Chapter 3
Slim
There’s a lot of drunk people wanting to get a tattoo between Christmas and New Year’s, so the shop’s keeping busy. As I grumpily finish up a tattoo of SpongeBob fucking his buddy Squidward on some frat boy’s calf, I’m (for the hundredth time) reconsidering taking Marissa to the party.
On one hand, I want Rebel to see me with my old lady; I want her to know that I've gotten over her, that I’m not waiting around for her to make up her damn mind.
I’m the one with the upper hand now. She needs to be the one to make it up to me, to chase me, to conquer me.
Seeing me with Marissa might help her understand that.
On the other hand, the risk is high that someone will open their big mouth about me sneaking around with Rebel. Some brothers can’t handle their liquor. I don’t want Twitch’s creepy ass to force my hand before I’m ready.
Neither of us has to work today, so I sleep in, and then we spend a nice day at home before dropping Junior off at my mom’s. A red bandana keeps Marissa’s hair out of her face, and she’s wearing a long, black cotton dress. I know she's hiding whatever outfit she's put on to surprise me.
We’re rarely in the cage together, the three of us, so it’s kinda nice. Marissa keeps glancing back at DJ as she tells me about the babysitter she hired. I appreciate that she never complains that my mom can’t help us out more.
It’s taken me years to come to terms with Mom’s morbid obesity and the fact that she could barely leave the house or drive, let alone run around the park with me like a regular mom.
Riss says she’ll be in and out, but it takes her twenty minutes to say goodbye to DJ, and when she finally gets back in the car, her eyes are red-rimmed, and it annoys me.
“Should’ve just taken him to the party and put him to bed in one of the rooms upstairs like I suggested,” I tell her.
She sniffs. “It’s better this way. That clubhouse is no place for a baby.”
“Jesus Christ, he’s not a baby. It’s like you’re trying to keep him dependent on you.”
I keep my eyes on the road, but I see her head jerk towards me.
“He’s seven months old, Dylan! He can’t walk, crawl, feed himself, or wipe his own butt. What the fuck do you want me to do? Give him a little briefcase and send him off to work?”
The image disarms me, and I chuckle. Then, I decide to extend an olive branch. “Are you looking forward to going back to work on Monday?”
“Not really,” she shrugs. “I like being home with DJ.”
I say nothing because I’m too busy thinking of going back to work myself.
“Ooh, I forgot to tell you. Sarah from work got engaged, and we’re invited to the party next month.”
I roll my eyes. “Why do people get married? It’s just a piece of paper for the government.”
Riss frowns. “So is money. So is a college degree.”
Normally, I’d tell her about the superiority of club law, about how being an ol’ lady means more than any fucking piece of paper signed for Uncle Sam ever could. But I can’t exactly back that claim up these days, can I? So I say nothing, and neither does she.
I try again. “Have you seen Molly recently?”
“Yeah,” Marissa says with a fond smile. “She told me they’re moving to Phoenix.”
Molly is Prez’s first kid, and she’s a senior at the high school where Marissa works. Prez was only 17 when he had her. Unfortunately, during the pregnancy, he cheated on Molly’s mom with Angie, who then went on to become his ol’ lady.
Understandably, things have always been strained between the three of them.
I guess Molly’s mother didn’t want her kid hanging out at the homewrecker’s house, so Sly wasn’t allowed to see Molly as much as he wanted to.
He and Angie only recently managed to have a baby of their own, after years of failed attempts and procedures.
And now Molly’s stepfather is moving them to Phoenix, and Sly might as well forget about ever having a close relationship with her.
Is that what’s gonna happen with Junior if things end badly between me and his mom?
“Do you wanna know what her T-shirt said the day before Christmas break?” Marissa’s voice rouses me from my depressing thoughts.
“You know I do.”
She turns her entire body towards me. “On the front, it said, You fit into me, like a hook into an eye,” she says with a mischievous smile. “And on the back, it clarified, A fish hook, an open eye.”
“Fucking hell,” I say with a wince. “What’s wrong with that girl?”
Molly wears her hair short, has a pierced eyebrow, hates color or looking put together, and, worst of all, she’s one of those militant man-haters.
Her attitude causes Prez a great deal of heartache, but his bitch ex and her husband have full custody of Molly, and besides, she’s almost 18, so he can’t do anything about it.
“I can’t believe she’s Prez’s kid,” I murmur.
Marissa rummages around her bag, shrugging, then pulls out her lipstick. “I like Molly. Besides, she’s her mother’s daughter too, not just Prez’s.”
Something about the imagery of those hooks and those eyes has me on edge. It’s like my skin is too tight.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask angrily.
Again with the anti-club behavior.
“It’s supposed to mean that she probably takes after her mother. God! What is with you? Why are you being so confrontational about everything?”
I quietly watch her apply her lipstick in her vanity mirror.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“What do you think?” She asks, examining her work in the mirror.
“You look incredible,” I say, and she does.
It’s like the red lipstick has shone a light on the rest of her face and made all of her features stand out. Her eyes seem even bluer.
“Wait until you see what’s under my dress,” she winks.
After Twitch waves us through the gate, I thank God that his ass will remain here all night instead of getting drunk and blabbing about shit that’s none of his business.
I open my car door, and Marissa clears her throat before asking me, very quietly, “Dylan, do you not want to be with me anymore?”
“What? Where the fuck is that coming from?”
“I just… Lately, things haven’t been good between us. It’s okay if you just want us to coparent DJ and not be together like that.”
“Marissa… I think you’ve picked the worst moment possible to have this conversation. Tonight is supposed to be about us reconnecting, having fun, am I right?”
She nods.
“Well, let’s do that then,” I tell her and squeeze her hand reassuringly.
“Okay,” she nods and steps out of the cage.
She rolls the dress up all the way to her breasts and then carefully pulls it off over her head. My throat goes dry.
She’s wearing knee-high leather fuck-me boots, fishnet stockings, the tiniest leather shorts you’ve ever seen, her ol’ lady cut, and underneath it, a black leather corset that puts her soft, white, huge tits on display.
Her breasts are much bigger than Rebel’s, and I love seeing them shown off like this.
Not that she lets me do anything with them since DJ came along.
She always keeps them packed away during sex.
Touching or sucking them “feels weird,” she doesn’t want to spray milk on me, or some bullshit like that.
“Fuck, baby, let’s go home,” I pull her to me, and she smiles in a way that breaks the confident facade of the outfit she has on.
The smile is honest, unguarded, hopeful, filled with genuine joy. Something in my chest kind of hurts.
“Why drive all the way home when there’s perfectly good bedrooms upstairs?” she whispers against my mouth before kissing me deeply.
An angry voice calls my name, and I break the kiss to look. Marissa blinks, confused.
“Hello!” Her mood lifts when she sees it’s the Prez.
“Hey, Marissa. Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he tells her coldly, and my stomach drops.
“I know, it’s been a while since I’ve been up here. It’s hard to get away with DJ and everything, but as I’m sure you know, it’s also important to make time for each other,” she beams at me and hugs my waist as she says this, oblivious to the tension.
“I do know that,” Prez says, giving me a look that indicates he’ll have a word with me later. “Enjoy the party.”
Shit.
Inside, Crusader by Saxon is blaring from the speakers. I’m soothed by the familiar smell of tobacco, alcohol, and gasoline. People greet us, and Riss even gets a few hugs, which relaxes me.
“Angie!” Riss shouts happily when she spots the club’s First Lady.
That’s one thing I can’t fault her for; she tries hard to do right by the club women. Even got all of them Christmas presents both years she’s known them.
Angie, however, has a sour look on her face as she stands with none other than Rebel.
As introductions are made, my fingers start to go numb and I avoid looking anywhere in particular. This moment doesn’t look or feel how I imagined it would. It doesn’t bring pride or clarity.
What do I want? Where do we all go from here? Why the fuck did I bring Marissa to this party?
“Don’t you think so, Dylan?” Rebel asks in a sweet voice.
“What?” I frown.
“Your ol’ lady and I have the same taste,” she says while twirling to show off her outfit, which, indeed, is almost exactly the same as Marissa’s, minus the cut, of course.
Rebel, however, isn’t faking the raw sex appeal. The clothes are not a costume, they’re who she is.
“I’ll get your number, and we’ll raid each other’s closets,” Marissa says innocently, and I examine my boots for any visible dirt.
Rebel laughs. “Deal.”
Riss asks about Angie’s boy, about how Rebel enjoys working at the shop, how everyone’s Christmas was, and then I finally manage to drag her away to one of the leather couches.
I put my arm around her waist, and she puts her elbow on my shoulder. She absentmindedly plays with my hair as she thinks really hard about something.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask her, uncomfortable with what might be going through her head.
“No, thanks. I’ll maybe get a Coke later, but I’m good for now.”
“Are you worrying about how DJ’s doing?” I ask, and her mood instantly lifts.
“Not right now, I’m sure he’s having fun. Or sleeping,” she laughs a little. “I’m just realizing that I’ve heard Rebel’s name spoken many times over the last two years, and, honestly,” she drops her voice, “I thought it was a brother who had passed away, because it was always spoken so wistfully.”
I do my best to keep my face impassive. “She was gone for a long time. The club missed her.”
Marissa nods. “I can see that. Did you hear what Angie said? She said we could be sisters! I don’t see it. I mean, the hair, yes, sure. But other than that, I don’t think we look alike.”
I’m saved from walking through that minefield by Angie and Rebel screaming like two drunk teenagers when Alice Cooper’s I’m Eighteen comes on.
“It’s our song! Sly! Slim! Get over here!” Angie waves at me, and Marissa nods at me to go, trying to conceal the small hurt at being excluded.
Rebel has lifted both her hands and is swaying to the song, her back to us, the bullseye on her lower back like a beacon calling me home.
It’s never been a fair fight, I think as I stand up and make my way to the woman whose name is etched on my soul. My past, my present, my future. The spark that ignites my blood.
I remember all the times Rebel and I were belting out the lyrics to this song, young and stupid and drunk with our friends, our club brothers, right in this very place, and I finally exhale. A weight is lifted from my shoulders, and my stomach is no longer tense.
Marissa will understand. I’m not one of those sleazy guys who pick up and fuck randos from the bar. Rebel is my first love.
I love Marissa too, but it’s a steady, clear-headed kind of love, the way you love a family member. I care about her. But what I feel for Bell is overwhelming and all-consuming.
I’ve put my arm around Rebel’s shoulders, she’s put hers around Angie’s, and Angie has put hers around Prez’s, and the four of us are jumping up and down like that while screaming out the last part of the song, and all the brothers are cheering and whistling. Everything is right in the world.
I turn around to catch a glimpse of Marissa. She’s not on the couch. She must have gone to the bathroom. Good. Tonight should be a nice night for the two of us, a memory to treasure.
Tomorrow, on the first day of 2011, I’ll end things with her in the kindest way possible, and then I’ll finally, finally have the life I’ve always dreamed of.
“Follow me,” Prez tells me sternly, and I square my shoulders, ready to finally have a conversation worthy of a man.
We go out into the hallway, and then he pulls me into the storage room.
“What the fuck did you bring Junior’s mother here for?” he says without preamble, already worked up. “Twitch told me that you and my sister have been messing around; he saw her sneaking off to be with you at Thanksgiving, so I thought you two were a thing.”
“We are, but you need to talk to Rebel before attacking me. I’m taking care of it on my end,” I tell him firmly. “It takes some time, with the kid and all. You know how it is.”
“I don’t understand it, man. For years, we all watched you waste away after Bell dumped you, and now that she’s back, you’re dragging your feet?
Don’t bullshit me, Slim. My sister isn’t cheap club pussy.
You can’t fuck her on the side and then go home to your ol’ lady. She deserves better than that.”
“She does deserve better, I agree. She deserves everything. You, better than anyone, know how much I love Bell. I just need to let Marissa down gently because of Junior. I don’t want her badmouthing me to the kid later.”
Prez nods. He knows what a scorned woman is capable of.
“Take this as my final warning.”
“No worries, Prez.”
We head back to the common room.
Rebel is everything. She’s my soulmate, the only woman for me.
So why do I feel so shitty at the thought of breaking Marissa’s heart?