Chapter 22 #2
In the beginning, they hired people to get everything built; the plumbing installed as well as the showers, toilets, and the cheapest pedestal sinks they could find.
Lark told me they were going to install vanities later when the rooms were finished.
She wanted to make the vanities herself, but knew it would take time, so they opted to use simple pedestal sinks for the time being.
The walls were sheet rocked and sanded, hardwood floors and trim were installed, and the walls and ceilings were painted.
That was as far as she let them go.
The rest, she wanted to do herself and Emma and Lottie gave her full reign to do what she wanted to do.
Only once did Lark ask me and a few of the guys for help.
While her recovery is going very well, she’s still rebuilding her strength and wasn’t able to safely maneuver the large pieces of wood that she’d ordered to make the cabinet bases for the kitchen and the bathrooms. That’s where we stepped in and got everything cut for her.
So far, she’s made, carved, and installed the cabinet bases in the kitchen and two of the bathrooms in their new house.
Their remodel is an almost perfect replica of their old house, with two exceptions.
The woodcarving and brewing rooms are no longer in the house.
Lark had separate outbuildings made for each of them, though they aren’t finished yet.
She had tunnels dug that connect the three buildings as a precaution.
Both for if the arsonist strikes again so that there’s more than one escape route and for the heavy snow we can sometimes end up getting with being this far north in Wisconsin.
Each tunnel also has thick fire doors at each entrance to prevent a fire, if there’s ever another one, from spreading to other areas.
Seeing everything Lark’s been able to do has me thinking back to the classes I took in college years ago and of the books I’ve since read. Only my brothers know that I’m a closet nerd. Mythology was my favorite class, and Lark is definitely giving off vibes similar to the Egyptian goddess, Neith.
Neith is one of their ancient Goddesses.
The Goddess of creation, wisdom, weaving, and war.
She is often depicted holding a bow and arrow and was believed to have been a fierce protector of her people.
Something that Lark definitely has in common with Neith.
I’ve seen Lark go up against men larger and stronger than her because of what they’d done or said to someone she knew.
Or they were being a hassle in the supper club.
She’s a force to be reckoned with when she gets all riled up.
Then there’s the bows she said she’d made. That also lines up with the texts about Neith. It’s said that Neith also made weapons for her warriors and would watch over the bodies of those that had fallen.
Sighing, I refocus. I grip my black journal tighter as I stare down at it and mentally flip through everything that I’ve written in it.
My head is still pretty fucked up, and unfortunately, even though Lark accepts me for who I am and what I look like, I still struggle with my scars and how people have treated me. I shouldn’t care or let it get to me, but it’s fucking hard when their opinions are constantly thrown in my face.
Before, people always gave me a wide berth because of the dangerous aura I always give off and being the President of a motorcycle club. Or at least, that’s how Julia, my sister, always described it before she practically shut me out of her life.
But now, people take one look at me and either quickly look away or they turn and run away.
Even people that knew me beforehand treat me differently now.
Their hands shake when they are around me, like they are on edge. I swear they must think I’ll lash out at them or hurt them or something. Just because a fucking asshole took a knife to my body, they think I’ve changed.
I guess, in a way, I have. But not how they’re thinking.
I’m more reclusive now. I barely go out, and if I do, it’s to either see Lark or go to the grocery store, and even then, I usually end up sending one of the Prospects to get my groceries. Being back in Forest Creek so much lately has forced me to not be as reclusive, but the urge is still there.
My mind wanders back to when I went into Gram’s and Gramp’s grocery store. It was the first time I went anywhere in Junction Creek other than Lark’s house after the kidnapping.
As I park my truck and get out, I eye Gram’s and Gramp’s grocery store warily.
I have no idea how people are going to react to me now that that asshole has carved me up like a fucking pumpkin on Halloween.
I’ve never cared what people thought of me before, but now, for some reason, their opinions of me matter to a certain degree.
Exhaling, I get out and head inside.
Igor needs food—I’ve waited as long as I can. Not to mention I need to get stuff for a few meals I plan to make this week. I can’t keep sending a Prospect to get my shit. Well, I can, but I also know I need to do this.
Grabbing a metal cart, I steer it toward the fruit and produce section.
I’m planning to make a stir-fry with rice tonight and later this week, a stew.
As I grab my items, I keep my eyes down, not looking directly at anyone.
However, out of the corner of my eye, I can’t help but catch the reaction of the nearest woman as I grab a couple bunches of scallions and put them in a bag.
Her eyes widen when she looks up at me and as her mouth drops in horror, the head of broccoli that she was holding falls to the floor.
She grabs her cart and damn near runs out of sight and down another aisle.
Her hasty retreat has the other two women nearby looking up and they mimic the first lady’s reaction as they swiftly gather their things and head down another aisle.
However, it’s the third woman’s actions that hits me so hard it damn near feels like I’ve been sucker punched. The woman reaches up and shields her daughter’s face away from me and orders her not to look at me as she briskly walks away.
I stare after her, stunned, and the ache that’s been in my chest ever since the kidnapping gets worse.
I know I’m an intimidating guy at six-foot-three inches tall, muscular but not body builder muscular and tattooed. Add to that, I’m the President of an MC. But the people in this town know we aren’t dangerous.
Well, at least as long as they abide by the laws and don’t dip their fingers into trafficking people, running drugs, or abusing others. If they do, then they’ll have us coming down on them in full force.
We’ve done a lot of shit to help those that need it, not only in Junction Creek but also the surrounding towns. Poker runs, charity drives, and donations just to name a few.
Gritting my teeth, I do my best to push their reactions to the back of my mind. Determination flows through me and I harden my heart to avoid the inevitable pain.
Unfortunately, by hardening my heart, I unintentionally started distancing myself from my light in the darkness.
Lark.
But that Goddamn fear still has a hold on my mind. And so far, I haven’t been able to shake it.
Sighing again, I grip my journal tightly in my hands before relocking the drawer and walk out into the hallway, locking my office door on the way out. I give a chin lift to a few of the guys and head out back.
Hopefully, I haven’t stalled for too long, and Mae hasn’t been waiting on me.
I did mean what I said to her. I want to get to know her. I’ve heard about her past, but not much about her. What she likes, doesn’t like, shit like that.
Striding out the back door, my shoulders sag slightly in relief that Mae isn’t back yet. Setting my journal down on a bench, I stalk over to the wood pile and grab a stack of logs before going back and getting a fire starter and matches.
After the fire’s lit, I sit back, staring at the flames. I’ve always found it calming to stare into the fire, and tonight is no different.
I’m not sure how long I sit there before I hear the golf cart and Mae’s soft footsteps approaching. She sits down on the bench to the right of mine and without a word opens her journal and starts tearing up the first page. She rolls the pieces into little balls and tosses them into the fire.
Silently, I do the same and a part of me wishes that, as the pages burn, that my issues would turn to ash with them.