TWENTY-TWO

Mel

My room looks as though a bomb’s hit it: clothes and personal belongings lay across the floor like casualties on a battlefield. It started when I had the basic urge to put on that sweatshirt I brought back from the trailer. It escalated when all I could find were tight tanks, skinny jeans, and slashed shirts.

I want to throw away everything that is the old Mel. I want a fresh start. But the more I dug through my drawers, slid things around in my wardrobe, the more I realized that I can’t escape her.

She’s everywhere. Worst of all, she’s still in me.

I wake up one day, loving how it feels to showcase my feminine curves in leather and lace, and then flip it all around the next morning wanting to shave my head like Brittney.

Check my Google history and you’ll find Symptoms of bipolar.

Only, I don’t think that’s it. I’m just … lost. Drifting out at sea with only a Harley badge as a flotation device, wondering how long I can keep kicking before I drown. I’m waiting for one of these people around here to sail in and rescue me with a purpose, something for me to do.

I’m waiting to be told who I am because heaven knows I can’t work it out myself.

“Hey, hold up!” Beth yells out in the corridor. “You should calm down first.”

The sound of boots scuffing to a stop on the floorboards is followed by a hastily growled, “Back up.”

“Look, we’re all worried,” Beth whispers.

I edge closer to my door.

“But charging in there with the kind of attitude you’ve got might be too much for her to handle. She’s …” Beth trails off, unsure of how to describe what is clearly me.

“Fragile?” The man’s voice scathes. I can’t quite pick it, but I want to say he sounds like— “Don’t give me that bullshit, Beth.” –Dog.

“Fine. But go easy on her, okay?”

Nothing else is said, but the silence speaks volumes in itself. I can only guess the look he gives her. Lighter footsteps recede as his heavier ones continue toward my room. I back up, tripping on a stray boot, and spin around to take stock of the mess around me.

Shoot. If I wanted to appear sane, I’ve got damn near no chance with my room like this.

“What the …?”

I shrink into my shoulders, cringing.

“Mel?”

I turn slowly as he takes careful steps over my mess. “What are you doing back here?” He belongs in Lincoln. This may be his club, but it’s not his home.

”I think the question is, what are you doin’ here?” He stares wide-eyed at my carnage. “Lost somethin’?”

“Only my mind,” I say with a giggle.

He sighs; the loose strands of his messed up hair hang over his right eye as he stares at me with nothing short of pity. I hate it, yet love it at the same time. I don’t need to be felt sorry for, but I sure as hell need the compassion he showed just by coming here.

I can only assume I’ve got Crackers to thank for that.

“Sit.” He points to the bed.

I do as I’m told, my chest all kinds of warm as he takes a deep breath and then proceeds to clean my room. The contrast is almost comical: a big strong biker in his leather and denim, carefully folding my clothes and placing them back in my drawers and closet.

“Dog or Koen?” I say quietly, too scared to speak fully in case it spooks this apparition away.

He can’t be real. I have to be dreaming.

He hesitates, my boots slung in one hand, and smiles softly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Koen.” I smile back, knitting my hands in my lap.

He nods and then gets back to work. All my makeup is lined up on top of my bureau, my closet organized by color. He rights my laundry basket, and straightens the covers on my bed, shooing me side-to-side as he does.

And all the while I watch in silence, finally feeling a little more at peace.

“There.” Dog looks around at the room, inspecting his work. “I think it’s done.”

“Thank you.” I drop my gaze, ashamed that he’s essentially come in and placated me like a toddler. “I don’t know what came over me. I just …”

“Snapped?”

“Yeah.” Once the anger found an outlet, I couldn’t stop the torrent. As silly as I knew it was taking out my frustrations on pointless possessions, the act of rebelling against order, messing everything up, held some strange meditative quality to it. As though it was the only way I could break free of this perfect persona I’ve tried so hard to feel comfortable in once again.

Strong fingers tip my chin up, and I meet Dog’s concentrated gaze as he looks down at me from where he now stands beside my bed. “Talk to me, Mel. What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

I pull my chin from his hold and look away. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“How about starting with why you trashed your room,” he asks without any trace of irritation. “Or perhaps why the fuck I see a picture of you with a gun in your hand?”

I shrug. “It felt right at the time.” I couldn’t explain it to Crackers either when he asked.

That day had started out like all the other bad ones, with me wishing I was alone in the woods again where there wasn’t anyone to ask me how I am today or look at me with those fucking pitiful stares. I was struggling to make heads or tails of the day even before Crackers lied to me about Hooch.

He said, “Yeah, I heard from him yesterday.” But I knew he didn’t tell me the truth. All his signs were there: inability to look me in the eye, fidgeting with something in his hold and clearing his throat before he changed the subject.

There’s a reason Crackers has given up joining in on poker nights.

So I went out back and tried a little more target practice. Firing the gun into that knot of wood had been therapeutic on the other shitty day, so why wouldn’t it be on this one? Only, the more I discharged the weapon, the more I wondered what it would feel like to turn the handgun around and point it at myself.

Weirder still, I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to feel so lost and pointless anymore.

It’s a strange place to be: happy to be alive, yet wishing for a reason not to be.

“I don’t want to be here at the clubhouse, locked away like some precious possession when I’m no better or worse than any of those people downstairs.” I look down at my hands. “Being here, where my family isn’t anymore … it’s driving me around the bend.”

“I get that,” Dog says, “but you can’t run away from the place forever, Mel. You’re home now, and pretty damn soon you’ll need to figure out how to accept that.”

“I’m trying.” I frown, fighting the pricks behind my eyes. “But the more I try to come up with a reason to be here, something to do to be useful, to earn the accolades people so freely place on me, then the more pointless I feel.”

“Why do you have to be doin’ something?”

“Because look at what this club has done for me,” I argue, meeting his hard eyes once more. “They put up with my juvenile tantrums when I stormed out of the place after Daddy matched me with Crackers. And then they risked a lot by hiding me from Carlos until it all blew over. They’ve constantly held me up on a pedestal, and I don’t feel like I’ve earned that kind of privilege.”

He sighs, shifting to take a seat beside me on the bed. “Have you asked them why they feel that way toward you? What it is that makes them want to treat you like that?”

I snort. “No.” How vain would that seem? “Oh, hey. Mind telling me why I’m so awesome?”

“Just a thought,” he shrugs.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Dog holds my gaze with a sly smirk. Right—Koen. Of course he can.

“I sat down with Beth the other day after you left to go home, and she helped me plan a rally for when Hooch gets back.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows peak. “Where to?”

“Basically a week long leg between here and Cali. Make sure we stop off at Lincoln on the way.”

“Sounds like fun.”

I shrug. “Thought it would help give me focus, but then I realized I don’t even know what’s going on with the club at the moment. I mean, aside from me coming home and y’all getting rid of Carlos.” I hang my head, feeling every bit as naïve as I probably appear. “Beth mentioned about getting permission from other clubs to travel through their areas, and it dawned on me that I’d have to ask you guys to do that.” I roll my eyes. “So much for the big surprise then, huh?”

“Why we keepin’ it a secret then?” he asks.

I look over at him, all handsome and innocent with his questions. “Because I’d feel stupid if people knew how long I spent organizing something that’ll never happen.”

He chuckles, reaching out for me. I resist the arm that loops behind me, smiling as he tries to tug me closer.

“Come here, woman, before I have to make sure you fuckin’ submit.”

“And how you going to do that?” I ask, wriggling to stop him dragging me over his lap.

Thick fingers dig in under my ribs as he tries to tickle me. “Like this.”

“Ow!” I shove his hands away. “If that was supposed to make me laugh, you failed miserably Mr. I’m-too-rough-with-my-hands. But I give in. You’ve still won.”

He smirks as I turn and straddle his legs, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Now what?”

“Now you tell me what will make you let all this bullshit about provin’ yourself go, and be happy.”

I let my head drop forward and rest it on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar comforting smell of leather and road dust. “I wish I knew. I honestly feel so stupid, Dog.”

“Hey.” He threads a strong hand through my hair, holding me close. “We aren’t all born knowing exactly what we want to be, Mel. Some of us have to try and fail a hundred times before we figure it out.”

“That’s just it,” I say, sitting up straight again. “I don’t even know what to try to even have a chance at failing at it.”

“What do you love?”

This right now. “I’m not sure.”

“What warms your chest?” he pushes.

You. Damn it all. He’s crept under my skin, got to me without having to try. I never stood a chance.

“You can tell me,” he coaxes, ducking his head to level our gazes.

I let a small smile tug at my lips as I peek out from under my lashes. “I keep thinking about you. You make me happy, warm my chest.”

He blinks and I swear to God the echo of silence as I wait for his answer deafens me. “Wasn’t expectin’ that.” His lips turn down. “But I like it.”

I’m hit with the urge to get off him, to put space between us until my embarrassment fades. How is it he always manages to reduce me to this blithering girly mess?

“Don’t get shy on me, babe.” His hands find my face, and he massages my neck with his fingertips. “I can’t do much if you don’t tell me how you feel, can I?”

“I guess not.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and inviting. “We both knew this ‘we’re better off as friends’ bullshit wouldn’t last, hey?”

I laugh too, sighing a, “Yeah,” as I lean into his hold.

His eyes fix on mine, the truth in the gentle swirl of his fingers as he leans a tiny bit closer, as his breathing quickens just the slightest.

“Hate to break this up, guys …”

Damn it!

“But?” I call out.

Murphy stands in my doorway, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Crackers needs you both downstairs.”

Dog voices my thoughts exactly as he sighs heavily and removes his hands from my face. “Pick this up later, huh?”

“Sure.” I slide off his knees and step back to let him up.

Murphy throws a wink our way before he turns and disappears. At least it was him who busted us up close and personal, and not Crackers. I get the feeling our VP might not be so forgiving.

“You think they have news on Hooch?” I ask.

Dog stands and runs a hand over his head. “Without a doubt if they want both of us.”

Is it possible to feel excited and panicked at the same time? My heart races with anticipation, yet the thought of hiding out and denying whatever Crackers has to say is just as strong.

I hope it’s good. It has to be good. I couldn’t handle it if it weren’t.

“Mel.” One look at Dog’s face and I realize that wasn’t the first time he’d called my name.

“Sorry, what?”

“Don’t overthink it before you’ve heard what he has to say. Just hear him out, okay?” He frowns, and in that split-second I know I was right.

Crackers lied to me.