Page 51 of Misguided

EIGHTEEN

Mel

Fool.

I could see the excitement in his eyes when he thought I’d fold and grovel like all the other women he’s had. He might have my head all twisted up, but that doesn’t mean he gets to control me.

If any of Daddy’s lessons stuck, it was to hold my head high and do my best to maintain my dignity.

I head down the corridor and make my way to the opposite end. Yesterday was hard enough, which is why I put this off until now. At the opposite end of the house lies Dana’s room. Daddy wanted our bedrooms to be near each other, but she begged and whined until he relented and let her have this one amongst the male members’ quarters.

I push the door open, and hold my breath for a beat as I take it all in. I honestly expected they would have cleared it out like they did Daddy’s room, but instead her room sits mostly untouched, exactly as she left it.

The bedroom would have been the master in the original home, wide and with windows on each side that ensure sunshine spills across the floor no matter what time of day it is. Her bed sits made in the center, her furniture still adorned with her belongings. To the side, though, lays a black leather trunk. No guessing whose it is thanks to the winter jacket laid out over top.

I make my way across the dusty floor and drop to my knees. The stitching on the jacket is worn, a few barren holes left where a badge has been removed. I turn it over and run my palm over the Fallen Aces logo: a skull in a top hat, bearing the ace of spades. No matter where I go, who I become, I have no doubt this image will always provoke the same reaction within me. I lift a hand to my chest and rub at the ache brought by pride at who these people are.

My chin dimples, and yet I refuse to shed another tear over this fucked up situation. That’s what Carlos would have wanted: my misery. Dead or not, he doesn’t deserve that from me. He doesn’t deserve to make me suffer, even from the grave.

I bunch Daddy’s jacket in my arms and carry it across to the bed where I lay it out on the foot of the mattress. Two photo frames sit on Dana’s nightstand, and I smile as I look at the left one. It’s a shot of us three kids out on one of the club rallies. Mom is barely visible in the background, seated around a campfire. Daddy probably somewhere with his brothers. But what warms me most is the way the image captures how close we were as siblings. Hooch stands in the middle, his arms thrown around our shoulders as he rubs a loose fist on top of our heads. Dana’s face is screwed up as she leans forward to escape him. I’m turned to the side to try and tickle Hooch so that he’ll stop.

I remember everything about the day: the look on Murphy’s face as he snapped the shot, the smell of the wood burning on the fire, the rumble of a bike as it started in the distance, and the squeal of kids playing on the monkey bars that are out of shot.

We might not have had the most traditional of holidays, but they were memories worth making all the same. Daddy pushed us kids hard, forced us to make choices based on what it meant for the club. But I guess in retrospect I can see why.

He wanted to make sure that ideal life we had would continue into the future. He wanted the same security for us as he had for himself. Yet in reality, I think he was probably scared.

The Fallen Aces were so much of his life that I don’t think he would have known how to function as anything else. Like a long-term inmate re-entering the world, he would have felt lost if he didn’t have us.

I drop to the side of the bed, my hands hanging loosely between my knees and stare out the window at the breaking day beyond. My chest rises, slow and measured. Try as I might, I can’t stop the gradual slide my thoughts make as they slip back to Dog.

I’m convinced his words last night were spoken in the heat of the moment, in a weakened state of alcohol-induced lust. But I can’t shake how those deeper moments felt with him—the past few days, and back when he was a prospect. He was there when I didn’t ask him to be. He was there to comfort and keep me company. He cares, whether he says he does or not.

I don’t want to lose that friendship by rushing into something that might be doomed before it’s begun.

Crackers already seemed unsure when he helped me get Dog inside last night, and if Hooch were here … well, I know how that would go down. For Dog’s sake, it’s probably a good thing he’s on the run. My father might no longer be here, but that attitude that only the best is good for me certainly seems to lurk under the surface in my brother.

I gather Daddy’s jacket in my hand and rise, shutting Dana’s door as I leave the room. I could do with another coffee to keep me running thanks to no sleep, but knowing Dog is probably in the kitchen getting breakfast is enough to steer me toward the front door instead. The satin on the inside of the jacket is cool over my bare arms as I shrug it on and step outside.

I startle as a deep voice greets me from the right.

“Well, I never …”

“Hey, Johnny.” I head over and take a seat opposite our nomad, the same one who patted me on the leg as we rode away over a year ago and told me everything would be okay.

“It’s real good to see you, Mel.” He smiles, packing his cigarette paper with tobacco.

“Thank you, for what you did.” I pull the sleeves of the jacket lower over my hands. “I’ll always appreciate it.”

“Just doin’ my job,” he says with a tip of his head.

We both know it was more than that, though. He did his job, sure, but he put a hell of a lot more effort into it than some of the other guys around here would have.

“We’re still tied,” I remind him, pulling a smile from his lips as he licks the cigarette paper.

“You want a rematch now?”

“Why not?”