Chapter 12 Freya
TWELVE
FREYA
Just as I made my way back up to my room, my phone rang. I shoved my shoulder into the hotel room door and tossed my laptop onto the bed. My heart pounded in my chest as I closed the door behind me, gazing down at the unrecognizable number scrolling across the screen of my phone.
Could it be?
“Hello?” I asked, answering the call.
Hopefully, I didn’t sound too eager for it to be him.
“There’s that angelic voice,” Bronx said.
I smiled. “Good morning.”
“Wasn’t sure if you’d be up yet or not. Since it’s not even ten.”
“What time do you think us Arizona girls get up at?”
He paused. “That where you’re from?”
“Do you not remember that from last night?”
He chuckled. “Well, let’s just say I don’t and we’ll call it even. Yeah?”
I giggled. “Yes. I’m from Arizona. Yuma, to be exact.”
“How does it fare compared to San Diego?”
“I can’t hardly breathe with the humidity.”
He laughed, and the sound washed over me like cleansing, church-like baptism.
“You’ll get used to it eventually,” he said.
Oh, the luck I had with him calling me this morning.
“To what do I owe this morning wakeup call?” I asked.
“I was hoping you were free to get together this afternoon. If you’d like.”
“I’d love to. What’s the plan?”
“Well, I figured since you don’t really know people in town, I could help you go around and ask people about the girl in that picture. At least with me at your side, no one will mess with you this time.”
I giggled. “That sounds like a great plan. Do you want to ride in my car or something?”
“I actually figured I’d come pick you up at your mystery hotel and you could ride on the back of my bike. You know, a little slice of home in a big city that isn’t yours.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. “I’d like that, actually. Believe it or not, it’s been a while since I’ve been on the back of a bike. My father tried to keep me away from that lifestyle as much as he could.”
“I don’t blame him. It gets squirrely sometimes.”
“Squirrely?”
He chuckled. “Only word that came to mind in the moment.”
I sat on the edge of my bed. “What time were you thinking?”
“Whenever you’re ready is fine with me. I’ve got no plans for my day.”
Perfect. I could spend time with Bronx and have more time to weasel my way closer to him. Maybe if I earned his trust a bit, I could get him to cough up the information I knew he had on the girl in this picture.
“Give me an hour?” I asked.
“I’ll see you around eleven, then,” he said.
I hung up the phone and rushed myself into the shower.
I took the quickest shower of my life and then used the small hotel blow dryer to try and blow out my hair.
It didn’t work as well as I wanted it to, so I ran some water back through my thick hair and watched my natural waves appear.
I groaned, but it would have to do. I pulled it back into a low ponytail and rummaged through my duffle bag, trying to piece together a decent outfit.
It wasn’t as if I had technically packed for the trip.
Much to my dismay, it looked as if I had grabbed the majority of my fall clothes. Jeans and long-sleeved shirts. Knee-high boots and scarves. My only saving grace was a couple of pairs of shorts and a few dresses I found stuffed in the bottom.
Thank heavens, I had plenty of bras and panties in this one.
I pulled out one of my dresses and figured I could put a pair of shorts underneath it.
I slipped on my knee-high boots as protection for my legs as we rode around on the bike and then slapped on a bit of makeup.
I wasn’t much of a wearer. The only things I owned were multiple lipsticks, mascara, and eyeliner.
Chapstick too. I splashed some on and tried to make it look nice, and then I grabbed my things and headed downstairs.
I stood outside in the most insane outfit alive—a deep green quarter-sleeved dress with swirls of orange and red with short jean shorts underneath and brown boots that came up over my knees.
The dress fell just over the tops of the boots, making the ensemble look like one mismatched, misplaced fall fashion show.
But it was all I had.
Bronx pulled up on his bike where he normally dropped me off and tossed me a helmet.
I slipped it over my head and slung my leg over the bike, inching my way closer to him.
I wrapped my arms around his chest, what with his guest seat being higher set than his, and the strength of his chest forced me to swallow a moan as my fingertips curled into his muscles.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready when you are,” I said, giggling.
He roared away from the curb, and I closed my eyes.
The feeling of the bike rumbling underneath me reminded me of home.
I relaxed against his back, allowing his bike to take me wherever it wanted.
Bronx rode me around San Diego, pointing out a few of the buildings and cruising up the coastline.
He talked into the microphone routed into my ear, his high-tech helmets keeping us connected as he fed me little tidbits of the mysterious city I’d ventured into.
But I couldn’t help but feel as if this was a distraction from our original purpose. Bronx was a great distraction, though. One I didn’t mind.
“Were you born and raised here?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope. Grew up in the northern part of the state. Well, kind of. Two hours north of here, really. A small town that didn’t really belong to anywhere.”
“Did you like growing up there?”
“Eh, it was what it was.”
“Why do you say it like that?” I asked.
“Well, when you watch your mother spiral into a drug addiction you can’t save her from, it kind of taints things.”
I hugged him close, trying to comfort him as his muscles tensed.
“I’m so sorry, Bronx.”
“I mean, I tried to help her as much as I could. She turned to them as a release when my dad started pushing her around. But they swallowed her whole after he ran out on us with some woman up the road.”
“Holy shit,” I said.
“She really dug in hard after that, snorting away her emotions. I tried to help her where I could. Got jobs to support the house so we wouldn’t lose it to her addiction. But a teenage boy can only do so much.”
“Of course. Yeah.”
“Still, I tried. I tried getting her away from the people who were hurting her, and I tried being a distraction whenever her dealers stopped by the house. But you can’t save someone from themselves. They have to want to do that part,” he said.
“That’s very true.”
“I don’t know. In some ways, I kind of feel like I failed her.”
“Is she still alive?”
He nodded slowly. “In jail for a very long time for possession with intent to sell. They caught her in the middle of buying, and she was obtaining so much of it they assumed she was going to turn around and sell it herself.”
I had no idea what to even say to that.
“You didn’t fail her, Bronx,” I said.
“Yeah, well. Life’s shit like that sometimes,” he said.
I was shocked at how open he had been. All my life, I’d had to dig the truth out of people. I had to read between the lines of what they were really doing. What they were really saying. Bronx’s openness was such a breath of fresh air that my eyes watered.
And when I drew in a ragged breath, he straightened his back.
“Do I need to pull off the road?” he asked.
“No, no, no,” I said breathlessly.
“Then, tell me what’s going on back there,” he commanded.
I sighed. “Nothing bad. It’s just… your openness and honesty was so nice.”
He paused. “You not used to that?”
We came to a stoplight and the movement of the bike stopped.
“Not really, no. I mean, I grew up in a crew, sure. But not really. My father felt as if that lifestyle was something that should always have been kept from me. So, that came with a lot of talking around the truth. Talking generally about things. Roundabout ways of not really lying but not really telling the truth. If I wanted the truth, I had to go out and find it for myself. Like with this picture and this girl I’m apparently related to.
Even now, with my mother and father knowing I’m here, all she keeps saying is that I’m in danger somehow.
That finding my half-sister will somehow put me in harm’s way.
And she won’t even tell me why. They just expect me to blindly follow, and I’m tired of it. ”
I relaxed against him as the bike moved again with the cue of the green light.
“Have they told you anything about this situation?” Bronx asked.
I shrugged. “No. But your blatant honesty was so nice and such a new thing to me. Thank you. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to talk about it but thank you. Thank you for trusting me with it and just… saying it. You know?”
“I’m sorry they always feel the need to keep you in the dark.”
I snickered. “They’re always pulling the wool over my eyes. I know they think they’re trying to protect me, but I’ve grown up with no real sense of who I am in the process. I mean, I know who I am. That was a dumb way of putting it.”
“I get what you mean.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” I said, giggling.
He chuckled. “I take it they really don’t approve of your field trip to San Diego, then?”
“Not one bit. My father a little more so. I think he understands my need to piece together my family. Or some semblance of a story. I don’t know, I always felt growing up like there was a part of me missing.
And maybe my heart innately knew I had a sister out there somewhere.
Maybe she needs me. Or maybe I need her and I don’t know it yet.
I don’t know, I just grabbed a random bag of clothes, tossed myself into my car, and came out here. ”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” I said.
“Well, you’re much stronger than you look if that’s how all this came about.
Especially when you have to go against what your parents want.
I did that all the time with my mother. She’d shout at me to stay out of her things and get out of her way whenever she needed to get her next high.
And even though it killed me to go against her wishes, I knew I was doing the right thing for her.
Good for you for doing the right thing for you. ”
“I just wish they didn’t underestimate me so much. They’ve done that all my life. They should know that if I want answers, I’m going after them.”
“Trust me, I know the feeling of being underestimated. Happens to me all the time,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, well. You know. Being judged for having a drug-addicted mother. People assume I come from a certain side of the tracks, so to speak. They’re shocked when they realize I’m so good with numbers and finances. The stock market. Investments. Trading. All that kind of stuff.”
“Wow. That’s incredible, Bronx. I don’t know a damn thing about that kind of stuff.”
He laughed. “Most don’t. But I’ve always taken comfort in numbers. They never lie, and they always forecast a future I can depend on.”
“That’s actually very comforting. I get that,” I said.
“I figured you would.”
We pulled off onto the side of the road, and a restaurant came into view. Bronx parked in a space on the side of the road and put his kickstand down. We slid our helmets off our heads, and I tossed mine back to him, watching as he tucked it away in a storage compartment underneath his own seat.
Then, he offered me his hand.
“It’s lunch time,” he said. “Figured you could show her picture around while we eat.”
“Thank you so much. I’m starving,” I said.
He led me onto the sidewalk but stopped abruptly.
I turned around and looked up at him, taking in his dark brown eyes.
There was a hint of a golden tint in them, especially with how the sun caught the side of his face.
I wanted to reach up and cup his brown skin.
Feel that strong rawhide against the palm of my hand.
“You really are stronger than you think you are,” Bronx said.
And as I smiled up at him, he slipped his arm around my waist.
Before I knew it, he had pulled me against his body.
Against his pulsing, virile, thick muscles.
His arm clamped down around me as our lips connected, and my hands flew to his jet-black hair.
It was thick. Coarse. Easy to grab onto as I rose onto my tiptoes.
I pressed my lips further into his, feeling myself collapsing into him.
He wrapped his other arm around me and picked me up off my feet, my entire body resting against his.
And just as our noses nuzzled together, a cell phone ringing interrupted us.
A ringer I didn’t recognize.