Chapter 6 - Karter
I pocket my wallet and look in the mirror one more time.
There’s one damn hair that keeps falling in front, unlike the rest. It’s been pissing me off, but I have nothing to keep it in place except water.
Apparently, the old me didn’t believe in gel or hairspray.
I checked the other bathrooms, but not the one that was obviously Ruby’s.
It felt wrong going through her stuff. Might seem silly and childish—it’s just a room—but I’m human.
I fear what I might find there. Or what I won’t.
Going into anything that’s Ruby’s seems like a college roommate situation: You can see, but never touch.
Actually, this entire place feels a bit off.
There are places here I just don’t feel right in.
There’s a room in the back that holds memories of Law and Special K.
It seems like someone else when I look at the pictures.
Nothing connects. More like a “huh, that’s interesting” picture than “oh wow, I remember that.”
I waited till I was alone, away from the club, before I looked at her and me. I wanted to keep my thoughts to myself, which is why I never wanted to see any photos in the hospital. When I look at them, I see myself, but I don’t feel like me in the pictures.
I googled what I should do about the house.
Certain parts feel off, just wrong to be in.
Thankfully, the bedroom isn’t one of them, so I don’t have to sleep on the couch.
But the porch swing? The room that must have been a craft room or something that’s now the storage room?
Anything that’s obviously Ruby’s? All areas I don’t go into willingly.
The internet says this is “normal”—a stupid word if there ever was one to describe what I’m going through.
That the feelings and the random places I don’t go are all common.
I would like to actually talk to someone rather than get a confirmation from AI, but I don’t want to talk to anyone at the club.
It’s stupid, but I would rather seek help from the damn internet than someone I know who can judge me for not remembering.
The only other person who I know who lost their memory is Flint’s old lady, Kitten.
And she’s close to Ruby—thus, someone I stay away from.
I can talk to an old lady or anyone at the club.
I have my own memories with them too. It’s a little convoluted in my head, but I get it sorted enough to deal with the discomfort of it all.
But when you add into the mix their feelings about me because of what’s going down with Ruby, you get people not necessarily willing to talk.
Or maybe I’m just not willing to talk to someone who I can feel judging me and who thinks of me as a prick for forgetting my own kid.
With a sigh of resignation that my hair will do whatever the fuck it wants, I grab my leather jacket and head out.
I left the vest at home. I might still have the logo of the club on me, but my rockers were never changed.
I need to do that. I’m not the president.
I’m not even an officer anymore. I’m… hell, I don’t know what I am.
I ain’t a pissant, that’s for damn sure.
I might not have all the memories, but being an officer again seems like a downgrade.
I need to speak with Casper and see what he wants to do.
He calls the shots now. I have a preference, but if he asks me to step into a role, I’ll take it.
He never let me down, and I won’t do it for him.
Elder or adviser seems the logical move, but with everything going on with Ruby and shit, the other day didn’t seem like the time to ask about me and mine.
I’ll wait till I hear she’s back. Or at least till we get word on what’s going on with her.
The drive to Diana’s doesn’t take long; it’s a small town. I’m not surprised to see her nana sitting out front to greet me.
But the second I stop and Diana runs out? Not cool.
“Stop,” I bark at the same time as her nana.
Diana pauses mid-step off the porch, teetering on her back foot as the other hangs in midair.
“What?” She looks around, then pats her hair. She even goes as far as looking down at her loose, flowing below-the-knee dress. All while standing precariously on one foot.
I get off my bike quickly and double-time it up to her, pushing her back a step till both her feet are on solid ground.
“You never run out the second you hear someone show up.”
She nods and looks down. “Right. Better to look first to make sure it is who I think before I do it. Got it.”
I smirk as her nana snorts.
“Sure, that’s smart too. But when you go out on a date”—I lift my finger and push her chin up a little—“which this is, you wait for the man to come and get you.”
“Oh.” Her lips part, and I chance a glance at them to see how pink and slick they are, probably from lip gloss or something. I desperately want to know if they have a flavor to them.
“And the guy should bring flowers,” her nana chimes in, pulling Diana’s eyes away from me as she scowls at her.
“Nana.”
The old woman merely shrugs. She’s not wrong, and I kind of hate that, but riding with flowers on a bike ain’t exactly easy.
“Ready?” I bring the attention back to me, and the smile Diana gives me dulls any remnants of “wrong” feelings I’ve had since leaving the house.
I shouldn’t feel guilty about doing this.
Should I? Nothing about this feels wrong.
But part of me is keeping this from the club.
They claim I was married. That I didn’t look at another woman since I laid eyes on her.
That was what made Katrina “Special K,” I’m told.
After she died, I still held out. Never dipped into the vamps at the club, or anyone else for that matter.
But that was before. The old me. The one who had the memories of her and our life together.
The man in front of Diana might not even be that same man.
I share the name and home, even the same friends, but I feel different.
Mostly because I don’t feel like mourning someone I don’t know, and I’m finding joy in a new woman who makes me feel…
what? I’m not sure how to define it yet, but feeling anything is what I want. Even if it’s wrong.
And with her.
She nods, and I take her hand without a second thought and pull her toward my bike.
“Curfew is ten, young man,” her nana manages between laughs, and I hold in my own as I hear Diana groan.
“Sorry about her,” she mutters as we stop at my bike. I grab my spare helmet and secure it over her head before doing up my own.
I shrug it off. “She cares.”
“Pretty sure she’s just trying to embarrass me and scare you off.”
I get on my bike and then hold her hand as she flips a leg over and sits behind me.
“You ever ridden before?” I ask before I start the engine.
I should probably tell her to change—dresses ain’t the best for being on the back of a bike—but she looks too damn beautiful for me to say such a thing.
Plus, her dress is one that flows, not tight to where she wouldn’t be able to lift a leg over.
She’ll have to gather the ends while we ride, but I ain’t worried about any parts of her showing to the world. Not when I’ve got her with me.
I feel her shake her head but appreciate it more that she speaks up. “No.”
“Hold on to me. Lean into the bike, not the opposite way like you would on a wakeboard.”
“Never done that either.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
I start the bike, and because I’m feeling a bit extra, I rev it. As expected, she squeals and wraps her arms around me tight.
“Perfect. Hang on to me just like that.”
I feel the nod again, but no words come out of her.
“Oh, and Diana?” I turn my head just enough to see a bit of her profile. “Nothing’s going to scare me off.”
I take off into the street before she can say anything back.
I drive around for longer than necessary, but I can’t find it in me to stop. Having her on my bike feels right. It’s different from having just me on it.
I know this is new, something I haven’t done in a while. It feels foreign, not wrong like some of the rest of the stuff I do. And foreign? That’s good. I like experiencing new things without the guilt. Half of everything is still new for me. I remember, but I don’t remember.
It’s frustrating. More than frustrating. It pisses me off. Just like the idea of it is now as I take a corner faster than I should with her on the back of the bike. Especially with it being her first time.
Her holding me tighter as she squeals with delight grounds me, though. And when she rubs her hand up and down my stomach, just a little, it’s calming.
I get off the impromptu detour and head to the small restaurant I have planned for us. It’s not fancy, but I remember liking the food. It also has just about everything, so there’s no way I can get this wrong with her.
And… it’s out of town a bit. I’m not avoiding the club, but I just want to enjoy Diana a little without the stress of having to worry about the club gossip.
And clubs gossip. A lot. We might pretend we don’t, but we can be worse than women sometimes.
I back the bike into the parking spot, and when she doesn’t let go right away, I enjoy it a bit more than I should before I cave and let her know it’s okay to get off.
“You first, babe.”
She uses me to push her weight up and over, and I watch her the entire time, which is good since I have to reach out and grab her hand so she doesn’t trip on the curb.
“I got you,” I say. And then I don’t let go till I get off the bike myself. “Legs a bit wobbly?”
“You can say that,” she mumbles as I take off her helmet and then mine, securing them in my saddlebag before I grab her hand again.
Just like with her arms around me while we rode, I like the feeling of her hand in mine. I’m not questioning it; I’m just living in the moment. I got a second chance at life, and I’m taking it. Every part of it.
Just for tonight. Tomorrow I can feel guilty for things I don’t understand. But this moment right here, this is for me. Me and her.
The hostess seats us, and thankfully it’s in a dark corner. Not that I’m embarrassed to be with Diana, not at all. I just like the intimacy of it. A cozy corner for me and her with no distractions to look at but each other.
“I didn’t know this place was here,” she says to me but smiles at the hostess, who puts the menu down in front of her after I hold the chair out for her.
“I discovered it a few years back. Don’t remember all of it, but I know I like it.”
“Well, if it’s good enough to lead to a lasting memory, then it’s good enough for me.”
We order quickly enough, and then there comes the moment during the meal that’s just awkward silence. Or it would be if I didn’t have a million questions and want to know everything about the woman in front of me.
“You always wanted to be a nurse?” I asked.
“No. I was going to school to be a teacher, actually, like my mom.”
“What changed your mind?”
“She got sick.” The way she says it, I already know it’s not the type of sickness you get over quickly.
“I’m sorry.” I grab her hand as she plays with her knife and get a small smile out of her when I rub my thumb over her knuckles.
“It’s okay. The hospital became a second home. The nursing staff kept us all going until the end, and I realized I wanted to be part of the group that helped others like that.”
“Like a giveback.”
She nods. “Yeah, I guess so. What about you? You always wanted to be a biker?”
Now it’s my turn to give a small smile. “I was actually a lawyer.”
“Really? Why the change?”
I shake my head. “Not sure. Guess I just wanted to join the club more.” I leave out that apparently it was because I met a girl. I’m not sure if that’s what happened, just what I was told.
“I can’t see you as a lawyer,” she says with a giggle.
I smirk. “What? Don’t think I can pull off a suit?”
“You might, but you look better in leather.” She pulls her hand away and covers her mouth as red creeps up her neck and to the top of her ears.
I don’t know who’s more shocked by her words. I know I look good in this shit, but hearing it out of her mouth does all sorts of things to me. Including getting my dick hard.
“Here we are,” the waiter says as he delivers our meals. Lucky timing. I was about to go into full interrogation mode about what else she thinks I look good in.
“Thanks,” she whispers before he leaves.
“Thank God you aren’t a vegetarian,” I mumble louder than I mean to as I look at the giant steak on her plate that matches my own.
“Oh no, I love the meat.”
I pause mid-bite and look at her, seeing she’s also frozen.
I raise an eyebrow and can’t help but ask, “Just like you like me in leather?”