Page 15 of Brave as It

“I will definitely check that out, Wesson. Thank you,” she manages to get out, but it is obviously strained.

Diem knowing her best friend is struggling turns the phone back to herself. “Alright fellas, y’all go back to whatever you’re doing. I’m going upstairs to catch up with Emmalee.”

And just like that, Emmalee is walking away once again. Sure, it’s different having Diem take her away on the phone, but I feel it in my gut all the same.

She’s not in Kentucky, but she’s not close by either. Emmalee is out of Hellions territory. This limits my power, but it doesn’t leave me with none.

The ball is in her court, though. I am playing by her rules.

For now… my life is waiting, watching, and wondering for the woman I love.

FIVE

EMMALEE

Life lessons with Emma: Fake it ’til you make it is bullshit, but sometimes necessary.

“Hello,”I answer my little flip phone on the third ring.

This is an adjustment. Per my instructions, I don’t use my smart phone from back in NC for any new people. It is only used to call Diem when I don’t use my laptop, and for my mother or the strangers to reach me. Any other calls or text go ignored.

As I travel, I grab these prepaid phones. Not sure of how long this will continue on, I gave up getting smart phones and stick with the cheap ones now. When I call Diem, I use WIFI and my laptop as much as possible, it makes using the filters easier.

Since I’ve finally found a place to stay for a bit, I do like having a local phone number. Less for anyone to look into if they had my NC number. I hate this flip phone, though. Texting is a nightmare, but at least most people I’m around now prefer to call over texting.

“Pipe busted at the Suds for Ya Duds spot,” Stone states. “Need ya to get over to clean it up. Racer flipped the shutoff valve. When you finish, hit him up to get the plumber in.”

This is my life.

For now, and for who knows how long.

Six months ago, I left Haywood’s Landing. I can’t say I haven’t looked back. In my mind, I’ve looked back over and over. I want to go back. God, I want to be with him, with Wesson, and Diem too. I shouldn’t have left in the first place. I should have stopped, thought things through, and found another way.

Instead, I listened to the caller and followed the damn instructions. Like a fool, I wait, even now, to understand what I’m doing. What comes next?

Lie after lie, I keep this whole thing away from them. The reality is I don’t want to be away from any of them. When I call Diem and he happens to be over there, she always finds a way for me to say hi. Each and every time I die a little more inside.

I can’t look at him.

Hearing his voice cuts me to the core. I want to tell him I never meant anything I said. I want to tell him I miss him. I want to tell him I love him.

I can’t though.

There is far too much at stake.

This rollercoaster ride I’m on is never ending. I keep waiting for answers, next steps, and I get nowhere.

Why can’t there be this clear-cut plan? Follow the steps, complete the tasks, and be free. I can do a job. I will work hard. Whatever will get this over fastest, I’ll do it. I’m not on my own timeline. They leave me waiting and stumbling along.

After traveling around Georgia, Alabama, and Florida, I finally settled in Crest, Florida four months ago. I’m not far from Saint Petersburg and Clearwater. When things feel overwhelming a quick drive has me on a beach listening to the sounds of the waves roll in.

While my first couple of months I spent on the road trying to find a place where I could get a job, start life, I avoided anythingand everything biker. If it looked like a biker bar, I avoided, even if there was a now hiring sign. If it looked like a biker run town, I kept going.

My instructions are vague and precise at the same time. The ones they give me are exact, but in between is all a land of gray. Since the calls are not on a schedule and outside of the hand full of rules I have been given, I have to make this work for myself, I’m trying to play it smart. Pick stops safely and don’t spend too much money.

Hence, how I came to Florida and originally intended to avoid that motorcycle man lifestyle. Normalcy is safe, right? Find some middle-class suburb and blend in. Except I don’t want to be tracked. The only way for that to happen is to find a cash paying job and a place to stay that will take cash.

In today’s society that isn’t as easy as it sounds. Like a science experiment there are too many variables. This isn’t a formula, and I can simply put in the right amounts to create the concoction necessary. This is complete chaos. I’m falling deeper into the void of unknowns with every passing day.

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