Craving Redemption (21 page)

I was enjoying my freedom, barely thinking about Callie at all, when I called her phone Friday night and she didn’t answer. There were a shit ton of people at the clubhouse that night, so I got distracted for a while, waiting for her to call back, but about an hour later I realized I still hadn’t talked to her.

I spent the rest of that night pacing my room like a pussy, getting angrier and angrier that she hadn’t answered her phone or called me back. It was like as soon as I couldn’t get a hold of her I missed her like hell on fire.

At one point, I even called the boys down in Sac to drive by her house and make sure her car was there. Knowing that it was didn’t seem to make a difference because my saddlebags were packed and ready before Slider pulled me aside and told me to suck it the fuck up.

They’d been watching me lose it the entire night, and they were all laughing at what they called my ‘hysterics’.
Fucking pricks.
I knew that if it were Vera who wasn’t answering her phone, Slider would be climbing the walls or already halfway to Sacramento by then.

When I finally got a hold of her, I was pissed as hell. If I had been in the same room as her, I don’t know what I would have done.

She calmed me down with that sweet voice of hers, but when she told me she was having trouble sleeping, my anger disappeared. I wanted to make it better for her, but I wasn’t sure how. She wasn’t willing to move where I was, and I sure as shit wasn’t going down to the Sacramento Chapter and leaving all my brothers behind.

Our options were pretty much nonexistent because of her stubbornness, and when I got off the phone, my frustration over being away from her—turned into being frustrated
at
her.

So even though I knew it was an asshole move, I distanced myself.

I didn’t call as often as I had before.

I ignored the voice in the back of my head telling me that I missed her and she sure as hell was missing me.

On Monday, after I talked to her, I volunteered for a run.

I completely forgot to call her the day of her parents’ funeral—which made me feel like a complete dick and distance myself even more.

I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.

I just kept fucking up, and I kept waiting for her to call me on it—almost wishing she would bitch me out.

But she didn’t. She just took what I gave her and didn’t make a single noise in complaint.

And that pissed me off even more.

It was no longer enough for her to need me. I wanted her to be willing to
fight
for me.

Chapter 33

Callie

A week went by with only sporadic calls from Asa, and I was starting to wonder if I’d done something to piss him off. It’s not like I expected him to be calling me every hour on the hour, but what was once a phone call a night had turned into once a week. By the time that Friday rolled around, I was on pins and needles wondering if he was going to show up like he’d said he would.

He hadn’t mentioned visiting again, but I was hoping that he was just going to surprise me. It was lame, and I knew it, but I held out hope that even though he was practically ignoring me, he still wanted to see me.

When I got home from school on Friday afternoon, I felt a small bit of panic flutter in my chest as I took in the apartment. Farrah had spent almost every day with me after school and the place was trashed. There were food wrappers stuffed in the couch, unidentified dried liquids all over the counter and the floor, and there was a weird but disgusting smell coming from the garbage bag that I’d been too lazy to take out.

I couldn’t let Grease see how horrid I’d let the apartment get, so I threw my bag onto the couch and raced toward the bedroom to change clothes. I got about halfway down the short hallway before shaking my head frantically and going back to pick up my bag so I could hang it on the end of my bed where it belonged. If I was going to clean up, I couldn’t leave shit lying around.

It took me two hours and what felt like five buckets of sweat to clean the apartment, but by the time I was done it looked almost as good as when Gram had cleaned it. I wanted it to be sparkling, and I knew it wasn’t—but I just couldn’t figure out what the hell I’d missed. Gram was a freaking magician. God, I wished I knew where her list was. She’d left it on the fridge, but I had no idea where it had gotten lost and I had a horrible feeling that it was in the disgusting trash somewhere.

There was no way I was rifling through that nastiness. When I took it to the dumpster, I’d found out that it had seeped into the bottom of the garbage can and started fucking fermenting. I’d had to clean the bottom of it with an entire container of disinfectant wipes, and the whole time I was reaching in the can—up to my waist—my heart was pounding. I just
knew
that Asa was going to walk in while I was hip deep in a freaking garbage can.

He didn’t.

He also didn’t show up when I took a long shower to clean off the sweat and garbage juice, or when I spent half an hour blow drying my hair.

He didn’t show up when I was making dinner, or eating, or cleaning up.

And he didn’t show up while I worked on what little homework I had while trying to watch a movie.

He didn’t show up at all.

When I finally crawled into bed at midnight, my belly felt… hollow. I berated myself for imagining that he’d show up to surprise me, but I’d been so sure that if he hadn’t been able to get away, he would have called. Those thoughts—the silly thoughts that convinced me that he’d never stand me up, had my heart racing in fear. I started imagining him getting into an accident on the way to see me and how awful I was for thinking the worst.

So I called him, just to make sure he was okay.

“Hey, babe,” he answered on the third ring, sounding just fine.

“Hey, I was just… calling to say hi,” I lied. I couldn’t tell him that I’d been waiting all day for him, or that I’d been thinking he was dead on the side of the road somewhere. He hadn’t even mentioned coming to see me in weeks, and I didn’t want to look like a jackass for assuming.

“Oh, okay. Everything all right?” he asked gently, and then my stomach became one huge knot because I could hear him covering up the phone while he talked to someone else. 

“I’m fine. I just thought you’d be visiting soon,” I answered him, immediately slapping myself on the leg as I realized how needy I sounded.

“Yeah, shit’s been pretty crazy around here. I haven’t been able to get away. You know how it is…” his words trailed off, but I could hear people speaking in the background and then he chuckled.

That small laugh hit some sort of trigger, because all of a sudden I didn’t feel like an asshole for calling him. All of a sudden,
he
was the asshole.

“Hey, Grease?” I called sweetly to gain his attention.

I knew the second he realized what I’d said because he inhaled harshly into the phone.

“The fuck?” he growled, almost giving me the reaction I was hoping for.

“The next time you tell me that you’re going to be here, could you please let me know if you’re not
actually
going to be here?” my tone hadn’t changed, but there was no way he could miss the bite in my words.

“I didn’t tell you I was coming down there, Calliope,” he growled again, frustration evident in his tone.

“Yeah, you did. Before Gram came up—when you had your panties in a twist that I didn’t answer my phone for a few hours. Remember? You were all fired up to see me and then you just disappeared off the face of the earth,” I told him calmly, my heart racing.

“Ahhhhh FUCK! I forgot,” he groaned, “I’ll come down as soon as I can, Sugar. Okay?”

He was trying to apologize, but I was done with his bullshit. He’d left me in Sacramento, full of promises to visit, and he couldn’t even be bothered to call me very often.
Fuck him.

I took a deep breath, listening to him apologize and tell me he’d visit as soon as he possibly could. He said all the right things, and I wanted to believe him—but I didn’t. I was just biding my time, and as soon as he paused to make sure I was still on the phone, I dropped my bomb.

“Don’t bother coming back,” I told him flatly and slid my phone closed as I heard his pissed off voice calling my name.

That
was the reaction I’d been hoping for.

I lay awake again that night, but for once it wasn’t because I was crying. Instead, I was making a list in my head of the things I needed to do.

First on the list was to party with Farrah, and anyone else I could think of, in Grease’s apartment.

Second was to find a job and move the fuck out of there.

And third was to never stop moving or planning, so I didn’t have to notice the ache in my chest.

Chapter 34

Grease

I was at a party at the club when I got Callie’s call. Shit, every night at the club was some sort of drunken get together—but this one was different and I was thoroughly enjoying watching the women in the room. There was a clear hierarchy. It was one of the only times a year that sluts and old ladies would be anywhere near each other—the party for a new member—and it was fucking hilarious. I was waiting for a catfight to break out.

Dragon had gotten his cut earlier in the day, and he was weaving his way around as different brothers patted him on the back. Poor fucker had a massive healing tattoo on his back—but dealing with that shit was tradition. All of us had gone through it and survived—he would, too. I was looking at him when he stopped dead, staring across the room. When I followed his eyes, all I saw was Brenna and Vera—so I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was looking at. He had the stupidest fucking look on his face, almost dazed— and I wondered what the hell he was doing. As soon as he started across the room, my phone rang in my pocket and I lost sight of him as I tried to make my way through the crowd to answer Callie’s call.

By the time she hung up on me, I was in my room, and the whiskey and beer I’d downed at the party were like dead weight in my gut.

She was pissed, and I fucking
knew
she was going to do something stupid.

I had to get to Sacramento.

I stood up from my bed to find a bathroom and pack my shit, and the room fucking spun.

Great.

I stumbled my way to the door, trying to decide if I should just try and drive my bike down there—or wait until the morning when I knew I’d be sober enough that I wouldn’t lay down my bike somewhere and fuck up the paint job.

I started calling Callie again, but every time I did, she sent me to fucking voicemail. I made it into the hallway just in time to see Dragon leading—fuck—Brenna into his room. Did he have a death wish?

I tried to stop him. I really fucking tried.

But I was so goddamn preoccupied with Callie’s shit and just trying to stay standing that he bitched a little and I dropped it. The stubborn-as-hell look on his face told me he wasn’t listening to a goddamn word I said anyway, and Brenna didn’t even look at me as he pushed her gently into his room.

He wanted to fuck around with Poet’s daughter?

Fuck it.

And why the fuck wasn’t Callie picking up her phone?

I didn’t remember making it to the bathroom, but I must have—because when I woke up the next day, at two in the goddamn afternoon with the mother of all hangovers I hadn’t pissed myself.

Chapter 35

Callie

I looked around the apartment full of people with a small smile.

I’d set my plan into motion that morning, and so far it had worked perfectly.

I’d driven around our small neighborhood watching for ‘help wanted’ signs, and within fifteen minutes I’d found one in the window of a local fast food place. After giving them my application and doing an interview with a greasy guy not much older than I was, I had the job. I wasn’t sure how they’d chosen me so fast, but I hoped it was because I was the only one that applied and not because the skeevy manager couldn’t stop looking at my boobs. Either way, I’d walked out with a job that started the next week.

The next thing on my to-do list had been even easier to arrange. One call to Farrah and I’d been promised all the booze and weed I could handle. I left it to her to spread the word, and she hadn’t disappointed. She showed up at seven o’clock that night and by nine, the entire apartment had been filled with people.

So, by nine-thirty I was sitting on my couch with friends of Asa’s that heard about the party from Farrah’s stepdad. I couldn’t even
begin
to understand that type of fucked up parent-child relationship, but instead of worrying about my friend, I told myself it really wasn’t any of my business. I was enjoying being social for the first time in months, and the male appreciation for my shorts and wide-necked white shirt wasn’t anything to scoff at, either.

When Farrah walked by to grab more drinks, I pulled her onto my lap.

“I love you, Farrah,” I told her dreamily.

“Ha! Okay, drunky,” she answered back, patting me on the head.

“I’m not drunk.” I gave her a squeeze, “I’m just happy I have a friend like you, who throws me awesome birthday parties.”

Her eyes widened and her head snapped toward me.

“It’s your birthday?” she asked me in confusion, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how she wrinkled her nose.

“Yup!” I took a drink of the screwdriver she’d mixed for me. “Seventeen. Woo fucking hoo.”

From the side of the couch I heard someone mumble, “Holy fuck. She doesn’t
look
seventeen,” and then what sounded like a thump before Michael warned, “Hands off, she’s Grease’s.”

I ignored them both, my eyes still on Farrah.

“When’s your birthday?” I asked her, trying to get her attention away from where Echo was standing across the room.

They’d been eyeballing each other the entire night, but I knew how Farrah felt about bikers. After watching one after another come into her mom’s life—and bedroom—she had little respect for them. I knew she wanted a normal guy with a normal family, at least in her head. It seemed her hormones wanted something entirely different.