he spends with the club, the bigger an asshole he becomes. And he was already half past being a prick back then.
I park the car and climb out. I don’t even bother grabbing Robin, as Jeremy already has her out of her car seat and is walking her to the clubhouse while trying to teach her how to punch. I don’t say much about it because he has fun with her, but damn, I wish he’d stop trying to perfect her right hook. Her dexterity is getting pretty good, and she’s popped Duke in the face a few times while he’s been asleep
Following behind, I finally reach the door to the clubhouse. When I open it up, loud screams erupt, and I’m stunned from the shock of it all. I knew they were here, but I didn’t know they’d start screaming like cave people the moment they saw me. Robin breaks out into a high-pitched scream that rips me apart. I blink back the surprise and go for her, but I’m too late.
Duke strides right up to Jeremy and takes her out of his arms. In a few seconds, she’s quiet and snuggled into his neck, pulling on his beard. Seeing him with her makes me feel like such an idiot for ever doubting that he’d want her. Even though we didn’t know her smile back then, or her laugh, we knew her. She’s our baby, and she’s precious in a way nothing else is.
As Diesel and Jim, and even Bear, descend upon me, giving me hugs and offering congratulations, I smile and force myself to stop paying attention to my Old Man as he pretends to eat Robin’s tiny fist. Predictably enough, she pops him as hard as she can in his mouth for his effort. The guys ask to see the tattoo—the new one of the Nordic warrior that’s the Forsaken symbol that I have on my right shoulder—so I oblige and pull my bra strap down. That’s why we’re here, after all. We’re here to celebrate as a family. And even though everything is hectic and upside down. Even though we’re still finding our footing after the Darren situation, and even though Mancuso is still a threat, for this single afternoon we’re whole, and we’re happy, and we’re in a good place. Even Grady seems a lot more chill than he used to be. I thank Elle for that.
When I finally make my way through the crowd, I cozy up to Duke and Robin. He wraps his free arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him. With a kiss to my head and a squeeze to my shoulders he leans down and says, “I want to fuck my Old Lady.”
Across the room, Alex stands with Ryan and Ruby. I wave her over, and when she approaches, Duke hands Robin off to her. Lately the kid’s been saying Ub, even though we think she’s trying to say Cub. It’s cute and all, but we don’t waste time as we tear off down the hallway to Duke’s room. Back when I was pregnant, he didn’t want to have sex in here. He said it wasn’t a place for me anymore. But now that we have a kid, we take it when and where we can—assuming we haven’t passed out from exhaustion.
In the small, impersonal space, we undress one another in silence. It isn’t until he gets to my jeans and discovers the plastic covering over my latest tattoo that he pauses and raises an eyebrow at me, saying, “And what is this?”
I shrug and move my arms so he can inspect for himself. He peels away the wrapping to find the tattoo on my hipbone. It’s in a fine, beautiful script, with his and Robin’s names above and below it, that reads THIS IS FOREVER.
“No spinning,” he whispers, looking up at me.
Softly, I run my fingers through his hair and say, “No spinning.”
The End
EVERYONE BELONGS SOMEWHERE. EVEN THE MISFITS.
With the looming threat from the Mancuso Crime Family, the Forsaken Motorcycle Club is preparing for a war that could destroy them. Grady, the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, knows that love makes you weak, and he has zero interest in adding to his liabilities– especially now. He’s already got his teenage daughter who keeps him on his toes and a beef within the club that could fracture his relationship with a fellow brother for good.
For Holly Mercer, her life is finally getting on track and the last thing she wants is trouble from her hometown’s resident outlaws. Keeping her nose clean is easier said than done, when suddenly she finds herself embroiled in club business. Holly might like the idea of being with a real-life bad boy, but even being in the same room with tough-as-nails Grady flusters her.
When Holly inadvertently finds herself on Mancuso’s radar, she has two choices: trust that Grady will protect her, or continue to refuse the club’s help. Both roads are dangerous, but only one has the chance to damage her beyond repair.
Love is never more dangerous than when it can destroy you.
Dedication
For Mandie—because I can.
Table of Contents
Holly
THERE IS NO
other place I’d rather not be than here right now. The four walls that surround me are covered in various posters for everything from the upcoming Strawberry Festival to the street sweeping schedule, and a scattered collection of educational posters geared toward kids. This room doubles as the library’s community room and the children’s wing. I spent hours in this room as a child. I’d find one of the bean bags in the reading nook and curl up with the latest Babysitter’s Club book. Back then, I had no idea they held meetings like this here.
Alcoholics Anonymous.
I move into the room slowly, trying to keep behind a couple that enters just before me. They’re practically crazy-glued to each other’s side. There’s the faint scent of tequila that emanates from one or both of them, I can’t tell. A man rushes past me and hops into one of the last empty seats that form a tight circle in the corner of the room. His short brown hair is a mess, like he’s been pulling at it all day, his shirt is haphazardly buttoned, and his tie has been yanked loose in an apparent frenzy. This is supposed to be a safe place, but nobody ever really feels safe here. Exposed, vulnerable, lacking… sure. But safe? No. At least I don’t.
A few chairs down from the disheveled man sits Mindy. Her strawberry blonde hair is up in a messy bun. She’s rocking black yoga pants, an exercise top, and sneakers, like she’s the poster child for inner peace or something. In reality, I’m pretty sure she thinks downward dog is some kind of sex position, but hey, she looks comfortable. She gives me a wave and pats the empty seat next to her.
Kindness, I remind myself. I need to work on being kind. It’s number ten of the twelve steps to recovery: admitting when you’re wrong. I may not have drank the Kool-Aid, but even I can see the value in taking personal inventory, and that’s part of the reason I showed up tonight. I’m not an alcoholic. According to my former therapist, I’m a martyr whose poor decisions are triggered by the unrealistic expectations I put on myself. We can call it whatever we want. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m being dragged to a meeting that I don’t need, nor do I want. But Mindy both needs and wants it, and if me being here can help her, I’ll do it. Even if I want to claw my own eyeballs out in the process.
The couple in front of me grabs chairs from a stack in the corner. The circle is basically full now as the couple wiggles in between other attendees. I squeeze through at the other end and sit down in the seat Mindy’s saved for me without meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Thank you for coming,” she says. I nod—keeping quiet is for the best. I wouldn’t even be here if not for her insistence. She used to be fun, but that led to her being too much fun. And the downfall was anything but. That’s how I’ve ended up here. All the therapy in the world hasn’t taught me how to say “no” to her. Meetings like this actually do me more harm than good, and my real problem isn’t booze, but family. Just being in this room confirms my absolute worst fear: that I’m a failure.
I couldn’t save Mindy; I couldn’t save myself. I couldn’t make my parents proud— I couldn’t even tell them the truth about why I’d failed them. It doesn’t matter that every person in this room is struggling with these feelings and their own demons. That’s the thing about insecurities. Nobody else’s problems can lessen your own.
The meeting gets underway like they always do. Nothing special happens. The speaker identifies herself as an alcoholic right off the bat, like they encourage all alcoholics to do. There is no shame here, they say. Mindy nods beside me, and her voice is reverent as she recites the Serenity Prayer. It’s all God grant me this, and God grant me that, like it was God who put the bottle to their lips.
“Do we have anyone here who is new to A.A.? Anyone who’s in their first 30 days of sobriety? We don’t want to embarrass anyone. We just want to get to know you, and we believe that a fundamental part of your recovery is taking that first step and admitting that you are powerless over alcohol,” the speaker says.
The man I followed in raises his hand, and the woman with him gives him an encouraging pat on his knee. He introduces himself as Joe. He, too, is an alcoholic. He explains that he had been sober for several months, but then he lost his job and it went all downhill from there. It always starts with one drink, which leads to another, and then another. That’s the difference between me and these people. My life falls apart, but it’s not because of alcohol. I can stop drinking when I need to, and I have. I just have an uncanny talent for bonding myself to the absolutely most needy and self-destructive people I can find.
During the sharing session, Mindy raises her hand. I was hoping she would keep to herself this meeting, but no such luck. She’s never gone to a meeting in town before, but if she’s nervous, it doesn’t show. The idea is that we’re all supposed to be anonymous, but this is a small town and Mindy’s dad is a cop. It’s a big deal for her to be here, which is why she asked me to come with. Hiding her past from our family isn’t conducive to her recovery. I don’t know if Uncle Harry has any suspicions, but after tonight he might get tipped off.
“My name is Melinda, and I am an alcoholic. I’m also an addict, but I like this group better,” she says with a guilty smile on her face. The group welcomes her with kind words. She clears her throat, takes a deep breath, and says, “I have been clean and sober for three years, four months, and nineteen days now. On a good day, it’s easier because I have so many successful clean days behind me. On a bad day, it’s no easier than it was on the day I went to jail. I’m in a good place now and I wanted to just say it out loud that I’m glad I have my best friend back home to support me.” She leans over and wraps me in a side hug. “Holly has always been there for me, and she’s a great friend.”
I try to smile at the room, but I’m afraid it comes out as a grimace.
“Would you like to introduce yourself, Holly?” the speaker asks. I shake my head, but Mindy elbows me in my side.
“My name is Holly, and I am not an alcoholic, but I have plenty of other issues.” The attendees wait for me to continue, and when I don’t, the room is dead silent.
“Welcome, Holly. We’re glad you could join us,” the speaker says. She moves on, talking about how an alcoholic’s support system is so important to their recovery. She praises me for helping Mindy in her journey and mentions step nine: making amends, because in order to be able to truly recover, one must make amends with those they have harmed.
I reach over, grab Mindy’s hand, and give it a squeeze. I have amends to make with Mindy, and being here is part of that.
The meeting moves along more quickly than I expect it to, and soon we’re heading for my car. Mindy walked here after her shift at Universal Grounds. I had to meet her here because I spent the entire day out job hunting. I’ve been back in town a week now and jobs are pretty scarce, but I’ve been diligent in my efforts, so hopefully it pays off soon. As it is, I’m living with my parents again and ready to shoot myself in the face. Mom hasn’t been shy about wanting me to go back to school, and she’s orchestrated a conveniently-scheduled after-church celebration for my return.
I unlock the doors to my old white Jeep, and we climb in. I head for Uncle Harry and Aunt Claire’s house to drop Mindy off. We’re a block from her house when the loud rumble of Harleys become a deafening roar. Mindy covers her ears as Fort Bragg’s resident outlaw bike club rides by. There must be at least five or six of them, and a few even have women on the back of their bikes. The scene takes me back to being in high school and wondering what it’d be like to date a bad boy. That was when I thought only bad boys could be no good for you.
As the bikes fade into the darkness ahead of us, I round the corner and pull into Mindy’s driveway.
“That was brave of you,” I say.
“It was time. I’m tired of hiding who I am,” she says with a sigh. I lean over and engulf her in a tight hug before climbing out of the Jeep. “Gimme an update when you hear back from the high school. I have a good feeling about that job.”
“I will,” I say. She shuts the door and waves me off as I back out onto the street and head for my parents’ house.
Childhood memories of wanting to escape engulf me. A small, pathetic chuckle builds in my throat. It figures that I would end up back here. My parents’ house comes into view at the end of the street. The nearer I get, the less I want to be here.
My voice is quiet and soft when I whisper, “Welcome home, Holly.”