Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) (9 page)

It’s day fourteen. 

Fourteen days since we made the deal with the Bleeding Angels.  Nine days since I started back at the diner and since the army truck exploded in a fireball.  Things in the town are just starting to get back to normal. 

What happened to the truck has been officially declared an accident by the local cops.  The only passenger from the truck has been in a coma since he was found.  Based on the rumors floating around the town, it’s unlikely he’s going to be waking up any time soon.  It hasn’t been said out loud, but I’ve lived in this town for long enough to know that if it does ever look like he’s going to come around, then the Angels will make damn sure that he doesn’t make the miraculous recovery his family are probably praying for.  From the news reports I’ve learned that Blondie and Baldy, as I affectionately call them,  remain in the hospital. and no one is under any illusions about their fate. If the burns don’t kill them, Scar will.

Crystal has warmed up a little in the few days I’ve been back at Sunny Side Up, and the same goes for the regulars. The ones that would barely look at me on that first night back have now started acknowledging my existence.  The truck “accident” has given the residents of Painted Rock something else to talk about.  It’s pushed the awareness of my altercation with the Angels out of their short-term memory.  There’s something else to think about, something else to be afraid of: what the Angels are going to do when the Feds take over the investigation.  Although the cops have made their own statement, it’s a government issue and so the Feds have to do their part before the whole thing can be wrapped up.

“So sad,” Crystal says, shaking her head.

I look over at her and see, surprisingly, that she’s engrossed in a newspaper.  I say “surprisingly” because Crystal wasn’t what you would call a big reader.  In fact, this was the first and only time I’d seen her read anything other than the daily specials.

“What is?” I ask, figuring she could pick any number of current events that the description would fit: earthquakes in Japan, typhoons in the Philippines, gang warfare over the border in Mexico.

“The driver of that army truck—he had a little baby boy,” Crystal says. As she looks over at me, I see that her eyes are filled with tears.

“That
is
sad,” I agree, wondering when I’d become so hardened to this kind of thing.  A little boy losing his dad was sad, but it wasn’t that unusual in Painted Rock.  I guess the difference was that this family wasn’t from here—they didn’t have any reason to be prepared for something like this happening to them.

“And he was so cute,” Crystal bemoans, still hunched over the newspaper. 

I assume that she’s still talking about the baby.  “How old is he?” I ask, taking off my apron and folding it neatly away in the drawer.

“28,” she says, her voice wavering. 

It takes me a moment, but I realize that she’s talking about the driver of the truck and I notice there’s a photo of him in the national paper.  He’s looking all athletic and handsome, on a beach somewhere with friends.  It’s a typical photograph that the papers choose to underline just how senseless the loss of a life like his is. 

“It is sad,” I agree, not knowing what else there was to say.  Is there anything that anyone can say to make something like this better?  “Are you alright?” I ask Crystal, surprised it has affected her so much.  I think back to my Psychology textbook that had been sitting in my room when the house went up in flames.  I remember reading that sometimes, outside events tap into an individual’s psyche and delves into unresolved emotional issues that they’re carrying around with them.  Maybe Crystal just needs someone to talk to.

“Hmm. Yeah, fine,” she says after a moment.  I’m poised to ask if she wants to talk about how she feels.  We’ve never been close although we’d seen each other around and knew of each other.  In a small town like Painted Rock, it’s pretty much impossible not to know everyone.  I open my mouth to phrase the question when Crystal gets in there first: “Ooh, what do you think of those boots?” she asks, her big eyes blinking expectantly as she holds up an advert in the paper.

“They’re nice,” I respond without even looking. 
I guess you don’t need to worry about Crystal having any deep-seated psychological problems
, I tell myself. 

I start counting out the tips and distributing them into three equal piles.  As I do it, I let my mind drift back to that Psych textbook I had found so interesting.  It was high-level stuff and the librarian seemed dubious that I would even understand it.  But I’m pretty sure I had, and not only that, but I had wanted to know more—to learn more.  It’s a thought that I’ve come back to on more than one occasion.  I don’t usually allow myself to dwell on it.

I’d be lying if I said that the idea of leaving Painted Rock, going to college, studying Psychology, and living a real life wasn’t attractive.  But my life is so far away from that dream, it seems completely ridiculous to even think about it.  Reality versus the dream—that seems to be the way to describe it.  There’s only so far you can go down the road of the dream before you have to come to terms with the fact that it’s not something that’s likely to happen.  So few people out there in the real world get to live their dream, let alone in Painted Rock, where dreams had become something that you can only have when you’re asleep.

I realize that my shift is just about to end and I need to start making tracks towards the studio to get ready for tonight.  I find myself smiling as I think back to the conversation Jake and I had that morning.   Despite the seriousness of our situation, tonight, we have decided to go on our first proper date. 

“Aimee, I need to talk to you about something really important,” Jake said as he finished the first of what will be many cups of coffee.

“Okay, but make it quick—I need to leave in T minus 3 minutes,” I told him.

“3 minutes?  Not 5 minutes but 3?” he asked, nonplussed.

“I know it’s hard for someone like you, who suffers from terminal lateness, to understand that some of us like to be at work on time. But that’s just how the cookie crumbles, my tardy friend,” I joked, nudging him gently as I walked past, pulling on my left shoe and looking around for the other.  “So you now have—” I paused for dramatic effect as I looked at the alarm clock by the bed. “—2 minutes and counting.  Tick-tock.”

“I am not terminally late,” Jake replied, sounding mildly offended. “Anyway.” He shook his head. “What I wanted to talk to you about,” he insisted, sounding like he was psyching himself up for something big.

“Go for it, Summers,” I said, lifting the cushions up from the sofa to try to find the missing shoe.  “But if it’s so important, it might be better to wait until we’re both not about to be late for work?” I suggested.

“No Aimee, it really can’t wait,” he said solemnly.

The expression on his face made me feel more than a little nervous.  “What is it, Jake?” I asked, convincing myself to keep calm.

“Aimee Winters—will you go out on a date with me?” Jake asked earnestly, holding my hand as if he was about to ask me a very different question.

“Aren’t we kind of past the whole ‘date’ thing?” I asked incredulously. Out of all the things I might have expected Jake to have said, that definitely wasn’t one of them.

“Past it?” Jake repeated, amusement dancing across his features.  “We’ve been together for less than a month.”

“I know, I know,” I told him, resuming my search.  If I didn’t get out of there soon, I was going to be late for my shift, so I wasn’t giving this conversation as much attention as I probably should have.  “It’s just… we’ve known each other for such a long time. And, we’re not exactly in a normal relationship,” I said, lifting up the pillows from the bed and looking underneath as if my shoe was going to magically appear underneath it.  “With the whole ticking clock thing,” I noted, more flippant than I should have been.

“Do we have to talk about this every day?” Jake asked, sitting down heavily on the bed, his eyes on me as I tore around the room.  “Can’t we just have a day where we enjoy being together?  A day that we’re not focusing on what’s going to happen at the end of the month?  Don’t we deserve that?” he asked, raking his fingers through his hair. 

I was on my knees, looking under the bed as Jake said the words and I stood up slowly, until we were facing each other.  “You’re right,” I agreed, reaching out and caressing his cheek with my fingers.  “I didn’t mean to be all grouchy. It’s just that a date seems like something that normal people do. People that don’t have the stuff to deal with like we do.” I shrugged, not knowing how else to put it into words.  “Dinner and a movie at a time like this just seems a little...” I looked up to the ceiling, trying to think of the right adjective. “A little frivolous, I guess.” I kissed him quickly on the lips before I continued to search for my shoe.

“You’re right, normal people do go on dates,” Jake agreed, following me around the room as I scanned every possible surface for the missing pump.  “Normal people do get to be a little ‘frivolous,’ if that’s what you want to call it. Well I don’t know about you, but I could use some normality, Aimee.”  When I didn’t respond, he breathed out a sigh of frustration.  “Could you just stand still for a minute so we can talk about this?” he asked.

“Jake, I’m going to be late for work and I can’t leave here wearing one shoe.  So no, I can’t stand still,” I told him, cursing myself for not being more careful and the Angels for leaving me with only one goddam pair of pumps.

“Tell you what,” Jake replied, sounding unconcerned.  “I’ll find your shoe for you if you agree to go out on a date with me tonight.  Dinner and a movie—your standard dating fare. What do you say?” he asked, looking so hopeful it would have been impossible for me to say no.

“Alright, deal.” I laughed in spite of myself.  “We get to be a normal couple for a night, doing things that normal couples do,” I agreed, smiling at how easy Jake makes it for me to feel like life can be good.

“Great,” he said, grabbing hold of my shoulders and pulling me close to him and kissing me hard on the lips.  Automatically my hands reached up behind his head, knotting in his hair. His arms moved down to my waist and I lost myself in the kiss.  I felt that familiar wetness start to bloom between my thighs and the ache of need developing in my abdomen.  Suddenly, Jake pulled away and looked at me seriously, “Ground rules,” he said.

“Ground rules?” I repeated stupidly, my mind still on the kiss that had made my knees wobble.  “We need ground rules for dinner and a movie?” I asked in disbelief.

“No mention of the words ‘Bleeding Angels,’ in that order or in any other,” Jake said, listing the rules off on his fingers as he went.  “No talk of what happens at the end of the month.” He looked meaningfully at me.  “No discussion over who pays the bill. I’m taking you out, I’m picking up the tab,” he said finally, smiling at me knowingly.

“Fine,” I agreed, laughing, “You’ve got a deal, Summers.  Now will you help me find my other friggin’ shoe?” I asked, still casting around desperately for it.

“Sure,” he agreed, smiling ear to ear. “It’s in the refrigerator.”.

“My shoe… is in the refrigerator,” I repeated slowly, as if the speed at which I was saying the words was going to change the meaning.  I give him a look before  I opened the door of the miniature refrigerator and there, right next to the milk, was the missing black pump.  I snatched it out of the cooler and put it on my foot hurriedly, as if afraid it was going to scamper away on its own if I didn’t put it on straight away.  “You put my shoe in the
refrigerator
,” I raged accusatorially at Jake, who just stands there looking smug.  “Who does that?” I asked, throwing my hands up. 

“I needed to have a bargaining tool,” he admitted, shrugging.

“And you thought the refrigerator was an appropriate place to put my shoe?” I asked, huffily, snatching up my bag and cell as I started to head out the door.

“It’s not like there are a whole heap of hiding places here,” Jake pointed out.

“You’re impossible,” I said to him, but I was trying hard not to laugh at the situation.  It was like a bad episode of
I Love Lucy
.

“I know, but you love me anyway,” he replied confidently.  “Anyway, you better get going or you’ll be late for work,” he noted, managing to keep a straight face.