CHAPTER 35 GRETA
GRETA
Itake a flight back to New Jersey that night. I can’t stay with Iron Jack one more minute or I’ll never leave.
Max arranges for my car to be driven back to my house, and by the time I Uber home from the airport, he’s picked up Caden from Jude’s and we all converge in my kitchen, eating grilled cheese like it’s an ordinary day.
“I like midnight sandwiches,” Caden says. “Can I stay up all night?”
“Oh, no, little man,” Max says. “In fact, let’s get you to bed.”
I say goodnight, staring at my plate. I spent a good part of the plane ride thinking about Iron Jack and the impossibility of the situation.
I can’t live in a clubhouse in Miami, waving a knife around and acting like an outlaw.
I’m a Pickle.
Pickles are loyal to the family. Even my absent brothers show up when they’re needed.
I could never be one hundred percent Wild Hair. I’m a Pickle first.
Max comes downstairs and sits opposite me at the kitchen island. “Jax has been monitoring the Kin. Anarchy didn’t make it. He was weak and one of the pythons found him in the marsh.”
I set my sandwich down. It’s really over. “Does Iron Jack know?”
“Yeah. Jax told him.” Max sits back in the chair. “What the hell, Greta?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m another person with him. I’m…fierce. Wild.”
“I never figured you’d be the wild pickle of the family.” He picks up a triangle of grilled cheese and eats it in one bite. “You going to walk away from him or us?”
“Him. Of course. I can’t take Caden there. Can you imagine?”
Max dusts off his hands. “I had a few altercations on the way to getting with Camryn, you know.”
I look up. “You did?”
“Hell, yeah. Her brother did not want me in her pants. There were fights. Property damage. Sabotage.”
I sit taller. “How come I don’t know about any of this?”
“Because.” He taps a finger to my nose. “Pickles are discreet.”
“Even inside the family?”
“When the information could hurt them, sure. Her brother literally wrecked the deli.”
“Oh. I thought that was storm damage.”
“Nope. He drove a truck through the front glass.”
“Wow.”
“So, maybe a few of us have that streak in us. I’m just saying, don’t use the Pickles as a cop out. Do what you have to do.”
“But there’s Caden.”
“There is. Seems like kids are growing up in the club just fine.” He stands up. “I have to get back to Dad’s. Cam and I head back to L.A. in the morning.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
“Come see us. Spring break, maybe?”
“Yeah. That would be good. Thanks.”
He gives me a side hug. “Hang in there, cousin.”
Then he’s gone.
I move all the unfinished sandwiches to a single plate and stack them. I look around the kitchen, so clean and organized and beige.
My house is so beige. And tidy. And boring.
I picture Iron Jack the way he looked as I walked into the airport. His leather cut. The bandages on his arm and hands. He’d driven Chain’s truck. He lifted an arm to wave.
Then I went inside the airport and stood in the window to watch him drive away.
It might have been the hardest moment of my life.
But I don’t see any other way. Maybe Caden would grow up just fine with the Wild Hair, but he would grow up. And if he became a member, he’d eventually be involved in scenes like the one I just survived.
Maybe my beige life is too safe. But the skull-and-roses one is too dangerous.
I pick up my phone and block Jack’s number.
Spring break arrives faster than I think it will. My time with the Wild Hair feels like a faraway dream.
On quiet nights, when Jude has Caden and I have too much time on my hands, I try to find Jax DeLuca and his “syndicate,” and even look for incidents where traffic lights change and there is no emergency vehicle nearby.
I find nothing.
I play with the knife Jax gave me, with its sharp silver blade and pretty pearl hilt. I don’t need to contact him, and that’s a good thing, because I see no way to do it on the knife.
Max pushes for me to come to L.A. for the week off. Caden is spending half of it with me, and half of it with Jude. Max suggests I come alone, be free of mom duties for a few days.
I remind him how that went the last time, but he only laughs. At the Sunday dinner on the eve of the break, Uncle Sherman agrees I should fly out to spend time with Max, Camryn, and baby Esme.
And so, I find myself on a plane to L.A. in early April.
I haven’t flown anywhere since I left Miami in January, and even seeing the sliding doors of the terminal reminds me of Iron Jack. I’m not sure I’m ever going to get over him.
Max picks me up when I arrive and settles me in their guest room. I spend the afternoon with Camryn and Esme, then Max enters the playroom with two plastic badges on lanyards.
“What’s that?” I ask him.
“Two VIP passes to the MMA match tonight. It’s going to be broadcast. Could be fun.”
He hasn’t mentioned anything like that. “What about Camryn?”
“Oh, no,” Camryn says, holding up her hands. “I’m not getting a babysitter to watch men beat the crap out of each other.” She picks up Esme, who is learning to sit up and is about to tip over. “You two go have fun. I hear you like that sort of thing.” She winks at me.
“A little unfettered violence will be good for you,” Max says. “What do you say? I think we’re in the blood splatter zone.”
“Eewww,” I say, but then catch myself. It was an automatic response based on how I used to feel. Actually, my heart is beating faster just thinking about it. “But okay. You better buy me beer.”
“I absolutely will.” He kisses Camryn on top of her head. “See you later.”
The two exchange a happy gaze that makes me avert my eyes. Were Jude and I like that at the beginning? Maybe. But me and Iron Jack? No, it was way more intense.
I shouldn’t think about it.
I change into jeans and a black tank top that won’t clash with my hair. I’ve leaned into the flame concept, and now it’s as much gold and orange as red. It’s fun, and if I have a serious meeting, I pin it up so it’s not so wild.
But today I leave it down in all its fiery glory.
It’s my one rebellion against my corporate single mom life.
If I weren’t with my cousin, I might dress a little wilder.
Maybe skip the bra. That old feeling comes over me, the one I got with Iron Jack, like my blood is actually pumping. I’m ready for anything.
We arrive at the arena midway through the lineup, well before the main event, which, surprisingly enough, includes Grey Beast. When I see his name on the marquee, I grab Max’s hand. “Did you know?”
“I did, actually. I thought it was a happy coincidence.”
I hold up the badge. “Does this mean I can see him after the fight? I’d love to talk to him.” The thought of seeing someone who knew Iron Jack so well makes my heart sing. I can say his name out loud and not in my silent thoughts.
“We totally can,” Max says.
When we enter the rows of seats, we keep walking to the front.
“You really did mean this was the splatter zone,” I say.
“I’d ask if you are up for being this close, but I think you are,” he says.
A fight with two slender men is already underway. They punch and kick in a fast, dizzying dance.
“These are flyweights,” Max says.
“I think they weigh the same as me!”
Max leads us to a row with a strikingly handsome man in his early forties. He has an intense, charismatic presence, like he knows he’s somebody. People in other seats keep pointing his way.
Max sends me into the row, and I realize my seat is right beside him. On his other side is an older, leaner version of him, probably in his mid-sixties. They’re both dressed impeccably in tailored shirts and slacks.
“Next to him?” I ask Max.
“Sure,” he says, gesturing to the spot. “Colt, this is my cousin Greta. Greta, this is Colt McClure and his father The Cure McClure.”
Oh. These are the men who sent Jax to me in a helicopter.
The Cure gives me a cursory nod and focuses back on the fight. Colt stands up to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you, Greta. I heard you were one seriously fierce warrior.” He glances at my waist. “Not packing any blades, now, are you?” His crystal eyes are teasing.
“I — uh. Oh!”
“We should sit down.” Colt takes his seat, and I settle next to him. “Grey Beast would not shut up about you. I think he has a crush.”
“Oh. Gosh. Really?” I can’t get a coherent word out.
“Sounds like life settled down for you.” He leans in. “Jax says you’ve never used the blade to contact him.”
“Gosh. I wouldn’t know how.”
“You’ll figure it out if you need it badly enough.” Colt sits back. “You like mixed martial arts?”
“I haven’t followed it much,” I admit. “But I did see Grey Beast and Iron Jack duke it out once. Well, briefly.”
“They spar all the time now.” Colt watches the fight as the crowd roars. “Oh, he’s down for good.”
Wait. “They do?”
“Sure,” Colt says. “That whole ordeal back in January was a bonding thing.” He laughs. “Not my game, that’s for sure.”
Huh. I turn to the cage. The ref is on one knee by the two fighters. I can’t figure out what’s happening exactly. Then one of them jumps up, hands in the air.
“Did he win?” I ask.
“TKO,” Colt says. “Technical knockout. It’s not a real knockout, where they go unconscious. But one where the ref determines that the opponent isn’t going to recover and resume fighting.”
“Is that how fights end? Knockout and technical knockout?”
“No, a fighter can also tap out. Or time can run out on the rounds. Then the winner is determined by points.”
The ref holds the arms of both fighters and lifts the arm of the winner. The crowd cheers again.
The screen over the cage shows the promotional photos of both fighters along with their age, weight, and win-loss record. An X goes over the loser, and the winner’s image takes over the screen.
Then it flashes Up next, the light heavyweight class.
I turn to Max. “This is fun.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
The fighters exit the cage, and a pair of young men make quick work of cleaning the floor.
The announcer comes over the speakers: “And up next, in our light heavyweight division, two up-and-coming fighters, Mad Mekhi and Iron Jack!”