Page 20 of Dravin

That’s fishing and he knows it, but he gives mesomething. Actually, he’s given me a lot of things today. Enough to make my head spin for weeks.

“A great deal, actually.”

“Did you learn that as a SEAL?”

“I knew a little bit before I went, but… yes. I learned a lot about engines.”

I hear what he doesn’t say.And a great deal about a whole lot of things that I had no say in and didn’t enjoy.

Whatever happened to my brother in the eight years he was away, he thought becoming a one percenter was either the answer or a lesser evil. He was looking for fucked up family and he found it.

I purposely force my thoughts elsewhere. To all the canvases I have to clean up and the grass I have to mow over once I move the chairs, the green, wet lumps I have to pick up that Dravin tossed aside. What Iwon’tbe thinking about is how my heart nearly hammered out of my body when he laid his hands on me, or how I can still smell his scent lingering on me from his shirt.

My pulse picks up, racing so hard that it my wrists ache. I quickly press my hands together in front of me, interlacing my fingers tightly. “What do you think that uh… biker women like?”

He finally looks at me, but keeps his gaze trained on my face. The sun is in his eyes. He squints against it, but I still catch the whiskey bright flecks in the depths of the brown that the daylight softens. “I don’t really know. If I had to guess, I’d say that they probably like a lot of the same things you do.”

“I don’t like much of anything anymore besides working out.” I’ve trained so hard and for so long that I’ve kept up part of my routine here, in the backyard, where I have room to move.

He winces and then immediately throws up a hand to pretend it’s just the sun bothering him, but I regret my frank statement. It sounds like another thing that I’m blaming him for.

I would have, easily, but I have to stop.

This life might not have been planned, or the one I’d have chosen, but it’s the only life I have and trying to escape it isn’t an option. If all I continue to do is sow seeds of bitterness and discontent, what a sorry ass crop that will be.

“From what I understand, most of them have basic self-defense training and there’s someone at the club that ensures every person knows how to handle a gun for safety. Hart is a good town, and this club is built of good, salt of the earth men, but there are still dangers. Nothing like LA would have been, but it’s also better to be trained for danger, should it ever land on your doorstep. It makes me feel immeasurably better that should someone try to fuck with you, you could snap their neck.”

I think that was his attempt at a joke, although he’s not smiling.

He’s downloaded his good poker face already.

“It’s not like we can just come out here and wrestle each other.”

Now he laughs, the sound surprisingly rich and husky. He appears so much more relaxed now. It’s a relief. Ihated that caged, sick,wronglook that I drove him to in the house. “I think that would make for an eventful meet and greet.”

Chapter 5

Kael

The sky is bleached out, fading to a dusky blue peppered with the vague outline of stars. It reminds me more of wintery mornings in Chicago than it does a mid-July summer evening, but the air is thick and wet with humidity.

I might have put up a fuss about coming here, but I have to admit that Hart truly is peaceful. The quiet in this small residential neighborhood is only ever broken by children laughing and shouting or dogs barking. The streets are lined with the little wartime houses bracketed by tall trees and manicured lawns. Splashes of color pop out in well placed pots or hanging baskets of flowers. The whole area is meticulous and has a small town, cheerful innocence about it.

I heard that all it does is rain in Seattle, but so far, that hasn’t proved true. Then again, I guess we’re an hour north. The days have been warm, but nothing like the heat of Orlando that I’ve grown used to this past year. The air smells so fresh that while sitting in the backyard, I’ve imagined the soft breezes whipping straight off the mountains, though they’re a few hours from here.

The quiet calm of the street is punctured by a throaty growl of a motorcycle. I’m standing out on the tiny porch, watering the hanging baskets of flowers that tend to dry out so quickly because they’reoverflowingwith blooms. Like the flowers in the backyard lining the fence, they were here when Iarrived. It felt wrong to let them die, so I’ve been caring for them meticulously.

As soon as I hear that thunder, I step back inside, shutting the door firmly. I hope fervently that it will stay in the distance, or keep on going past, but life has a way of kicking me in the face lately, and as that roar escalates until it’s practically shaking the laminate flooring in the little house, I know that Dravin made good on his promise.

I was ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine percent sure that he would, so I spent the better part of today cleaning. My morning started at four, when I gave up on patching together restless bits of sleep and got up to guzzle some water and head out into the backyard to put myself through the rigorous paces of training like I used to. It was cool in the blue dark of the morning, and although my routine has been substantially altered without a gym to attend, at least I got to see a spectacular sunrise.

After that, I showered, chugged back a few shots of espresso and got down to trying to make the place look more like a home and less like an angry artists’ convention.

The day I moved in, Dravin made sure he detailed for me just how much care went into putting this house together. It was something that his future club ‘brothers’ and their old ladies. If any of them dropped by and saw what I’d turned it into, I’d never live down the shame.

I’m not sure I’ll live this down, period.

I peek through the cheap white plastic blinds at the surprisingly large living room window in time to see an absolute bombshell of a babe slide off the bike that she’s just parked in line with the sidewalk in front of the house. She removes herhelmet and shakes out a full head of dazzling blonde hair. She’s tall, all long legs in tight jeans and leather boots that go past her knees, and she sure as hell fills out the black leather jacket with the lacings on either side. I can just make out a large patch on the back, so she’s no doubt connected to the club. Her red lipstick, sharp cheekbones, and dazzling eyes are a siren’s call straight to my artist’s soul.

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