Seasons of Change (8 page)

The bar is completely silent as it becomes clear that we are the focus of everyone’s attention. It’s not often that the Angels are challenged, and the crowd is enjoying ring side seats.

“And how are you gonna make me, Jakey boy?” Elvis asks mockingly as he pulls a knife out. It looks just like the one that the bald guy had in the diner. They’re probably standard issue for the members of the MC.

“Jake,” I say warningly, hoping that he tell I’m asking him to take a step back, to not get involved. I would never forgive myself if something happened to him because of me.

“Stand down Elvis,” Ryan orders, and Elvis reluctantly sheathes his knife again. “Just because the Chief likes you, Summers, doesn’t mean you’re anything special,” he turns and spits out at Jake, his weedy voice showing that he’s clearly reveling in the situation. “You’re going to be one of us soon; do you really want to have a black mark against your name before you’re even patched?”

“I won't be one of you, Ryan. I’m not fucked up enough to be anything like you,” Jake replies, and holds out his hand towards me. “Aimee, let’s go,” he says forcefully and, surprisingly, I feel Elvis’s hold on my relax and I slip out of his grasp, taking Jake’s hand as he pulls me towards him, concern filling his eyes.

“But… Suzie…” I say under my breath to Jake as I look back at my friend, whose head is lolling to one side like a rag doll.

“Suzie doesn’t even know her own name right now,” Jake whispers back urgently to me. “Talk to her when she’s back at the diner, tell her to stay away from those guys,” he tells me.

“Hey Summers, better watch your back.” Elvis’s voice rings out behind us and Jake tightens his hold on my hand and picks up the pace heading out of the bar.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jake breathes, and for the first time he seems to have registered what just happened. “Are you alright?” he asks as we head towards his pick-up truck, which seems to be parked in the furthest corner.

“I’m fine, but you shouldn’t have done that, Jake. You’re just making things harder for yourself,” I tell him, wishing it wasn’t true.

“What, no ‘thanks for helping me out there Jake’? No ‘thanks for getting me away from those shady creeps’?” he asks, stopping suddenly and pulling me round to look at him.

“Yes, thank you, but—” I start, but he interrupts me.

“No. No ‘but’, just thank you—can’t you leave it at that?” he asks, angry now.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I really appreciate you standing up for me, especially when you don’t have to,” I say, and wonder why his brow furrows and he looks like he wants to hit something.

“Especially when I don’t have to,” he repeats quietly as if it makes no sense at all. Without another word, he stalks over to his built-from-scraps car and gestures for me to get in.

We sit in tense silence for a few minutes as Jake drives away from The Hideaway, and I can’t stop feeling like a bad friend for not helping Suzie more. I don’t know what else I could have done—not with Elvis and Ryan there. I knew that there was no way they would have let me take her, but I just feel so useless. They’ve taken advantage of her and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” I say to Jake eventually. The thought of being in that dark, silent house makes me feel like I really am going to go crazy.

“Well where do you want to go, Aimee?” Jake sighs, looking straight ahead and gripping the steering wheel hard as if he might yank it off.

“I don’t mind, wherever—just not home,” I tell him, staring out of the window, not wanting to see how angry he seems to be with me.

I can hardly blame him—the guy stuck his neck out for me in a big way and the first thing I said to him was that he shouldn’t have done it.
Great work Aimee
, the little voice tells me,
and then you wonder why he only thinks of you as a friend
.

“Okay, there should be some cold ones at the shop. I’ll take you home after that,” he says decisively, and I settle back into my seat watching the darkness of Painted Rock go by.

“Jake,” I say quietly, just as we’re pulling into the body shop. “Thank you,” I tell him before hopping out of the car and shutting the car door behind me, digging my hands in my pockets as I get to the front door.

Jake sits in the car for a few seconds longer and I try to avoid thinking it’s because he doesn’t want to spend any more time with me than absolutely necessary. The whole night has gone in completely opposite of what I had hoped for.

Tonight was supposed to be about us just having a nice quiet drink as best friends, a few laughs, all in a few hours to forget the reality of the way that our lives our going. But that hadn’t happened.

Instead it had been one fight after another, culminating in Jake having to stand up to the Bleeding Angels—the last people that either of us had wanted to see tonight. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly?

Jake doesn’t look at me as he unlocks the padlocked door to the body shop, ushers me in, and then locks it back up behind us. It’s pitch black in the shop and I bump into Jake as he reaches around me to flick the light switches.

We mumble apologies and I wonder if I should have taken him up on his offer going straight home after all. This was all just too uncomfortable. Jake leads the way to the top floor of the body shop which used to just house an old refrigerator and a pool table. It had been where we would all hang out together, like a secret den. Or, as secret as you could get bearing in mind Jake’s dad owns the building.

So I’m surprised when we round the stairs and the place has been converted into what looks like a sprawling studio apartment. The old dusty floor-boards have been polished until they shine, the walls have been re-plastered and painted, there’s a little seating area with a huge comfy couch, and in the far corner sits an over-sized bed that I recognize.

“That’s your bed,” I say rather obviously, as if I’ve never seen a bed before.

“Sure is,” Jake replies, sticking his head into the refrigerator and taking out two ice cold beers.

“What’s it doing here?” I ask, taking the bottle he offers me and still staring dumbly between him and his ginormous bed.

“Well, my bed is where I sleep, so it sort of made sense to move it to the place I’m sleeping in,” Jake says casually, leaning against the back of the couch as he looks over at me. I try to stop thinking about how sexy he seems in that position.

“You’re living here now?” I ask incredulously.

“Yup,” Jake nods taking a gulp of his beer.

“Since… since when?” I ask, looking around and seeing all the tell-tale signs of time spent in this room: piles of books by the bed, a stained coffee mug sitting on the table, hoards of automotive magazines spread around the place. “You never told me.”

“A while,” is all he replies, looking at me cryptically.

“Why? Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask.

“You never asked,” Jake points out childishly, gesturing towards me with the neck of his beer bottle.

“Oh, that’s mature, Summers,” I grumble at him. “I don’t get it. Why move out? Why move
here?
”

“Because if something is going to happen, I want it to be to me, not to my family. Moving here gives them a bit of distance, it’s… safer this way,” he says slowly, and he looks down at the polished floor.

“Oh Jake,” I say miserably, walking towards him and throwing my arms around him, surprising him with the way my body sags into his.

“Hey there, what’s going on?” he whispers into my hair as he puts his arms around me, making me feel safe and secure.

“What’s going on?” I laugh wryly into his neck. “You’re talking about something happening to you and wanting your family at a safe distance, so how the hell am I supposed to take that?” I ask, pulling away slightly so I can look up at him.

“We’ve known this was coming for a good long while, Aimee,” he reminds me, and I wish he didn’t sound so goddamn calm about everything.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I’m going to defend myself,” Jake says confidently. “By any means necessary.”

“And what does that mean?” I ask, not wanting to believe what I’m hearing.

Jake had never been interested in the whole “right to bear arms” thing. He was most definitely a lover rather than a fighter. But maybe that was another thing that had changed recently.

“You know what it means, Aimee, you’re a smart girl. You heard what Ryan and his crony said tonight—that it’s only a few days until I’m one of them, that I should watch my back. You think they’re just going to forget about me? It’s not going to happen and I have no intention of becoming like them,” Jake says angrily.

“That would never happen,” I assure him, holding his face between my hands and forcing him to look at me. “You’re nothing like them.”

“People change, Aimee,” Jake says softly, and for the first time I hear a sense of fear in his voice.

We both know that even the nice boys, the ones that didn’t think being an Angel was the coolest thing on the planet, became something else once they were part of the MC. My dad had always said there were some people that are born bad, and some that choose to become that way. I know that Jake doesn’t belong to either of those groups—I know it as deeply and certainly as I do that the sky is blue and the grass is green.

“People don’t change
that
much, Summers,” I tell him in a tone that allows for no joking around. “They can’t change the person that you are. You’re a kind, honest, sweet, gentle, funny, wonderful man,” I say, feeling myself get carried away.

“They can’t change that about you,” I finish softly, suddenly embarrassed. “Anyway, I’d kick your ass before I let you turn into an asshole, you know,” I start to say, trying to lighten the mood. Before I can go on, however, Jake puts his index finger over my lips to silence me. He’s giving me that look like we’re the only two people in the world.

“No more talking,” he says softly, and moves close until our faces are only inches apart.

He presses his lips against mine and runs his hands through my hair and along my jaw-line as the kiss deepens. I’m on Cloud Nine instantly as my eyes close and my lips part. Jake's tongue flicks against mine as it darts into my mouth. I snake my hands around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to me as the kiss becomes more and more intense, and I lose myself in it— in him.

I couldn’t say how long the kiss goes on for. It could have been a few seconds, a minute, even an hour. But I do know the exact moment that reason comes flooding back into my brain. My eyes spring open and, without even thinking about it, I push myself away from him.

I take a few steps back as we stand opposite each other, breathing heavily. Jake’s expression is one of confusion, but there’s something else there. I recognize it because I’m fairly sure it’s reflected in my own face—it’s need.

“Sorry, I—” Jake starts, but I don’t let him finish.

“That’s okay, let’s just forget it happened. We’re both a little emotional at the moment, it was a mistake, so let’s just forget it,” I say quickly, taking another few steps away from Jake and attempting to inconspicuously avoid his gaze.

I’m worried that getting any closer to him will make me lose my control, and I don’t think that I could take becoming one of “Jake’s girls.” We’ve been friends for too long; I don’t feel like I could cope with knowing that I was just a one night stand because he was lonely. That’s not how I would ever want things to be between us.

But Jake’s expression turns from confusion to frustration again as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Sure, let’s just forget it. That’s been your MO for the past while, Aimee. Hasn’t it?”

He turns away from me and leans forward on the table, supporting himself with his hands and hanging his head down. I can see his back rising and falling with the deep breaths he’s taking to calm himself down.

“What is your problem?” I snap at him, reacting without even thinking--something that's gotten disturbingly common with him.

I stride over to him and grab him on the shoulder, pulling him around to face me. “You’ve been acting all pissed off with me since the bar. First of all, you’re angry at me for not taking a compliment and ignoring a guy who’s checking me out;
then
you’re angry with me for talking to him when he comes over to flirt with me, and
then
you’re pissed with me for telling you that I appreciate you looking out for me even though you don’t owe me anything.

"Then, you kiss me because you’re lonely or confused or scared or whatever the fuck you are, and I do the right thing and give you a free pass, saying we don’t need to talk about what just happened and you’re angry with me again.

"What the hell? What is it that I’m doing that is pissing you off so much?” I ask, looking up into his dark eyes, challenging him.

I'm close enough to sense heat coming off of him, and despite my frustrations and confusion that very heat makes me want to dive back into him.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Jake shakes his head and barks out an uncharacteristic, harsh laugh.

“Get
what?
” I demand. “What’s the obvious thing that I’m clearly too stupid to get? I don’t understand what’s been going on with us recently. We never used to fight and now it seems like we can’t do anything but that!”

I'm shouting at him
, I suddenly realize, marveling at how we’re fighting again. We had never argued like this before. The odd cross word here and there, but never anything like what’s been going on over the past couple of days. I wonder if it’s spelling the end of our friendship. If it’s too delicate to take the pressure that Painted Rock can’t help but put on it.

Nothing much has ever survived the Bleeding Angels, so I suppose there is no reason I should think our friendship would be any different.

Jake’s eyes soften a little and I wish that just looking at him didn’t make me want to grab him and taste his lips again. How did he go from being my best friend to someone that I can’t be around without wanting to jump him?

“Like I said, you’re the smartest person I know, but when it comes to men you really have no idea.” He shakes his head in despair, holding his fingers to his temples like he’s trying to figure out how it’s possible to be so clueless.

“Jake, would you stop speaking in riddles and just tell me what the heck you’re talking about?” I ask him, getting tired of the guessing game. A ridiculous thought occurs to me. “Is it the kiss? Was I… bad?” I ask, trying not to hold my breath while I wait for an answer.