FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (42 page)

J.

Case was avoiding him.  Funny thing was, though his best friend thought he was punishing him, it was actually a fucking relief.  He was a grown ass man.  It was ludicrous to think that he should have to account for his every action. 

For the first time in a long, lonely time, he had someone other than his biker brothers to focus on.  It was a heady feeling, and one he was sure Case, with his fear of letting anyone into his life, would never understand.

So he avoided Case right back.  There was more than enough to keep him occupied.  Most of which resided between Emmy's creamy thighs, of course.  But there was also the small matter of his sister leaving profanity-laced messages on the office answering machine.

Teach was perched on the office stool.  He tapped a pencil on a pad of yellowed paper, his gaze a million miles away.  J. recognized the look, and scuffed his foot against the floor.  He knew that if he just appeared at Teach's side, the older man would jump nearly out of his skin.

The small noise worked.  Teach turned in his direction, but the set of his mouth was not welcoming.

"That was a fairly stupid move, J.," he said evenly.

J. decided to play dumb.  "What move was that?"

"Don't pull that shit.  You could have been ambushed."

"Nah, they're not gonna take it that far."

"Oh really?  And you know that how?"

J. paused.  The deep guilt he felt over leaving the fight flared to life again and with it his anger.  "Because they're a bunch of pussies who hide behind their numbers instead of being real men.

Teach blinked.  "Are you speaking truth or just mouthing off."

The air left J.'s lungs in a sorrowful whoosh.  Teach always knew exactly how to corner him.  "Mouthing off, fuck.  Case got me all riled. I'm sorry I left, okay?"  He didn't mean it, but he knew it needed to be said.

Teach sighed heavily, looking suddenly old.  "I'll let it slide.  Your head's all muddled up with your new girl."  His tired eyes twinkled in amusement.  "She's got you hoppin'."

J. rubbed the back of his neck.  "I don't mind."

"Yeah, so we heard."

"Shut up."

"Speaking of what I've heard...." Teach turned on his stool and pressed 'play' on the answering machine.  J. felt the blood rush to his ears when he heard Janelle's tinny voice come shrieking out of the ancient speaker.  Teach let the diatribe play for only a couple seconds before he hit the pause button.  "Can you please do something about this?  She's runnin' out my tape and I've missed two big orders cause there was no more room for actual customers."

"I'll take care of it," J. sighed.

Teach slid from the stool, and made a "go ahead” gesture, then left through the back door, heading into the clubhouse. As J. dialed the ancient, corded phone, his heart hammered in his throat.  It pounded even harder when his sister's voice came on the line.

"Hello?" 

J. nearly hung up the phone at the first syllable.  The way his sister made even a greeting sound like an emergency made his blood boil.

"Hello?" Janelle's voice was already huffy and full of self-importance.  J. felt his fists balling at his sides and he hadn't even said a word.

"Janelle," he finally managed.  His voice sounded odd to him.

But she recognized it immediately. "Jeremiah!" she squealed, half in a laugh, half in a scold.  "You finally...you're actually...you...." Janelle stammered through a litany of accusations and recriminations before she got herself under control.  "Hello," she finally said softly, having decided not to rip him a new one.

Not yet anyway.

"I heard you were looking for me," J. muttered. 

She made an aggrieved noise.  "Of course I was!  I had no idea you were out!  Thought you were in until next year at least!"

"Time off for good behavior."  He slumped against the counter.  It hurt to tell her this.  It hurt even hearing that she still cared.  It would be easier if she didn't, then he could hold on to his anger without change.  But hearing the love and shock in her voice made him feel guilty for some reason.  And being made to feel guilty always made him angry.

She sputtered again.  He could tell she was shocked.  When they had last spoken, three years ago, it was when she had told him that she and Randall had started dating.  Randall, the reason he was in prison in the first place.  His former best friend who decided it was a good idea to hold up a convenience store without telling J. that was his plan.  Who got off because he was still seventeen, while J. was tried as an adult.  Six years wasted in prison because of his best friend's brainless desire to be the neighborhood bad ass.

And then his sister began dating him. 

The rage he had felt had exploded in the visitation room, then continued back in the common area.  By the time the COs had subdued him, there were three new residents of the hospital ward and J. had landed in solitary for a month.

That was before he had met Teach and started working in his vo-tech shop.  One more way motorcycles had saved his life.

J. could tell she had a million questions.  His sister had always been a motormouth.  Half politician, half preacher, she could drown you in a torrent of words before you even had a chance to form your argument.  If she had ever left their neighborhood, she could have succeeded in business like few others.

But instead she had stayed with her mama, living in that tiny house on Dauphin Street and letting her world shrink around her.  J. knew that coming to visit him in prison was the furthest she had ever been from home.  Once he had told her never to contact him again, she had rarely strayed further than a few blocks from that stifling house.

"Well, that's...great!" Her voice took on a maternal warmth that made J. squirm uncomfortably.  "I'm really proud of you."  The softened edge to her voice was unexpected and unwelcome.

"Yeah," was all J. could muster.  He wanted anger, any excuse to lash out and hang up the phone..

"Tomorrow's Wednesday, J.," Janelle continued in the new, soft voice.

"It is," J. waited.  Wednesday dinners after Bible study were part of growing up.

"So would you come to dinner?"

There it was.  The invitation he knew was coming and had been avoiding since Teach had first told him Janelle had called.  "We want to see you," she continued, voice full of hope.  "Things have changed.  They're," she paused and J. imagined her looking around the tiny little house, always having to worry about who was in earshot.  "They're pretty good," she finished.

"Good," J. said shortly, biting back the rest of the words that wanted to come flooding out. 
How's Randall?  How is it fucking the man who ruined my life?  Is that good? Why don't you ask mom if she thinks it's good?  She must since he's living in MY room in MY house and eating with MY family.  You two just went ahead and replaced me with my best friend, didn't you Janelle?  Things went shitty for me and you just moved on.  And now things are good?

Instead he gripped the phone as tight as he could.  "I'll come.  But I'm not coming alone."

"Really?"  Janelle's voice was guarded.

"I'm bringing my girl.  Emmy." J. heard the sudden softness in his own voice when he spoke her name.

Janelle must have heard it too.  She made a sound like a suppressed squeal.  "I'll set an extra place then," she choked. 

"Good," J. repeated.  "I'll be there at three."

"Okay," Janelle's voice was still thick with emotion and it was more than J. could handle.  He had to hang up before it overwhelmed him.   He replaced the receiver slowly without saying goodbye.

Emmy

A morning spent tiptoeing between J.'s and Case's temper had me exhausted before the day had barely begun.  I wanted to stand under the stream of the shower for as long as I could.  Unfortunately the water was barely hot enough to stand under comfortably, much less be able to melt away the tension in my shoulders.

The shower at the clubhouse was a stall built into the wall of the bathroom and afforded little privacy.  I was surprised they had bothered with a curtain, but I guessed it was for when they had girls sleep over. 

The hot water had barely recovered between Case's shower and mine, so I had to move fast.  Dancing through the lukewarm spray, I soaped up as quickly as I could.

My knuckles cramped slightly, the dull ache there still remained.  I flexed my fingers under the spray, relishing the pain. I hoped it would never stop hurting.  I wanted to always be reminded of what I had done.  Of the impact as my fist collided with Robert's jaw. Of sending him backwards onto the lobby floor while his hired goon of a guard watched open mouthed.  I hope he was humiliated.  I hope he had a huge bruise.  I hoped it hurt to talk, hurt to eat.  I hoped it was a pointed reminder never to fuck with me again.

I hoped he knew it meant it was over.

I had to believe that, but something inside of me still fretted that it wasn't enough.  Robert didn't love me, of that I was completely certain.  But for some reason he wanted to have me.  For too long I had mistaken that possessiveness for real love.  It wasn't until I met J. that I learned what love really was.

And he and I needed to have a talk. 

His mother's dinner was at three.  I had plenty of time to get ready, but my clothes situation was giving me problems.  I thought wistfully of the huge, walk-in closet in the penthouse crammed with a million outfits.  Then I shuddered when I remembered the cost behind them. 

I'd rather have nothing than pay that price.

"I'm ready, J.!" I announced as I emerged from the bathroom.

"Why do girls take forever?" Crash asked the room as he hurried past me towards the toilet, where he unleashed a mighty stream and a sigh.

"He's been waiting for you," Case noted.  "Bein' all gentlemanly and shit."

I looked down.  This was the first time he had said anything to me since yesterday.  I chose my words very carefully. "You're all being gentlemanly and shit." I sighed.  "Thank you."  Then I took a deep breath and looked around. "Where's J.?"

"Gone for a ride," Case said, flicking though a parts catalog and making notes on a scrap of paper.

What the hell?

"Did he say for how long?"

Case raised a sharp eyebrow at me. "Um, no.  He didn't seem in the mood to chat." I felt my cheeks flush red at my faux pas.

Crash emerged from the bathroom and humped past me with a muffled, "Scuse me," as he brushed my shoulder.  Mac was slumped brooding over his beer, three cans already gathered at his feet.  I couldn't see either Teach or the Doctor, but I could hear voices from outside.

"Anything I can do?" I chirped to the air. 

"Make more coffee," Crash muttered grumpily.  "Please," he added when Case shot him a look.

I opened my mouth to ask where it was, then thought better of it and turned on my heel.  Without J. here I felt lost and awkward.  I hoped it didn't show.

A childhood spent fetching coffee for my hungover father served me well when faced with the complicated machine in front of me.  I located a half empty container of ground coffee in the freezer and measured out enough to make a potent brew.  I worked as slowly as I could.  As long as I was getting the coffee, I was being useful. Once this task was finished, I was going to be back to waiting for J.

Where the heck was he, anyway?

When I brought the steaming mug out to Crash, he reacted as a drowning man being tossed a life preserver.  "Dang, that's strong," he muttered over the brim.

"Too strong?" I asked.  "I can make another pot."

He pulled the mug out of my reach and growled in an imitation of a dog with a juicy bone.  Bonnie the guard dog looked up from her corner and cocked a quizzical head, then flopped back to the ground with a snuffle, already bored.  Crash slurped his coffee without looking at me. 

I felt like an intruder.

"Anything else you need?"  I heard the hopeful note of subservience in my voice that I had hoped I had left along with Robert. 

Crash fixed his eyes on my chest for a moment.  "Nah," he said, more to himself than me.

"Stop waiting on that asshole," Case called from the corner.

"I don't mind," I answered.  But I did.  Where was J.?

The lush memories of our night in the country took on a bitter flavor.  We had run away.  And today, with the looming challenge of dinner at his mother's to contend with, he had run away again.  But this time he had left me behind

With nothing else to do, I retreated to a workbench and stared at the tools like they meant something to me.  I was feeling familiar feelings, and I didn't like it.

I had gone from being completely dependent on Robert right to being completely dependent on J. All of the turmoil of the past two weeks hadn't changed anything about me.  I was still a charity case, adrift, bouncing from bed to bed like a cheap gold-digger.

I wondered what time it was.  I was hungry but I didn't feel entitled to eat their food without J. there.   I swallowed my self-loathing and stared fiercely at a wrench.  As if it was the tool's fault I was still a mess.

The noise of an approaching motorcycle broke through my thoughts.  J.'s custom chopper roared passed the rolltop doors of the garage and my heart leaped into my throat to see him.  He moved the huge machine as if it were part of him, with a mixture of calm relaxation and authoritative power.  I realized that I had never seen him ride, I had always ridden with him.

He swung around in one wide, lazy arc across the huge parking lot.  I couldn't help but swallow hard when I saw how his strong hands gripped the handlebars and his stronger thighs clenched the heavy metal between them.  The power in how he moved had me breathless.

He idled into the garage and cut the motor.  There was an echoing silence.

I didn't want to be the first to speak, because I was afraid of what I might say.  My desire for him fought viciously with my anger at him, robbing me entirely of the power of coherent speech. He swung his long leg over the back of the bike and shrugged off his leather jacket, hanging it carefully on a hook on the wall.  His face was calm, blissful even.  He brushed something off of his shoulder and looked out of the garage doors for a moment, watching the traffic race by on the highway above us.

Then he finally turned and noticed me.

"Hey babe," he said softly, striding towards me.  His boots echoed on the cement floor of the garage.  They were much louder in the silence that preceded him.

I shot a look over my shoulder and saw that Case was watching us closely, tension radiating from his body in almost visible waves. 

I looked back at J. He looked calm and centered.  I felt another wash of irrational anger at him for having left me. It was hard to imitate calm when I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin.

"Hey, you're back?" I said.  My voice sounded high and tight to my ears.

"I'm back," he replied, smearing a hasty kiss across my lips.  He strode to the kitchen and downed a bottle of water.  "You ready to go?"

"To your mom's?"

He blinked at me as if I wasn't making sense.  "Yeah.  I told them three."

"But you just got back."

He continued looking at me.  The silence that I had so cherished in him was starting to irk me.  "Yeah, I'm back now.  You ready?"

I was confused and I didn't know why.  I felt like something had flown past me without me catching hold of it.  Like there was a valuable piece of information about J. that I should really know before I headed out to meet the specters of his past.

I couldn't put those feelings into words.  Instead I looked down at my T-shirt and jeans.  "Am I dressed okay? I'm only wearing jeans."

He was at my side in an instant, his hands cupping my waist, pulling me in to him.  "I like the way your ass looks in those jeans," he whispered throatily.

His sudden ardor didn't feel right.  I felt like he was using me as a distraction. Like how Robert would nuzzle me at charity dinners, putting on a show for all his admirers.

I could feel Case's eyes on us, watching for J.'s reaction.  I felt deeply uneasy. "Let's just go."  I said, "The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back."

"Good luck," Case called out to us, with more sincerity than I had ever heard from him.