33. Judge
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The woods wake up as I sip coffee on my porch for the last time for who knows how long. It’s still dark, but the birds are chirping up a storm, and I hear little critters scuttling around behind my cabin. After finally coming to peace with my decision, I slept the best I had since Myla left. Or maybe I left her first, I don’t fucking know.
The sleep was needed so I can make it to the other side of the state today. Our chapter in Vegas is expecting me. Raunchy, their club president, offered me a room for however long I wanted to stay. Pretty sure that’ll only be a night, since they’re not known for having a tranquil clubhouse. It’ll be good for a night, though. After that, I think I’ll hit up the Phoenix chapter, then maybe New Mexico, where I’ll probably stay through winter. Fall is coming faster than I’d be able to travel east and back again, so I’ll wait until spring for that. I could go to Mexico for the winter. That’d be nice.
I hear a door open to my left and see Riot step out to have a smoke with his own cup of coffee in hand. Raising my cup to him, I salute before going back to enjoying this moment. I’ve taken trips before, some that lasted a month or more, so I don’t know why this feels so different. It’s not like I won’t be back at some point, my cabin and all my furniture that was once loved still waiting for me.
Yet, it does feel different. I’m leaving behind half my heart. Myla doesn’t even know she owns it, but I hope whenever she’s scared or lonely or just missing me, it’ll help get her through. I went by her place yesterday, just to say goodbye, but she either wasn’t there or didn’t want to see me. I guess she could’ve been out with someone. I guess that’s none of my business anymore, no matter how much I want it to be.
“You leavin’ today?” Riot asks, walking over to join me.
“Yeah.”
“Well, shit. I’m gonna miss having a neighbor.”
“No, you won’t.”
He chuckles, all raspy from too many cigarettes and too much booze. “Yeah, you’re right. I won’t.”
“Asshole,” I say in jest.
“Heard your girl is gonna be our new prospect. That true?”
He sounds way too thrilled about that, which sets me on edge. “Leave her the fuck alone.”
“Hey, hey. I was just askin’.”
“I do need you to help her with something, though.”
One brow quirks. “What’s that?”
“She’s got a list of assholes she wants to kill, pedophiles and abusers, assholes like that.”
“Fuck.”
“I need you to back her up, make sure she doesn’t get herself in trouble. Can you do that?” I peer over at him as I take a sip of coffee.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good.”
“All right, well. Be safe.” He opens one arm wide, and I stand, giving him the customary man hug. He’s not one to like being touched, so this is a big deal.
“Thanks, bro. See ya later.”
“Yeah, later.” He waves as he makes his way back to his cabin, going back inside.
See? I can do this. I can say goodbye to everything and everyone I love. It’s temporary.
Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll be true. With the sun now starting to crest, it’s time for me to get on the road. I wash my mug and set it on the drying rack, then I’m out the door with two bags of my essentials that I’ll stuff in the new saddlebags I picked up.
I don’t expect anyone to be awake as I leave, but I walk through the clubhouse anyway. I guess I was hoping maybe someone would be waiting. All’s quiet, though. Goodbyes aren’t really a thing for bikers, and everyone already gave me the customary “keep the rubber side down” last night. It’s fine.
Walking back outside through the main door, I’m balancing my bags on one arm while trying to dig my key out of my pocket when I get a feeling there are eyes on me. I look up and suck in a sharp breath when I see Myla leaning against my bike.
She looks so fucking good. Her black hair is a little darker than the last time I saw her; it might even have a blue hue to it, though it’s hard to see under the fluorescent motion lights in the lot. My mouth goes dry as I take in her black jeans, leather boots, long sleeve black shirt, and black leather vest with a prospect patch. Shit, I didn’t know what a turn-on it would be seeing her in a cut, but my pants are real snug right now.
I can’t tell from her expression if this is a sad visit or a happy one. Her lips, the ones I’ve been dreaming of kissing just one more time, are in a flat line, but her eyes are lifted the way they get when she’s excited. It’s anyone’s guess how this’ll go, so I keep my own emotions to myself.
“Hey, Judge. Heard you were skipping town,” she says, and fuck, I’ve missed her voice. Mostly hearing it calling my name or telling me how good I’m making her feel, but this is good too.
“I am.” Standing three feet from her, I set my bags down. “You here to say goodbye or to tell me to get lost?”
“Neither, actually,” she says, confusing me.
“Then why are you here?”
“Well, first, because I missed you.” The words feel like she’s tossing me a live grenade. I need to tread lightly so I don’t get my hopes up and be forced to watch as my whole world explodes again.
“And second?”
“Because I have a confession.” She grins like this is a game, making me relax a fraction.
“Oh yeah? Have you sinned?”
Her smile broadens. “I’ve been stubborn and petty, holding a grudge against someone I love.”
She has to be talking about me, right? I inch closer, hoping my assumption is right. “That’s not very Christlike of you.”
“I know, and it’s come to my attention that, even though I was being awful and shutting that person out, they were still looking out for me and trying to keep me safe.”
“Sounds like someone who loves you.” I step another couple of inches closer, feeling less like it’s a live grenade she’s giving me and more like it’s an olive branch.
Her face scrunches. “Yeah, that really made me feel like a piece of shit.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Not yet, but I’m getting to it.” She reaches for my hand and tugs me the rest of the way to her. “My next confession is that I’ve been keeping something from someone. Is that the same as a lie?”
“Depends. It could be a lie of omission, which is technically still a lie.”
“Can I tell you the situation, and then you can let me know if I need to confess or not?”
“Sure.”
“I knew not just any apology would do because I know I hurt this person deeply, and they didn’t deserve any of it.” She grips each side of my cut in her small hands, keeping me close. “And I had to do it quick because they were planning on skipping town, and I couldn’t let them leave without knowing how sorry I was.”
I tuck her hair behind her ears, getting lost in her pale blue eyes that are such a striking contrast to the color of her hair. “I think you’re doing all you can for penance.”
“I thought hard about how amazing this person is and what incredible gifts they have to offer. Not just to me, but to the community. That had me thinking big, so I called in some reinforcements and, in less than forty-eight hours, we did it. Or, at least, as much as we could under that time crunch.”
My brows knit together. “What did you do?”
“Instead of telling you, can I show you?”
“Sure.” I look around for a car I don’t recognize. “Have you gotten a new car yet?”
“Yeah, but I was hoping you’d take me for a ride.”
“Can you? With your arm, I mean?”
“Oh yeah. I still have a little healing to do, but I can hold on to you just fine.”
Thinking about her pressed to my back for one last ride seems too good to be true, so I don’t waste time shoving my stuff in my saddlebags. After straddling the bike, I hold a hand out to help her on. She’s scowling at the new leather bags as if they’ve offended her, but when she sees my hand, she’s quick to shake it off and hop on.
Does she not want me to go? Would I stay if she asked me to?
After getting our helmets on, her arms go around me, one hand resting over my heart as she squeezes me tighter than needed for a ride. This is a hug. I set my hand over hers and close my eyes, taking a minute to just be here with her. Our breaths sync, my mind clears, and my soul feels at ease for the first time in a long time. I don’t know what she has planned or what will happen after that, but I push away all worry so I can simply enjoy each minute with the love of my life, no matter how this ends.
Eventually, her hold loosens, and the moment is over, but before she can move her hand, I turn it over and place a kiss on the inside of her wrist.
“Where to?” I ask.
“1800 Geiger Grade Road.”
I know the general area, so I start my bike, and we take off. Even though I know she’s comfortable on a bike, she keeps her front pressed against my back as much as the helmets allow. Surely, if she was just coming to say goodbye, she’d keep her distance, right? Or maybe she wants to memorize how it feels for when we’re not together. We’ve spent too much time apart for me to get a read on her.
The ride is over too quickly as I pull into a parking lot. In the twenty minutes it took us to get here, the sun has risen enough to shine morning light, and confusion sets in, because why are we here? The single-story house with a cross-gabled roof has survived the commercial change in this neighborhood that was once filled with houses just like it. Well, it mostly made it through because it’s not a house anymore; it’s a church.
A large white cross is affixed to the siding, and two more crosses are on the white, wooden, side-by-side entrance doors. Myla wants to go to church with me before I leave? There’s no way. This isn’t even the kind of church I would go to, let alone her. I prefer something more Unitarian and inclusive—if I even wanted to go church, which I don’t. Especially right now.
Once our helmets are off, Myla grabs my hand, a big smile on her face as she tugs me forward. “Come on.”
“Myla, I don’t?—”
“Trust me?” There’s not a trace of darkness in her big blue eyes, despite everything she’s been through. I admire that about her. She could’ve easily turned into someone like Riot, who exudes no light.
“Always,” I say.
“Good. Now come on.”
I catch up to her but keep her hand in mine, taking advantage of the fact that she’s allowing it simply because she wants me to follow her into this building. Maybe that’s wrong of me, but I don’t care.
We reach the front door, and I take in all the usual signage of a church: the time of their services, an All are Welcome poster, and a Jesus Loves You placard. I notice Thursday mornings at the butt crack of dawn is not one of the times they worship, confusing me even more.
Myla digs through her pocket, the tight fit of her jeans and the ridiculously small size of the pocket making it challenging. I watch, no idea what she could be searching for.
“Ah-ha!” She pulls out a silver keyring with a dull brass key attached. I open my mouth to ask her what the hell is going on, but she holds a finger to my lips, cutting me off. “Before you say anything, I need you to hear me out. Okay?” My interest in whatever this is has me nodding in agreement, which makes her smile. “Good.”
She walks in first once the door is unlocked and I follow. It’s dark inside, too dark for me to see much, as Myla pats the walls, looking for a light switch. Fluorescent lights bathe the entryway. To my left is another set of side-by-side wooden doors stained red oak. There’s a room to my right with a closed door and straight ahead is an open space with a living room feel. There are two green velvet sofas facing each other and a couple leather chairs on each end with a coffee table in the middle. On the white walls are large paintings of Jesus and various crucifixes, and tightly woven beige carpeting covers on the floor throughout.
“I don’t get it,” I say, turning to Myla, who’s watching me explore.
“When Cy came to ask me to prospect, I asked him how you were. I’d been avoiding asking anyone about you because I knew they’d tell me something that’d douse my anger, and I wanted to be angry. I wanted to stew in my misery and not care about anything or anyone. Until Cy told me you suggested I prospect.” Her fingers reverently trace over her patch. “He didn’t tell me why, but I knew it was you trying to keep me safe.”
“It’s all I ever wanted for you.”
“And just like that, my anger simmered, and I realized it wasn’t even you I was angry at. I was angry at myself for getting caught and, in turn, putting myself in a situation I couldn’t control. You were just a scapegoat. I mean, yes, I was mad that you left me at a very vulnerable moment, but that was secondary.”
“I’m sorry, Myla. You’re right. I shouldn’t have left so soon after you were hurt, and especially not right after we admitted our feelings to each other. I should’ve dropped the subject and waited until things had calmed down to discuss it again,” I say.
“And I’m sorry I shut you out.” She peers up at me through her lashes, and I can’t help it. I close the distance between us and cradle her face in my hands, stopping just inches from her lips.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes,” she whispers, and I kiss her hard and fast.
Her hands slip under my shirt and run up and down my back. I don’t even feel the need to pull away because even though the skin is marred and ugly, she touches me like I’m perfect.
Our lips meld together until I don’t know where she ends and I begin as I weave my fingers into the hair at the base of her skull and close my hands into fists. My desperation for her is showing, but I can’t hold it in. I slip my tongue through her parted lips, tasting her, and fuck, does she taste good.
I briefly wonder how she’d feel about being fucked in a church when her hands move to my chest, and she gently pushes us apart. Loosening my hold on her hair, I lower my hands to her shoulders and open my eyes, seeing the same lust I feel reflected on her pretty face.
“I need to tell you the rest first,” she says through panting breaths.
I step back to keep my wandering hands off her. “Okay.”
“Like I said, before Cy left, he told me you were leaving. I asked him why, and he said it was because you felt lost. Hearing that nearly broke my heart. But then he said you were going nomad, and my heart didn’t just break—it shattered. That’s not who you are. You need people and conversation and community. There’s no way you can have the kind of meaningful relationships you crave if you’re jumping from place to place. That would kill you.”
My hands itch to touch her, to show her how much it means that she paid as much attention to me as I did to her because she’s right about all of it. I know going nomad isn’t right for me, but my choices were grim. I could stay and run the risk of seeing her each day, or I could leave and cut myself off from everyone who means something to me. Either way, a piece of me would die.
“It would be worse to see you every day, knowing I can’t have you,” I admit.
“I didn’t want to prospect for the same reason—until I thought about it and realized you found a way to make us both happy, so there’s no reason we can’t be together.” She tentatively closes the distance between us and takes my hands in hers.
“Are you asking me to stay?”
She bites her lip. “Do you want to stay?”
“Myla.” Her name sounds like a plea.
“It won’t be easy; both of us have our issues. But in a fucked up way, we ground each other. I need you to calm my rage, and you need me to silence your demons.”
“Myla,” I growl.
“You’ve done so much for me, and I haven’t done anything for you, but I promise I can do better.”
“Goddamn it, Myla. Say the fuckin’ words.”
“I want you to stay.”