16. Eagle
CHAPTER 16
EAGLE
When I ride up to Lacey’s place, she’s standing on the front porch, dressed in jeans, running shoes, a long-sleeved shirt, and sunglasses. Her hair is swept up in a bun, and the rattling in my heart when I see her matches the rumble of the bike—steady and strong and so loud, I’m sure everybody can hear it.
I don’t know what this means. I don’t catch feelings. I’m not a guy who puts his heart out there. In fact, since Linda, I’ve kept it buried in the deepest, darkest parts of me. It’s better that way. Sex and love don’t have to go ahead in hand, and it’s much fucking easier when they don’t.
She rushes down the concrete path to greet me. I climb off the bike, meet her on the sidewalk, and pull her into my arms.
Neither one of us says anything. When she called me after she got canned from the Lantana, she was so upset, crying so hard, she couldn’t tell me what happened. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess. Shit rolls downhill, pure and simple. I told her to wear something that covers her arms and legs. That I was taking her someplace.
She wraps her arms around me tight, then pushes the sunglasses off her face to peer at me. “You don’t wear a helmet?” she asks worriedly. “Eagle…”
“Brought one for you,” I tell her.
She looks like she wants to argue, but she just nods. We head over to the bike.
“This your first time?” I ask.
She bites her lower lip, looking worried. “Mmm-hmm.”
I turn to her and hold her chin in my hand. “Hey, hey, don’t be scared. I’ve been riding these things since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. You hold on to me tight and just keep your body relaxed. Follow my lead. You feel me lean; you lean with me. Don’t try to pull me back.”
“Sounds like dancing,” she smiles. But then her face falls. “I’m a terrible dancer. You should know that.”
I grin. “But you’re a rock star in bed, and riding this is a lot more like riding me than dancing.”
Her mouth falls open, but then she shakes her head. “Okay. I trust you.”
I get her situated on the bike, make sure she knows where to rest her feet, and then adjust the helmet on her head.
“Oh wow,” she says. “I can see why you don’t wear this. It’s hard to see.”
“You wear yours,” I tell her. “And you just look straight ahead, over my shoulder, if you can. It’s your first time, so just get used to the noise of the bike and the feel of the road.”
She gets off the bike, I get on, and then she slides in tight behind me. I call over my shoulder to her. “I won’t be able to hear you, so unless something’s wrong, we’ll talk when we get there.”
She nods, and I feel her hands tighten around my waist like she’s holding on for dear life. I grab her hands with mine and squeeze, then fire up the engine.
It’s loud, but it’s like the opening notes of my favorite song coming on the radio. When I first hear that roar, something blazes through my body.
It’s the same feeling I used to get when the MC was dirty. My old man always thought there was a little darkness in me—a hunger for violence, for chaos, that most of the time I kept suppressed. Maybe I learned that the only easy way for guys like me sometimes does require going off the beaten path, forging our own way.
Or maybe, I just love the ride.
I pull away from the curb and hear a little happy squeal in Lacey’s chest. I grin, the glare of the sun reflecting off my shades, as I steer us toward one of my favorite rides.
I can feel her body relax the longer we ride. At stoplights, she turns her head ever so slightly and looks around. I hope she loves it. Hope she loves it even half as much as I do.
I take the backroads to a small state park about fifteen minutes away from Lacey’s. We ride through the long, winding one-lane road that leads to a parking lot.
“Bus stops here,” I say, parking and climbing off. I help Lacey out of the helmet and search her face. “You okay? Like it so far, or are you scared shitless?”
Her face is elated as she shakes her head. “That. Was. Incredible.” She looks back at the bike reverently. “I had no idea. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I mean, I get it. I totally get it.”
I nod and motion for her to follow me, but deep down, my heart’s bursting open. Women usually love the bike, especially after their first time. But Lacey’s got a way of expressing herself that makes me feel proud. Like I’m the only one who could have shown her this kind of good time. Maybe she would feel this way with any asshole who took her for a ride, but the way she looked from me to the bike, like she wanted to caress us both and couldn’t pick where to start… It feels good. Lacey makes me feel good. Better about myself than literally anything ever has.
Feeling a little more confident, I take her hand, and together, we walk over a small wooden bridge. Lacey walks slowly, peering over the bridge and into the water.
“Whatcha looking for?” I ask.
She smiles. “Whatever there is to see. Lily pads, algae. I just like to know what lives here.”
I nod and slow my steps so she can look. I’ve got to admit, I don’t stop and smell the roses all that often. I stare through the dark shades, but I can’t see too much that’s all that interesting. And then, I see movement.
“There,” I point.
“I see it.” Lacey’s voice is a hushed whisper.
It’s just a lizard, nothing we don’t see a thousand of scattering through parking lots and across lawns all over the place. But somehow, seeing that here, where the bugger can live free of the dangers of the human world, hits different. I’ve been here a hundred times, but I’ve never noticed a lizard. I tighten my grip on Lacey’s hand and wonder what else I’ll experience with her that feels new.
We walk slowly, the crunch of our footsteps on the path the only sound. It’s Monday, so other than a few people hiking, this place will be pretty deserted.
That’s why I picked it.
After about a five-minute walk, the path curves, and I can see what we came here for. Lacey spots it before I can even point it out.
“Oh my God,” she says, pointing. “That is beautiful. In a haunting kind of way, but it’s gorgeous.”
I nod, letting her take it in. I wonder if she knows what it is, what it’s called. I don’t know much about the natural world. Open the hood of a car or show me a disassembled bike engine, and I can tell you what every piece does and where it belongs, when the machine is sick or old or just needs a little TLC to get back to its original glory.
I lead Lacey to the massive tree that doesn’t look like one tree at all. There are clearly a trunk and branches under there, but growing up, around, and through the tree are vines and leaves, branches from other trees.
I tell her what little I know. “I used to call this the witch trees,” I say with a laugh. “I was scared of them. My mom would take me on long walks when my old man would be in a mood. For a long time, I thought these trees were mean old witches who came out when my dad got mad.”
Lacey tightens her fingers around mine as she listens. “But my mama told me, no, they’re survivors. Some people see them as pests—trees that kill other trees and basically eat ’em up and grow right in, around, and through the space left by the original tree.”
I stop and think of my mama, God rest her soul.
“My mother always taught me to be the survivor,” I explain. “Find a way through. And don’t let anybody tell you you’re ugly.” I chuckle and point at my face. “I didn’t always look like this.”
“Gorgeous?” Lacey fills in, smiling with one corner of her mouth. “I don’t believe it.”
She squeezes my fingers again.
“I think it’s beautiful,” she says. “I can see why you’d think they are witchy trees, though,” she says, releasing my hand to walk forward and lightly run her fingertips over the bark.
Some of the leaves that climb the tree are vibrant green, and some are brown. Lacey tenderly strokes a green leaf. “Life right there alongside death. Beautiful. Complicated.”
I nod, and we sit on the packed dry dirt under the tree. The canopy of all the other trees in the park provides plenty of shade, so even in our jeans and long-sleeved shirts, it’s cool.
Lacey leans against me, and I throw an arm over her shoulder.
“I did it, you know,” she says softly. “I did have a relationship with Dylan Acosta.”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “Don’t need to know,” I tell her. And I’m honestly not sure I want to hear about it. The thought of her with that asshole… His entitled, slick face, his shitty grin. I hate men like that. Used to take great pride in not being a man like that. I don’t know how Lacey can want to be with someone like him and also with someone like me.
It’s like she’s reading my mind, though, because she explains it. “I never cared about him in the way I wanted to. You know…” She laughs, but it’s a dry, bitter sound. “I always wanted the fairy tale. I always wanted love to solve everything. To come with laughter and happiness, total acceptance and fun.”
She shakes her head. “Dylan lied to me,” she says. “About so many things. But the worst part is that I lied to myself.”
I can only imagine the bullshit that man fed a woman like Lacey. Anything to get into her pants, because of course, he took one look at her and wanted her. Who wouldn’t.
“I lied to myself about who he was, what we had. I believed the stupidest things, Eagle, and you know why?” She’s not crying, but she rubs at her eyes. “Because I wanted something so bad that I refused to believe what I had right in front of me wasn’t it. Could never be it.” She turns to face me. “Did you ever want something so badly that you made yourself believe something that wasn’t real? Maybe wasn’t even true?”
At first, I think no. But then I wonder. Maybe I have. The Disciples hasn’t been the club I joined for a long time now. I’m not the man I was when I joined, but that doesn’t mean I don’t keep looking for the same thrills—the easy money, the bonds that were tighter than blood, the excitement.
When we were dirty, I was happy. Now that we’re a bunch of washed-up construction workers and security guards, yeah, I am still tight with my brothers. But things have changed.
Problem is, I haven’t.
And I still keep looking for what we used to be.
I look at Lacey and can understand exactly what she means. Even with Linda, I was telling myself stories that were probably never true. That I had to be the stand-up guy. That I had to do this, take that.
“Yeah,” I finally tell her. “I have. I get it.”
She turns to me and lifts her face, then kisses me on the lips lightly. “I really like you, Eagle,” she says quietly. “I don’t want what I feel with you to be a story I’m telling myself.”
Her words hit hard as I realize that I feel the same way. That vague sense of discomfort, the uneasy feeling that I’ve been braced for. We’ve known each other for two years, but this is different. We’ve never known each other like this. Our bodies connected; our minds honest. Maybe even our hearts involved in some way…
“This,” I tell her, “feels real to me. I don’t think anything’s ever felt this real.”
I hold her face in my hands and kiss her, sweeping my tongue across her lips until she opens for me. A soft moan whispers against my mouth as our tongues clash. We kiss like that for a few long minutes, neither one of us wanting the kiss to end. But there’s more to it. There’s feeling behind these kisses. A grasping and a desperation for more. We don’t just want to keep kissing. Neither one of us wants the honesty to end. The truth that we’ve shared is something. Means something.
She pulls her face gently from mine and sighs. “I’m unemployed,” she says, “and I need to find an attorney. I have until Friday to negotiate a mutually agreeable separation from the Lantana.”
The blood boils through my entire body at that. “The fuckers,” I say. I don’t know much about lawyers—I’ve spent my whole life trying to avoid the law at all costs. But I do know one. “I might be able to help,” I tell her.
She looks at me curiously. I pull out my phone and tap out a few texts, and I notice I have yet another one from Linda. But I refuse to let that bitch ruin my morning.
I silence my phone and stand.
“Come on,” I tell Lacey. “Let’s see if we can make these fuckers pay.”