***Ramrod***

 

“Let’s do this,” I sing, or fucking shout, whatever. We’re listening to some mighty fine tunes here. No one can live up to this singer’s fucking voice if you ask me. It’s a live version that’s flowing through the living room. “Hey, sexy lookin’ Doll, with your painted on hot pants and all… I’m gonna drink your honey, all day long…” Yes, I’m not sticking to anyone’s lyrics and make shit up as I go. I don’t fucking care, music makes me happy.

Fuck. The song dies and the whole room goes silent. Turning, I see Depay and his ol’lady, Diamond, next to the stereo. Clearly, they shut off my music.

“Ramrod,” Depay growls as he stalks toward me. “Arrow doesn’t need to hear your screwed-up version.”

He gently takes Arrow, his son, from my arms as I shrug. “Does the fucking trick every time.”

They went out to dinner tonight to celebrate their one-year anniversary. I offered to babysit. The little fucker loves tunes as much as I do. When he wakes up, we dance to anything I pick, and I have him back to sleep by the time the song’s over.

I brush my knuckles along Arrow’s cheek. “All right, folks. Hadley went to bed at seven and is sleeping like the good little girl she is. Clearly, you have it all covered here. I’m gonna hit the road.”

Kissing Diamond’s cheek, I hear my brother growl, and I leave the two lovebirds and head for my bike. It’s a beautiful fucking night and with the ache in my chest, I need to clear my head.

I always take a long drive after I babysit one of my brother’s kids. It doesn’t matter if it’s Broke and Roan’s little one, Lips and Deeds’, or fuck…it seems like all of my brothers are popping them out or claiming their ol’ladies. It makes my chest ache for shit I don’t have, and as time passes by, I’m starting to believe I don’t deserve it. Fuck…gotta have some faith. Right? Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Pumping up the volume, a song blasts through my helmet, making the perfect setting. A rough voice, darkness surrounding me, light shining forward in the direction I’m going while trees zip by.

I don’t know how long I’ve been driving before I notice a shape ahead of me. As I slow down, I see it’s a person. Squinting, I’m pretty sure the delicate features indicate it’s a female. What the fuck is she doing on the fucking road in the middle of fucking nowhere? Not to mention that it’s way past midnight.

She must hear me coming, the roaring of my bike, because she stumbles to the right. She’s clearly not drunk because a fucking drunk couldn’t care less when stumbling in the middle of the fucking road.

The song is on repeat as a voice sings about blue jeans and fuck…my light hits her again and she’s indeed wearing blue jeans. Okay, that’s not much of a coincidence, considering the whole fucking world wears them, but still. Slowly, I pass by her, and turn my head to get a glimpse of her front.

Fuck. Even in the darkness I see her tear-stained face reflected in the moonlight. She’s got her arms in front of her, holding her shirt together. Double fuck. Turning my bike around, I ride back to her.

She stops and looks up. With terror in her eyes, she takes a few steps back. Shutting down the bike, I remove my helmet and place it on the bike. Hands up, I slowly walk up to her.

“Hey, there, Doll...” What the fuck, Ramrod? Great, I don’t even know who she is but I’ve already labeled her ‘Doll’, something I always use when I’m singing about my girl. A special girl, mine, one I’ve fucking longed for every second of the day. I’ve been open to embrace a wife, kids, a solid relationship for years, and yet I’ve never found that one special person who completes me.

Her knuckles are fucking white from holding her shirt together. When I look closer, I notice the shirt’s fucking shredded. I grab the zipper on my leather jacket and take it off. Turning it around, I hold it out to her. She has a questionable look on her face, so I give the jacket a little shake.

“Go on, Doll. Put your arms in, you must be cold.” I try to soften my voice, but for real…how do I even fucking do that?

The sound always comes out as a rumble. I’ve never needed to soften my voice. I give orders, and even when I’m around the kids I don’t do mushy. They are used to me and my voice.

She steps forward, and her pretty face becomes clear. So does the fucking shiner on her left eye. Dammit. Doll zips up my jacket and wraps her arms around herself. I resist the urge to drag her against me. She’s obviously scared, and I don’t need to add to that.

Pointing behind me, I risk asking, “Will you allow me to bring you home? Can you hold on to me, on the back of my bike?”

She glances at the bike and back at me. “I don’t know,” she whispers.

“Don’t know if you can hold on…or don’t know if I could bring you home? If it’s the second one, I’m actually pretty good when it comes to riding a bike and following directions.” I let out a chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Her head falls down while she mutters, “I don’t know if I can go home.”

“What the fuck?” I growl and her head whips up as she steps back.

“Shit,” I mutter. “I'm not a gentleman but I can act like one. I'm most definitely not the classy or sweet kinda guy, but I have manners. Or at least have boundaries. And I own a house, with a guestroom. You can come with me and figure things out in the morning. I’ll be sure to give you all the privacy you need…I swear I won’t touch you and that shit. Fuck. I’m an idiot to mention that. Sorry.” Fuck. I have verbal diarrhea and not in a good way.

To my surprise, she steps forward. “I would like a shower. Maybe have a cup of tea?”

Thank fuck. “I can manage that. I’m Ramrod by the way.”

She grabs my hand. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Panic spreads on her face as if she’s not ready to tell me who she is.

I don’t fucking care, but I will in the morning. Then we can sort this shit out. For now, I need her warm and comfy. “Never mind, you don’t need to give me a name yet. What you do need is comfort, and we can’t find it here on this road. I’ll just stick with Doll, okay? In the meantime, hop on.”