LULA
Jarred was itching to lecture me about what happened today. Devin’s presence kept my ex-husband’s mouth shut. As Jarred cleaned my feet, I called our daughter.
“I’m banged up but okay,” I told Dillon.
“You’ll be home soon. If you’re lying, I’ll know. You'd best tell me the truth now when I have time to process it.”
“I’m not lying,” I said, smiling at her lawyer-like reasoning. “My feet are scraped up.”
“Why?”
“I lost my shoes in the parking garage.”
“Did they torture you?”
“No, I was dragged over rough ground and hurt the bottom of my feet. I’m also a little bruised in other places. Nothing’s broken. Like you pointed out, you’ll see me soon and will sniff out if I’m lying.”
“I will,” Dillon said, sounding younger suddenly. “Are you really okay?”
“Yes. Physically, anyway. Mentally, I’ll need to hide at the house and watch fun movies to help me feel better.”
“I’ll make the popcorn,” Dillon said, and I noticed her voice crack.
Jarred and I shared a worried look before I promised our daughter that I would be home soon.
“Your parents are here,” Devin told me as if sensing I needed a distraction.
Pax and Bebe soon sandwiched my body, refusing to let go.
“You are okay,” Pax insisted, sounding angry.
“So are you,” I growled back at him.
Smiling at me, he stroked my head and then did the same to my teary-eyed mom.
“Tell me the truth,” I whispered to them. “Are Cher and Stevie okay?”
Bebe looked me in the eyes. “They’re alive. Stevie should recover. Cher is still touch and go.”
Exhaling deeply, I struggled with the answer to a question haunting me for hours. “I couldn’t save them, but they tried their hardest to save me. I want to see them as soon as we return to Little Memphis. That way, I can stay home with Dillon for a while without feeling guilty.”
Pax didn’t agree with my idea. He wanted to lock me away, likely at my parents’ house.
My dad had long believed I was more fragile than my siblings.
He always claimed my blood father’s bad genes meant I needed extra protection.
In reality, Pax nearly lost me when I was three years old.
A part of him had never let go of that fear.
After my feet were treated, bandaged, and covered in hospital socks, Jarred gave me a pep talk about resting.
“I’ll drive up in a few days to check your feet.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“I want to see Dillon,” he said as if I were an afterthought.
Refusing to show my cards, I replied, “She’ll like that.”
As my parents watched our polite divorced-couple chatter, I could feel Pax fighting an eye roll. My dad always viewed Jarred as a nerd.
I hugged Devin goodbye before moving to a hospital side exit where a white SUV waited. Bebe slid in next to me with Pax walking around to the other side. My parents kept me secure between them. Even at thirty-seven, I was still their kid in need of cuddling.
Clint drove the SUV while speaking on the phone with Rock Savo.
The club’s VP updated us on everyone’s location and situation.
Cher and Stevie were out of surgery. Their parents–Hazard and Anise—had traveled from Rawlins to Little Memphis.
Graham and Farley were acting as security at the hospital.
Sabrina and Goldie had started rounding up information from hotels where the shooters had apparently stayed the night before.
“The local cops are keeping things quiet by referring to it as gang violence. State media barely mentioned it on the evening news. However, we’re bound to have federal eyes on us for a while since seven people died in that garage.
Fortunately, we got to the old lady and her daughter before they could start blabbing.
We paid them to stay quiet and implied that talking to the media could lead to someone wanting to silence them. The usual shit.”
As the men discussed the situation back in Little Memphis, I glanced out the window to see if I could spot Exile within the dozen bikers escorting the SUV.
As if beckoned by my interest, Exile rode past on the left. When we stopped at a light, he idled nearby. I admired his powerful build and how he held himself.
Guys like my brother moved loosey-goosey—as Rowdy liked to call it—because he had no reason to be tense. Exile, though, seemed to control his every muscle, always aware, never relaxed.
I let myself remember how my arms felt around his hard body. Desire seemed wrong in a stressful time like this one. However, the alternative to fantasizing about Exile under me in bed would be to recall the horrifying sight of Cher’s body crashing to the ground.
My exhausted mind chose to admire Exile for the short ride to the nearby airport strip where the club’s helicopter waited.
There was something extra sexy about his refusal to take off his damn cowboy hat.
I was curious to know more about the man beyond what I recalled from his file.
Knowing his stats couldn’t answer what his lips tasted like.
Or what movies made him sleepy, or if he was allergic to anything.
I craved the knowledge that only came from spending time with another person.
However, our time together was nearly over. I gave him a quick, grateful glance as Pax and Bebe flanked me on the walk to the helicopter. Despite the fleetness of my glimpse, I knew Exile had been looking. He was curious about me, too.
During the flight home, Clint texted our allies in Little Memphis and Rawlins. Pax held one of my hands. Bebe cradled the other. I used the helicopter noise to keep from speaking. Instead, I asked myself why I was so infatuated by Exile.
Romance had never interested me. I’d dated and married Jarred almost as a part of my to-do list to become a successful adult. I had something to prove, I guess. The maternal side of my family never amounted to anything before Bebe.
A part of me never loved Jarred in the romantic sense. I cared for him. He fit the life I wanted, but I never felt any butterflies in my stomach, nor did I swoon over his sweet gestures.
With Exile, I’d become very aware of his masculine beauty. Under different circumstances, I might have flirted. I couldn’t imagine being any good at it, but it’d be worth trying to keep him around longer.
I wasn’t totally blind to how my infatuation with Exile did a proper job of distracting me from the current conditions of Cher and Stevie. Or the trauma of being manhandled and stolen away by armed men. If I focused on handsome Exile, I might forget about the last twenty-four hours.
Was my desire for Exile simply a coping mechanism?
I wasn’t a particularly romantic person.
When Clint met a woman in a gas station and decided Ivy was his “soul mate,” I thought he was having a breakdown.
Or lying about how they knew each other.
I was completely unable to wrap my head around how a rational man could get so worked up so quickly over a woman.
Realizing I might have imagined the connection with Exile to soothe my guilt, I fell into a dark mood. I wanted the biker to be special. The desire I felt for him filled me with hope. But I didn’t trust that I was capable of such instant attraction.
When my parents sensed my depression, they scooted closer until I was squished between their bodies.
“Why don’t we go to the hospital tomorrow?” Bebe suggested. “Cher and Stevie have only been out of surgery for a short time. We might disturb them if we visit right now.”
Nodding, I decided to follow my parents’ lead and agreed to stay at their house rather than mine.
An SUV driven by my dad’s former club brother waited for us at the airport. Lucky drove us to the Sleepy Eye Community, where he lived on the other side of the lake.
As Clint walked next door to his parents’ place, I followed my parents inside their two-story brick-and-shingle house. My uncle sat in a chair in the oversized family room, watching a soccer game on the TV perched over the stone fireplace.
Ford’s gray hair hit his shoulders, and his gray beard was thick. Unlike Pax, my uncle didn’t look so wild, but he remained an impressive and intimidating man.
Right now, Ford gestured toward the couch, where Dillon was curled up asleep.
My daughter had hit that often awkward age, locked between child and teenager.
At eleven, she had begun wearing the tiniest bit of makeup, yet she was also obsessed with TeeTurtle plushies.
Her favorite was the Patrick Star doll that Pax bought her on her last birthday.
He kept doing his impression of the “SpongeBob SquarePants” character all day until she basically glued herself to him.
Right now, the Patrick Star plushie was pressed against her chest as she slept. Her silky brown hair partially covered her face. Waking her gently, I pulled the blanket back. Dillon’s brown eyes popped open, and she bounced up.
Despite being startled to find us staring down at her, she instantly demanded, “Let me see your feet.”
“We’ll move to the guest room and talk there,” I whispered since my parents’ two foster kids were likely asleep in their rooms. “I need to clean up. Can you help me?”
“Should I come?” Bebe offered in a way that made me think she’d cry if I said no.
Soon, I was washed up and cuddled on the guest bed between Bebe and Dillon. I held my daughter’s hand and stared into her sleepy eyes.
Dillon was a tough, no-nonsense kid. When Jarred and I divorced, she decided she liked the idea of having two bedrooms. When Jarred married Alani Savo, she was happy to have a fun stepmom who cooked well. When her siblings were born, she never suffered any jealousy toward the younger kids.
I was the same way as a child, always rushing to prove I wasn’t scared or bothered by things that ought to scare or bother me. Inside, though, I had felt every bit of pain I hid from others.