TWENTY-FOUR

Dagne

Three weeks later

The air-conditioning unit mounted high in the wall rattles as I stand with notepad in hand, making a list for the grocery store as Sonya calls the items out. Apparently she’s been the mother hen for one clubhouse or another over the years, taking it as her responsibility to make sure the men are looked after in every way.

And they love her for it. I’ve never seen a bunch of such rough and rowdy men treat a woman with such dignity and respect before. They all address her as “Ma’am” or “Darlin’”, cleaning up their conversation when she’s near, or offering to help if she seems to need it.

It’s nice, certainly more than I ever witnessed growing up. It’s how, in my mind, a doting mother should be treated.

“Did you get the beans?” she asks, bent at the waist to peruse one of the lower shelves in the pantry. “I can’t remember if I said that already or not.”

I move the pen in my hand down the page, hovering it over the paper as I check. “Yeah, I got them. Five, right?”

“Perfect. Add four of creamed corn as well.”

I note down the addition, almost out of room at the bottom of the full-size page already. It sure takes a lot to keep the place afloat if this is a weekly shop.

“How many people live here?” I ask. I’ve seen a few regulars in the time I’ve spent here, but there are probably twice as many new faces that seem to drift in and out.

Sonya straightens out, hands on her lower back as she appears to think it over. “It changes a lot lately, but I think we still have eight who stay here full time, probably the same again for weekenders, and then there are the property girls, and the families who we feed on weekends.” She smiles. “It can get pretty busy.”

“But you like it?”

“It’s home,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Maybe not as conventional as others, but home all the same.” She jerks her chin toward the adjacent kitchen. “Come on. I’ll make us a hot one.”

I get settled at the large stainless steel island while she glides about preparing our coffees. Nobody has heard anything since we left Hooch at the barn a month ago, and these little tasks King finds for me have been the only thing keeping my head on straight. At the start, I thought I’d be back on the road by now. My travelling feet itched to run, and I was certain that nobody would care either way if I stayed or went. But as time has passed, I’ve grown accustomed to the strange habits of these people, and as much as it pains me to say so, the familiarity comforts me.

Fingers, their mechanic, is the first to rise. His morning trips through to brew a pot of coffee wake me in my position on the sofa in the common room, but I don’t mind. I quite like sneaking a glimpse at the old man as he shuffles through with his mug of black gold.

After him, Callum, the vice president, rises. He slips down the stairs, gym bag in hand, before it’s even light.

Following close behind is either Dog headed out back for a smoke, or King coming in from the garage and crossing straight to his office. The club girls are next—the property—doing the rounds of the single men before they rise out of bed.

And then the families filter through. Old ladies, kids, and partners come and go throughout the day, making this outlaw hotspot feel more like a communal home than anything else.

And it’s here, among the misunderstood, the chastised, and the judged, that I feel most at ease. It’s here where nobody cares what your history is because theirs is most likely just as crooked, that I feel as though one day I might even feel safe enough to let down the walls and be who I really am.

It’s here that I can see myself learning how to laugh again.

“Here you go, honey.” Sonya slides a fresh cup of Joe across the counter to me, taking her seat on the opposite side.

She regards me with a soft smile as I test the drink by taking a small sip.

“I want to tell you a story,” she says, cradling her cup. “About when I met my first husband.”

I try to school my expression; surprised she’s been married before. Her and her old man, Vince, seem so comfortable around one another. I assumed they’d been together for years.

“Mike was the guy from the wrong side of the tracks,” she says with a smile. “You know the sort—the kind your momma warns you off.”

I nod, getting where she’s headed even though my mom never cared enough to vet who I saw.

“He chased me like a hungry dog for years.” Her smile widens as she tips her head back, staring at the ceiling but more than likely seeing something entirely different. “Persistent to the core, that man. I fought him off, pushed him away, and told him “no” more times than I can’t count, even though I knew in my heart he meant something special and was too good to let pass me by.”

“Because of what your parents thought?” I ask.

“No. Because I was scared: of him, this life, the unknown.” She reaches out across the counter, taking one of my hands in hers. “I see it in you, honey.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, the signs of years of sun damage only making her seem trustworthy. “There’re enough of us here who’ve walked the same road, that you don’t ever need to feel alone.”

Damn her. I try to hold it together, but just like Hooch, she nails me in one go. Am I that damn transparent?

I let go of her hand to swipe my budding tears away with the side of my finger. “Sorry.”

“No need to be.”

I take a sip of my drink, my thoughts wandering to the same place they do every time I catch a second of silence: the man with the resigned gaze, sad smile, and gentle kiss—Hooch.

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?”

“Who?” Sonya asks, leaning back a little.

“Hooch.”

She shrugs. “I haven’t heard a lot from the boys down south. I keep in contact with some of them through Facebook, but nothing of use comes through the grapevine.”

“I worry, you know? I feel like I’m partially responsible, like I should have fought those cops who pulled me over and ransacked the truck.”

“And then what?” she asks. “It would be your ass in county?”

“Maybe.” I shrug. Wouldn’t wasting my lonely life be better than pulling him from his involved one?

“I’ve known that boy since he was still riding a BMX around the vacant land behind the old Fort Worth clubhouse. He does what he thinks is right, he always has. He might seem tough and heartless on the outside, but that boy has more empathy toward others than a single soul I’ve met since.”

“I got that feeling about him.”

“He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and for as long as he thinks it’s too much for those he loves to bear, the harder he’ll hold on to it.” She laughs, short and bitter. “Damn. Him and King aren’t all that different, really.”

“King is lovely.” He’s done nothing but show me patience and understanding since being burdened with my care. “I can see why he makes a great leader.”

“It’s why he’s never been contested.” She sighs, turning her mug between her hands. “Have you spoken with Mel? I worry about that girl as much as I worry about you.”

“I would, but I haven’t seen her for days.” Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Dog for a while, either.

Sonya frowns at my smile. “What?”

“I think she might have done a runner with Dog.”

Sonya rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “That boy … Makes sense that he’d take a chance while big brother isn’t around to kick his ass.”

“He’s a bit of a player, right?”

“He’s the player.”

I chuckle, feeling the phone King gifted me for piece of mind vibrate in my pocket. Checking the screen under the edge of the counter, I ignore the message and send it to black.

“Problem?” Sonya lifts her eyebrows, glancing toward my phone.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” At least, I think.

“You just remember what I said, love. Pay mind to the caution your gut is throwing your way, but don’t discount your heart. It knows what you’d rather be doing.”

“I will. Thank you.”

If only she realized that both my gut and my heart are telling me the same thing.