Chapter 4
Molly
I drove, thinking only of the words in my inbox.
Your dad’s been hurt. You need to come home. Paulie.
That was a name I hadn’t seen in years on my phone – almost as long as I’d been away from home. How ironic. The one time I was in town was the one time my dad magically got hurt. I would be willing to bet money it was a set-up. But why now? Why not before? I sighed heavily, walking to my red Honda civic. It was 5 a.m.
The night had been long, deliciously long. The ache between my legs and on my hips reminded me of that with every step I took. Somehow I knew seeing my father would ruin the great mood I was in. Still, he was my father, and a very prideful man. If Paulie was texting me, it meant dad probably needed me. Probably.
The morning chill woke me from my drowsy state and kept me alert as I stopped quickly at the gas station. I couldn’t come home looking properly fucked and half naked. If my dad wasn’t hurt, he’d have a heart attack if he saw the way I looked. I put fifty into the tank and spent twenty on a t-shirt that said “I heart bikers” and some sweats that wouldn’t look flattering on anyone before heading into the public restroom.
The place could be described as somewhat dilapidated. The Formica peeled from the vanities and the enamel was chipped in the sink. Water leaked from the base of the faucet when it was in use. The light in the bathroom was bright and sterile, lacking even a trace of warmth.
My smeared mascara and matted hair were prominent, as if under a microscope; every imperfection shone like a beacon and I quickly undressed, willing myself to look better when I left than when I entered. I wiped the dregs of my makeup with the rough paper towels and put my hair in a bun. Once sure I was looking the best I could, I left and walked to my car. The sweats and heels together were a combination I couldn’t imagine wearing in front of my father. I rummaged through my trunk and squealed to myself as my hands ran into a tennis shoe under the gym clothes, shoes, trash, and extra tire.
The drive was relatively short as I took the familiar turns and drove to the house I called home. From the paved, circular driveway stood the delicate, marble fountain, the soft gurgling of the clear water melodic as it resonated in the surrounding silence. The mansion loomed proudly behind creaky, iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in crimson, swaying gently to the chilly, autumn wind.
Men with scowls and rough features ran security detail around the gate, looking out of place in comparison to the wealth on display.
This was a statement more than a home – a show of wealth, no matter how illegally gained. To me, it always felt more like a prison than a home.
A hundred memories of my life in the house came rushing back: police officers sitting outside while I tried to ride around in my new Barbie car, my seventh birthday party when none of my friends showed up for my party because their parents were afraid of letting them go to a criminal’s house, the ever present background noise of loud music and men drinking. That was the kind of thing that happened when your dad ran the local chapter of one of the most notorious motorcycle clubs in the state. It hadn’t been normal, and yet somehow I had convinced myself it was a happy childhood. I figured if you couldn’t beat them, join them.
The guard at the gate leaned down and scowled menacingly. “You lost?”
“I’m looking for my dad.”
“You sure you’re in the right place kid? What’s your old man’s name?”
“Casper Karin.”
The name shocked him into action, gesturing the men to open the gate immediately as he stepped away from my car.
“I see not much has changed,” I mumbled under my breath as I drove to the spot indicated.
“Can I get you anything?” another man asked. He had a scar running in a zigzag pattern from his forehead and across his nose to the top of his pale lips.
I eyed him, distracted by the silver gleam of the mark, afraid to speak. I felt like my mouth might ask him what happened instead of telling him I didn’t need anything. Which made me the biggest hypocrite, since I hated when people asked about my scars.
“I’ll take it from here,” Paulie said from the top of the stairs leading to the front door.
He had aged – in a good way. He was still as attractive as I remembered, the platinum-blond hair, so long the ends curled around the top of his shoulders, the god-like physique. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him.
As I walked closer, I could see he was ripped to the hilt, cut and hard and yet proportioned. If I didn’t know what he did for a living, I would think he spent every waking moment in the gym. A faint smile sat on his lips as he waited for me to finish my analysis. The last time I saw him he had a beard – a scraggly one made of peach fuzz and a few long hairs, but he had one nonetheless.
“You cut your beard.”
“You remembered.”
How could two words be so loaded with emotion? But they were. Of course I remembered. I remembered it all. How else would I remember to stay away? I forgave, but I would never forget.
“Where’s my dad?”
He turned and opened the door widely for me to walk through. I paused in the entry way, taking it all in. The interior hadn’t changed. Red and white were the color palette of choice. The front door opened to a stairwell; behind it was a long hallway. The living room was on the left, the dining room was on the right and full of pictures that chronicled my life: Polaroids, school pictures, and candid shots.
My mother, a brown eyed-beauty with wild hair like me, was in them for most of the first decade. It wasn’t lost on me that there hadn’t been any more pictures since I ran away.
The living room connected to the kitchen in the back. The middle was cut through by a staircase that led to bedrooms. Paulie and I walked up the stairs in silence.
“He’s in his room.”
“Mind telling me what happened?”
“He took a hit.”
I waited for more, but none came. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Yeah. If he wants you to know more, he’ll say,” he said, walking past the guest bedroom, bathroom, and my old bedroom until we were at the master suite. “I gotta warn you, he’s pretty busted up.”
“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “It’s not the first bloodied body I’ve seen.”
He looked like a shriveled version of himself. He sat in the middle of the bed, propped up with several pillows. The shadows of his beating were on his skin and his scowl made it clear breathing was causing him pain. The bruise that had begun as a purple stain above his eyebrow was now sunk into the socket itself, and so had the appearance of a black eye.
His vest, leather and worn with time, hung on him with a thumb-sized path in the front that said “President,” and beneath that another read “First 8.”
I stared at him, taking it all in as his eyes took me in. “My little girl.”
“Casper.”
I was not used to calling him dad, and in truth, he was more the President of the Skulls to me than he ever was a father.
“Come here. Let me get a good look at you.”
My feet moved me forward until I stood at the edge of his bed, hovering awkwardly. “Sit. Please, sit.”
I tried not to look shocked at his use of “please.”
“You look good,” he said, staring at my face. “Really good. Doesn’t she, Paulie?”
“She’s beautiful,” he said, looking at me instead of Casper. “She grew up to be even lovelier than she was before.”
I shouldn’t have, but I felt my skin heat with a blush. “So what happened to you?” I said, cutting through the fluff.
“It’s nothing. Typical MC business. I’ll be back on my feet in no time,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “I don’t want to talk about me. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from you since you were sixteen, Molly. Last I heard, you were in college.”
That was true. I left and put myself through the University of Arizona.
“Yeah. I graduated a few years ago with my Master’s in Social Work.”
“Wow. So that’s what you do?”
I nodded, feeling like I was in the twilight zone. He was genuinely interested. He asked it like any father might after his daughter had been away for some time, which would have been fine if we were just any father and daughter.
“Yes. I’m a social worker.”
“So you’re the one who helps children get out of dangerous homes?”
“Yeah, that and much more. I help almost anybody. One day it could be a child suffering neglect or abuse. The next it could be finding housing for someone with special needs.”
“That’s admirable,” he said, patting my hand. I looked down at it in confusion. “I know I haven’t always said it, but I’m really proud of you.”
“You are?” I asked slowly.
“Yeah. I didn’t always approve of your actions, but I like how you took charge of your life.”
“Thanks, dad.” I cleared my throat, shocked at the emotion I was feeling. It was something I didn’t know I needed to hear, but hearing it gave me relief.
“I’m sorry I hadn’t said it sooner.”
I was stunned into momentary silence. Dread curled into my stomach and for a moment I feared that something was very wrong. Casper Karin did not apologize, to anyone or for anything. He was the leader of the Skulls and his word was law, or whatever passed for such when you were dealing with outlaws. He hadn’t apologized when he missed my elementary graduation, or when my cat “ran away”, or even when my mother left. Why was he apologizing now?
“Your mother would be proud, too.”
“Dad, are you okay? What is going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. I just… I don’t know. You made it pretty clear when you left here that you didn’t want to have anything to do with us and this life. I thought that I was, you know, respecting that by ignoring you and letting you have space.”
That was true and everyone knew it. I ran away, but I wasn’t hard to find, and the one time Paulie did try to drag me back I made it very clear that if he tried it again I would kill myself.
“So how long are you on bed rest?” I asked, changing the subject. He was doing so well, I didn’t need to think of the one unforgiveable thing he did – cheating on my mother and banishing her when her wrongs had only been a speck compared to the shit he did to her. It was more than a sore topic for both of us.
“For however long I want to be,” he said, crossing his arms.
I laughed out loud before catching myself and tamped it down to a chuckle. “That’s not the way health works, dad. What did the doctor tell you?”
“He told me I should rest for at least three weeks.”
“When did he say that?”
“Two days ago.”
“Then get comfortable, because you’re not going to be up and about for some time.” He opened his mouth to protest and I continued. “I will check in on you in a few days. I need to go home, get some changes of clothes and work, but I’ll be back. Okay?”
I could tell I caught him off guard. Twice in one week compared to never in sixteen years.
“Okay,” he said, dazed. I could see he wasn’t as strong as he was pretending to be.
“You look tired, dad. You should go to sleep,” I said, standing.
“I will later.”
You win some, you lose some, and I wasn’t going to argue when I knew his body would shut down when it wanted.
“Fine. I’m sure Paulie will look after you.”
“No. He will look after the MC. He’s the enforcer now. I can look after myself.”
Well that explained Paulie’s new level of muscles and bulk.
“All right. Get better soon, Casper. Bye,” I said, patting his hand.
“See you soon, Molly Pop.”
The name caused me to flinch. No one called me that in so long and hearing it again was too much like before.
“It’s just Molly,” I said, walking out the door before he could add anything else.
Paulie followed me out the door and waited as I threw my small clutch into the car and pulled myself in.
“You look really good, Mols.”
“Thanks. So do you,” I admitted.
“So. Now that you’re back, I was thinking we could hang out sometime. Maybe catch a night cap,” he said, holding the car door open and out of my reach.
I watched him in horror. I was not back. I was home, sure – for the moment. But I was in no ways interested in catching up.
“No. I have to get back.”
“I know that, but the next time you’re here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think that’s best.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I’m not back, Paulie. You told me I needed to see my dad and I did. I have a job, friends, and a life away from here. I’m not coming back. This was a cordial checkup. Nothing more.”
“So you just, what – check in and then leave? Like it never happened? Like you can just leave all this,” he said. “Leave us behind?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I did it before,” I said, pulling the door from his hand and starting the car. “I can do it again.”