30. Willow
30
WILLOW
Blackout drives me home while Skyhigh and Dragon go to report to Hellfire. It's actually pretty warm tonight, but I'm shivering like it's below freezing. When I climb off his bike, Blackout's there to wrap his arms around me.
“Are you okay?” He holds me tighter, cocooning me in his embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
I want to say yes, but now I'm not sure. I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted to be tough. To show them I could handle the danger that they live with every day. Like Paige during the drive-by, but maybe I’m not cut out for this.
What if Tanner had brought something deadlier than a flash grenade? What if guns had been drawn? I know the Sons are armed almost all the time. Heck, Blackout's pistol is digging just a little into my side right now. Is this something that I can live with? Knowing that every time they go out, they might not come back?
“I… I don't know.”
“Talk to me, Willow. Is this something we can solve with some cuffs and a blindfold?”
Despite my worries, I chuckle at that, at least for a moment. “I need a little time to think.”
“Think.” Blackout doesn’t sound happy about that. “What do you need to think about?”
“Just… everything I guess. Can you stay with me for a while?”
“Baby, until we know where Tanner is and what he’s up to, you’re going to have to ask us to not keep an eye on you.”
I check the mailbox on the way in. There's a letter in there, addressed to Blackout. Literally to Blackout. So if I was hoping to figure out his real name from that, no go. “There's a letter here for you.”
“Shit, really? That was sooner than I expected.” He takes it from me, turning it over and over in his hands.
“That’s good though, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah… I guess.”
Inside, I hurry upstairs to change out of my stripper getup while the coffee machine warms up. When I come back to the living room, Blackout’s just getting to opening the envelope, like he wasn’t ready to do it by himself. The tearing of the paper has me dying to run over and look, but this feels like something private, so I restrain myself. If he wants me to know, he'll tell me. “Do you want coffee?”
“Thanks. Black.”
Of course. I fix us both mugs, and put his down in front of him on the coffee table. He doesn't even look up while he's reading.
“Fuck,” he whispers, then looks up, all sorts of emotions flashing over his face.
“Good news? Bad news? Can you talk about it?”
He nods. “Yeah, I guess I can. But keep it under your hat, you know?”
“I usually don't wear one, but I won't tell anyone.” I curl my legs up underneath me on the couch and cradle the mug against my chest, waiting.
“I… I don't know who I am.”
“Do any of us, really?”
He chuckles. “True, but it’s a little more literal for me.”
I blink at him. “What?”
He laughs at my expression. “Yeah, crazy right? As far as I remember, my life started when I was fifteen. Like I know who I am now. What I’ve made of myself, but my real name? My parents? Any other family? No fucking idea.”
Well, that knocks me for a loop. “And Skyhigh and Dragon don't know this?”
“They know I don’t like talking about my past, but that’s a pretty standard story around the club. I would die for those fuckers, but I don’t know a single brother who’s what anyone in the outside would call ‘well adjusted’.”
“Wait. Is that why you're called Blackout? That's a little on the nose, isn't it?”
He takes a sip of coffee, smiling around it. “It is, but most people think it’s because I’m a fighter. Boxing, MMA, anything that involves kicking the shit out of each other, I’ve done it. I had a period before the club where I did a lot of street fights for cash. I took the name then, thinking it sounded badass. Everyone I fight has a blackout when I KO them, was the deal. That it meant something else was only for me to know. But the name stuck.” He scratches the back of his head, smiling a little embarrassed. “When I explain it like this, it sounds dumb.”
I shake my head. “Maybe it's because it's the only name I have for you, but it suits you. Why haven't you told the others?”
“When the fuck does it come up? Besides, it feels too… personal, I guess? I dunno. Skyhigh and Dragon wouldn’t fucking judge me for it, but I’ve never brought it up.”
“So, tell me if this is too personal, but why? Do you know what happened to you?”
“I was—see, this is how it starts and it’s already hard to explain—I don't even know how old I am for sure, but the doctors said fifteen or sixteen probably, when they found me near an accident. No witnesses ever came forward, but the assumption was that we got hit by a truck and the truck won. The car was burnt out, and I was unconscious in the ditch next to the road. Obviously I’m still here, but I was out for weeks. When I woke up, I didn’t remember a thing. The doctors told me I’d probably start getting flashes of memories and eventually everything would come back, but—” He shrugs. “Nobody ever came looking, so they transferred me to foster care.”
“Oh God, that's terrible. I'm so sorry. Weren't there any clues in the wreckage? You'd think there'd be something.” I shift over in the couch, wrapping my arms around his bicep and leaning into him. “I can't even imagine.”
“It was completely burned out by the time the fire crew came. There was no license plate and the registration number was filed off, which is kinda suspicious. They could barely figure out what make the car was. So all they had was a broken teenager, with no idea where to put him. Did some time in foster homes, but I was pretty fucked up. Maybe if I’d been less of a little asshole they would’ve tried harder to figure out who the fuck I was, but I was mad at the world. I took off pretty quickly and ended up getting by with street fighting, robbery, you name it. I’d get arrested occasionally and do a few months behind bars here and there, but they kept dumping me back out. Eventually I grew up, fell in love with motorcycles and decided I was going to find my own fucking way. The Outlaw Sons were the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. Rest is history, I guess.” He looks at the envelope on the coffee table.
“Until now?”
“Yeah, until now. I’m not putting my fucking DNA into the system, but I took everything I had from when I was found and sent it to a PI. She just got back to me and she thinks she's found something.” He shakes his head. “I'm kinda scared, to be honest.”
“It's only natural. That's a huge deal.” I wet my lips nervously. “Thanks for sharing it with me.”
“I needed to fucking tell somebody. Fuck, that I even dared to hire someone was a big deal. I don't know what I'll find, and whatever it is, once I take the lid off, I might not be able to put it back in the box. I've got a good life now. Maybe I should let it go.” He shakes his head. “But what if it's something awesome?”
“Can I ask what it says?” I add quickly, “I mean, you don't have to tell, obviously. Only if you want.”
“She found someone she thinks might be my cousin.” He picks up the envelope, looks at it, then tosses it back on the table.
“Are you going to follow up on it?” Rising up on my knees so I can reach, I lean in and place a kiss on the side of his head.
“Dunno yet. I got to think on it a little.” Suddenly he straightens. “Here I am stealing the fucking show. Sorry, it's a big thing, but I fucking wanted to help you, not the other way around. Can I help you think? Dunno how, but anything I can do? And thanks for being someone I can talk to about this shit. It's made me feel better.”
I throw my arms around him and just hug him. It takes a moment, but his arms wrap around my shoulders and he pulls me into the warmth of his side. “Just you being here makes me feel better. Can I give you some advice?”
“Sure.”
How do I say this in a way that makes sense? “My parents know exactly where they come from. My father’s family has a whole genealogy book that goes back centuries to places that don’t even exist on the map anymore. But they’ve spent their entire lives searching for meaning. It sounds fun, but inside, they are so empty. You? You aren’t empty inside. You had no idea where you came from, but you still managed to build a life that filled you up, and nobody can take that away.”
Blackout sits a little taller. “Shit. That’s fucking deep.”
“Well somebody in the family had to get something out of all that self-help stuff.”
He laughs. “Shit, I fucking love you, girl. Do you mind if I keep this here?”
My brain stops working at the ‘I fucking love you’ part, but eventually I manage to answer. “Yeah, of course.”