Blurred Lines (20 page)

RILEY

After logging the appointment into the computer, I turned toward the back of the shop. Stevie sat on the edge of her stool finishing a tattoo she had been working on for a few hours. The woman getting tattooed had a very interesting story, and after hearing it, I loved the concept of her tattoo, feeling it would depict something that was extremely important in her life, and how everything came to work out. I had seen the outline of the tattoo, and walked back a few times during the shading, but was eager to see it once it was finished.

“How’s it coming along?” I asked as I walked to Stevie’s side.

“Have a look,” she said as she nodded her head toward the piece.

The scantily dressed woman holding a set of scales in one hand and a sword with the other all done in black and grey appeared to be finished. It looked like a photograph. The quality of the realism is Stevie’s work amazed me, and this particular piece was a nothing short of a masterpiece.

“Justice,” the woman said as she glanced up.

Dressed in jean shorts, Chuck’s, and a tee shirt, she looked like she could have been my sister, only a few years older, but not much.

“It’s…” I stared down at the tattoo. “It’s uhhm. It’s amazing.”

“I love it,” she said as she shifted her eyes toward Stevie and grinned.

“Let me get it wiped down and have one last look,” Stevie said.

After wiping the tattoo clean, Stevie inspected it thoroughly. Satisfied the piece needed no touch-up work, she stood from her stool and smiled.

“Looks awesome,” Stevie said as she pulled off her gloves.

“So, you said after almost ten years, he finally got out of prison, and you waited all that time?” I asked.

She nodded her head and smiled. “Love is a powerful thing.”

“It sure is,” I said.

“Were you here when she said her Ol’ Man’s Jackson?” Stevie asked.

“Oh, wow. I guess not,” I said.

Stevie nodded her head. “Yep. He did ten fucking years on a bullshit conspiracy charge. ATF set his ass up. So ten years later, the Ol’ Lady of the president of the club he rides with now hears about his case, files an appeal, and gets him out of prison. He gets out of the joint and rides with the club. Story gets a lot better, but I’ll let her tell ya.”

“So, Jackson? The big guy with the big arms?” I asked.

“Sounds like him,” she said.

“He and Blake grew up together,” I said.

“That’s what he said. Sad how they met, but I’m glad they found each other,” she said.

“Me too. Blake doesn’t really have any friends. He doesn’t trust people,” I said.

“Where is he now?” she asked.

“Kansas City, at some tattooing convention that came up,” I responded. “And Jackson?”

“Out riding with the fellas. It’s like a disease,” she said with a laugh.

“You ride?” I asked.

She stood from the chair and smiled. “As much as I can. Love it, personally.”

“Me too,” I said.

“So, you going to tell me the story?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said as she sat down in her seat. “I never get tired of telling it.”

“Jackson Shephard never breaks a promise. We met ten years ago when he walked into a bar when a guy was groping me. He never knew me, had ever seen me, or anything. So, I’m telling this guy to leave me alone, and he steps in. he beat the shit out of the guy and gave him a lecture on respecting women. I walked out of the bar with my panties in a puddle behind me,” she said.

I laughed and nodded my head, eager to hear more.

“So, he goes on to tell me he doesn’t fuck around, and he didn’t want sex. He was single, but convincing him to give me a chance was impossible. After a long - and I do mean long - courtship, we ended up together,” she paused, sighed, and smiled.

“He had an ATF agent working undercover in his club, and the man convinced him one night in a club when he was drunk to admit he’d kill a rival member if they threatened the club. It was male bravado bullshit, but the court saw it differently. They gave him life in prison. When he left the courtroom, I asked him to promise me he’d never see me again. He wouldn’t do it. They drug him out of there, and I cried for six months,” she paused, wiped her eyes, and gazed down at the floor.

She shifted her eyes upward and focused on the doorway. “Sorry, it still makes me teary-eyed thinking about it. Anyway, he spent almost ten years in prison. He was convinced his life was over, and he was convinced having so much as a visitor would drag them down into the hell he was living in, so he removed everyone from his visiting list and began his life of living alone.”

“I moved around the country, madly in love with him just as much as the day he left, knowing one day everything would be alright. Don’t ask me how, but I knew. I knew one day,” she paused and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the tip of her finger.

“I knew one day my Jackson…I knew he’d come back to me.” She nodded her head and wiped her finger on her thigh.

“So. I was in Las Vegas. I’d just opened a restaurant there. It was my third in the ten years he was away. I was talking to a food critic, and I saw this man standing in the distance crying. It was sunny, and the sun was in my eyes, but I thought for a second I was going crazy. So I sat there talking to her and staring at him. And he slowly walked my direction…”

She paused and sighed heavily.

“Ten years. And it all came rushing back. He’d been brought back on an appeal, won, and was released free and clear. He rode his bike around the country trying to find me, and finally he did. He gave me a kiss, and here we are,” she said as she spread her arms wide.

“Oh wow. That’s awesome,” I said.

“Gives me goosebumps,” Stevie said.

“What was your name again?” I asked.

She stood from her chair. “Em. Call me Em.”

“Riley, it’s nice to meet you. I like that story,” I said.

“I like telling it,” she said. She turned toward Stevie. “What do I owe you?”

“Tell you what. What do you say, Riley? Can we lock this bitch up a little early?” Stevie asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Uhhhm…”

“Girl’s night out,” Stevie said.

“Oh wow. Uhhm,” I paused and looked at the clock.

The thought of a girl’s night out was exciting. I hadn’t done anything with girlfriends since my senior year in high school. I tried unsuccessfully to hide my excitement as I turned toward Stevie.

“Don’t tell Blake what time we locked it up,” I said as I shifted my eyes back and forth between them.

Stevie shrugged.

Em shrugged.

And I locked the door behind me.

BLAKE

God is not evil. Men who hide behind the word of God, using it as a shield to protect them from the questions which would normally arise in the absence of God’s word they so righteously spit at each person in their path, however, define evil.

“If God didn’t want you to, He wouldn’t have sent me to save you. The children of this earth are treasures, and each and every one is formed by God’s hands with a gift. The gift each child possesses should be shared, and shared so that it may be seen in the eyes of God. Your gift to Him in appreciation of the gift He graced you with. This, Blake, is your gift. And through me, the hand of God, it should be shared,” he said.

I was eight at the time, and wanted nothing more than to please him.

“My gift?” I asked.

He squeezed my shoulder lightly and nodded his head. “Yes, this is your gift. The pain you will feel is a reminder of the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross for you. You’re strong Blake, so, so much stronger than the rest. God’s gift to you was strength. Tremendous strength. Do you know what tremendous means?”

I nodded my head. “Like Superman?”

“Yes, like Superman. Blake, God made you this way for a reason. He formed you with his hands, providing you with something special. And God has sent me here to test your strength and send a message back to Him, and it will be sent through my test of you and a test of your exhibition of the strength God has graced you with. Can you please God?” he asked.

I nodded my head again. “I think so.”

He squeezed my shoulder and crouched down almost even with me. “What happens if you disappoint God?”

I lowered my head and pointed at my feet. He had taught me the earth beneath me was a fiery pit of hell reserved for those who disappointed God by rejecting his word and his wishes.

“You are so right. In hell you’d burn. You make me proud, Blake. You make me proud. Are you ready to please God?” he asked as he stood.

I nodded my head.

His son walked between us, lifted my hands, and guided me to the edge of the stairs. I remember feeling an odd sense of guilt, at least initially, that the rest of the family wasn’t present for my portrayal of strength, especially if it was a message directly to God. For me to prove myself, and not share the blessed news with the family made me feel slightly cheated.

He handed me a bible. As I accepted it in my hands, I grinned. I didn’t have a bible of my own, and holding one made me feel important and powerful.

“If the pain becomes more than you are able to withstand, bite into the Bible, it will provide strength,” he said.

As I clutched the Bible and nodded my head, his son removed my clothes. I remember feeling dirty, silly, and embarrassed all at the same time.

But.

If it was God’s will, I knew I needed to make it mine.

As the pain shot through me like a bolt of lightning, I glanced up at his son. With my face filled with wonder, fear, and surprise, I wanted an answer.

Something.

He released one of my wrists and reached for the Bible I held in my shaking hand. As he helped me lift it to my mouth he nodded his head once, reassuring me it was okay.

And into the sacred book I sank my teeth.

RILEY

We sat on the same bench beside the lake where we first shared out secrets. The sun began to set in the distance, and the late evening clouds blocked the few remaining minutes of sunshine, but provided an extremely colorful sunset. Blake’s tattoo convention must have been very relaxing for him, because he seemed at peace with everything since he returned.

“I talked to Doc Racine on the phone this morning,” he said as he gazed toward the western sky.

“About…”

“Well, I don’t think I need to go back. It all started because of my past, and now that we’ve written that letter, and worked out the entire sex thing, there’s really nothing left,” he said.

“You think? Really? Like never go back?” I asked, excited about his progress with everything in life.

“Maybe not. We’ll see, I suppose, but I’m feeling pretty good about everything,” he said.

His face looked healthy. I knew he rarely slept an entire night, and often stayed up drawing until very late, but to Blake, it was his therapy. Tonight, however, he looked like he had received full night’s sleep, and he seemed to at peace staring out at the sunset.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“You know,” he said as continued to gaze blankly at the horizon.

He turned toward me and smiled. “I’m really good, Riley. Really good. I uhhm. That’s why I wanted to come here. Just to talk and relax. It’s peaceful here. It just seems like this is where everything started to be, I don’t know, fixed.”

“I like it here, too.”

“So, I talked to Jackson this morning,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, and?” I asked.

“Well, you know. Clubs never ask a person to be a member or prospect. Never happens. But uhhm. If a guy asks them about being a member, then they offer everything up. You know, the process and all. But it always starts from an outsider asking,” he said.

I nodded my head. “Okay.”

“Well, I made the mistake of asking how a guy becomes a member,” he said.

“Oh. Wow. Uhhm, what happened?” I asked.

“He turned sideways on the bench and placed his hand on my thigh. “They asked me to become a prospect.”

I swallowed heavily. From my talk with Em in the bar, she shared with me how the club had become a family for Jackson, and that it was the best thing that ever happened to him. She also explained the level of secrecy the men have regarding the club and club business. As much as I hated to admit it, I was excited for Blake to possibly become a member of something like a motorcycle club, and I felt it would provide me with several new girlfriends.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“Told him I’d think about it,” he said.

“Well, you ride, you love to ride, and you’re covered in tattoos. Hell, you don’t even own a car. And you don’t have a family. I think you’re perfect for it,” I said as I reached for his hand.

“Do you?” he asked.

I nodded my head. “I do. And I’d be proud of you if you did. And you know how my mom feels about those guys. In her eyes, they can’t do any wrong. She just loves Axton.”

“You be proud?” he asked.

“Who wouldn’t? Yes, I really would,” I said.

“Well, I’ll sleep on it,” he said. “And we’ll talk again, okay?”

“Okay,” I said with a smile.

“And I’ve got something,” I said.

“Let’s hear it. What, you catch the shop on fire?” he asked.

I laughed. “No. My uhhm. My mom, she wants to start a tradition, and she wants to know if you’re interested.”

“Depends on what it is,” he said.

“She wants to have Sunday dinner at her house every Sunday. You know, like a family.” I said.

Slowly, he twisted his forearm half around, gazed at the line tattooed across his wrist, and stared. “That’d be really nice,” he said as he glanced up.

I jumped up from the bench. “You mean you’ll do it?”

“Yeah. It’d be nice,” he said.

“Oh wow. Mom’s just gonna die. She’s going to be so happy. You realize this is like every Sunday, right?” I asked.

He stood from the bench and wrapped his arms around me. “Yes, I understand. And it sounds perfect. Like a family.”

“Yes,” I said.

A tear welled in my eye and slowly crept down my cheek at the thought of Blake having something he could call a family.

“A family,” I said as I wiped my finger across my cheek.

“Let’s go see her,” he said.

“My mom?” I asked excitedly.

He nodded his head.

“Okay,” I said as I reached down and grabbed my helmet.

“Meet me at the bike,” he said. “I’ve got to do something really quick.”

“Okay,” I said.

It seemed strange for him to ask me to walk away, but if it was what he needed, I wanted to provide it. As I sat on the curb beside the bike and gazed down the hill at the lake, I watched as Blake reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and tossed it into the middle of the lake.

I couldn’t tell for sure against the setting sun, but it looked like his cross.

After a moment, he walked up to the bike and smiled a huge smile. “Ready?”

I nodded my head and stood. “What did you throw away?”

He gazed down at his boots for a moment. As he shifted his eyes upward, he responded.

“My past,” he said.

And I fully believed him.