Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) (4 page)

“That was just because I wasn’t sure what you’d do without my sparkling personality and witty conversation,” I say, nudging him gently in the ribs.  I watch his face dissolve in that fantastic smile of his.  “Besides, it’s about time I go see Big George and beg him to give me my job back.” I’m not looking forward to that conversation. Not because I don’t want to see George, but because I know he probably doesn’t want to see me.

“I don’t think you’ll have to do much begging,” Jake notes.  “Big G will take you back in a heartbeat. You know that.”

“Probably,” I agree. We both know I’m the best waitress he’s had.  “But he’ll be worried about the diner.  After all the shit that hit the fan between me and the Angels, I can’t blame him for wondering if it’s worth his while to employ me again.” I shrug my shoulders.

“George isn’t scared of them,” Jake tells me in no uncertain terms.

“Everyone’s scared of them.”

“Maybe that was the wrong way to put it,” Jake admits.  “George isn’t scared of them enough to not help you out,” he says pragmatically.  “Besides, it’s Dick’s diner, not his. Whatever happens to it is Dick’s problem, not George’s.”

“Yeah. That’s if Dick hasn’t disappeared due to ‘unknown circumstances’ after shorting the Angels on the last payment,” I reply.  I shake my head and suddenly let out a laugh that sounds more like a bark.

“What’s so funny?” Jake asks, looking at me uncertainly. He’s probably worried I may have just gone bonkers.

“Our lives, this town, the whole thing is so ridiculous. Doesn’t it just make you want to laugh sometimes?” I ask, mulling over how it’s possible that disappearances, maiming, protection money, and an out-of-control biker gang have become part of our everyday existence.  It sounds like it should belong on the pages of a book or on the big screen, not in real life.

“There are definitely things that I’ve found more amusing.” Jake raises an eyebrow at me, but clearly enjoys the fact that I’m laughing instead of crying.

“Party pooper,” I mumble good-naturedly.

“Come on then, let’s say goodbye to the Summers clan before they
never let you leave
,” Jake suggests, holding his hands out in a passable zombie impression.

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” I point out as he clasps my hand as soon as we’re off the couch.  “Their house is definitely cleaner than your place.”

“Hey, my place has character,” Jake argues, struggling to hold in a smile that’s threatening to break out.

“Dirt isn’t character, Jake. It’s just dirt.”

“Well, if it bothers you so much, you could always clean it now that you’re gainfully unemployed,” he jokes, looking down at me innocently.

“I’m your girlfriend, not your cleaning lady,” I remind him as we’re about to head into the kitchen.

“My girlfriend?” Jake asks as he sweeps me up in his arms, holding me close to him and looking in my eyes.  “Is that what you are?” He tilts his head and studies my face. 

I’m suddenly nervous and wondering if I’ve said completely the wrong thing yet again.  The good old “brain to mouth” filter has typically failed to make an appearance.  “Well, I guess we haven’t really talked about it,” I say hurriedly, wishing that the ground would swallow me up at the earliest available opportunity.

“Aimee, relax,” Jake says reassuringly.  “It’s just strange to hear you say the word. Strange, but nice. Girlfriend,” he teases, mulling the word over.

“You’re making fun of me,” I point out, biting my bottom lip and pretending to be annoyed about it. 

“Only a little.” He kisses me so I have to release the lip I’m biting.  “It’s just that I’ve had girlfriends before.  I’ve been a boyfriend, and it’s never been anything like this,” he tells me quietly as he looks intently into my eyes.  I think of how easy it would be for me to stare into his eyes all day every day. 
It wouldn’t be a bad life,
I tell myself.

“Well if me being your girlfriend and you being my boyfriend doesn’t sound right, then what would you call me?  What would you call
us
?” I ask, wondering if I want to hear the answer.  Even after everything we’ve been through together, I still feel nervous sometimes when it comes to us talking about our feelings.  It probably doesn’t make much sense—but then, as far as I can tell, most relationships don’t.

“I don’t know,” Jake says, his expression getting that look that tells me he’s watching my reaction.  “Soul mates has a pretty good ring to it, don’t you think?”

I’m thrown for a loop. Out of all the things that he could have said, that was probably the last thing I would have expected.  Not that it’s bad—exactly the opposite.  I feel happier than I think I have any right to be under the circumstances.  “Sounds good to me,” I manage to get out around my beaming smile, leaning towards him as he does the same towards me.

“Jake and Aimee sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Jonah sings out as if he had been lying in wait for us to catch precisely this moment.

“Once you two have finished K-I-S-S-I-N-G, could you come in here and give me a hand with your care package?” Sally’s voice reaches us from the kitchen. 

I feel the blush spreading across my cheeks and Jake just shakes his head in mock-despair.  “I love my family, I love my family, I love my family, I love my family,” Jake repeats over and over again like a mantra, and I laugh as he grasps my hand and leads me into the kitchen. 

I don’t tell Jake that I’d take his family over mine—or, I suppose I should say, my lack of family—any day of the week.

Walking into the diner is a little like walking into the past.  Despite the fact that it’s been less than a week since my last shift at Sunny Side Up, it could have been years ago.  I reason that this feeling is probably because the last time I was here, I didn’t have any intention of coming back—not ever.

The welcome bell sounds as the door closes behind me and I take a look around.  It’s after the lunch-time rush, so it’s just a smattering of regulars and a couple of guys I don’t recognize.  They’re most likely truckers. Some of the few that still come through Painted Rock, willing to run the risk of coming face-to-face with the Bleeding Angels and losing whatever they’re transporting. 

“Hey, Stu.” I smile over to one of the older regulars, who spends more time in the diner than anyone else.

“Afternoon, Aimee,” he mumbles, looking up briefly and then just as quickly back down to his coffee.  The way he stares fixedly at it makes me wonder if there’s something particularly interesting in there. 

I shouldn’t really be surprised at his reaction—news travels faster than the speed of light in this town.  I’m sure everyone is going to be wary around me. Wary about what they say to me after the Angels burned down my house.  They probably figure it’s not worth their while to get too close to someone who has clearly pissed off the biker town that rules this place. Who knows what might happen to them if they’re seen associating with me?  I can’t blame them, or even summon the energy to be angry or upset about it.  It’s the way of things in this town. 

“Aimee.” Crystal says my name uncertainly, like she’s checking that she’s got it right.  She’s twirling a strand of her bottle-blonde hair around one of her fingers, looking nervously behind me at the door as if she’s expecting the full force of the Bleeding Angels to come barreling in after me.

“Hi Crys.” I smile, keeping my voice measured and calm, like I haven’t noticed the way the hush has fallen over the diner as soon as I’ve walked in.  “George here?” I ask, looking past her towards the kitchen.  It’s kind of a rhetorical question—we both know that if the diner is open then Big George is going to be there.

“In the back.” Crystal nods, hastily picking up the coffee jug and heading over to give one of the customers a needless refill.

I shake my head as I make my way into the kitchen to be confronted by Big George cleaning out the grill.  The man won’t quit until he makes that ancient beast shine.

“Hey G,” I say, wondering how to else to start.  “I’m back.” I holding out my arms lamely for inspection, as if he were looking at me.

“So I hear,” he replies, still not turning to face me.  “I wish I could say I’m happy to see you,” he continues, his voice is quiet and deep.  I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. 

I’m surprised at his choice of words, I hadn’t thought that George would say something like that to me.  “Well yeah, I figured word would have got around about what happened,” I continue. This conversation is so much harder than I thought it would be.  “I wanted to see if you’d filled my position yet.” I take a deep breath and trying not to hold it in while I wait for his answer.  If he’s not even remotely pleased to see me, then how likely is it that he’s going to give me my job back? 
Smooth Aimee, really smooth
, I tell myself.

George remains silent, still with his back turned.  This is not how I thought this conversation was going to go at all, and I’m starting to feel a little like I’m trying to wade through maple syrup.

“I could use the cash,” I continue.  “Everything’s pretty much gone.” For the first time I put voice to the words without feeling like I’m about to burst into tears.  “With the fire and all,” I add when he doesn’t say anything further.

“A terrible thing.  They did a terrible thing,” he says, shaking his head, and I see his shoulders slump as he says the words.

“But we’re all alright,” I assure him. It occurs to me that perhaps George isn’t angry that I’ve come back.  He’s angry at what it means.  He’s concerned for me.

The silence stretches out between us, and eventually he turns around and looks me up and down, presumably assessing that I’m as alright as I’ve said I am.  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” George says finally, and he shakes his head at the shame of it.

“It’s not your fault, G.” I walk towards him and reach up to pat him on his broad shoulder.  “I should be the one apologizing. I came back here, begging for a job after you’ve already helped me out so much,”

I don’t mention the money that he gave me specifically, but I don’t need to—we both know what I’m talking about.  “I know giving me my job back would mean sticking your neck out for me. But I still have to ask,” I finish, shrugging my shoulders.  After all, as my dad used to say: you don’t know if the answer is going to be “no” unless you ask the question.

“I had hoped we wouldn’t be seeing each other again. At least for a long while.” George crosses his arms over his big frame.  “I thought you would be miles away from this place,” he says, keeping his gaze leveled at me.  “That was the plan.”

“No-one’s more disappointed about that than me, Big G,” I respond, holding my hands up.  “Believe me, if any of this was down to me, no one in this town would see anything of me except my dust. 

“But things don’t seem to be working out the way either of us had hoped,” I say, looking at him ruefully.

“I wish I could have done more,” George muses, shaking his head. I’m surprised to see that he looks like he’s frustrated with himself.

“G,” I insist, refusing to let him blame himself for anything that has happened. “You have done so much already.  You couldn’t have done any more. I wish I hadn’t thrown away what you gave me. I wish that I could pay you back.” Being in debt is something that I’ve never been very good at.

“You didn’t throw it away if you got something in return,” George points out, waiting for my response.  It’s clear that he doesn’t know the ins and outs of what happened that night—I suppose it’s not something that the Angels want word to get around about. That they can be bought off.

“I got Jake,” I say, finding it hard to keep the smile off of my face as I say his name. “At least for a little while.”

“Then I’m glad I gave the money to you—it was supposed to be helpful, and I’m glad it was,” George says simply.  The sweet sentiment makes me want to hug the big man.  I manage to restrain myself, knowing that it would probably just embarrass the hell out of him.

Instead, I decide to try my luck and appeal George’s soft side.  Although he’s a big guy, I’m one of the few people that know he’s really just a big teddy bear. 

“So, if you still wanted to help,” I start, knowing how far I’m pushing my luck, “Letting me become part of the gainfully employed workforce would be seriously helpful.”  I give George my best winning smile, hoping that it’s enough to overcome any misgivings he may have about taking me back and having problems with the Angels as a result.

George looks at me for a few seconds and, slowly, I see the smile start to play over his face.  “I’ll tell you what. You do the graveyard shift tonight, you get your job back.” He says it musingly, as if he’s mulling it over.

“Seriously?” I ask, shocked.  “Really?” My voice is a squeak, and I have to resist the urge to jump up and down like a schoolgirl.  “George, you’re amazing. I love you.” I’m so happy I can’t keep still, so I reach up and give him a kiss on his cheek. 

Big George goes from his naturally tanned complexion to being red as a beetroot.  “That’s enough of that.” He waves me away as he turns back to the grill.  “Your stuff is still in your drawer. Crystal is off in an hour. You know the drill,” he fires off, and the deal is done, just like that.

“Thanks George. You won’t regret it, I promise,” I tell him, only wondering a split-second later how I’m going to deliver on that. 

I have to trust that the Angels aren’t going to make any more trouble for me than they already have.  There wouldn’t be any reason for them to cause problems before our month was up.  I try to ignore the fact that not having a reason isn’t something that’s ever stopped the Angels from doing exactly what they wanted in the past.