47. Rae
47
RAE
"How much longer do we need to wait?" Maddie paces back and forth before the bar, hands on her hips.
Since she woke from her shock, she's made a speedy return to her usual assertive self—almost too fast. It worries me.
“Sit down,” I urge, nudging a bar stool toward her. “You’re making me more nervous than I already am.”
"I can't." She pauses to push the stool back where it belongs and then resumes her movement. "If I stay still, the urge to scream gets stronger." She catches my eye and gives me a small smile. "I need the outlet."
“Fair enough.” I twist the tall glass of juice before me, eying the pale hue of the apple. “When was the last time something like this happened?”
She turns and frowns a little before answering, "You mean before what just happened with us?”
I shrug. "I meant, when was the last time you had to sit around wondering if your dad would come back safe?"
She sighs, relenting and pulling out the stool beside mine.
Digger took Minion into Tyke’s office fifteen minutes ago, and Harvey’s not the only one who’s watched the door like a hawk since. I want to know what they’ll do, how they’ll help him. Yeah, sure—Tyke said he wanted to do this alone when he snuck out before anyone could tail him. I get that. I get why he feels responsible, why he wants to make this judgement day his.
They have a history—him and Terry.
But shit, I want a chance to have a history with Tyke too.
"I can't tell you when I was last this worried about what he does," Maddie relents as she leans over the bar to scrounge for something to drink. "But I can tell you when I was first this scared for him.” She settles with a half-drunk bottle of gin and plops down on the seat with a grimace. "Remind me tomorrow that I chose to be too lazy to get anything else when I bitch about my hangover, okay?"
“You want me to get you something else?” I smirk.
She shakes her head, cap already off the bottle. “I’m good.” Her face twists as she swallows a gulp of the citrusy liquor. "Anyway. As I was saying, I couldn't have been more than five or six at most. I hadn't started school anyway; still hung out with the rug rats under the old ladies’ feet, ushered out of rooms before the men came in.” She grins wide at the memory. “But Dad had been called out earlier in the morning to help Pa.” She looks my way and explains, “His father. The president at the time.”
I nod, adding mental notes to the club's timeline.
"There was some shit going down—still don't know what it was to this day—and they'd needed backup. I knew it was serious because I'd been outside playing, and when I ran in to wash my hands for snack time, I found my old man strapping weapons to himself."
I offer a gentle smile, imagining her as a bright-eyed, naive child encountering her father like that. To her, it wouldn't have been so unusual growing up in this life. But if I'd done the same at that age, I would have run to hide.
"He rode out with Hammer, who was a prospect then, and a couple of other guys I can't remember the names of anymore." She pauses, studying the bottle's label with her mouth in a grim line. "They were gone for hours, which wasn't unusual, but what was, is the old ladies, my mom included, kept us close and kept us quiet. It was like we stood vigil, bar the burning candles and effigies." She sighs, twisting the cap back on the bottle. "Hammer came back first. He burst into the clubhouse here”—she nods toward the doors as though picturing it in her mind— “dripping blood across the floor. His jeans leg was soaked through, unable to hold more."
“Shit.”
"Yeah. One of the older women patched him up, but that was after two more members sped out the damn gates. Seven patched members and two prospects were on that job that day, and only six and one came back." She smiles, sad and regretful. "It was the first time I realized people died doing what my daddy did.”
I swallow hard and fist the apple juice.
She sets her palm over mine. “I’m not helping, am I?”
“Not really.”
“He came back from that run,” she says quietly. “He’ll make it back from this one too.”
“I hope so.”
Maddie shuffles her stool closer, sliding an arm around my shoulders and leaning her head on the closest one. I tip my head against hers and move my hand off the glass to take her fingers instead, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“I’m sorry I was such a bitch about it at the start,” she whispers, words choked. “I just didn’t understand.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not.”
"Yes," I stress. "It is." I pull back and force her to look up at me. "Mads, I came in here, to your home, and shook things up. It’s natural to feel threatened by that change, to be out of your comfort zone. I’m sorry I didn't talk more with you about it first."
“You didn’t know.”
“Know what?” I ask.
“That you’d catch feelings for Digger.” She shrugs. “Dad.” Maddie expels a long, heavy breath. “I mean, who am I to bitch about it, right? I’m the one in love with her stepbrother.”
"You're in love with him?" I exclaim, grabbing her by the shoulders and leveling our gaze.
She grins, wide and toothy. “I am. Is that weird?”
"You don't share a drop of blood," I reassure her before frowning. "Do you?"
“Ew! No.” She slaps my bicep.
I laugh, and joy grows when she does, too. The importance of the moment isn't lost on either one of us. Her face falls first, mine following until we stare at each other with stupid, matching smiles. "I'm so glad you're talking again, Mads."
“Me too.” She resumes her earlier position, head on my shoulder, yet my arm around her.
“Where did you go?” I ask gently. “When you were lost in there?”
She takes a moment to answer, and I play with the wavy strands of her lengthy hair, running them through my fingers and laying them down her back.
"I don't know. I mean, there were echoes of what happened—shaky images, but mostly the noises, over and over. And when there wasn't that, there were just questions—so many questions."
“Can I help you answer any?”
She shakes her head. “They don’t need answering, bud.”
I don't ask her more, content to enjoy this moment with my best friend. It's not until I have her back that I realize how much I’ve missed her these past days. My fears and insecurities worry that it’s a sign I’m too dependent on her, too reliant on others to help me through my shit. But I did it alone before, and no doubt there’ll be times I’ll do it alone again. I don’t need to have her there for me through dark times, but shit, it sure makes it easier.
I hope I give her the same comfort.
"Love you, Mads."
She squeezes tighter against me. “Love you too, trouble.”