FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (46 page)

Emmy

The house was never much to look at from the road. The dark hills closed in on us as we pulled into the gravel driveway and I sighed to see the crooked old Victorian, slumping down as if it had something to be ashamed of.

The porch light was on for us, casting deep shadows over the bowed wooden beams of the stoop my father had cobbled together from old lumber left over from the construction of the house.  His father had built the place with meticulous care, but years of neglect had left it defeated looking. 

My mother tried to keep up appearances inside, fastidiously scrubbing the dingy floors, but she staunchly believed that home repair was man's work and wouldn't lift a finger to even do so much as hammer a nail.  I believed it was some sort of passive rebellion on her part.

"There it is," I breathed.  It looked smaller than I remembered.  Diminished.  I wondered if I left for another two and a half years if it would disappear all together.

"There it is," Andy repeated.  They were the first words he had spoken since I had asked him for quiet.  He cleared his throat.  "Must look like shit after living in a penthouse for so long."

I let my eyes wander along the wooden siding.  In spite of everything this house contained, there was something in me that still rose to meet it with affection.  "It looks fine," I sighed.  "Penthouses can be prisons, you know."

"You gonna tell me what happened now?"  He cranked his seat back.  I think he was trying to stall our leaving the peace of the truck and heading inside.

I decided to indulge him.  I did owe him an explanation after all.  "Robert was abusing me, Andy."

He inhaled sharply and I held up my hand, "It's over.  Don't worry.  He's out of my life."  I looked at my knuckles and let out a small giggle.  "Actually, you're never going to believe this, but I fought him, Andy."

"You?"  My brother, always ready for a scrap, raised his eyebrows incredulously.  "You're not a fighter," he intoned, and I could tell he was repeating back my own words to me.

"I had to become one," I said slowly.  "Someone taught me."

"Someone?"

I pressed my lips together.  "I met a guy.  A biker, actually."

Andy looked at me wordlessly, a million questions reflected in his eyes.  But just like he did when we were kids, he knew when to be silent and let me find my words. 

"His name was, is, J.  I only met him a few weeks ago.  But it's been a hell of a few weeks."  I licked my lips, trying to find a way to describe J. to my protective brother.

Mercurial.  Complex.  Fascinating.  Capable of terrifying violence and the most incredible gentleness.  Two seconds away from anger while also incredibly patient.  Devoted and loyal...until he wasn't. 

I swallowed the lump in my throat. 

"He taught me to fight.  Robert tried to get me back.  So I," a hysterical laugh tore from my throat, catching both Andy and me by surprise.  "I fucking punched him."

Andy made a strangled noise and I could tell he was trying to suppress a laugh.  I felt a smile tug at the edge of my tears.  "I did, Andy.  Right across the jaw.  I knocked him right on his ass."  I rubbed my knuckle.  "Hurt more than I expected it too.  How do you punch people so much without hurting your hand?"

He made another muffled noise.  "Oh go ahead and laugh," I barked and he burst out in a wild hysterical guffaw.  I tried valiantly to keep a straight face, but his incredulous face was too much for me and I felt a little giggle rise up from my core.  The tears began to flow even as I began to laugh out loud. 

I laughed at the ridiculousness of Robert's face as he looked at me in shock.  I laughed at the thrill of standing up for myself for the first time.  I laughed at Andy's laugh, his disbelief that his passive sister was capable of her own fury.  And I laughed at the irony of finding my love and losing it all in the space of a week. 

I laughed until my sides hurt, well after Andy had calmed down.  When I finally looked at him again, wiping the hysterical tears from my eyes, his expression was one of calm admiration.  The tears began to flow again when I saw him see me in a new light.

"So you're a fighter now too, huh?" he said slowly and once again I was taken aback by the poignancy of his words.  I slid my hand over his, feeling the strangeness of the hair on his knuckles.  My baby brother was so big now.

"I always fought for you, Andy," I murmured.  The hysterical laughter had cleared the turmoil in my head and I was able to see things clearly.  See the truth of our past.  As bad as things were, it made us who we were now.  And anything that did that couldn't be all bad.  I resolved to go to my parents with an open heart. 

"You did, sis," he exhaled, his voice catching slightly and sending it into a higher, more familiar register.  I smiled softly to hear his old voice.

"It's getting all foggy in here," I observed.  "Should we go in?"

He sighed and didn't say anything.  Only opened the driver's side door and slid out.  I let myself out and stretched my legs, as he walked over to me.  He now stood a full head taller than I was.  The changes just kept happening without me.

He patted my shoulder in an awkward hug, reminding me that for all his deep voice and great height, he was still an awkward teenager, still six months from his eighteenth birthday.  He was still my little brother. 

And I was still his biggest champion.  He had gone too long without me in his corner. 

I patted him back and we stepped up onto the low porch and went inside.

*****

My mother had cleaned for me.  The lingering scent of Lemon Pledge let me know she had scrubbed everything down, though no amount of scrubbing ever made it seem fully clean.  The dark wood paneling and the deep pile carpets hid a lifetime of griminess that always managed to withstand my mother's chemical assault. I breathed in the familiar scent of her cleaning.  It's what she always did when we'd have company.  Any time someone from the outside was about to enter our little isolated corner of the world, my mother would clean like a demon, trying to erase any traces of the ugliness which permeated our home.  It was her way of proclaiming that nothing was wrong.

It was startling to realize that she did this for me.  It meant that she now viewed me as an outsider. 

I bit the inside of my cheek.  I didn't know whether this made me happy or sad.

Andy put his hand on my shoulder.  "Got a new couch," he said blandly, gesturing to where the faded blue monstrosity had used to lurk.  It was replaced by a cream and brown striped pinback sofa that looked strangely at odds with the rest of the well-worn decor.  I could tell in an instant that my mother prized it. 

"It's pretty," I replied, just as my mother's slippered footfall sounded on the linoleum.

"I think so too," she said by way of greeting. 

I sucked in my teeth.  "Hi Mom."

She put her hands on my shoulders and pressed her cheek to mine, greeting me as calmly as if I had just come back from running out for a gallon of milk.  Not at all like she hadn't seen me in two and a half years.

"Emilia," she sighed.  There was less springiness to her cheek.  I could feel a hollow where there didn't used to be one.  But otherwise she seemed unchanged.  She pulled back from her lukewarm embrace and looked me full in the face.  My mother was a tall woman, and whip-thin.  Years of restrictive dieting had whittled her down to nothing and I could tell my full-figure still bothered her greatly without her having to say a word.  "What are you doing here?  And where is Robert?"  She looked expectantly over her shoulder.  "When Andy said you were coming home, I thought for sure it was to introduce us to your future husband."

I opened my mouth and then snapped it shut with a pop.  "He's not here, Mom." I wanted to lie.  I wanted desperately not to speak the words to her and open that wound again.  My mother would know just what kind of salt to pour in it.

I wasn't lying anymore.  That much about my life had changed, even if nothing else had.  "We broke up. No wait, that's not entirely it." I chewed the inside of my cheek as her nostrils flared.  "I left him."

The rush of air that escaped her made her sound like she was deflating.  "Oh Emilia," she gasped, as if I'd struck her.  "How could you be so stupid?"

J.

He hadn't looked at the clock when the club meeting had started.  And once Teach had dropped the news, time seemed to stand still.  So when they rose from their folding chairs J. still thought he had time.  Each man shuffled silently around the other, lost in his own thoughts.  Case and Teach were murmuring in a corner of the garage.  Their words were inaudible, but their tone was unmistakable. 

Shit was bad.

J. picked at a ragged hangnail on his thumb.

"This is a lot of shit to handle," he spoke to no one in particular.

Crash gave a small snort behind him.  J. turned to where he was leaning against a workbench. "Never a dull moment," the shorter man remarked.  The calm lucidity in his eyes had remained from the meeting.  J. looked at him searchingly, waiting to see if he would say something more.

But Crash didn't say anything, just rubbed his hand over his shorn head before cradling it in his hands as if it pained him.  He slouched further, splaying his bad leg stiffly in front of him.

"You okay man?" J. wondered.

Crash looked up at him, slowly shaking his head before a light snapped on in his eyes and he gave a short laugh.  "Shit gets stuck."  He tapped his forehead where the spiderweb of scars etched a memory of the brutal crash that had almost taken his life.  "I know it's there, but it's like it's behind glass or something.  I see it, but I can't get it."

"What do you mean?"

Crash shifted.  "Like, I know I know something.  About this club,  The Storm Riders.  It's there and it's important."  He grimaced.  "But I can't fucking get to it, can't find the words to say it. "  He balled his fist and knocked himself in the temple. 

"Hey man, cut that shit out!" J. was appalled, and slightly guilty.  He hadn't known Crash before joining the Sons.  He knew nothing of the man  he was before the accident had robbed him of his mobility and memories.  All he knew was that Crash played along.  His jovial, boisterous nature seemed to invite joking and mockery.  The Sons ripped on him constantly for his memory-loss, his wild mood swings and his singular focus on girls.  It had never occurred to J. that there might be more in there, locked behind the gates of his injuries.

"Sometimes it helps to knock things loose," Crash smiled.  "I know I ain't the smartest guy here, but I got thoughts.  I just gotta get them out."

J. took a breath.  "Do you think this is a good idea?"  He had never thought to ask Crash's opinion before. 

"Guess it kinda depends on who we wanna be, ya know?  A group of guys who fuck around with bikes and call each other brothers, or a real-life M.C."  He pressed his finger to his temple again, squinting with the effort.  "Way I see it, both of them has good and bad.  I'll tell you one thing," Crash looked at him shrewdly, "we become a prospective club, your new girl prolly ain't gonna like it." He cocked his head to the side, his finger still prodding the ideas loose.  "She's already pissed at you for not giving her enough time."

His girl.  "Fuuuck," J. breathed.  He looked at the closed office door.  Emmy had grabbed her backpack.  "How long was the meeting?"  he barked at Crash as he stared at the door.  He didn't want to open it. 

Crash looked confused.  "We started when it was still light out.  I know cuz I didn't feel bad kicking that fine little bitch outta here. I may be an asshole, but I don't send ladies out into the dark unescorted." He puffed up a little as some of the manic energy started to light up his eyes.

"It's dark now," J. realized.  "Wait," he looked at Crash and furrowed his brow.  "What do you mean she's pissed at me?"

"You dumb fucker, didn't you see her face when you got back here from your mom's?  She was all hanging around you, waiting to go off alone.  You blew her off like twice in a row."

"I did not."

"Prison fucked up your game something fierce," Crash observed.  "First you partied, then you kicked her out for the club meeting." He shook his head, "No game at all."   He turned to the closed door.  "Wonder if she's in there."

"Yeah me too." J. felt his heart pounding in his throat.  "I told her to find someplace else to be for a little while."

Crash sucked on his teeth.  "You are one dumb piece of shit," he observed.  "If she's still waiting, then you owe her a good hour of pussy-licking."

J. was at the door.  "Emmy?" he croaked, pushing it open.  His head was whirling.  There were too many thoughts, too much shit vying for his full attention.  The Storm Riders, the Sons, his sorry excuse for a mother and his crazy bitch of a sister.  Case's melodramatic stories and his hopped up imagination.  It had all taken over and shut out the one thing that was most important. 

The minute he saw her again, he would tell her that.  He would beg her to understand and swear to her that there was nothing more important to him. The idea gave him a slight bit of comfort.  A plan.  He needed a plan. 

He opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them in the first place.
The room was dark.  The stool by the phone had been pushed back, like she had sat there and then got up quickly.  The front door was unlocked.  Her small, inadequate backpack wasn't anywhere to be seen.

She was gone.