28. Vanessa #2
“Ah. Sorry. I can’t recall much from the move,” I say, pointing at the bruise on my forehead, as if it needs to be pointed out any more than it already does on its own. “This certainly hasn’t helped my recollection of our encounter.”
“Looks pretty good to me,” another equally large biker with shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a red bandana says, taking the seat on my other side. “The swelling has gone way down.” He holds his massive, calloused hand out to me. “Nice to finally meet you while you’re awake. I’m Drift.”
He seems friendly. I take a quick glance at his Road Captain patch under his name as I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Drift.”
At least he thinks my unicorn horn is no longer dominating my forehead.
Crypt’s brows knit together, leaning forward to examine my injury. “Good? Are you blind? It’s still pretty gnarly, if you ask me. The yellow is worse than the purple.”
Ouch. No sparing anyone’s feelings here.
“Crypt, buddy,” Drift says, shifting in his seat to face his club brother. “That’s one of those inside thoughts you don’t share out loud.”
“But it’s true. Look at it,” he says, waving his hand at my head and drawing everyone’s attention to it. “The purple was better. Yellow is not her color.”
Wow. Nothing like being humbled.
“Ignore him,” Drift says to me. “Crypt sometimes fixates on odd things and puts his foot in his mouth. He does it with everyone.”
“He’s sorry,” Cookie says before addressing Crypt. “Aren’t you, Crypt?”
Crypt blinks a few times like he’s processing everything his club brothers said before looking at me, shrugging. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings by pointing out that the yellowing on your forehead looks far worse than the initial purple.”
Though I’m trained in addiction counseling, my coursework also covered neurodevelopment conditions, and I recognize Crypt is showing characteristics of someone on the spectrum.
Understanding he means no harm, I wave off his apology with a chuckle. “You’re forgiven. And I agree. A bruise can look worse as it heals.”
“Exactly. You get it,” Crypt says, giving me a small smile before sobering. “But I should’ve said it differently.”
“Sometimes words come out wrong. We’re all guilty of it.”
“Yeah, but they come out wrong all the time for me. Prez says I need to think before I speak, afraid I’ll say the wrong thing to the wrong person.”
The man is built like a brick wall. If he were to say something upsetting to someone dangerous, I’d be more worried for the offended party than Crypt.
“Something tells me you can handle your own if that unfortunate circumstance were to arise. Maybe I can help you find some ways to communicate your thoughts with less chance of offending someone. Would you like that?”
Crypt cocks his head, looking at the table as if he’s considering my offer. When he finally meets my eyes again, he nods. “I would, thanks.”
“Great. We’ll talk more after breakfast,” I say as Marlene sets down our food in front of us.
Marlene gently squeezes my shoulder, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You handled that well.” She gives me another smile before heading back toward the kitchen.
Drift gives me a thumb’s up, sipping his coffee.
The crew members who had been watching our interaction all nod with approval, pleased I didn’t make a big deal out of the moment. It’s apparent Crypt is valued among his crew, and how I interacted with him solidified I’m safe to have around.
With breakfast underway, I search the room again.
“He’s not here,” Cookie informs me, noticing me looking.
“Where is he then?”
“Next door in the basement,” Crypt says before shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth.
Next door? Has he been close the whole time? “Can I go see him after breakfast?”
“Not a good idea,” Drift says with a grimace.
Not pleased with his response, I calmly press for an answer. “Why?”
“He’s busy cleaning,” Crypt mumbles around his eggs.
Strange. “Cleaning what?”
All three men pause, exchanging odd looks with each other. Cookie suddenly finds the news on the television above the bar interesting. Drift sips his coffee, avoiding my eyes. And Crypt anxiously picks at his napkin.
I go for the one who will most likely give me an unfiltered response. “Crypt? What is Cupid cleaning?”
Crypt stares wide-eyed at me like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t, looking more boy-like than the scary tattooed death man he first came across as.
He quickly crams the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, hopping up from his chair like his seat is on fire and speed-walking to the door before he let anything slip.
He waves a farewell, pointing outside as if he needs to leave right that second.
Drift throws back the rest of his room temp coffee before running after Crypt. “Gotta run. We’ve got work to do. Hey, wait for me, Crypt!”
Folding my arms across my chest, I lean back in my chair with a huff. “It’s that bad, huh? Don’t suppose you’ll over-share will you, Cookie?”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just a prospect. I know shit about what’s what.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. I’m sure you know plenty.”
Cookie shrugs. “Some things are best left unknown.”
We’re going to have to agree to disagree. Whatever Cupid is doing, I have a visceral feeling it is tied to me, and I want to know what it is.