Chapter Five
“ L ee, get your ass out here.” I rub my head.
“What?” he says, coming around the corner.
I frown at the hole in his T-shirt. I wish we could throw away our worn-out clothes, but that’s not possible. Not with no money to replace it. It makes me worry about Lee. I know he gets picked on at school. At sixteen, I know it’s not easy being looked down on.
“Do the dishes. I don’t ask for much from you, but I can’t do everything. If you leave them, Mom will come home and do them, and she needs to rest when she can. She never gets enough sleep.”
He scoffs, but shuffles over to the sink to do as I ask. As he does, I move to the counter and look through the mail. Most of it is junk, but one with big red writing on it draws my attention.
Looking over my shoulder at Lee, I open it as quietly as I can.
If we do not receive payment in the next five business days, water service will be discontinued.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel like I’m constantly robbing Peter to pay Paul, only to find that John needed money too. It’s exhausting.
I know it’s worse for my mom. She hates that I worry about any of this, but I need to. If I don’t, she will kill herself trying to keep it from touching us.
The only thing we agree on is keeping Lee out of it. Giving him the best shot at a bright future, one neither of us has been able to obtain yet.
“Everything okay, SoSo?” Lee asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
I shove the letter under my arm.
“Great. I need to get to work. Do you need money for lunch?” I ask, pulling out the last five dollars I have.
“You keep it.”
I shake my head. “No way. You take it.”
He nods, putting it in his pocket as he heads back to his bedroom.
Looking up to the ceiling, I take a deep breath, willing the tears not to come. I feel like I try so hard, and yet it’s never enough. I can never get caught up.
A hopeless feeling starts to settle in, but I can’t focus on it. I have to get to work.
As I head out to my car, I wave at my neighbor, Shirley. She’s lived here longer than us. She’s retired now and spends all of her time watering her flowers or working in her garden out back.
Slipping into the driver’s seat, I try to turn the car on.
Nothing.
I try again.
Still nothing.
My heart is pounding in my chest.
I watch as Lee comes out. He waves as he heads down the sidewalk toward school. I wait until he is gone before I lose it.
The tears start to fall freely as I pound on the steering wheel.
Why can’t anything go right for me? What did I do to deserve such a hard life?
It’s the same feelings that consume me over and over again. The idea that somehow life hates me.
I let myself have a pity party for about three minutes. Then I slow my breathing and dry my face.
No point in crying over spilled milk. Nothing can change it. All you can do is move forward.
Still, the release of emotions is good for me. Helps calm me.
Getting out of the car, I move toward the hood.
I see right away what’s wrong. The motor is blown. There’s nothing I can do about it right now.
Walking next door, I lean against the fence separating our properties. “Hey Shirley, do you think you could give me a ride to work? My car won’t start.”
“Of course, dear. Let me go grab my keys.”
As she does, I shoot a text to my mom and Lee letting them know the car is broken down in the driveway and I’m getting a ride so they don’t worry.
When Shirley comes out, I follow her to her car.
“Where are we headed?” she asks once we get in.
“Saint’s Garage. I can direct you.”
She smiles. “No need. I know where they are. Such nice gentlemen there. My radiator blew last year, and one of them stopped on the side of the road to help me. He stayed with me until he could get his guys there to get my car and then let me ride in the tow truck with them. When I went to pay, they waived the fee. Said that it was community outreach. I drop off goodies to them from time to time. I didn’t realize you were working there.”
My heart warms at her image of them. I wonder which one stopped for her. I can see Fox or Smoke doing it. Maybe even Jagger.
“I’m a mechanic there. I really enjoy it. Do you by chance remember the name of who helped you?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
“Oh yes. Nice young man. Looked like a big teddy bear if you ask me. His name was Gunner.”
My mouth about drops open.
Gunner? Nice?
Something on my face must show because she laughs.
“I know the beard and tattoos make him look tough, especially with the whole biker thing, but not all books should be judged based on their covers, sweetie. I’m sure you know that. You work with him, don’t you?”
I force a smile. “Yeah. He is great. I’m glad he helped you.”
She prattles on the rest of the drive, but my mind is still on Gunner.
When we pull up, I watch him frown at the car. When I get out, he looks at me.
“Thanks, Shirley.”
“You’re welcome, dear,” she tells me, but waves at Gunner.
He smiles, waving at her, but it drops when he looks back at me.
I watch her leave, then walk to the garage.
“Why are you riding around with Mrs. Langston?” he questions.
I could tell him about my car. I could unload on him. He can take it, but I won’t. I refuse to lash out at him or show him my vulnerable side.
“None of your business,” I snap instead, stalking past him.
Not that my thoughts leave him. I cannot come to terms with the man I know and the one Shirley spoke of. It’s like they are two different people.
Thankfully, he lets me go.
Now if only he would get out of my head.
Sloane has been on some shit today. Her poor attitude is only making mine worse.
Usually she is sarcastic and snarky, but today she’s being quiet and keeping to herself. When she does speak to anyone, she is short with them. Even the guys seem to be able to tell something is wrong with her. They have all been giving her a wide berth while sharing concerned looks.
I’ve been keeping an eye on her throughout the day, but other than her piss-poor attitude, she seems normal.
Part of me wonders if she got into a fight with someone. Maybe a boyfriend? I hope not. Not because I want her, but she is one of ours now, which means I’d have to kick some kids ass.
“Seriously?” I hear Sloane mutter.
I look over at her from my station. The oil she was draining spilled onto the floor. She is standing there taking several deep breaths while she rubs her head.
Fox makes his way over, speaking to her low enough that I can’t hear him. She shakes her head before bending down to clean up her mess.
Fox walks over to me. “I’m done for the day. Do you think she’s okay? She on the rag or something?”
I snort. “Don’t let her hear you ask that. Whether she is or not, she will likely slice your dick off.”
He covers his junk. “I think I better get out of here. I don’t know how to handle an angry woman.”
I shake my head as he walks out the bay door, leaving me alone with Sloane. I wait until she’s done cleaning up her mess before I make my way over to her.
“It’s time to clock out,” I tell her.
She huffs, “I’m not done. I have this one and the Camry.”
“It can be done tomorrow. Go home.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“That’s bullshit. You just want an excuse to write me up. Mr. Franklin wants to pick his car up when we open, so I’m going to do it tonight. If you have somewhere to be, feel free to go. I can lock up. That is, unless you don’t trust me. If that’s the case, maybe I’m working at the wrong place.”
Her chest is rising with each breath as she rants, and it takes me aback. Usually, I would be waiting to use this against her to get rid of her, but for some reason, her attitude isn’t sitting right with me. What happened that made her so ready to lash out this way? Does this have anything to do with her getting a ride to work this morning?
“You’re being dramatic. It’s ten minutes to close. I can finish the last oil change if it’s that important. You seem like you’ve had a rough day. Go home.”
“I’m finishing Mr. Franklin’s car.”
Sighing, I finally concede. “Very well.”
Turning, I leave her to her devices, but I keep an eye on her. It only takes her another twenty minutes to finish the car she was working on and Mr. Franklin’s car.
While she cleans up, I start shutting everything down.
She stops by me at the last bay door I left open.
“Thank you. Sorry I snapped at you.”
An apology from her is shocking. She rarely offers them up.
She doesn’t wait for a response either. She starts walking toward the parking lot. It’s then that I realize there is no car. No one is waiting for her.
I fold my arms and lean against the jamb while she waits for her ride.
Only she isn’t waiting for a ride. She keeps walking past the driveway and out onto the road.
I’m flabbergasted by the fact that she seems to be walking home. I know she doesn’t live close. She’s mentioned the area of town she lives in a few times with the guys.
Is she crazy?
Indecision wars within me. Part of me feels like she’s not my problem. If she wants to walk home on a back road out in the middle of nowhere, then she should go for it. Then there’s this other part of me that feels protective of her. Almost as if Smoke telling me she is ours changed something inside of my DNA. It’s making me want to follow her and make sure she doesn’t get hurt.
I feel this itchy feeling under my skin as she gets further away. The need to run after her is riding me hard.
I close up the last bay of the garage before looking down the road one last time. I can no longer see her.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I head toward my bike.
Climbing on, I pull my helmet onto my head, not bothering to latch it. Then I take off.
As soon as I turn onto the road, I can see her. She’s walking, not even looking back to see who is coming. I could be anyone, but she wouldn’t know that. Not with her not paying attention to the oncoming traffic.
I wait until I’m just ahead of her before I screech to a stop, pulling off my helmet. Then I turn off the bike.
“Where the fuck do you think you are going?” I hiss at her.
She comes to a stop next to my bike.
“Home. Isn’t that what you’ve been asking me to do for the last forty-five minutes or so?” She puts her hands on her hips.
“You live miles from here. You gonna walk the whole way?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “If I have to.”
“Stupid, stupid girl,” I mutter.
She straightens up, her shoulder pulling back. “Don’t call me stupid.”
“Don’t do stupid shit. Haven’t you ever heard the saying play stupid games, win stupid prizes? What do you think is going to happen to a good-looking young woman like yourself walking down a back road?” I glare at her.
“Nothing. No one drives down here. If they do, they won’t bother me.”
“Stupid and naive. A dangerous combination. I know you are smarter than this, Sloane. Get on the fucking bike,” I growl.
“Excuse me? You insult me and then think I want to get on that death trap with you?” She folds her arms over her chest.
“I am not fucking playing, Sloane. You aren’t walking home. Where is your car anyway?”
“It broke down this morning.” She looks away, almost embarrassed.
“You’re a mechanic. Are you telling me you can’t fix it?” I quirk an eyebrow.
She has been begging me to let her do more than oil changes, but she can’t fix her own car?
“The motor blew. I don’t have the money for a new one yet. I can fix it, though.”
My anger starts to fade a little. Sloane is a proud woman. Not willing to ask for help. She could have asked any one of us to give her a ride home, but she’d rather walk than admit that she needs help.
She is so used to being tough that she refuses to let herself be vulnerable for even a second. It resonates inside of me. I’ve been there.
Running my hand down my face, I look over at her. “Please get on the bike. You can even have my helmet. I can’t let you walk home. So either you get on or I follow you anyway. Fair warning, if I have to follow you, I’m going to be pissed.”
“When aren’t you? You’re always grumpy. I should get on just to save myself from hearing you bitch and complain the whole way.”
“Yeah, you should. So get on.” I hold the helmet out to her.
She looks down the road one last time before she grabs the helmet. I watch as she places it on her head and does up the strap.
“I swear if you drive like an idiot, I will nut punch you so hard you’ll be coughing up semen for weeks.” She tells me, grabbing onto my shoulder to climb on behind me.
“Yes, ma’am. Hold on tight.” I reach behind, grabbing her arms to wrap them around me. She squeezes me a moment, sending shivers down my spine.
I’ve never had a woman on the back of my bike. Some of the other guys use it as a way to entice women to sleep with them, but I’ve held steady that a woman only belongs on your bike if she means something to you.
So why the hell is Sloane on the back of my bike now?
I refuse to acknowledge that the brat has wormed her way so deep under my skin that I would rather break my rule than let her put herself into a dangerous situation.
Instead, I crank the bike, taking off fast enough to make her hold me tighter.