Page 39 of Freak
Jonesy hadn’t acknowledged him, so Mel stood there and watched him, wondering. Jonesy was a founding member of the Montana charter, and Mel knew him well enough. He was an okay guy, but nobody would mistake him for the life of the party.
He’d come right up to Mel’s side, and there was more room at the bar, so ... did he want something?
Jonesy was a few years older, mid-fifties to Mel’s late forties, but he looked almost a generation older, with a steel-grey buzzcut and a face wrinkled like a road map forgotten under the driver’s seat of a derelict car. His old lady, Dawn, had joined him on the ride south. Dawn was somebody Mel wouldn’t mind Abigail meeting. She was about their age and an all-around solid woman.
Normally, Mel would make a joke or a smart-ass comment in a situation like this, where a brother came right up beside him and then pretended he wasn’t there. But he was in his feelings today, so he stood there and glared, waiting for Jonesy not to be an ass.
Just as he was out of patience and ready to walk off, Jonesy said, “There somethin’ goin’ on here?”
That wasn’t in the same state as anything Mel had been expecting him to say. “What? What d’ya mean?”
Jonesy shrugged. “I don’t know ... just a vibe I’m pickin’ up—and you’re standin’ here on your own, looking like somebody kicked your dog. It’s a party, brother. Usually you’re in the middle of it all. Somethin’s off.”
Though he’d been standing here trying to suss out what was wrong today, Mel didn’t like the notion that an outsider could sense it. The red light behind his eyes blinked faster.
There might be an issue with Kellen to deal with, yes, and there definitely was an issue with his shitty nephews and their shitty friends, yes, but none of that should be vibing in the Hall. It wasn’t even widely known yet among the Missouri patches. Len and Mel had talked to Badger and Double A about it, but they’d agreed with Len that it should all be set aside until after this weekend.
So he deflected. With a dismissive chuckle, he shook his head. “You’re trippin’, my brother. No vibe here but a party. And anything you see on my face is about my lady. This is her first time in the clubhouse for a big party, and ... you know.”
Jonesy turned and grinned at him. “I figured that’s what the scene was about earlier—you liftin’ your leg on her.”
He’d said that kind of shit hundreds of times himself, but this time, when it was about Abigail, he hated the image. He knew better than to make a thing of it, so he kept his grin on, ignored the blast of guilt, and said, “Gotta mark the territory.”
Jonesy nodded again and finished his beer. “I feel ya. When I was first with Dawnie, I was with the Ogres, and that scene was somethin’ else. You didn’t want a woman you gave a shit about anywhere near that clubhouse. Even all these years later, it’s hard to shake the feeling that you gotta make damn sure everybody around knows to keep off.”
He turned, waved at Loki for another, and when he had it, he focused fully on Mel. “My read is you did that show for us, so I’m gonna tell ya which of our guys to watch around your lady—that’s Maniac and Nash. No disrespect to them, you know I love ‘em, but Maniac’s just generally crazy, and when his teeth start floating in Cuervo, he forgets his old lady and every last manner. Nash is ... he’s newly patched, and I guess he’s feelin’ it some. We’ve had a thing or two in our clubhouse with him and our girls.”
Mel immediately scanned the Hall, looking for those men. Maniac Weathers was playing pool with Showdown and seemed steady and calm. The other one—Nash—had been introduced today. He was young, in his early twenties, and carried himself like the Mane on his back was an all-access pass to anything he wanted.
Not unlike Kellen, in fact.
After a pull on his fresh beer, Jonesy added, “I guess here it’s the same as home—the women around know the score and signed on for it, but it’s still a good idea to take precautions. Booze and bad decisions go hand in hand.”
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~oOo~
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Mel’s talk with Jonesydid little to ease his mind. After his Montana brother moseyed off to find his old lady, Mel stood there thinking for as long as it took him to drain his beer. He decided that the best way to make sure everybody was nice around Abigail was to keep her close. Hanging with the women, she might be mistaken for a club girl by anyone who hadn’t yet seen them together.
He found her where he expected, in the kitchen. That room was packed solid with women, and he stood at the door for a minute or two and marveled at the snug efficiency of their work. He counted a dozen women and teen girls standing or moving around, mixing ingredients in bowls, inserting or removing pans from the oven or watching pots on the stovetop, filling serving trays or carrying them away. Nobody seemed to get in anyone else’s way, and they all followed a complex, layered conversation, laughing at one thing while giving instructions for another. It reminded him of that old show,The Bear, a scene both chaotic and organized.
Abigail stood at the center island, placing perfectly cut slices of her pies on small paper plates. Caroline Ness, one of Badger and Adrienne’s girls, set each plate on a large tray. When the tray was full, Caroline hoisted it up and turned, moving with balletic grace through the throng of women.
As she came to the door, she smiled at Mel. “Hi! You need something?”
He grinned back. “Just my lady. If you can spare her.”
“Well, you’ll have to ask my mom about that. Or Aunt Lilli. Above my pay grade.” With that, she carried her sweet burden to the Hall.
Taking the path Caroline had forged, Mel went into the kitchen, working his way around the busy women, all of whom made some kind of comment indicating he was not where he belonged. By the time he arrived at the island, Abigail was smiling over her shoulder at him.
Stepping up behind her, he swept his arms around her waist and rested his head on her soft shoulder. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hi, handsome,” she murmured. “What’s up?”
“Lonely. Come be with me out there.”
