Page 5 of Full Throttled

I get out of the car and make my way to the door which is open but the screen door is closed. It’s not hard to tell what’s going on from here. The beat-up coffee table is loaded with all kinds of drugs, alcohol cans and bottles litter the floor and there’s a naked girl laying across my naked boyfriend’s lap.You’ve got to be kidding me!I think to myself.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have suspicions that Gregg cheated, or that he was into something like drugs because our money is always gone. We barely have food or a roof over our heads. The Dodge Neon I own has most definitely seen better days and I think it runs more on prayers than anything else. I’ve often questioned where our money goes, but like everything else, Gregg controls the money that I make. Seeing this, all laid out in front of me, is like a slap in the face.

Slowly, I open the screen door. I try to figure out why the music wasn’t playing when I pulled into the driveway, when clearly everyone in here is stoned and passed out. I sigh and walk over to the stereo system and turn it off before heading to the bedroom. My thoughts are jumbled. The only thing I know for certain is that I can’t do this anymore. I’m so tired of this being my life. I walk into the wood paneled bedroom that is basically falling apart. The carpet is shag and worn. In some spots there’s nothing. Our mattress is thrown on the floor with the blanketsaskew. I walk over to the closet and just stand there trying to decide what to do with my life.

Finally, I pull out my shredding duffel bag that might not make it back to Los Angeles, but I hope like hell it will. I pile everything that I can in there. Once I’m done, I stand there staring down at the floor trying to decide if this is the best thing for me or the biggest mistake. Honestly, I don’t think it could be a bigger mistake than being with Gregg, especially now with drugs involved. I sigh heavily and run my fingers through my brown hair. When I turn around, I jump because a shirtless Art, Gregg’s best friend and probably drug supplier, is standing in the doorway, eyeing me up. My skin crawls with disgust and my gut clenches with fear.

Art bites his lip as he steps closer to me. “You look good tonight, Z.”

I roll my eyes. “I look tired.”

He shakes his head as his eyes rake over my body again. I’m trapped. There’s no way around him to get to the door. There’s no escaping. “No Baby, I think you look real good.”

I swallow down the bile that climbs up my throat and remember my keys are in my hand. There’s a little keychain pocket knife that Drake gave me years ago still hanging there. It’s my only hope. Without drawing attention to myself, I try to open it so that I’m ready for what I know is about to happen. Then a shout from the living room draws our attention. It’s Gregg and his voice is panicked. He’s screaming for Art.

I stand in the shadows of the hallway and listen as Art and Gregg discuss the naked girl who has apparently overdosed. She’s not breathing is all Gregg keeps saying. Tears burn my eyes and clog my throat because her life shouldn’t have ended this way. If I stay will that be me? That question is the reason I turn around and go back to the bedroom. I close the door before grabbing my bag and opening the window. I climb out and jog to my Neon. I start the car and back out so fast, I get dizzy. This can’t be my life anymore, it’s the only thought I have. I speed down the street, everything becoming a blur as I leave Gregg and the messed-up relationship we had behind.

When I reach the highway, I have to make a decision. I sit there, with no traffic behind me, and just think about going back to Los Angeles. I don’t want to see my father, but I’d give anything to see Zayde again. It’s been so long. I miss his face and his hugs. I even miss Drake. I wonder if he’s still there or if he went back to South Carolina. He’s probably some good boy with the perfect wife and white picket fence house. The idea makes me smile because that’s what Drake deserved.

Taking a deep breath and turning on the radio, I turn to the left and leave Mississippi behind. I guess it’s time to face my past.

Four

Drake

As I make my way to the clubhouse, which is basically a rundown warehouse the club purchased long before I ever came along on the outskirts of town, I can’t help the memories that flood through my brain. Zoey was such an important part of that first year here in Los Angeles. I never fit in Los Angeles, but it didn’t seem to matter when I was with Zoey and Zayde. It didn’t matter that I had close to nothing in common with them or that my southern accent was too thick. They didn’t care. They accepted me for who and how I was--no questions asked. I don’t think I would have ever adjusted if I hadn’t met them to be honest.

Zoey was always by my side and Zayde defended me against everyone at school. It didn’t matter how many fights he got into, he had my back. Zayde became like a brother to me and Zoey was the first girl I ever loved, even though I knew she never felt the same.

Zoey was unattainable. She was smart, funny, and gorgeous. If she had a flaw it was that she lived for a thrill. She loved the bad boys. She wanted her heart to race in ways that only they could make it. I didn’t understand it then and even as an adult I sometimes don’t get it. Although, I have found since my looks have changed and drawn me closer to that bad boy category, I’ve noticed more girls have a thing for the bad boy than I had originally thought. I think part of the appeal for Zoey was the fact that her dad, may he rest in peace, didn’t treat Zoey the way she deserved. He blamed her for her mother leaving and often referred to Zoey as unkind and untrue things. She had a thick skin, but I could still by the look in her eyes, the one that told me just how deeply his words had cut her, how hurt she truly was. Zoey perfected the art of acting as if the verbal lashings that her father dished out were just part of her normal, everyday life but theyshouldn’t have been. She picked the bad boys every chance she could because she knew they weren’t afraid to stand up against her father. They’d say or do whatever they wanted, her father be damned. They weren’t afraid to put him in his place to defend her against him.

Once upon a time, I wished to be one of those guys. I wanted to defend Zoey so many times but good manners had been drilled into my head my entire life so I always chose to stay quiet and just comfort her afterwards. It was wrong and I have oftenwondered ifI had made it a point to stand up to her father, if she would have stayed around. Maybe, if I had been the one to tell him to back off, then she wouldn’t have run away with Gregg.

The thoughts in my head are running faster than any car or bike I’ve raced. I don’t know what to do or think. I don’t even know if Zoey knows about her father’s passing or what Zayde will say or do when he finds out she’s returned. Is she here to stay or just for a night?

As I reach the outskirts of town, leaving behind the city lights and traffic, I feel that clench in my stomach. It’s a familiar feeling. I get it every time I get behind a steering wheel, sitting at the starting line, waiting for the chance to put the pedal to the metal. Zoey was the first thing in life to give me that feeling. The gut check I like to call it. After she left, I searched for something to stir that feeling inside of me and that’s when I stumbled into racing, much to my mother’s despair, even though she knew it was inevitable with the way the James brothers had accepted me into the family. Being a JamesBoy meant cars and racing. Their world revolved around it and so did mine after a while. My first race scared the shit out of me but as I approached the starting line that gut check feeling came and I was hooked. It’d been too long since I had felt that. She had been gone too long.

I remember chasing that feeling as I went full throttle to the finish line. Now, I get that feeling by just looking at Aubree, but the idea of seeing Zoey in just a few minutes has my stomach in knots, my palms sweating, and I’m cursing like a sailor in my head. I pull up and see the beat-up Dodge Neon parked in front next to Wilder’s bike, the rest of the lot is mostly empty since everyone is on the ride. I pull up and park my white Ford work truck next to her neon and climb down. I take a deep breath as I approach the front door.

I don’t know what I’m expecting, but when I enter, I find a slim, too slim, version of Zoey sitting with her back to me on one of the bar stools. Her long dark hair is dirty and matted, haphazardly pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her clothes have clearly seen better days, too. This is not how I remember Zoey, this isn’t my Zoey. Life hasn’t been kind to her and that breaks my heart.

“Drake, man, I’m glad you’re here?” Wilder says on the other side of the bar.

I nod. “Hey man.” Zoey turns and our eyes lock. My heart stops falling to the floor, before jumping back up into my throat and running a damn marathon. Those eyes are the same except a little duller than I remember, but the kindness is still there, buried in thetawnycolored irises. I watch as her eyes roam up and down my body, the pupils dilating as she takes in the older version of me. Her cheeks flush and she brings her bottom lip between her teeth and slightly bites down. I swallow past my dry throat and mouth as Wilder approaches me. I pull out my wallet and keys. “Take my truck and go grab a bacon burger, no cheese with a side of ketchup, and an order of onion rings and a large Dr. Pepper from Burt’s.”

Wilder nods and I wait until I hear the door close behind him before I approach the stool where Zoey is sitting. Gut check, once again when her eyes meet mine. “It’s been a long time, Zo.”

She gives me the smallest of smiles, that never reaches her eyes. “I guess it has been.”

Five

Zoey

This entire trip I’ve been on autopilot, but I’ve been trying to enjoy the scenery. I don’t want to think about the fact that I’m running back home with my tail tucked between my legs. I don’t want to think about that look that will come into my father’s eyes when he realizes that I’m back. He’ll look smug and triumphant and if I let myself think about his reaction for too long, I know I’ll chicken out. I know that’ll turn the car around and go back to Gregg and just deal with his shit because I don’t want to deal with my father’s.

It’s easier to deal with Gregg’s lying, cheating, and addictions. I know that might not make much sense, but it's easier to accept that he doesn’t truly love me than it is to face the truth that my father doesn’t. My father is supposed to love me unconditionally, yet he never has. That’s the cut that I can’tdeal with, but I also know that my life will continue to derail if I stay with Gregg. I won’t have a chance at a future and I don’t want that either. As much as I hate the idea of showing up and asking for help from my father, I hate the idea of losing my life over Gregg worse.

Instead of dealing with the war of past memories and future possibilities that has now taken over my head, I just focus on anything and everything around me. I don’t allow myself the freedom to think about Los Angeles, my father, my brother, or even the MC, Sons of Sin, that I grew up with. I don’t allow myself to dwell on anything for too long because I’m too afraid that I’ll turn around. I know me. I know I’m stubborn and prideful-- which would lead me to avoid dealing with my past at all costs.

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