Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (3 page)

“He called this morning, early. The funeral was yesterday and he couldn’t sleep, so he called to talk about Em.” Her brow furrowed as she remembered the conversation and her brother’s confusion, pain, and grief. It had set off long-buried memories of growing up on the family ranch in Texas, and all the things that had happened to both of them there.

He sighed. “But what day was it, Mica?” Mason pressed her, knowing the answer, but needing her to come to the same conclusion.

“I said he called today, Saturday. The funeral was on Friday. Why?”
she asked wonderingly, shaking her head a little as she looked towards an unhelpful, blank, wipe-off calendar on the front of the fridge.

“Well, for starters, today is not Saturday, Mica. Come on, eat your grilled cheese. Did you grab the water?”
he cajoled her into moving to the breakfast bar. Maneuvering around her, he pulled a stool up behind her as he sat a plate on the table in front of her and urged, “Eat and we’ll head out. I’ll drive you; the roads are pretty treacherous.”

“But Michael called today, this morning, I swear. What do you mean it’s not Saturday? I’m confused; you want to head out to exactly where, Mr. Mason?”
she scoffed, thinking he was being a bit thicker than usual. Sitting on the stool, she looked down at the sandwich, and then her mind set to wondering about the odd ease of their interactions. Mr. Mason was the neighbor she nodded to across the alleyway when she came in from a run, or scowled at when he brought his friends home and it got too rowdy. They were acquaintances, neighborly, but not overly friendly, not like today.

He nodded at her. “Why don’t you eat first, and then get dressed, okay? I don’t think you want to wear those sweats to pick up your brother. It’s pretty cold out, and the snow is blowing. Do you remember what time his flight gets in?” Mason moved around the breakfast bar, hooking another stool with the toe of his leather boot and settling down with his own bottle of water to watch her eat.

Without moving, she brought her eyes up to meet his. “Mr. Mason,” she said slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, “what day is it?”

He exhaled noisily. “You aren’t going to eat until I tell you, are you?“ Nodding to himself, he said, “It’s Monday, Mica. That’s why Jess was so worried
, because you didn’t show up at work today. You called her yesterday with some bullshit message blowing off plans you’d made, but then you called work and left a voicemail, and she didn’t get it until today. She came right over and found you zoned out on the window seat in there.” He pointed back through the archway to where she had been when he came in. “You wouldn’t talk to her, and she saw my car in the drive, so she called me. But it’s Monday, and your brother is evidently flying in today.”

He watched her carefully, seeing emotions flit across her face nearly too fast to recognize, but he thought that as always with her, the dominant one might always be fear.
It had been that way since she moved in several years ago. But, as he had closely watched over her through the months and years, he had seen—with pleasure and hope—her fear become less prevailing, a less frequent visitor. Now it nearly broke his heart to see that fear settling back in, seemingly for a stay.

A thrill of terror went through her as she realized she had lost two days—two flippin’ days. Her features tightened as dim recollections of the shifting scenes she had watched in her mind returned to her. “Two days?” she questioned out loud. “You think I sat there in that window for two days? Mr. Mason, what kind of crazy person zones out for two whole days?”
Maybe he was wrong. She rolled her eyes skyward in dismissal, because Mica wanted desperately for things to be different.
Two flippin’ days?

He said quietly, “Not a crazy person, but someone in the grip of a strong emotion, like grief or fear.” He leaned at an angle across the breakfast bar. “I saw you in the window yesterday, but I know you like to sit
there a lot, so I didn’t think anything of it until I came in here and saw you in the same position. I’m so sorry I didn’t pay closer attention to you, babe. I’m sorry I didn’t come find you sooner.” He sat up, rubbing his hands briskly down the fabric on his thighs. “Now, what time does your brother’s flight get in at O’Hare? Do you remember the airline?”

Nodding, she said contemplatively, “It’s in my phone,” still stunned about lapsing into what amounted in her mind to a weak, passive state for two days. That kind of person was something she had fought hard to leave behind in her life. This whole thing made her angry, because it seemed like anything could push her back into fearful mode. Sighing, she picked up the sandwich from the plate and took a bite. “This is good, Mr. Mason
, thank you,” she practically moaned, and realized how hungry she was as she took a second, and then a third bite.

Mason padded over to the blue French provincial table near the window seat, picking up her cellphone and quickly scrolling through her text messages until he saw the one he wanted. A startled yelp of laughter burst from him. “Babe, BastardSon is how you have your brother’s contact information listed in your phone?” He couldn’t stop another small laugh from escaping, even though he pressed his lips together to try and stop it. “BastardSon, really?”

“We have a complicated relationship.” She huffed air out of her open mouth, fluffing her not-quite-dry bangs. “I haven’t seen my brother in several years, and honestly, I never expected to see him again…ever. BastardSon sums it up, really.” If he knew the things Michael had done to her over the years, the betrayals, he would better understand her shorthand way of reminding herself that her twin had fallen far from the ideals of their Texas childhood.

Looking at the flight details and checking the time on the phone, Mason first put Michael’s contact information in his own phone, then he added Mica’s to his phone, too. He looked to see if she had his numbers, and was secretly pleased that she did. She had his home, cell, and Jackson’s—all the
important ways to contact him—and he was listed as…Biker Neighbor. Rolling his eyes, he sighed and changed it to Mason, then set the phone back down on the table to start walking quickly to the front door. “Babe, I’m getting my car. I’ll be out front with it all warmed up when you are ready. We need to go in like fifteen minutes; this snow is going to slow things down. So finish your sandwich and then don’t forget to change, if you want to—but for the record, I’m a fan of nearly anything you wear, even those anti-sex, man-armor sweats.”

She heard the front door close
. I think I’m numb. This must be what numb feels like,
Mica thought to herself as she put her plate in the sink, along with the pan from the stovetop. Out loud, she said, “I’m a crazy woman in a home where I have no privacy or say in what I do. I think I must be deep in Crazytown, but I’ll go with it for once. He’s crazy, but nice, and he made a good grilled cheese.”

***

After changing into clothes a little more appropriate for Chicago in the grip of winter, Mica cautiously stuck her head out the front door. As promised, Mason’s sedan was sitting at the curb at the end of her freshly shoveled walkway, condensation drifting slowly from the rear of the vehicle as it idled and warmed. Standing in the doorway, she couldn’t see anyone in the driver’s seat, so she stepped out and ducked a little, peering from her front porch, trying to see through the tinted windows better. “Are you ready, babe?” came Mason’s voice from behind her inside her house. It startled her and she turned swiftly, losing her balance on the icy residue on the cement porch. His arms came up quickly and gathered her to his chest for the second time that day, rescuing her from an ungraceful tumble down the two steps to the walkway.

“How did you get behind me?”
she asked breathlessly; his arms were like iron bands around her back, holding her closely and firmly to him.

Mason chuckled
. “I was sitting in the chair in the hallway, when you ran out of your bedroom like seven hells were after you and approached the front door like it was evil incarnated. You didn’t seem to see me, oddly enough, but I saw you. Babe, I see you. Are you ready to go? Got your purse, phone, everything you need?”

Closing her eyes briefly, Mica pressed against his chest with her flattened palms, pushing away from him. “I can drive myself, Mr. Mason; that’s what I was going to tell you. I’ll go get my car now. Thank you, again. The sandwich was
good. I put the pan in the sink—not that I think you should have, but I didn’t want you think about it or wonder later. I’m okay. It’s all good…yeah…” Her voice trailed off at the last word as he slowly released her, making sure her feet were solidly beneath her before letting go all the way.

“I’m driving you, Mica. Your car is shit in snow,
and you know you need new tires. So, tell me now—do you have what you need for this trip to pick up your brother? Let’s get in the car, or we’ll be way late.” Mason spoke slowly, not as if she was a child, but like he realized her brain was not working quite right yet and needed a little more time to absorb things.

“Okay,” she nodded, sliding her purse over the shoulder of her Carhartt jacket and pulling her door closed behind them, “let’s go then, but I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done, Mr. Mason.” A slight smile curled her lips,
and she smoothed her hands over her jeans. “This is above and beyond the scope of a good neighbor, and I thank you.”

“Could you thank me by calling me Davis instead of Mr
. Mason, then? Or how about just Mason? That would work, too. You are making me feel old, babe, calling me Mr. Mason all the time.” He shrugged a little as they walked down to the car, his hand firmly at the small of her back, watching for places that the salt and sand had not yet melted.

“Mason,” she said agreeably, nodding her head as he opened the car door for her.

“I can live with that,” he responded, smiling down at her as she slid into the seat.

3 -
   
By firelight

Mica sat on her back porch watching the squirrels chasing each other up and down the many trees available for their aerobatic antics. In her favorite jeans and thermal shirt, she had her feet propped up on the fire pit. A modest fire kept the chill of the late spring evening away, and her e-book reader would let her read past sundown.

Picking up her tumbler of clear liquid, she gauged the amount of tequila she’d had to drink so far, and thought it might not be quite enough yet. Grinning at herself, she sipped and picked up her reader, flipping pages with her thumb until she was back at the beginning of the current chapter. She hated starting in the middle of things, and if it meant she had to re-read a few pages, it was worth it for the story’s continuity.

Michael was sitting in the house watching TV; he’d been staying in almost all the time since he came to stay with her several months ago. She occasionally got him out to Jackson’s, but he really was trying for peace in his head and drinking fuzzied that peace.

Shifting her legs, she rolled her head against the back of the chair, thinking back to bringing him here from the airport. Mason had been so good to her and helpful that day. She grinned as she remembered Michael’s mistake, thinking Mason was her boyfriend. The look on Mason’s face was priceless, and she’d quickly stepped into the gap to explain they were just neighbors.

It had been interesting getting to know her twin again
; they’d been apart for so long. Even before they weren’t able see each other physically; they’d been emotionally apart forever. Michael was thrilled she’d gone on and graduated college, and she showed him pictures of her commencement ceremony.

He asked her if it was awkward not having any family at the ceremony; you could always trust Michael to dig to the quick when he thought he saw a wound. Smiling, she told him about the group of strangers who stood cheering and whistling for her, and how it had made her day. She mused that it was probably an alumni group
who found out which students didn’t have any reserved seats for family. It seemed like something nice to do for graduates, and she had appreciated it. That was also the first time she’d gone into Jackson’s bar, which was another really great memory, and a good portion of the reason it was her favorite hangout.

Lifting her head
, she listened and recognized the sound that was getting louder; Mason’s bike was headed down the street. It was still too chilly to ride much, but he got it out every day that offered sunshine. Laying her head back down, she looked up at the stars she could see through the early leaves of the trees. Work was good; they’d signed a couple of new clients, and she thought things might get busy enough to hire another developer. She and Jess could do lots, but each project deserved a certain level of focus that they were having difficulty providing anymore. She knew it was only a matter of time before there was too much work for the two of them.

Taking note first of the throaty, rumbling roar of the bike, and then the quiet as it was shut off, she closed her eyes, listening to see if Mason would come over and sit by the fire. It had become a kind of comfortable ritual; if she was already outside when he got home, he’d first grab a beer from his garage and come sit with her—no pressure to talk, just sharing space—but talking was okay, if they wanted to and had something to share from their day.

There.
She heard his even stride coming towards her, confident and surefooted, even in the deep dusk fading to darkness. “Hey there, neighbor,” she offered, tilting her head to look up at him.