Chapter 7
Wizard
When we got back to the clubhouse after dropping off a load of boxes into my parents’ garage while they slept, I put Esme straight to bed.
I should have been tired, but I was buzzing.
I was so wired that when Atlas, Maverick, Dravin, and Odin all left, it took me a good hour to realize what they meant about looking forward to the fireworks.
I kept thinking fireworks as in, shit hitting the fan. Fireworks when I dragged my asshole brother back home and made him pay. Fireworks when Esme was forced to confront someone in Hart that she’d rather not see.
I was so shaken by the guys seemingly using my personal life as entertainment, that I just sat in front of the screens in the back room and watched the feeds play back, dark, angry, storm clouds brewing in me.
Then, I realized what they meant.
The fourth of July.
It’s such a big deal that the realtor coming to Esme’s in the morning to actually do work, and Atlas driving back in the morning to get the boxes, and the rest of this whole thing, threw me off.
I don’t go out. I don’t celebrate. I’m always here at the club, no matter what’s happening.
Holidays pass much the same as pretty much every other day does.
The only one I’ve ever marked is Christmas, for our family get-togethers.
I texted Atlas to tell him he should go get the boxes if he wants, but we might have to keep them until the stores are open. He seemed fine with that, said he and Willa would take a romantic drive together in the morning, since her antique store would be closed.
After that, I sat and brooded. Watched screens.
Thought about Esme. Watched screens some more.
Thought about Esme again. I tried not to hope.
Hope is a brutal thing, a cruel whisper in your ear, telling you that you have every right to your rapid heartbeat and the flutter in your stomach, when in reality, nothing has changed.
It’s not unusual for the clubhouse to be quiet in the mornings.
Gradually, the guys trickled in over the afternoon.
Most stopped by to say hi. They hung out in the lounge for a while.
In the kitchen. A few of the old ladies and wives stopped by.
Every hour of the past thirty-six felt like they were a thousand days long.
We didn’t talk about doing anything for the fourth, this year.
Tyrant called church and then it was us wiring money and going to Seattle with Esme.
Guys don’t mind doing their own stuff, as so many of them have families now.
It’s also a Wednesday. The club celebrations will be delayed until Friday night, or Saturday.
They’ll probably start at Patterson’s diner and end up here at the club, but even that will likely be toned down as guys want to get home rather than celebrating until the early hours of the morning.
It’s basically a ghost town by nine.
I’ve sat and watched it all play out on the feeds. I’ve said ‘Happy Independence Day’ enough times to choke a horse. I don’t understand that expression, but it was one of my grandpa’s favorites.
It’s almost dark and they’ll start the town fireworks around ten.
I’m worried that I haven’t seen Esme emerge from my room yet.
Worried, but I do understand. She probably was too keyed up to sleep, and then once she did, likely went down hard.
If I was her, I’d need a good twelve hours to feel human again.
When I said goodnight, I made it clear that the clubhouse can be a little bit intimidating, but she’s welcome here, and doesn’t need to hide away. If she needed anything, she was welcome to come to the back room and get me. I made sure she knew there was food in the kitchen too.
I’ve been half tempted for the past few hours to get up out of this chair and go knock on her door.
I don’t want to wake her up, but the urge to check in has been burning through me.
I exhale a massive sigh of relief when I see her door crack open.
She slips out into the hallway, freshly showered, in a long black dress with a lace shirt on top.
Her hair is still wet, and tangles around her shoulders in long clumps.
She’s headed to the kitchen. I snatch up my two phones and my tablet, and head out to meet her there.
I could use a fresh cup of coffee and a snack.
And about six hours of sleep and a shower after spending all night in the office. But that can wait.
I set off for the kitchen like I’m in one of those zombie movies, I’m stiff after sitting for so long. Thankfully, I’m mostly normal after walking the length of the long corridor.
“Hey,” I say loudly, just so I don’t scare Esme.
She’s standing by the coffee maker, her back to me. She spins around, gasps, and nearly knocks the entire machine off the counter when her hand flies out.
“Sorry!” I hold up hands full of tech in what I hope is a peaceful gesture.
She sets her hand on her chest, probably trying to calm her racing heart.
“It’s okay. I know I’m safe here. I’m just that easy to jump-scare.
Always have been, and it’s still true.” She motions to the empty coffee pot.
“I thought some battery acid coffee was in order, but I realize I’m going to have to make a pot, and it won’t be thick and maybe a little burnt after all. ”
“Yeah. The place is a ghost town today.”
“Where is everyone?”
I don’t think she knows what day it is either. Makes sense. Someone threatening your life can really throw off your inner calendar.
“Wait!” Her hands fly up to her wet hair, digging into the sides. “Oh my god. It’s Independence Day.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“Are we the only ones here?”
“There are a few prospects sticking around the compound, but they’ll be able to see the fireworks from there. It’s a rotating schedule, who gets stuck on what during what day. We don’t punish the guys on the bottom with guard duty all the time.”
“You’re here,” she says pointedly, dropping her hands down to her sides.
“I am here.” I try to be casual, even though my pulse kicks up just being near her. She smells like flowers, complements of her bringing her own shampoo. She’s not wearing my clothes either, but she’s gorgeous in what she has on. She’ll always be beautiful.
“You always are.” She says that softly, before she fills up the coffeemaker with water, measures grounds from the can right beside it, and gets it going.
“Because that’s who you are. You think you’re invisible, but you’re not.
Being in the background doesn’t mean that no one sees you.
I hope they do. I hope that they appreciate everything. ”
What is she trying to tell me, with her back to me, slightly angled away?
That all along, she saw me? That she was always paying attention, even when I felt like nothing more than a shadow?
That’s not right. She never treated me like I was invisible.
She always appreciated me. There wasn’t a single time she didn’t look my way.
She just didn’t… look my direction in the way that I wanted her to.
A weird roar starts in my ears. It’s echoed in my bloodstream flowing through me almost violently.
She curls into herself, then unfurls, like she’d made a conscious decision about something. Esme heads to the fridge. “Have you eaten?”
“Not really.”
She scans the contents inside. “Do you want a sandwich?”
“That would be great.”
I set the phones down on the table and keep my tablet in hand.
I go back to leaning on the counter behind her, trying to be useful.
I want to figure out what to say. I don’t succeed in finding any words, and even if I had, when Esme turns to me, plate in hand with a giant sandwich stacked on top, her eyes are so dark that I lose my entire mind when I look into them.
“I hope you still like the same stuff as before. I put tomatoes on there. And mustard.”
She could have shoved dog turds in there and I’d ask for more. “Yeah,” I mutter. I want to eat standing up, but she waves me off. She doesn’t need any help.
I sit down at the table, a ham and turkey made exactly the way I like it.
I can’t remember the last time Esme made me a sandwich, but she heard my order plenty over the years.
She knows I like tomatoes with deli meats, but not on anything else unless they’ve been turned into something delicious like salsa.
She knows I’m still a mustard guy, but that I don’t really like mayo.
That I like more ham than turkey, and that I never met a lettuce that I didn’t like.
She proved it, because she made me the sandwich from heaven.
I nearly groan when I bite into it.
She slips a mug of coffee in front of me. The same mug with the engine on the front that I had last time. The coffee is black. I never drank any back in high school. She pays attention to these things, even when the world is falling apart around her.
And fuck me, if that doesn’t just about split me right in half and send a whole host of cracks and fault lines running along my heart.
She sits down across from me with her own sandwich and coffee.
“I know you probably don’t feel up for going out,” I blurt. “But…”
“It’s not that I don’t feel up to it,” she says, drawing circles on the tabletop with her index finger. “It’s more that there are still enough people here who knew me and know my parents. I don’t want to run into any of them. Does that sound cowardly?”
“Not really. I get it.”
She takes the smallest bite of her sandwich. I’ve already demolished mine and licked up the crumbs.