Chapter 42
Clyde
I’m dreading the confrontation with the entirety of Vulture Hollow, but each stroke Road makes through my hair with the brush he purchased in the all-in-one store in the middle of the settlement untangles the knot inside my ribcage. My mane is a bit of a bird’s nest after we had sex while it was still wet last night, but Road insisted he wanted to help me with it, and he’s been at it for the past fifteen minutes. He doesn’t need to work through the strands as slowly anymore, but the gentle rubbing of bristles against my scalp, and the warm presence behind me keep me in the chair.
No one wanted to take care of me before, not like this, and I want to let him.
“Your thoughts are real loud, Blue Eyes,” Road says in that soft rasp I love.
I hold my breath as if that could help keep my secrets. “What am I thinking then?”
Road rests his chin on the top of my head, and I shiver when the bristles of his stubble dig into my scalp. He’s such a… man. Such a stud. I knew I missed a presence like his in my life, but I guess I didn’t understand the extent of my own need.
“That it’s gonna be a shitshow. That people are gonna stare, which they will. That there will be offhand comments, or someone will be just plain rude, and you will need to take action. Once you do, all hell will break loose, and you won’t be able to stay. That is what you’re thinking. Or am I wrong?”
He did read me right. “Maybe I could just live here, in your cabin, and never leave? ”
He laughs, then places the hairbrush on the table before gliding his palms down my arms, until he’s leaning forward enough to tuck his face into my neck. The air dances over my skin as he breathes in my scent. “I want a man, not a pet. Even the cats wander around.”
I know he’s right, and I like myself as a confident, maybe even a bit cocky kind of guy. I entwine our fingers. “I’m not chickening out. It’s just… a lot. But I’ll be fine. I’ve actually meant to tell you that once you introduce me, you should back off a bit, so I meet people on my own. Without my emotional support Roadkill.”
He stalls, thick, calloused fingers tightening on my flesh. “Are you sure you’re ready? I know how intimidating this place can be, and when I first came, there weren’t even that many people.”
I nod and turn around to wrap my arms around his neck. We won’t get that much PDA at the bonfire and I want to get my fill of him. I can hardly believe we barely admitted our feelings for each other, because it feels like we’ve been together for years.
“I’m sure, but you can keep an eye on me.” I kiss the scarred ear before moving on along the twisted bit of flesh on his cheek.
He chuckles. “I know you can handle yourself, but a part of me worries that if enough people act like assholes, you’ll come back here and pack your bags.”
“I risked my life for this. I won’t be throwing a hissy fit.” I stroke his head, but then pull away, because I know I’m just stalling. I look straight into his eyes to detect any lies. “You think I’ll be accepted here in the long run?”
His eyes are warm, like a sunlit morning by our secret pond in the woods. “Yeah. You just need to give people time to see you as Clyde, not a member of the Butchers. If I got over it, they must.”
I smirk. “Well, they’re not getting the kind of perks you do.”
His kiss is firm, honest, as if he’s putting his whole body into it. “Anyone who tries to get my perks will have to nurse a broken nose. Now let’s go. I want to rip off that band-aid.”
I like a good party, but I’ve been dragging my feet about this bonfire. Road is right though. There’s no avoiding it, and we leave the house after I once more check if I look acceptable. I can’t help the scratch on my cheek, but maybe it can get me some sympathy points from the women ?
While the walk there is uneventful, the sunset over the lake in the valley below grabs all of my attention for a while. Golden orange, yet already so low that it makes the clouds above it dance with rich pinks and purples. I’m tempted to go there and skinny-dip with Road instead of meeting hostile strangers, but those people might hold the key to my future joy or misery, so I don’t even suggest it.
A huge fire made out of long branches forming a pyramid of sorts and stuffed with smaller bits of wood and straw has been erected in a circular area surrounded by benches, close to a children’s playground. The air is rich with the aroma of smoke and meat, and as we come closer, a herd of teenagers stares at us from the wooden playground castle with two slides.
“There’s way more people here than typical this early. You’re popular,” Road tells me, and his shoulder brushes against mine.
I groan beneath my breath, but keep my back straight. “Everyone wants to see gay Clyde.”
He inhales, and I stiffen when his hand rests on my lower back so very intimately I worry that everyone’s staring. But I don’t pull away, and he leans in even closer to whisper, “I know I’m one to talk, but now that the cat is out of the bag, we just need them to understand this is the new reality, right? It’s a weight off the chest, and I will not keep my hands away from you just so everyone else doesn’t have to deal with it.”
“Good, that’s what I want here. I pretended half my life, I want to be real here.”
His support warms my heart, and walking up to the groups of people saying hi to Road becomes easier with each step. In the past, I’ve seen him with friends from far away, but I wore hate-stained glasses. Now it makes me happy to see that he’s liked, that he has a community here he can depend on. He introduces me to a few people in passing, and I work hard on remembering names and matching them to faces.
No one has yet commented on the elephant in the room that is our relationship, but I know it’s coming sooner or later. People trying to be normal about it though is a sign of general acceptance, and that puts me more at ease.
I even manage to take in the whole scene I’m now a part of. The bonfire crackles, sending sparks into the darkening sky, people laugh, drink, eat burgers and hot dogs. A couple makes out in the grass just beyond the reach of light, and on the other side of the fire, two people play their guitars with a varied level of success.
It’s nice …
It almost feels like the summer camps I’ve seen in movies, which is oddly fitting, considering where we are, and as I stand at Road’s side, sipping beer from a bottle someone handed to me, with the vast woods stretching in every direction, I’m surprised by the sense of peace settling inside me despite all the people around me being strangers or—until recently—enemies. Rough fingers ghost over mine, as if Road wants to touch me despite not being quite ready to make it obvious, and it just feels so damn peaceful.
“So you are the man of the hour,” a middle-aged woman in a hoodie sewn out of a patchwork of fabric leaves says.
I chuckle and squeeze her hand. “Hardly, but I appreciate the big bash.”
Road strokes my back as he fills me in. “This is Rhonda, she made most of our breakfast and often works in the canteen.”
I pick up on that, eager to make allies. “It was great, especially the pancakes. I heard someone at Vulture Hollow makes the honey?”
The woman laughs. “The bees. But yes, we have a beekeeper, so it’s produced on site, along with a large portion of what we eat.”
“Brigid started this place as a self-sustained community,” Road adds, and while I know for a fact he isn’t particularly into the whole thing and can’t cook for shit, he appreciates nice food as much as anyone.
“My family was among the first to settle here,” Rhonda says with obvious pride. “And look at that, almost twenty years on, Vulture Hollow is thriving. You’ll like it here.”
I’m still worried if I’ll be alive next week, but her positive attitude is building up hope in me. Road smiles at me with… pride? Like he’s happy to be seen as my man.
“Clyde is a great cook, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the kind of fresh food we have here.”
I’m now ashamed I talked shit about this commune being a hippy meth lab. Maybe they’re the ones who got it right.
Rhonda lights up and claps her hands, her sun-kissed wrinkles deepening as she smiles. “There’s always help needed at the canteen if you need a job in the future. No better way to people’s hearts than to feed their souls.”
Okay, maybe that is a bit too woo-woo for me, but I’m not about to voice that when I’m still wearing the necklace from Prophet. It doesn’t hurt, I guess.
An older man taps Road on the shoulder, trying to pull him away, and the green eyes settle on mine, as if he needs to make sure I am okay with him leaving. At this point, some of the tension in my heart melts away, and I feel so comfortable in Rhonda’s company I offer my man a nod and follow her across the meeting area. People keep stealing glances and whispering, even though most aren’t comfortable chatting to me yet, but with this gray-haired mother hen, I’m somehow even more at ease than with Road. Warm, smiling, she is like everyone’s grandma, and by the time she leads me to the grilling area close by, I’m confident that I am not leaving this party with broken bones.
“Harold, I brought you a helper,” she beams at… Yeti. “Clyde is a great cook from what I’ve heard, so you won’t be complaining about the burgers being overdone.”
Harold ? Really? I have to hold back a snort.
The massive, hairy guy is manning a beast of a barbecue where meats are sorted by type, and include burger patties, hot dogs, wings and chicken legs. He scowls at me, but Rhonda pats me on the back with a smile.
“I’ll leave you boys to it.”
As she leaves, his dark gaze skims over me, and he grabs tongs off a plastic table, only for them to slip out of his hand and to the ground. The growl he utters is like the roar of some unknown underground creature. “That’s your fault!”
I bite the inside of my cheek not to laugh at his plight. “How is it my fault?”
He grabs the utensil off the moss, and when he shows me his hand, my amusement dies, because he is missing a finger. All of a sudden I know exactly why he’s blaming me. He lost it in the warehouse fire that almost killed both myself and Road.
The fire my bomb caused.
I could mock him, say he still has the other nine to pick his nose, but that’s what Butcher Clyde would do. It’s no longer my job to antagonize every Vulture I meet.
I clear my throat. “Does it help that I was in a weeklong coma with broken ribs?”
Yeti’s thick brows lower, and his lips open, as if he were surprised. “Yeah. Actually, it does.”
For a moment, we stand in uncomfortable silence, so I stretch my social muscles. “So… you like to grill?” Not the smoothest segue in the history of conversation, but it’s a start, a little white flag, which seems to be welcome, as he turns the chicken on the grill and mutters.
“People just aren’t good at cooking meat. I can’t count the times I ate it prepared by someone else, only to get something too raw, or dry, or not salty enough. Don’t trust any meat I didn’t cook myself.” He sighs and looks straight at me, offering a flag of his own, though I’d call it pink rather than white. “Hope you don’t eat yours well done. ”
I’m glad I have the bottle to give me something to do with my hands. “No, I’ve got standards, but Road once left a chicken breast in a pan and forgot about it. That thing was charred and dry as wood chips, but he ate it and said it was ‘protein’.”
Yeti’s eyes shut, and he exhales, as if the weight of the world has just dropped on his wide shoulders. “That sounds like him. Man has a stomach like a trash can. Each time everyone got sick eating something shitty on the road, he was always fine.”
I don’t have to fake my laugh. “He should be called Raccoon, not Roadkill.”
Yeti’s lips twist into an almost- smile. “So… you and him. How long has it been going on?”
We’re entering thin ice territory, so I tread carefully. “Two months or so? Feels like longer.”
Yeti hums, his unibrow becoming even starker when he frowns at the hot dogs in front of us. “I guess you being gay and all means I never really knew you, so maybe we can start a clean slate.”
Weight drops off my chest. I wasn’t expecting that much, but maybe the Vultures are more open-minded than the Butchers. Does the communal living do that to you? Make you more willing to compromise?
“Hello, boys,” a woman says, approaching us with a huge mug topped with dense foam. I don’t have to smell it to know it’s beer. “Won’t you introduce me?” she asks Yeti and flashes me a wide smile, which, I note, is like a miniature version of Yeti’s. They have the same wide teeth and mouths.
The biker clears his throat and waves a thick hand in the space between us. “My lil’ sister, Luce. And I’m sure you know exactly who Clyde is,” he adds, frowning at her.
Unbothered by his annoyance, she pushes the beer at me. “You’re new here, so you’ve got to taste my brother’s brew. It’s a rite of passage!”
I raise my eyebrows at him and grab the drink. “You brew your own?”
It’s borderline cute how this big guy gets flustered. “It’s not a big deal. Just good beer.”
But I’ve got no doubt he’s waiting for me to drink some, so I don’t waste time and take a big gulp. I won’t even have to lie. “It is good beer!” I have another gulp. “You’re gonna have to show me how the production is set up.”
I swear a smile is hiding somewhere in that bushy beard. “If you’re still here next week.” He might be saying it that way to sound more threatening, but it’s not an outright rejection. “Listen, man the grill for a bit. I need to go wash these.” He waves with the tongs which had earlier dropped to the ground.
His sister reaches out. “I can do it.”
“You never do it right . I will not be risking cross contamination.”
I have to bite my tongue to not comment on that. “Sure, I can watch over the food.”
He ends up giving me a long fork. “It’s not as good for the purpose, but it will do. I trust you this time, so don’t fuck up,” he adds and walks off with his sister.
I stare at the utensil, overwhelmed by the amount of trust placed in me. Yeti either genuinely wants to give me a chance or is planning to see me fail and shame me in front of everyone. Well, if it’s the latter, I’m not going to give him a chance.
I get to work, watching over each piece of meat as if they were the eggs of a golden goose. While I keep seeking out Road in the crowd, worried what may happen if someone seizes the opportunity to catch me on my own, nobody approaches to make sausage-swallowing jokes. It feeds my hope that maybe, just maybe, I can have a future here, living openly with a man who cares for me as much as I care for him.
A teen girl even approaches for a burger, and I swear her whole group of friends is watching from afar, as if she’s the only one brave enough to enter the lion’s den. What are they expecting I’ll do? Smear her with ketchup?
I make some small talk, compliment her sturdy boots, and send her off with four burgers.
I turn around at the sound of footsteps, ready to serve the next customer, only to still when I see Prophet watching me from up close. Now that the lenses of hate are off, I can see him for what he is—a cornerstone of this community, a strong leader who has the power to direct my fate, and a handsome man. Some would even say more charismatic than my man. Though if I were to choose between Prophet’s occult Viking look and Road’s rough biker charm, I would always pick the latter.
I’m not blind. I know the Vulture president is the kind of guy one could find on a magazine cover, but there is this spark in Road that I was always drawn to. A dangerous edge, and a mischievous glint in those warm hooded eyes. My chest aches, and I wish to make sure he’s within sight, but I can’t focus on that with Prophet standing right in front of me, so I make myself stay with him.
“Glad you’re wearing the amulet,” he says, pushing forward his chin, and I glance down at the necklace given to me earlier. I can’t say I believe it would do anything, but having it around my neck won’t hurt either, so I guess it’s best if the most important man in Vulture Hollow thinks I’m getting on with his program.
“The ones you have,” I say, gesturing at the collection of pendants resting on his chest. “Do they stand for anything specific?”
Hell’s Butchers would frequently mock Prophet for being into spiritual shit, and the whole club for using occult imagery, but if I’m to become a part of this community, I should know more.
I hit the jackpot, because Prophet perks up and grabs one of the pendants. It’s a crude ivory crow hanging from a long chain with some brown beads in it. “So many things, but this one is my destiny. Brigid foresaw it. I will find a bloodstained white crow and it will be my lucky charm. My key to a good fortune I cannot even imagine.”
Does he really believe this is the question, but if my instincts aren’t fooling me, he does. He wouldn’t have tattooed his body with magical symbols if he didn’t. “So wouldn’t that make… Brigid ‘prophet’?”
He raises his finger with a smile. “No. She just recalled what she heard me say in a trance.”
“I could use some drugs like that today.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder, which has to be the first time he’s ever touched me that wasn’t a kick or punch. It’s weird. But maybe… good? Something about its warm weight feels reassuring. “I’m sorry about your home. I don’t love how things developed with you and Road behind my back, but if you are ready to start anew, you are welcome here.”
I turn a burger patty, unsure what to do with such kindness. Do I even deserve it? “I… am ready for change.”
Prophet nods. “Burned land can regain fertility. It’ll be a while, but if you prove your loyalty, we will help you rebuild.”
I want to say something, to react in kind and express how much his help is appreciated, how much Road respects him, but the earnest way he’s looking at me leaves me disarmed. I expected many things from this bonfire, but it wasn’t this . Maybe the Hell’s Butchers had it all wrong, and I missed it, fed by their hate for the Vultures since I was first able to throw a punch?
Had I been a member of this club, could Road and I gotten together much sooner? Of course we would have. He’s like an answer to each of my cravings, and couldn’t be replaced by just anyone. I imagine summers spent by the lake here, first kisses in a hot spring, a fumbling fuck in the caves, and sneaky glances at each other in the canteen.
No point dwelling on that. We would have been different people.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Prophet takes his hand off me to point out a hot dog. “Pass me that one,” he says, but then glances over my shoulder. “Isaac! Come try these. Apparently there’s some secret new seasoning inside.”
Confident, steady strides. I’m curious who this man is, but I don’t want to appear too eager and flip some more meat before turning my attention back to Prophet and the stranger standing next to him in jeans and a checkered shirt with sleeves folded to expose tattooed forearms. He’s a bit older than us, maybe in his forties, and while overall good-looking, he’s not the kind of person who stands out from the crowd. Maybe with the exception of his eyes, which watch me with an intensity most people in Vulture Hollow don’t.
“He’s our mechanic. I’m sure you’ll hear about him a lot, since Road won’t let anyone else touch his ride,” Prophet says and gives Isaac a slap on the back.
“Clyde, right?” Isaac squeezes my hand.
I smile and nod, but as he pulls back his fingers, I stare at them as if frozen in time.
“Road told me you’ll come pick a bike tomorrow. I hope I’m not spoiling a surprise. They still need some work,” he keeps talking, but it’s as though I hear him through glass.
My gaze keeps darting to the spiderwebs on the backs of his hands, the flies captured on them, and the large spider on the left one. I couldn’t possibly be mistaken, could I? I’ve seen these hands in my nightmares too many times to count.
I feel sick, but I don’t know what to do. Frozen as if I’m seventeen again.
I put down the fork even though a part of me wants to stab it into Isaac’s eye. I’m too confused, captured by some primal terror like one of the flies in that inked spiderweb.
“Sorry, Prophet… Could you look after the barbecue? I must have eaten something…” I don’t even finish and walk off in a daze, not daring to look back at Isaac.
Does he recognize me? It was winter. I wore a hat and scarf.
I don’t know what I’ll do, but I can’t be here. I just can’t.