CHAPTER 7 GRETA
GRETA
Iwake up to the smell of bacon. For a moment, I assume it’s the hotel room service and roll over to check my phone.
By the time I’ve picked it up, I remember that I took it from Iron Jack’s room last night, that I’m at the Wild Hair clubhouse, and that I’m taking a swamp tour today with the club president.
The very built, hot, single, and seemingly into me Iron Jack.
This is a lot more than I bargained for when I flew to Miami to check on my brothers.
It’s after nine. I slept in after a late night and too many Manhattans. Caden is bound to be up by now. I promised to call him every morning.
I ring my ex’s phone. I’d get Caden his own, but he’s only eight and already addicted to his iPad and video games. It has to wait.
The call rolls to voicemail.
Great.
I hang up and text him.
Me: Hey, I promised to talk to Caden this morning.
After a few moments, the dots tell me he’s responding. I pace the small room, waiting on the message.
It’s one word. Mama?
Good grief. It’s Caden on Jude’s phone. If it’s unlocked, he could get into anything on it. Things way over his young head.
I type with shaking fingers. My rage is white hot.
Me: Where’s Dad?
Caden: Sleeping
I put through a video call. This time Caden answers, his face a blur as he tries to figure out how to work it. He ends up holding it upside down.
“Why are you standing on your head?” he asks.
“Why are you?”
He turns the phone around. “I see now.”
“We should practice so you know how to answer.”
“Nobody talks on phones anymore,” he says. He’s still in his Pokémon pajamas, and his hair is standing straight up.
“We’re doing it right now, though!” I say, willing myself to calm down. It’s fine. Caden is fine.
“Only because you’re an unc.”
I manage to laugh. “I’m guessing ‘unc’ means old, even if I’m your mom. What did you and Dad do last night?”
“Ordered pizza and watched Ninja Turtles.”
My chest loosens. This is okay. Everybody is okay. “That sounds fun.”
“It was. We stayed up past nine o’clock!”
At least there was some sort of bedtime. “Good thing it’s Christmas break.”
“Do I have to go back to school?”
“Eventually.”
“Oh, Dad’s up. We’re gettin’ donuts! Bye!” And he’s gone.
I stare at the home screen where my son’s face just was. I will never get used to the time apart. Stupid Jude for ruining everything.
Clearly, my ex has opted to be the “fun” parent. What else would he be? I always make sure someone checks in on them if it’s more than one or two nights.
Jude’s sister has taken my side on all this, and she’s a good go-between for me and Jude, one who has Caden’s best interest in mind. I’ll have her be the one to suggest Jude have a lock on his phone that Caden can’t defeat. He’ll get upset if I bring it up.
Jude won’t even open the door for any of the Pickles, as if it’s our fault he has a wandering eye and unwillingness to do anything that’s not “manly,” like clean a dish or wash his own clothes.
At least not with a woman around who “should” be doing it, regardless of who the actual breadwinner is.
I’m not sure how he’s handling household duties.
Maybe he’s found a girlfriend. His apartment hasn’t been a total wreck when I’ve dropped off our son.
But I don’t have the energy to care about that anymore.
At least he stepped up for me this week. That’s something.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. This is one hell of a situation I’ve put myself in. Abandoning work. Doing Sherman’s bidding.
But my brothers are here. And this is a wild lifestyle. I suppose I could always go sooner if I need.
I should text Bailey. Let her know I’m still alive. We’re not close, just sisters-in-law with only a few family visits between us so far. But I like her. And my cousin Rhett, her husband, might be reporting to Sherman about me for all I know.
Me: I didn’t wake up surrounded by gunfire or a knife fight, so I think I’m good here.
Bailey: OMG, Greta. I’ve been wondering how it went. Are they total brutes?
Me: No. Iron Jack has been fine. The women here are fine.
Bailey: What about the one who was so mean?
Me: I haven’t seen her here yet. Not looking forward to that, but she does what Iron Jack says, so hopefully it won’t be too awful.
Bailey: Are you going to stay a week?
Me: That’s the plan. Will you come get me if I need out?
Bailey: Of course. Just put up the bat signal.
Me: Thanks.
I shove my phone in my jeans pocket. I’m ready for a change of clothes. I’ll go see who can run me into the city to check out of the hotel.
I open the door and almost trip over my suitcase. It sits in the hall next to my overnight bag and the plastic sack containing a souvenir cap I picked up for Caden at the airport when I landed.
I look down the hall. There’s no one anywhere.
Huh. I guess the Wild Hair get things done, even if it’s clearing out a hotel room in someone else’s name. I check my hotel app. I’m checked out and someone else paid the bill. Okay, then.
I drag my bags into the room. I’m not sure whether to shower or change first.
Change. I don’t want to face anyone, not even on the way to the bathroom, in the same clothes as last night. There should be no walk of shame when nothing happened.
Did I want something to happen? For a moment I imagine straddling Iron Jack’s thick, muscled body, and heat flashes through me.
Such a bad idea. No, no, no.
I empty out the overnight bag and repack it with only the essentials for the shower plus fresh clothes. Then I shoulder it and head out again.
I have to cross the kitchen to get to the bathroom near the bunkhouse. When I arrive, Betz is cooking bacon on a pair of electric hot plates, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Carol slices bananas in bowls of cereal for her brood, who sit on stools around the center island.
Christina flips pancakes on a huge griddle that covers all four burners of the stove.
“Look what the cat drug in,” Betz says around the cigarette. “Iron Jack is already eating on the back porch. You best be ready for your alligator tour in half an hour.”
Half an hour! I start to walk faster, then slow my step again. “I’ll be ready when I’m ready,” I say.
Betz rolls her eyes. “Here she comes, thinking she runs the place.”
My face flashes hot. “I can leave.”
“It’s not easy getting any of the ride companies to come out to the club,” Christina says. “They get spooked before they turn down the drive.”
I stop by the island. “Are you saying I’m trapped here?”
Betz shrugs. “I’m saying good luck doing anything without a club member.”
I race to the bathroom, relieved to find it empty. I don’t wash my brightly dyed hair often anyway, so I’m in and out in fifteen minutes. When I pass back through the kitchen, several unfamiliar men are piling food on plates.
How many people did Iron Jack say lived here? I duck my head and hurry back to my room. This is more stressful than I anticipated. Maybe my decision to come here was the booze talking.
I could call for a ride. Bailey will come get me, if nothing else.
But when I push open the door to my room, it’s not empty.
Iron Jack sits on my bed.
I stop short. “Oh. Hey.”
“I see you got your things.” His voice is low and easy.
“Yes. Thank you.” I set my overnight bag on the dresser. “I heard we were leaving shortly.”
“Betz was tweaking you. We can go whenever.” His gaze takes me in, from my slender Puma tennis shoes, up the legs of my jeans, to the loose gray sweatshirt that falls off one shoulder to reveal the blue strap of a tank top.
I shift from one foot to the other. “Did you eat breakfast?”
“I waited for you.”
So Betz didn’t tell the truth about that either. I can’t tell if she’s doing it to be mean, or if she thinks it’s funny. It doesn’t matter. I’ll simply have to ignore everything she says. “All right. I guess I’m ready whenever.”
His eyes stay locked on my face, and the rawness of his gaze stirs a low burn in my belly. He’s paying absolute attention to every detail about me. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this seen by anyone.
Then he’s up and taking my elbow to lead me down the hall again. By the time we return to the kitchen, it’s mostly clear. Only Christina still mans the kitchen counters.
“They’re mostly all through,” she says. “I made plates for both of you.” She passes us two paper plates covered in bacon, pancakes, and fruit.
“Is this a normal Friday morning?” I ask Iron Jack as he passes me a bottle of syrup.
“Pretty much. Sometimes nobody cooks and we’re left to our own devices. I think they’re showing off for you.”
I dribble syrup on the thick pancakes and follow him out the back door.
It’s packed out there, men in black vests taking up spots on the chairs and leaning against the walls. They go quiet as we walk toward a round table in the center with two empty seats. I guess they were saved for us.
Iron Jack sets his plate down and speaks loud enough for the others to hear. “If you haven’t met Greta yet, she’s Merrick’s sister. She’s going to be staying with us for about a week.”
I give a small wave and sit down with my plate. I recognize most of the people from either the bar or last night’s tour. It’s still unnerving to be surrounded by so many strangers.
“You warm enough?” Iron Jack asks. “Winter mornings have a chill.”
“I’m fine.” I pick up a grape, pausing when I spot the couple who were trying to conceive their future child by the stage last night.
I’m not in Jersey anymore.
Most everyone nods at Iron Jack as they come and go. I eat quietly, trying to observe. I’m supposed to be gathering information for Uncle Sherman.
The men are a variety of ages. Chain, who had the fake fight with Diesel, is clearly over sixty. So is Betz’s man. The two of them sit on the far end of the porch. A swath of the members appear to be late thirties or early forties, like Iron Jack. And a few are young twenties, like Adam.
The porch slowly clears out. Iron Jack hasn’t spoken a word to me, only a few greetings to other members. Eventually, it’s just the two of us.