21. Judge
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As Myla snuggles the gift I gave her, her eyes widen comically. I know it’s a sneaky tactic, but I’ve been trying to break down her defenses for a week now, and she hasn’t shown the smallest hint of giving in.
Ever since our last time together, something changed between us and she’s been distant. She’s gone back to how she used to be when we first met. I can’t help but feel hurt because her change in behavior coincided with my most vulnerable confessions. I have to believe this has nothing to do with what we shared, though, because the alternative would destroy me.
My guess is that something about that night made Myla feel things she hadn’t planned on, so she shut down. I should’ve known this would happen. After all, the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior. She’s played this cat-and-mouse game with me for months, and I refuse to let it stop me from pursuing her.
“Why are you giving me a cat?” she asks, but it sounds like an accusation.
“I told you we did a charity run for the animal shelter last weekend. Remember?”
“Okay. That still doesn’t explain why I’m holding the cutest little ball of fluff to ever exist.” The baby voice she uses to describe her new pet is fucking adorable and so out of character. It’s also the reaction I was hoping for. Myla’s quick to shut down each avenue to her authentic self that I try to open, but I know that if I stay the course, she’ll eventually feel safe enough to let me in. Not for a visit or a sneak peek; she’ll let me in for good because I’ll have earned her implicit trust.
“We delivered the check yesterday to take pictures for PR or some shit that Navy’s making us do. She thinks if the general public associates the Sons with saving puppies, it’ll keep attention off the Ranch.”
“Navy’s smart,” she says, flipping the kitten on its back and tickling its belly.
“I guess. Just wish it didn’t involve me standing there holding a giant check and smiling like a tool.” I rest my arm on the back of the couch, my hand hovering just inches away from her body, craving the touch I’ve been denied all week. “Did you know they can’t even cash those things? They’re all for show. After the photo-op, Golden gave her the real check.”
“Did you really think people took four-foot-long checks to the bank?” She shakes her head and huffs. “Stop distracting me from getting an answer to my question. How did you end up with a kitten?”
I shrug. “His litter-mates all found homes, so he was all alone. I asked the lady why he hadn’t been adopted, and she said it’s because his tail is all curled and kinked.”
She picks him up to inspect the issue. “How did that happen?”
“Something about it being too crowded in the womb and his tail getting all curled up and never straightened. I don’t know.”
“And your first thought when you saw a lonely kitten with a birth defect was to adopt it and give it to me?”
“Well, yeah.” I smile sheepishly.
“Smart man.” She kisses the kitten right on the mouth, making me wish I was a damn feline.
“What are you going to name him?”
“I don’t know. Any suggestions?”
“Harley?”
“Hmm. . . what about Ryder?”
“That’s actually perfect.” I point to the two tote bags I left by the door. “There’s a litter box, litter, some food, food bowls, and I don’t fuckin’ know what else in here. I just told the lady at the pet store to give me everything a kitten needs. At one point, I saw her put live grass in here. No idea why.”
“Thank you, Judge,” she says, shooting a smile my way. A surge of determination shoots through me as I realize there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to earn her praise.
“You’re welcome.” I rub my hands together. “Hungry?”
“Actually, yes.” She brings the kitten to the table and sits across from me. It’s the first time she hasn’t snagged the food and eaten it on the couch with her nose buried in her phone. If I’d known a kitten would get me this reaction, I would’ve given her one days ago.
“Fries or onion rings?”
“Half and half.”
I grin and dump half the fries and rings on her spread burger wrapper. “Ranch?”
“I grew up in Utah. Ranch is basically a food group for me.”
I pull a giant stack of the sauce out of the bag and set it in front of her. “Knew you’d say that.”
She studies me while I get myself sorted. The intensity of her stare is palpable, as if she’s trying to read my thoughts. She’s been so skittish around me lately that I resist the urge to call her out on it. So instead, I unwrap my soy protein burger and savor the first bite.
“You really know me, huh?” She cocks her head pensively.
“What?” I ask through a mouthful of burger.
Instead of repeating herself, she asks, “What’s my favorite color?”
“Green, but lately I’m thinking it’s black.” I motion to her head to toe black outfit.
“What’s my favorite food?”
“Pizza dipped in ranch, which makes me sick when you eat it, by the way.”
“What book am I reading right now?”
“Les Misérables, which confused me at first because you strike me as more of a contemporary reader. It’s been so long since I’ve read it that I couldn’t remember the details to figure out what would make you pick up that specific book. But then I reread it, and now I know it’s because Jean Valjean has such an incredible redemption?—”
She claps her hands, scaring the kitten and shutting me up. “This isn’t book club.”
“Sorry.”
“What shampoo do I use?”
I wrinkle my brow, confused by her line of questioning. “I don’t know the brand, but you once told me it was vanilla and cashmere scented. Whatever it is, it smells am?—”
“What’s my favorite TV show?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just tell me.”
“Depends on your mood, though I’m pretty certain you don’t watch TV at all. You just turn it on so you don’t have to talk to me and so you can sit with your own thoughts.” Her expression is unreadable, and I can’t tell if she looks happy or sad or what.
“You know me better than anyone else, even my sister.”
“Those aren’t hard things to know about a person.”
“But they are. The only way you’d know those things is if you really paid attention because you never asked me for the answers to any of those questions. Most people don’t pay any attention to the little things.”
“Are you saying I’m a creeper?”
“Your favorite color is yellow because, of course it is, you cheery motherfucker. Your favorite food is vegetable stir fry. You use an all-in-one shampoo, which is terrible for your hair, by the way. When I turn on the TV, you pick up a book because you don’t watch TV. A month ago, you finally got out of your zombie thriller phase, and now you’re into reading westerns.”
“I guess you know me better than anyone else too,” I say, pleased. She tries her best to make me think her feelings toward me are indifferent at best, but this proves otherwise.
“I don’t know how that happened.”
“I’ve basically forced myself into your apartment almost every day for months now. We were bound to pick up on a few things.”
“I guess so,” she says, but it’s sad.
“For as much as I like to think I know you, you still confuse the hell out of me.” Unable to stop myself, I reach over and cup the back of her neck to stroke my thumb over her cheek. “Why are you upset?”
“I’m not.” She smiles, but it’s flat and weak. “How could I be when I have Ryder now?”
I glance down at the sleeping kitten nestled in the crook of her arm. “I’m glad he makes you happy.”
“He does.” She strokes the kitten’s cheek while I stroke hers. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch to you. I don’t know why you put up with me.”
Because I love you.
“You’re worth it,” is what I say instead.
“You might be the only person who thinks so.”
“That’s not true. I think everyone else is just giving you space. It makes people uncomfortable when they don’t know what to say or do after something like what happened to you happens. They don’t understand that most survivors just want to be treated normally.”
“It’s been a while since your last Judge-ism,” she says in a slightly teasing tone. “Glad they’re back.”
“Glad to be back.”
“Is that why you don’t tell anyone about what happened to you or about what you do to yourself? You don’t want them to treat you differently?”
I tip my head side to side. “Mostly. It’s also just personal.”
“For all intents and purposes, they’re your brothers.”
“They are, but what happened to me was a lifetime ago. I’m not the same person.”
“Do you think they’d be okay with not knowing?”
I think about that and decide they’d be pissed I kept it from them. Wrapping my partially eaten food up in the wrapper, I stick it back in the bag. “You need anything before I take off?”
“You hardly ate.”
“I had a late lunch.” I bend down to kiss the top of her head, and she doesn’t push me away. “See you tomorrow.”
“I have plans tomorrow night.”
It’s her way of telling me she’s ready to cross a name off her list, and my stomach sinks. I know I can’t stop her from doing it, and I’ll worry nonstop while she’s out. “I’ll be here when you get home.”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“Ryder shouldn’t be left alone that long. I’ll cat-sit.”
“Fine, but this isn’t going to be like the other times. I can’t—I mean, we shouldn’t—” She stutters, and it’s adorable.
“You trying to tell me you won’t want to have sex tomorrow night?”
“How is it so easy for you to just say whatever you’re thinking?”
“Practice.” I grab one of her fries and walk to the door. “And as far as me not fucking you tomorrow night, we’ll just see about that.”
After taking a long ride to clear my head, I pull into the parking lot of Dope, the weed shop the club owns and Bones operates. The club doc is who I’d say I’m closest with out of all my brothers, though I’ve been a shit friend as of late, too busy taking care of my hissing kitten, and I don’t mean Ryder. Bones won’t care, though. He never does, mostly because he’s always high and loses track of time, but also because he’s just cool as hell that way.
The skunky, pungent scent gets stronger the closer I get to the entrance of the shop. Doc says he doesn’t even notice it anymore, but I don’t know how because it nearly knocks me to the ground each time I come and see him here.
“Hey, man,” I say to Tobi, a prospect who spends a lot of time guarding the shop. It’s boring as fuck, but that’s what prospects are for—to do all the shit none of us want to do.
“Hey.”
“Have you been hitting the gym?” I squeeze his bicep playfully. Being twice his age makes me feel more like a parent to most of the prospects. Laughing, he gives me a shove that’d get him in trouble with the other guys, but they’re the bad cops, and I’m the good one.
“Could you tell, really? Or were you just playin’?” he calls out as I walk away. “’Cause you can catch me at the gym every day now.”
I laugh, not answering because I know it’ll drive him crazy. There are a couple regular employees behind the counter helping customers and one I haven’t met before who is cleaning the glass case. She has long, pin-straight strawberry-blonde hair, is tall and willowy, and has more freckles than I’ve ever seen on a person. There’s no doubt she’s beautiful but in a very hippie way. She’s wearing a crocheted vest over a long, flowy cream dress that hides any shape she might have.
“Let me guess.” She holds a finger to her bottom lip. “You’re Judge.”
“Not a guess when I’m basically wearing a name tag.” I point to my patch, grinning.
“Okay, yes, but even without it, I would’ve known. Bones talks about you all the time.”
“Where is the bastard, anyway?”
“Office.”
“Thanks.” I walk behind the counter and down the hall, past fire-safe rooms that house Doc’s weed, until I reach an open door with smoke billowing out. I wave a path through the door, finding him kicked back, a fat blunt between his fingers. “You’re not supposed to smoke inside.”
“I deserve this shit. It’s been a day, brother.” He takes a long drag, ducking his chin as he holds it in for long seconds before blowing it out in a cloudy haze. It cracks me up that Navy and Tinleigh call him Jesus Biker. I guess I can understand because of his long hair, beard, and tall, slim build, but he has multiple facial piercings and is always smoking weed. Add in the fact that there’s no way Jesus was a white dude, and I’m pretty sure none of Doc’s traits are Christ-like.
“What happened?” I take a seat on the comfy sofa opposite his desk.
“DPBH showed up for an annual inspection without notice.”
“Shit. Everything go okay?”
“Yeah. Had my asshole puckered up tight, though.” He drops the blunt into a glass doob tube and pops the cap on it. “You look like you’ve been clenching too. What’s up?”
“Just haven’t seen you in a while. How’s the crop going?” I ask, knowing Bones loves to talk about his new venture. He petitioned the county to get a grower’s license recently and now has a grow facility out back. Most cannabis these days is grown under grow lights, but Bones has a vision. He’s using organic soil and mostly all-natural light to grow his flowers. It’s a high-tech yet back-to-basics approach that attracts enthusiasts from all over for tours and to try his product.
“It’s awesome. We’re yielding more bud than we anticipated and are going to start making our own edibles.”
“We, huh?” I lift my brows. The club owns Dope, but Bones staked his claim, and we leave him to it. I help him out when he needs it, but mostly, it’s him and the prospects who keep this place going. At least until he got the grower’s license. That required a couple new employees he bitches nonstop about. “Meaning you and that flower child out there?”
“She’s sweet, huh?” He grins.
“You’re fucking your employee?”
He hushes me, getting up to shut the door. “Shut the fuck up. The whole place doesn’t need to know my business.” Sitting back down, his grin returns. “But to answer your question, hell yeah, I am. She’s a yogi, so I can bend her body into any shape I want. It makes up for the hair.”
“Hair?” I ask, amused.
“She doesn’t shave.” He lowers his voice. “Anywhere.”
“Anywhere?”
“Nope, but it’s fine. I’m saving money on dental floss.”
It takes me a minute to catch his meaning, and then I wince. “Fuckin’ sick, brother. I didn’t need to know that.”
“You asked.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
He chuckles before kicking back again. “Why are you really here?”
“I’ve been spending a lot of time with Myla. We’ve gotten close, you know?”
“You fucked her. I knew it. Satyr owes me a C-note.”
“You bet on me sleeping with Myla?”
“Hells yeah.”
I shake my head, irritated but not wanting to get sidetracked. “Anyway, she shared a bunch of shit with me that brought up some of my own shit. It’s been good, you know? I didn’t realize I still had stuff bothering me from when I was a kid.”
He sobers up, taking the conversation seriously now. “Oh yeah? You never talk about anything that happened before you joined the club. It’s good she’s been there for you like that.”
“I agree.” I rest my forearms on my thighs, looking down at my shoes. “She made me realize that maybe I need to talk about it more. Like, with you guys and stuff.”
“Yeah, man. You’re my brother; you should be able to tell me anything.” He moves to the sofa next to me. “I knew your childhood must’ve been bad if you not only avoided it but refused to say a word about it.”
“It was bad, and if you have some time right now, I think you should know.” It feels so fucking awkward to talk like this, but not because none of us share how we grew up or other personal stuff. It’s just, that’s usually discussed while having drinks at the clubhouse and with an edge of humor. There’s nothing funny about what I’m about to tell him, though.
“I got all the time in the world for you, brother.”
For the next hour, I opened up to someone for the second time, sharing all the trauma and abuse from my childhood and how I’ve been coping with the sins of the club. I tell him everything except what I’ve done with Myla behind closed doors. That’s no one’s business but our own. By the time I leave Dope that night, I’m exhausted but relieved as hell. Doc wasn’t mad I kept this secret for so long, and he vowed to be there with me when I told the rest of the club.
I drive home feeling proud of myself. This isn’t something I thought I’d ever do; it felt too big, too embarrassing, and too risky, but Myla was right. They deserved to know.
That woman is good for me in so many ways. There’s no way I’ll ever let her go.