TEN

Mel

Laughter drifts across the vast expanse of the backyard as I sit with my back to the boundary fence and watch the illuminated shapes inside the clubhouse rejoice the end of another week.

The Lincoln members and their families drifted in over the course of the afternoon, filling the place with the sounds of a tight-knit family. The banter and the laughter are the sounds of my youth. Fort Worth does the same thing every weekend. It’s a bonding exercise of sorts, a reminder of what we have to live for.

What I had.

Barely anyone paid mind as I slipped out the doors and tracked my way here to the relative quiet of the yard, away from the masses. Seeing the old ladies shepherd their kids around, the men playfully taunt each other, and the unity of the club? It hurt. It hurt because I don’t have even half of that anymore.

All I want is to knock bottles with Daddy and listen to him recount tales I’ve heard a hundred times before. To watch my sister dance, the center of attention as she loses herself to the heavy beat that pumps from the speakers. To shake my head as my brother accepts yet another drunken bet he can’t win.

To look across at Mom as she sits with the other women, happy and smiling while she watches those she loves.

I want my family. And I’ll never have that again.

Lights flick on upstairs, the pale orange glow like that of a child’s picture, faded and smudged at the edges. I pull the hooded sweater I pinched from Dog’s drawers over my legs and huddle in the dark, my chin resting on my knees.

Living in solitude changed me. I used to crave the limelight, to be the center of attention, to feel the buzz as people sought me out. But the forced isolation pushed that urge aside and made way for a part of me I never gave time or space to—the philosophical side.

There’s something deep about the silence of the world without our disruption in it, the space to take a deep breath and appreciate the gift of what is all around us.

All those little miracles we take for granted when there’s a ready distraction before us: our phone, the pressures of keeping up with our peers, of ensuring our chores are taken care of. Push all that aside and you see things that remind you how small and insignificant your problems are in the grand scheme of things: the stars at night, and the sun as it crests the horizon in the morning. Even the plight of a mother bird trying to feed her babies. All things that remind me there’s so much to still be grateful for.

Even if my heart is broken, it still beats, it still bears the gift of life, and that is something I should never stop being grateful for.

I pull in a deep breath as a shadowy figure drops off the side of the deck. From the swagger, I know it’s male, yet the backlighting from the clubhouse hides their identity until the dull glow of the outdoor light on the shed to my right picks up on the ends of his blond hair: Dog.

He strides straight for me; a beer in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. The pyramid studs on his belt reflect the glow of his smoke as he drops it to his side, the buckles on his boots noisy in the relative quiet of the yard.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he mumbles.

I tip my head back to take him in as he stops beside me, pulling a long draw of his smoke. His eyes squint a little as he points toward me with the neck of his bottle.

“That my hoodie?”

“Yeah.” I smile, tight-lipped and hopeful. “That okay?”

He shrugs. “Guess so.”

Dog sets his beer in the grass and then drops to the ground beside me. He stares over at the clubhouse as he takes another pull of the smoke, the end crackling, bright and hot.

“Did you need me for something?” I slip my legs free of the sweatshirt and sit Indian style.

He swings his gaze my way and smiles. “Hadn’t seen you for a while is all.” His eyes drop down to my body. “Got me a little worried.”

“Yeah?”

Those rich chocolate pools flick higher again. “Yeah.” He looks away as he stamps his smoke out under his boot. “Why did you come out here?”

“It felt weird being inside,” I admit. “Like the loner of the party, you know?”

“Not really.” He chuckles.

True. He’s become the life of these things, loud and rowdy as he makes his way around the room.

“You can go back inside,” I say. “I’ll be fine.” He’s probably got at least a dozen suitable girls lined up already.

“Nope.” He leans back on the heels of his hands and kicks his legs out. “Think I’ll hang here for a while.”

I tuck my chin down to try and hide my smile. It’s nice that he wants to hang out like old times, but that devil on my shoulder whispers in my ear, reminding me he’s probably been obligated with the job of watching me.

“I don’t need babysitting if that’s what King has you doing.”

He turns his head and just stares, his hooded eyes licking flames inside my chest.

“What?” I resist the urge to tuck myself under the protection of his sweater again.

“Just thinkin’.”

“About?”

“How if King had put me up to it, he probably wouldn’t want me to do this.” He leans toward me, bringing his far hand around to run a finger under my chin.

I stiffen, enjoying the wave of anticipation the gentle touch brings, but also nervous of where this would lead. I don’t want to be one of his playthings, tossed aside and discarded when something newer comes along. I shut that down before it had a chance to happen once before—I can do it again.

I’m worth more than being taken advantage of in my weakest hours.

Dog closes the space between us, his breath hot as it skims my face. I brace for his advance, ready to push him off and tell him I’m not interested when he tries to kiss me—yet he doesn’t.

He veers left and ghosts his lips across my ear as he whispers, “You look fuckable wearin’ my clothes.”

He leans back on his hands again, watching me with a sly grin as I implode. My eyes are wide, my brain short-circuiting as I try to come up with an appropriate response to that.

I’ve got nothing.

Nothing.

Dog chuckles, leaning forward to retrieve his beer. I sit in stunned silence as he downs the rest of the bottle, inspecting its label once finished.

“Think I might go get another. You thirsty?”

I utter a simple, “No,” as he pushes to his feet beside me. My ear still carries a tingle where his lips brushed the flesh.

“Be back soon.” He reaches down and runs his fingers under the length of my ponytail, flicking it playfully. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Sure.” I don’t know if my legs would work all that great right now anyway.

He strides off across the yard again, his silhouette nothing short of a masterpiece: all wide shoulders, tapered waist, and muscular legs. He was lankier when I last saw him, only just beginning to fill out the shape he is now. It was easier to ignore the way his words made me feel back then when his image didn’t drive me crazy on its own.

I’m not shallow—far from it. I know looks aren’t everything. But damn, you’d have to be half-dead to not be affected by a guy like Dog. He belongs on the pages of a magazine, plastered across a billboard in Times Square, not here in the messy backyard of a motorcycle club.

I drop my gaze to the simple navy sweatshirt shrouding my figure and frown. Sure, I scrounged a bit of makeup from Sonya, flicking mascara along the length of my lashes and trying out one of her dark pink lipsticks, but my hair is thrown in a messy pony, the cargo shorts I borrowed not doing a damn thing to make my legs look alluring in the slightest.

He had to be teasing. Right? Fuckable? Hardly.

I glance up at the empty yard in front of me, vacant except for a few distant outlines of people on the deck having a smoke while deep in conversation. A side of me knows it’s ridiculous, but the rest of my scrambled brain has my hands shuffling the legs of the shorts around so that they sit a little higher, a little less baggy over my thighs. I adjust the hoodie so it shows my collarbones a little, plumping the hood behind my head to accentuate the length of my neck and rearrange how I sit at least a dozen times to find the way that’s most flattering to my figure.

A snide chuckle escapes my lips as he drops off the side of the deck once more and makes his way over. A moment ago I was ready to push him off and tell him I’m worth more than a cheap opportunity, and yet after one whispered suggestion I’ve played right into his game—I’m putty in his hands.

Have a scrap of decency, Mel.

My resolve to get my shit together vanishes the second he stops at my feet and lets out a satisfied grumble from deep in his chest.

“Yep,” he states, tilting his head as though to agree with himself. “Fuckable.”

“You’re crude,” I tease with a laugh.

“But you love it,” he says, dropping to the ground again. “Admit it.”

I don’t. Because that would mean admitting I’ve also packed away my standards for a night and let frisky Mel out of the cage she’s been locked away in for the past year and however many months.

All for the chance at a little comfort with somebody who gives me nothing but.

How desperate can I be? I came out here to find peace in nature, and instead I’m marveling the pout of his bottom lip and wondering how that would feel trapped between my teeth.

“So when does the target practice start?” I ask, twisting to face him.

He frowns, the mirth from mere seconds ago gone. “Not sure.”

“You having second thoughts?” I nudge him lightly in the arm, resisting the urge to do it again just so I can feel that hard swell of muscle he’s built while I was away.

Jesus—I’ve reduced myself to one of the bunnies who slips in here on a weekend looking to fulfill a fantasy. Way to honor your family’s memory there, Mel.

“I’ve got to take you home tomorrow.”

Home. My stomach pits. “Already? I thought they had to be sure the cops wouldn’t come around with questions and find me there?”

“They won’t.” He stares across the yard. “Mighty’s taken care of that.”

“That was quick.”

“He’s useful for more than an extra tub of protein, you know,” he teases.

“Will Hooch be there as well?” Surely if I’m in the clear, then Mighty’s pulled some miracle for Hooch too.

Dog shakes his head, looping both arms around his raised knees. “Nope.”

I straighten my back, trying to hide how gutted that single word made me. It would’ve happened sooner rather than later anyway; I need to go home and face the truth for what it is. I need to re-familiarize myself with the place, especially now that it holds two fewer faces.

“We can do the target practice when we get down there, perhaps,” he says softly, mistaking my despondency for missing out on the shooting, not for what returning to Texas means.

“I’m sure you’ve got things to get back to up here.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. It’s been real quiet lately.”

Yeah, well it probably isn’t now they have to clean up after me and Hooch is on the run. I look toward my future and the vision is so murky, so muddied by everything that’s going down right now. I wish I could see what was in store, plan ahead, and have something to focus on. Yet here I am, sitting on the grass and wondering what I should do first when I get back to Fort Worth.

How the hell do I start piecing my life back together when half the puzzle pieces are missing or broken?

“Crackers know I’m coming?”

“Yeah, he’s expectin’ us both.”

“Good.” Because he’s going to have a lot of questions fired his way, and I can only hope he knows how to answer them.

Because I sure as fuck don’t.