Page 11 of Friar
I grabbed the duffel bag from under my bed, my hands shaking so badly I could barely unzip it.Tears blurred my vision as I yanked open drawers, stuffing clothes inside without folding or sorting.What did I need?What could I leave behind?My mind raced in useless circles as I moved from drawer to dresser to closet.
The modest dresses Aunt June had insisted I wear.The high-necked blouses and ankle-length skirts.Would I need these in my new life, whatever that might be?I shoved them in anyway, along with the jeans and low-cut top I’d worn that fateful night -- still hidden at the back of my closet like evidence of a crime.
Books.My well-worn Bible with notes in the margins.Would I still believe after this?Did God still have a place for me?I packed it anyway, along with my journal and the few novels I’d been allowed to keep.Photos of my parents.My hairbrush.Deodorant.Toothpaste.
The clock on my nightstand seemed to move at double speed, minutes disappearing as I struggled to decide what pieces of my life to salvage.My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.Tears dripped onto my clothes as I packed, dark spots appearing on fabric like accusations.
From downstairs came the sound of Aunt June’s vacuum -- as if she was already trying to erase any trace of my existence from their home.The low rumble of Uncle Pete’s voice as he spoke on the phone -- probably calling Pastor Mike to inform him of my disgrace, ensuring I’d have no sanctuary at any of the churches either.
Forty-five minutes gone.The duffel bag was full, a box of books and personal items beside it.Was this all that remained of my life here?These pitiful belongings that wouldn’t even fill the trunk of my car?The thought sent fresh tears spilling down my cheeks.
I looked around the room that had been mine for three years.The walls lined with Bible verses that hadn’t protected me.The crucifix that had watched over my sin.The bed where I’d lain awake night after night, dreaming of escape.
Well, I had my escape now.Just not the one I’d imagined.
* * *
The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly as I drove toward the outskirts of town.My box and bag sat on the back seat.My hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckle intensity, as if holding on tight enough might somehow keep my world from spinning completely out of control.My cheeks were stiff with dried tears, fresh ones threatening to spill over at any moment.I had nowhere else to go.No one else to turn to.Just the Reckless Kings -- and a man who might not even remember my name, let alone want anything to do with me and the life growing inside me.While I couldn’t be certain the baby was Friar’s, my time with him was the only thing I remembered for certain.
The weight of what I was doing pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.I was driving to a motorcycle club.With all my worldly possessions.To tell a man I barely knew, a man I’d slept with during one wild night of rebellion, that I might be carrying his child.The absurdity of it would have made me laugh if I wasn’t so terrified.
What if he didn’t remember me?What if he laughed in my face?What if they all did?I’d be truly alone then -- no family, no home, no hope.The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through me, though it might have been just morning sickness lingering into the afternoon.I swallowed hard, forcing it down.I couldn’t afford to be sick now.I couldn’t afford to be weak.
But what choice did I have?I had exactly $273.48 in my bank account -- not enough for a security deposit, let alone rent.And no job prospects beyond the church day care where I’d worked part-time -- a position that would certainly be closed to me now, once Uncle Pete spread the word about my “condition.”
I turned onto the long gravel drive that led to the clubhouse.It looked different in daylight -- less intimidating, somehow, though no less foreign to a girl raised on Sunday school and prayer meetings.The log cabin structure sat solid and imposing against the backdrop of pine trees, windows reflecting the afternoon sun like watchful eyes.A row of motorcycles lined the front, chrome gleaming, leather seats baking in the heat.Each bike was unique, personalized with different paint jobs and accessories, yet they formed a unified line -- a brotherhood of steel and power.I’d somewhat understood why the gate stood open the night I’d come here to party, but I found it strange that they’d left it open in the daytime as well.Why did they even have one if they weren’t going to close it?
The parking lot was half-empty, only a few cars scattered across the gravel expanse.I pulled into a spot near the edge, far enough from the entrance to avoid immediate notice but close enough that I wouldn’t have to walk far if -- when -- I worked up the courage to go inside.
I killed the engine but made no move to get out.My reflection stared back at me from the rearview mirror -- pale face, red-rimmed eyes, hair hastily pulled back in a messy ponytail.I looked exactly like what I was: a girl at the end of her rope.Desperation was written in the dark circles under my eyes, in the tight line of my mouth, in the way my fingers wouldn’t stop trembling no matter how tightly I clasped them together.
What was I supposed to say?There was no script for this, no proper etiquette.Emily Post had never written a chapter on how to inform a biker that he might be a father.
The sun beat down on the car, turning it into an oven despite the open windows.Sweat beaded on my forehead, running down my temples to mingle with fresh tears I hadn’t realized I was crying.I wiped them away with the back of my hand, smearing them across my cheeks.Crying wouldn’t help.Nothing would help except facing this head-on.
Still, I couldn’t make myself move.My legs felt leaden, my body refusing to follow the commands of my panicked mind.Five more minutes, I told myself.Five minutes to gather my courage, to rehearse what I might say, to prepare for rejection or worse.
The clubhouse door swung open, cutting off my internal negotiations.A man stepped out, his silhouette immediately recognizable despite the distance.Tall, with that distinctive reddish-blond hair catching the sunlight like burnished copper.Friar.The universe had made the decision for me.
He stood on the porch for a moment, stretching like a cat waking from a nap.I watched as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with practiced ease.The smoke curled around his head, a gray halo in the bright sunlight.He hadn’t seen me yet, his attention on the cigarette, on the horizon, on anything but the beat-up car lurking at the edge of the parking lot.
Then he turned, his gaze sweeping the area in a casual survey that stopped abruptly when it landed on my car.Even from this distance, I could see his posture change -- shoulders tensing, head tilting slightly as he tried to identify the unfamiliar vehicle.He took another drag of his cigarette, then stepped off the porch, moving with the confident swagger of a man on his own territory.
My heart hammered against my ribs as he approached, his expression growing more suspicious with each step.He was dressed simply -- jeans, boots, a plain black T-shirt beneath his leather cut.The patch on his chest that read “Friar” seemed to mock me with its familiarity.
He stopped beside my car, eyes narrowing as he took in the box and bag on the back seat.His gaze moved from them to me, recognition dawning on his face.Not just recognition -- wariness.He tapped on my window with two fingers, a casual gesture that somehow carried the weight of command.
With trembling hands, I rolled down the window, the manual crank sticking halfway as it always did.The smoky scent of his cigarette drifted in, oddly comforting in its familiarity.A reminder of that night, of the choices that had led me here.
“Church girl,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.It wasn’t a question.He remembered me.“What are you doing here?And what’s with all the…” He gestured at the packed car, cigarette between his fingers leaving a trail of smoke in the air.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.Just a choked sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob.The dam I’d been holding back suddenly broke.Tears streamed down my face, my shoulders shaking with the force of my sobs.
“I -- they --” I gasped between heaving breaths.“They threw me out.”
Friar’s expression shifted, surprise replacing suspicion.“Who threw you out?”
“My uncle and aunt,” I managed, wiping uselessly at my face.“This morning.They found -- they know I’m --” I couldn’t say it.Couldn’t form the word that would change everything between us.
