Chapter 41
Road
Clyde spent the afternoon talking to the cops, contacting his insurance provider, and circling the pile of rubble he used to call home. The fire service advised him against going inside just yet, but we did recover a couple of things from the other buildings on the property, which were less affected by the blaze.
Some of the guys were not comfortable talking to Clyde after what happened and tried to comfort me , but I told them all to either speak with my man or get lost, because how fucking ridiculous was that? He doesn’t bite, and a pat on the shoulder can go a long way on a day when his life collapsed further.
I did my best to be there for him without making it all about the fragile emotions deep in my chest, but some days are so fucked up that nothing can possibly make them feel bearable.
I will try it anyway.
By the time we arrive back at Vulture Hollow, the news has spread, and we find a covered plate of cookies on our doorstep, which is a nice touch, though a bit of sugar can’t mend a broken heart, not even when chocolate chips are involved.
Clyde doesn’t say much, but as he sits down by the table on my porch with a vacant expression, he does rip into the cookies as though they’re the only thing that can nourish his soul .
“Maybe if I kill them all, I’ll get my bike back,” he grumbles as he stuffs his mouth with more sugar.
He doesn’t mean it. He might be murderous, but it’s his bitterness speaking.
I sit close enough that my knee is pressed to his, but as much as I long to hug him, I don’t want to be an overwhelming presence he can’t shed. If he needs to be closer, he’s free to cross the distance between us, but for now I allow him some space and pack cherry tobacco into the bowl of my pipe. Two of the bravest cats are already on the table, one of them, Frida, attempting to drag one of the cookies away before I shoo her off. She’s unhealthily into dairy and sugar, and it’s up to me to save her from herself.
“That was a new low, even for them,” I mumble, stiffening when Nutter leaps into my lap, and then stretches, digging his claws into my flesh. I bear it.
“I feel so… bare. Like they flayed me. I have nothing. Not even a second T-shirt.”
He didn’t talk so emotionally about it throughout the afternoon, probably keeping up appearances in front of the guys, but now that facade is cracking. I’m relieved when he reaches for my hand. He isn’t and never will be a burden to me.
I put the pipe in my mouth to rub his forearm too, but he pulls out his lighter and offers it to me, as if he didn’t want me to miss out on a chance to smoke.
I want to comfort him saying that this will be a fresh start, but it feels like a ball of mud in my mouth, and I choose not to toss it at him. “When I left home at fourteen, I didn’t want anyone to notice so I only took spare underwear, and all the long-lasting food I could find, because I worried they’ll try to find me. I had nothing, and the food lasted me for only three days. The bruises on my chest darkened at first, and got more painful, but as they gradually faded, I knew I had nothing to regret.”
His beautiful blue eyes meet mine, and I feel so seen. I’d give him the last T-shirt off my back if that’s what he needs. He even cracks a smile as he squeezes my hand. “No regrets. Should be my next tattoo. Maybe… it’s kinda hot that I’m wearing your boxers?”
I grin, sucking in some of the flavored smoke as I play with his fingers. “I like how my things look too big on you. That’s hot.”
“I’m not that much smaller.” He frowns, but his hand is still in mine, so he can’t really be offended.
“No, but I can immediately see when you’re wearing borrowed underwear and T-shirts,” I whisper, leaning closer. His gaze is a storm behind the veil of twisting smoke, and I close the gap between us to peck him on the lips. “There’s nothing small about you,” I reassure him and squeeze his bicep.
He inhales the smoke straight out of my mouth. “I’ll make a list of things I need. Nothing crazy, just… you know.”
I like that he’s trying to keep his confidence and not be too coy about his needs. Clyde saved my life. Gave up everything he knew to be with me. He deserves to be pampered.
I smirk when Nutter pats the pipe with his paw and move it out of his reach. “Of course. But first, you need to be introduced to all of Vulture Hollow.”
Clyde’s gaze strays, betraying his discomfort at the idea, but as much as I hate forcing him into anything he doesn’t want, making new friends to replace the maniacs he used to call brothers would be good for him. “Prophet told me there’ll be a bonfire tonight,” I add and kiss his knuckles. When I spot my ring on his finger, I kiss that too.
Clyde lets his head fall back and stares at the ceiling for a while. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let’s rip off that band-aid.”
I cup his nape and lock lips with him, our kiss intense yet lazy and flavored with smoky cherry. It gets right to my head, but before my body can get any ideas, I pull away. “I’ll get us some food for late lunch. Maybe get some rest while I’m gone?”
“And I’ll use that new shampoo if I’m supposed to not look like shit tonight. Gotta pretend I’m fine, right?” he says bitterly, but still gives me another kiss before getting up.
I wave at him and only rise to my feet once he’s inside. Nutter’s not happy being shoved off the place he chose for his nap, but my legs need moving. Once again filling my mouth with the smoke, I walk down the steps and follow the trail dappled with the sunlight peeking in through the tree crowns. Normally, I’d go straight into the middle of Vulture Hollow, but I have a hidden agenda and instead, I skirt the edge of the village, heading for the garages.
I’m not surprised to sense eyes on me. Everyone I pass sneaks a glance, and I swear the pack of teenagers behind me is not just coincidentally taking the same path as me. In Vulture Hollow, no civilian would dare tease me about being gay the way my brothers do. Still, it’s unsettling to know how fast gossip travels in our village.
I’m getting close to my destination, and by now, I’ve had it with the whispers and giggles, so I turn around and face the group head on. I’ve never backed down from a confrontation, so if a bunch of teens needs to learn a lesson today, then so be it.
I even take a step their way when they stop walking. “Is there a problem? You want to say something to me?”
They stop so fast one of the boys in the back of the group walks straight into his friend, and only a joint intervention of two other teens keeps her from falling flat on her face.
I know them all, on sight at least, but I can’t say if I ever talked to any of them other than exchanging a brief thanks or something of that nature.
The girl recovers fast and grabs the arm of one friend, whispering in his ear while others stare at me with wide eyes, as if they’re all in on a joke I’m not aware of. And I will not be made into a joke.
“We heard you’re gay,” the kid says, pushed forward by the girl.
“How is that any of your business?”
Saskia, who I know as the daughter of our grocer, rolls her eyes. “I told him you’re taken. Plus, you’re too old. No offense.”
I’m… definitely not offended, but this situation is out of my depth, and I rub the back of my head. “What is the actual question here?”
The waif of a boy, with floppy hair covering his eyes, blushes so furiously that what I can see of his face resembles a tomato. I doubt he’s fifteen yet. “So… it’s okay to be gay? In Vulture Hollow?”
Considering how long I’ve suppressed this part of myself before life forced me out of the closet, I’m the last person who should give others advice, but I am part of this community, and my voice counts as much as anyone else’s. “Yeah. Don’t let anyone give you shit. And if they do, come and tell me.”
The smile brightening his zit-adorned face makes something crack a little in the shell around my heart. I wish someone had had my back when I’d struggled with this. Then again, Prophet did peel me off the asphalt and bring me here. I didn’t come out until now. I’m glad I can be someone to protect this kid if push comes to shove. From the look of him, he’s hardly future biker material, but we need all sort of people here. A cook, a hairdresser, or the mechanic I’m going to see.
“Yes. Yes, sir,” he says, nodding a bit too much. I hope he doesn’t develop a crush on me, because that would be fucking awkward.
I give him one more nod and turn to the garages as the kids whisper to each other.
At this time of the day, most of the people working here should be off, but being the workaholic he is, I expect Isaac to be in, tinkering with one thing or another. I smirk when Jim Morrison’s voice reaches my ears and stride right in to find my mechanic leaning over a workbench and fiddling with a toaster. I whistle, and when he looks up, a grin lights up his eyes.
“Road! I was hoping to see you soon. Just didn’t want to crowd you with all that’s going on.”
The tension hiding deep inside me lets loose, and I offer a smile back. “It’s been intense, I admit. What are the people saying behind my back?” I ask, leaning against a pillar as I take in the vehicles and parts.
Isaac leans back in his chair and rubs his hands in a rag. “You know, the typical. Who fucks who, questioning how long it’s been going on, or even that Clyde turned you .” He snorts, meeting my gaze, awfully casual about all of it.
“He definitely didn’t have to turn me,” I tell him and nod at Martin’s bike, which is going through some kind of service. “He lost his bike. Do you know of a ride we could buy off you or borrow for the time being?”
That gets him excited, and he leads me out, behind the garage where two motorcycles stand among some junk. One is a banged-up black cruiser, the other a modified dirt bike.
“Both need some work, but I could sell either. Which one you think he’d like?”
I smoke some more, contemplating the vehicles. “My money’s on the cruiser, but maybe he should have his pick later, or tomorrow?” I propose and relax into the warm, sunny afternoon, because this is a sure way to put a smile on Clyde’s face.
Isaac shrugs. “Fine by me. You know… I had my suspicions.”
My heartbeat picks up, and I make myself exhale slowly, evenly, because the statement has me on edge. “Really?”
He gives me a playful shove. “You didn’t have them about me? Is your gaydar really that shit?”
I’m so stunned the pipe almost slips through my fingers. “You?” I ask, blinking and studying Isaac in more detail, because no, I couldn’t fucking tell. He’s very much… your average guy. A bit more buff, a bit more tattooed, likes his beers and cars, and he’s not the only one without a wife or girlfriend.
Did I miss him checking me out or something?
“I’d just rather keep it on the down-low, you know?”
“Even now?” I ask before shaking my head. “You know I’d have your back. ”
“Maybe in the future, but I don’t need the hassle. I go meet up with a guy occasionally, but that’s about it. In my twenties though?” Isaac stretches with a smile, showing off his wide chest in the tight black tank top. “Those were the days. Different guy every weekend. I liked to find the ones who wanted a bit of force. You know what I mean?” He nudges me with his elbow, and I grin, but the back of my neck prickles, as if someone poked it with tiny needles. It’s weird, because I’ve never even considered Isaac from that point of view, and now it feels like too much information.
“I’m a simple guy,” I say, because I have nothing non-generic to say in response to that. Is he trying to tell me he’s into BDSM? Is he fishing for details of my sex life with Clyde?
“So simple you chose the most difficult guy you could get. I don’t judge,” he raises his palms, “I’m sure he’s worth it. I just like guys a bit younger—Not too young!” he adds, but it still leaves a weird taste in my mouth. He’s in his forties. How young is too young?
I can’t help but think of the guys who offered to help me in exchange for favors, back when I was on the run. While Isaac has never acted in a way that made me think of him as anything but a great man to have around, my body reacts with such tension I can’t cope by telling myself to stop projecting on this guy, who’s just told me his truth. We’ve always been friends. Maybe he doesn’t have anyone to talk about guys to, and he forgot that some things are weird when said out loud?
“Must be hard to find someone—” I don’t finish that sentence, realizing that telling him that he’s not getting any younger would be needlessly offensive. I’m not here to tell him when to settle down.
“I’ve got my community here, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I did hear you’re wifing Clyde up already. Is he that good?” Isaac smirks.
I can’t say I didn’t expect to hear this kind of joke, but maybe not from another gay man. I wrinkle my nose and correct him, “I’m making him my husband , yeah. We’re a good fit. He understands what I’m about. And the lifestyle.”
You’d think finding out Isaac is gay would bring us closer, and instead, I think I like him less now.
He laughs and makes a gesture of zipping his lips. “I see, I see. Looking forward to officially meeting him tonight. I’m really happy for you even if the issue with the Butchers isn’t over. Just keep us civilians posted.”
“You’ll be the first to know if something happens,” I tell him, wondering if that unsettled feeling at the pit of my stomach is me being uncomfortable with talking about gay sex to anyone but Clyde, or if Isaac is being creepy. Guys talk shit about women all the time, so why should it surprise me gay men would discuss their potential partners the same way? But it does. It felt as if he’s sprung it on me out of nowhere, trying to work out what I like, and if our taste is compatible. Which it is not.
I like good head like every other guy, but it’s disrespectful to talk about Clyde’s potential skill at it when we’re discussing him being my fiancé. Not to mention that comment about rough sex and younger guys, many of whom might not exactly know what they want yet. I’ve been there. I know.
It’s nothing new, really, plenty wannabe Casanovas around, but this whole conversation has left me feeling like I’ve fingered a stranger and forgot to wash my hands after.
There’s not much left to say, we share a few more words about the bikes, the Butchers in general, and I’m off.
But when I pass a large van with one side cut out, I spot the teens from earlier. They’re hanging out inside it, on sun chairs and a few large pillows. They’re drinking something that could be pop but probably has added booze.
I’m headed home, to Clyde, and I still have a lot to deal with once he makes a list of things he needs, but the niggling feeling in my stomach becomes a ringing alarm and I circle back.
“Hey kid,” I call out, zeroing in on the boy who all but came out to me earlier. He pokes his chest, as if not believing I’m wasting my precious time on him, but when I nod, he rises to his feet and walks my way, watched by several pairs of eyes.
As he approaches, I’m stuck wrestling the thought that maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing. I’ve never once heard anyone gossiping about Isaac, and he is not known for hanging out with any kids either. Some guys are just bad about feeling out the audience for their sex jokes, so maybe Isaac’s only crime was assuming I’ll be happy to hear about his sexual preferences? Or maybe not. There was that guy five years ago who liked to talk big about his sexual fantasies, and he turned out to be a creep for real. Bastard snuck into some teenage girl’s room at night, after convincing her he was in love with her. Am I a hypocrite for being more worried about a boy, just because I used to be him? Maybe. Either way, I’d rather blow on cold food than burn my lips.
Big eyes stare at me in attention from under the floppy bangs. “Yes? ”
I put my hand on his shoulders and look straight back at him, to convey that my message is serious. A bit of fear won’t hurt him. “This is just between you and me. Your ears only, understood?”
His pupils widen and he nods like one of those dolls with bobble heads. “Yes. Of course. A hundred percent.”
“Good. You know Isaac, the mechanic?” When the kid nods, I go on. “Don’t hang out with him. Especially not solo. Can you do that for me?”
He opens his mouth, and I can almost hear the ‘why?’, but he’s smart enough to hold it in. “Y-yes. Sure.”
“Good.” I ruffle his hair and shove him back to his friends who watch on like hawks. Or vultures for that matter, eager to get their lump of rotting-flesh-gossip, but I have a feeling the kid will do as told and keep his mouth shut. I’m about to walk off when the teen clears his throat.
“Will Clyde Turner be at the bonfire later?”
I keep myself from grinning and nod before hurrying toward the canteen. Fifteen minutes later, I’m climbing my hill with sandwiches for us both. So many issues occupy my thoughts and demand attention that the buzzing of the telephone in my pocket feels like an intrusion, but I pick up the call anyway.
“Hello?”
“Roadkill. That’s what you’ll be soon.” A deep voice I know but can’t place.
“You’re too late, jokester. That’s how they already call me,” I say and sit on a mossy trunk, because I’m not going home until this conversation is over.
“It’s Grizzly, you fuck. And I’m calling you, not Prophet, because we all know Clyde is your call. You saw what he did to Puck. You need to hand him over. And yes, this is a threat.”
I freeze, because all I can think about is that he should not have my number, and if he does, that means there is a leak of some kind. Then again, maybe they found it somewhere at Clyde’s?
I swallow and focus on the canvas bag containing the food as I imagine the Butcher president grinding his teeth in his leather chair, somewhere in their compound. He must hate that Clyde made him look like an idiot by faking his own death.
“I’ve known you for years, and your threats no longer work on me, Griz. Besides, he never revealed any secrets. We were just fucking like bunnies, good clean fun. ”
“Don’t fucking test me! You think you can pull my nephew into your gay shit, and just get away with it?” He’s yelling into the phone. He must be losing his mind about this.
I want to protest, but I did technically pull Clyde in as if he were the biggest fish in the pond, so instead I rest my elbows on my knees and sigh. “I thought you were pissed he betrayed you. Which he did not,” I lie, because Clyde did cross a line when he warned me. And when he killed Puck for me.
“Anything he did with you was a betrayal. You being still alive is his betrayal. Bringing me your head would have maybe given him a chance, but we both know he’s not doing that, is he? So it’s in your hands. Give. Him. Up. Whatever you think the consequences might be? They will be worse.”
My mouth’s dry, and the birdsongs above are muted, as if I’m wearing earplugs. That’s what this bastard thinks of me? That I would give up someone who saved my life? “Look, I don’t know how a real family should work, but he’s the son of your brother, isn’t he? And you don’t have your own kids. Why not bury the hatchet?”
I hear how heavy Grizzly’s breathing is. “He made his choice. He is not my nephew anymore. He’s dead to me. Taken by the Vultures like Roy. I know it was one of you.”
Yeah, it was me , burns at the back of my throat, but I won’t say it for the sake of shocking him now. The truth would put Clyde, me, and everyone in Vulture Hollow in even more danger. As selfish as I can be, that’s a line I won’t cross. My hands tighten, balling into fists until the phone creaks against my ear, but the fire blazing in my chest roars, rising, until I can almost smell smoke.
“Well, good. He doesn’t need family that’s so ready to burn down his life. I will be his family now. I will put a ring on his finger, and give him my last name, so he can forget that he ever shared anything with the likes of you. If that wasn’t clear enough, no, I’m not giving him up. You want him? You’ll have to go through me. Puck had it coming,” and so did Kalash, but I’m not sure what Grizzly knows about him dying by Clyde’s hand, “and anyone standing between me and Clyde can expect the same treatment. I’d sooner let you drag me over gravel by my guts than give him up.”
Grizzly starts yelling, but I hang up. I’ve said my piece.