Okay, so confession? I totally went to The Jukebox tonight with the intention of Linc showing up. The dive bar is also a notorious hangout for the Freedom Riders MC. Knowing that and pairing it with the fact I couldn’t sing for shit, I took to the stage looking for trouble. You see, I thought if I started a bar fight one of the Riders would call Sin and he would order Linc to come and get me.
I didn’t plan on him showing up before I got the chance to wreak havoc. Nor did I expect him to completely blowing me away with his voice. And, let me not forget Mr. Music Man could play the guitar…like really play! Linc was full of surprises and I suddenly wanted to unravel all of them.
I don’t know when it happened but somewhere over the course of the last year he became the one person in my life I was genuinely happy to be around. The person I felt most comfortable being my wild self. The person who didn’t judge me or want anything from me but my company.
He’s my favorite part of every day.
“You hungry?” he asks.
After our performance on stage, well, his performance—I don’t know what you would call my stint. Anyway, after that, he took my hand and the rest of the people in the bar vanished. It was just him and me. He led me outside and now, he’s still holding my hand as we walk toward his bike.
“Are we going to pretend you didn’t just blow Journey away?”
“That’s the plan,” he pauses. “Well, that and food. Are there any tacos left over?”
Pulling my hand out of his, I stand still and place both hands on my hips. His gaze moves from his empty hand to me.
“Linc, you’re an amazing singer,” I press, ignoring the heavy sigh he releases. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer me at first and I can detect the anger in his eyes. Confused as to why he can’t just take a compliment and answer the damn question, I open my mouth to try a different approach. Before I have a chance to utter a word, he lifts a finger to my lips and shakes his head.
“Don’t,” he half warns, half pleads. Dropping his hand from my lips, he lifts it and combs his fingers through his hair. “Let’s not ruin this by bringing up my past.”
This.
Okay, so do you want another confession? I think I’m attracted to Linc. No, I know I’m attracted to Linc. I mean, it’s pretty hard not to be. When you spend so much time with someone, I think it’s inevitable. You see deeper than what is on the surface—not that the surface is hard on the eyes, because it totally isn’t. I sometimes find myself fighting not to stare at him.
“This?”
“You and me,” he clarifies. My belly does a somersault and I immediately blame it on the alcohol because a girl like me doesn’t get gaga over a guy.
No sir, this girl knows better than to fall for words.
“We’re easy, Pinky. We have fun together. We’re not saddled with drama or misery. There is no black cloud hanging over our heads and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want to tarnish it with nightmares.”
“So, I can never ask about your past?”
“You can ask but, I’m not going to give it to you,” he deadpans. “It’s bad enough I relive it every time I close my eyes. I don’t want to dredge it up when there are so many other things we can talk about. So many other things we can do together.”
I wasn’t expecting such a heavy conversation. I know life has been tough on him with his mother dying. I just don’t understand what that has to do with his talent. Not everyone has a gift like that and to think he’s pissing it away to be an outlaw makes me sad.
It makes my heart hurt because I’m stuck in this life but, Linc doesn’t have to be.
However, that’s his choice, not mine. All I can do is respect his decision and be grateful that his choice keeps him in my life.
P.S. I’m drunk.
It’s the only valid excuse for all these sappy thoughts.
“Fine,” I tell him, tucking my hair behind my ears. I need to lighten this shit up before, I wrap my arms around his neck and do something I’ll regret tomorrow. Like kiss him. I want to kiss him. I want to feel his lips against mine, taste his tongue and play with that damn piercing that teases me morning, noon and night.
Oh my God. Stop it, Kelly!
“Now, after all that screeching you did are you hungry?” he questions, winking at me.
“How about we skip the food,” I suggest. His eyes narrow and mine fill with mischief as I lean close. Taking his hands, I raise them above our heads and twirl under them. “I’ve got an idea,” I tell him.
“God that frightens me,” he mutters. He spins me under his arm once more before he drags me against his chest and lifts my chin. “What am I going to do with you, Pinky?”
“Live,” I reply simply.
It’s the most honest answer and the one that best defines what we’ve been doing all along. We were both a little lost and whole lot lonely now we’re finding our footing in this crazy world and we’re doing it side by side.
Maybe we’re making a mistake.
Lord knows, I’m prone to those.
But, some mistakes are worth making and isn’t that what living is about? Trying the things that scare you most, knowing if you fail it will only make you wiser and more experienced.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers, seeming to agree with me.
Nodding, I follow him to the bike. Together we straddle it and as I wrap my arms around him he revs the engine. Burying my nose in the back of his neck, I drown myself in the musky scent of his cologne as he pulls out of the lot. Riding sobers me up some and stops at a light I whisper my idea against his ear.
The light turns red and instead of replying he swings a U-turn. The grin spreads across my face and I throw my head back letting the wind carry my laughter into the dark night. Twenty minutes later, he pulls into another parking lot and dismounts before helping me off too. His fingers dig into my hips, lifting me off the bike and lowering me down until my feet touch the ground. Winking at me, he threads our fingers together and we walk toward the neon sign that reads Open All Night.
Linc ignores his ringing phone as we walk into the shop and are greeted by a man covered from head to toe in ink.
“Can I help you?”
Linc turns to me and I grin back at the tattooed giant.
“I want my belly button pierced, and he wants a tattoo.”
“I do?” Linc asks, slight amused.
“Yep,” I say confidently. “Just don’t go and do something crazy like tattoo my name to you. Initials are fine but, my whole name would be a little much,” I tease.
The tattooist looks at us like we’re nuts before he asks me for my ID and whips out some fancy schmancy consent form. Handing him over my fake ID, I sign the name on the card and he disappears to make a copy of the phony photo.
“I promised I’d take that from you, Rosita,” Linc teases.
“You can try,” I taunt. “It won’t stop me though.”
“That’s my girl,” he says with a smile.
My girl.
My belly does another flop.
Too bad I’m sober as shit and can’t use the drunk excuse anymore.
The guy returns and hands me back my phony ID. Linc attempts to snatch it but, I’m quicker. Shoving the plastic card into my bra, I wink at him and follow the guy to the piercing room.
“Well are you going to hold my hand or what?”
Not only did he hold my hand but, he distracted me as the barbell pierced my flesh. Once it was done, and the tattooist went over the care instructions, Linc told him what kind of tattoo he wanted. Surprise, surprise, he didn’t tattoo my name. Nor did he ink my initials to his body. He did something better. He tattooed a royal flush to his arm, and I told myself it was a tribute to our favorite pastime. Was it really? I have no idea but that’s the story I’m sticking with.
By the time we got back to the compound it was late—way past a normal seventeen-year-old girls curfew. It didn’t matter though my mother wouldn’t be waiting for me. Hell, she probably didn’t know I was gone.
Wrong.
Not only was my mother waiting for me but, Sin was waiting for Linc. Neither of them looked happy, and I instantly felt guilty for dragging Linc into my self-indulgent recklessness.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, keeping his eyes on Sin.
“You. Chapel. Now.” Sin growls before pointing to me. “You want to make a mess out of your life, you go on and do it but, you keep him out of it,” he orders.
“Come on, Sin,” Linc says. “She had a bad night.”
“No, I didn’t,” I fire back defensively. “I had the greatest night of my life.”
“Pinky,” he mutters. “Just go to your room.”
He doesn’t bother looking at me as he starts for the chapel.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Sin sneers, following Linc. Once inside the chapel he slams the door shut and I turn to my mother. Pouring herself a refill, she lifts the tumbler to her lips and downs it one gulp.
Disgusted by her, Sin and this whole godforsaken place, I stalk down the hall to my room. My mother has robbed me of a decent childhood, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her take anything else from me.
Not tonight.
She does not get to take tonight from me.
Making my way into the bathroom, I wash the make-up from my face and throw my hair into a bun before removing my clothes. I pay careful attention to reddened area circling my belly button and opt for a baggy t-shirt instead of my normal bedtime attire of shorts and a tank top. When I emerge from the bathroom, I find my mother sitting on the foot of my bed.
“I won’t let you ruin my life,” she slurs, lifting her eyes to mine.
Rage burns through me and I try to tame it by telling myself she’s drunk. Apparently, that’s my excuse for everything. Her shit. My shit. Everyone acts a fool when they’re inebriated but, I’m not drunk anymore and her words sting. They say drunk words are sober thoughts but when you’re drunk twenty-four seven, they’re just the unbridled truth I pretend isn’t true. Still, I fight it. I fight her words and the hurt she tries to cause me. I roll on my thick skin and fight her truth with my truth.
“Ruin your life?” I laugh bitterly. “Newsflash mom, you ruined your life a long time ago. If you don’t believe me, look in the mirror. You’ve swallowed so much poison you look ten years older than you are. You want to blame me for your misery but you’re a washed up drunk.”
She catches me off guard by jolting off the bed and rearing her hand back. Her palm connects with my cheek and I stare at her wide-eyed as she goes to do it again.
“You shut your mouth,” she screams, slapping my other cheek. “You’re the reason I started drinking!”
My cheeks should burn yet all I feel the harsh slap of her words more. They don’t sting, they cut deep and twist angrily inside of me.
“Say it,” I dare, tears streaming down my face. “Say it once and for all.”
“I never wanted you,” she spats. “I didn’t want kids but, your father he didn’t seem to care and now, I’m stuck with you,” she shrieks. “I sacrificed my life. My dreams. Everything and for what? An ungrateful little bitch.”
“I didn’t think it was possible to hate you but, I can say for certain I despise you,” I tell her. “Don’t worry mom, I’ll make sure Sin doesn’t throw you out. I’ll make sure he keeps a roof over your head and liquor in your bloodstream but only because if I don’t then you’ll be my problem or Uncle Al’s and neither of us deserve that burden,” I sneer, wiping angrily at my eyes. “Now get out of my room.”
She doesn’t move and for a moment we just stare at one another.
“Get out!”
The tears pour down her cheeks and, she lifts her hands to cover her face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, baby girl.”
“Yeah, you did but, don’t worry you didn’t say anything I didn’t already know,” I reply. “If you don’t leave I will,” I add.
A sob escapes her throat, and she falls to her knees in hysterics, making it clear she’s not going anywhere until either her tantrum subsides, or she passes out. Not willing to stick around to see which wins, I brush past her. Pulling open the door, the tears fall freely as I make my way down the hall to Linc’s room. I let myself in without knocking and find him sitting on the edge of his bed. Lifting his gaze, concern pours from his eyes.
“Can I stay here?” I rasp.
“What happened?”
“Please,” I whisper.
Staring at me, he seems to get it and, in that, moment, I understand what he meant earlier. Keeping things easy between us, eliminates emotions.
Emotions lead to drama.
They lead to vulnerability and vulnerable person is her own worst enemy.
A vulnerable person doesn’t think.
She lets her guard down and goes what with she feels.
She runs into the open arms extended to her and relishes in the comfort they provide.
She lets him help her into his bed and sighs when he climbs in next to her.
A vulnerable person wraps her arms around him, closes her eyes and vows never to let go.
Then, because she’s not thinking, she asks him not to either.
“I won’t,” he promises.
A vulnerable person believes him.