Scenic Route Read online

  It was definitely a biker bar, but these bikers tolerated a bit of dance music on Saturday nights, because it was often biker date night or a place for girlie nights among our group, and they could watch all the girls dance and anyone with a girlfriend or wife knew she’d get all liquored up and loose for them to have fun with when the night was done.

  But, as much as I appreciated my friends trying to help me dance my cares away, it wasn’t working. Or, maybe it was. Until I saw the way Spencer was standing there, beer bottle to his lips, eyes searing a hot, crackling fiery trail directly to me.

  But, back to the text… the tipping point that got me out of the cycle of only going between Jenna’s apartment and downstairs to the salon for the first time in two weeks.

  Penny, an awkward but soon-to-be-knockout thirteen-year-old ball of indelible energy had become like a little sister to me, and just seeing her name pop up on my phone screen made me sad, never mind what she wrote in the actual text.

  I hadn’t talked to Joe’s family up until then. And they’d been near daily fixtures in my life for months up until that point. We were always exchanging texts, commenting on one another’s social media posts, and we saw them all the time. I’d already guessed they’d side with him since he might be facing incarceration for this. And Penny’s text confirmed I was right. But, it still hurt.

  I hadn’t seen or heard from Joe himself (thank heavens). I’d had a voicemail from Officer Brice Hodges, who told me that he was released conditionally, and was going into a rehab facility and he’d be back in court in about six or eight weeks to face the domestic battery charges.

  But, Penny’s text Saturday morning when I was in between a pedicure and an eyebrow wax had felt like a sharp kick to the ribs… which I already knew, first hand, was not a pleasant feeling.

  PipPip HeyHey,

  I heard about what happened and wanted you to know we (me, Mom & grampa) don’t blame you. Joey’s in rehab getting help. I hope you’ll think about dropping the charges since he is trying to get help . He is destroyed and worried he blew it w u. He said you put a protective ordr and he wants to talk when he’s out of rehab and hopes you’ll do that without him getting in legal trbl.

  We love you and he loves you and you don’t even no how sry he is. u are part of our fam. I hope u and Joey work it all out asap. Xxxooo. ILY

  Pen

  I hated this. Joe’s mom, Jan, was a single mom. His dad died when Penny was small, a victim of his own drinking and driving --- of all things, single car crash, and he died instantly and didn’t take anyone with him (thankfully), though he did leave behind a family that needed him. Their elderly grandfather lived with them. They were a nice family, people I thought were going to be my family. But, there was no way I could have a relationship with them now.

  I’d bought tickets for her favorite band already, for her upcoming fourteenth birthday. I was going to take her, have a girls’ night out. I’d send those to Jan, so Penny could still go.

  Knowing Joe’s mother, I suspected she might have put Penny up to this. I liked Jan, but she was a bit manipulative. But, of course, right? He was their blood; they had his back. They’d do or say anything they could to stop him from doing jail time. Of course, right? He was pretty much the man of the family, Grampa being elderly. Joe was always fixing things around the house or buying things for Penny that Jan couldn’t afford.

  I was glad Joe was in proper rehab with professionals who could help where I couldn’t. I really was. I hoped he got help and went on to lead a productive and drug-free life. I really did.

  But, we were done. No matter how bad he felt, there was no going back after the things he’d done, the terror he’d evoked in me, screaming in my face, raging, hitting and kicking after knocking me down. Attacking despite that I was curled into a ball on the floor, bleeding, crying. No.

  And I was feeling bad for Penny, for Jan, for Grampa. But I’d already decided I really could not drop the charges. I had to stick to my guns so that he is forced to change, either by court-mandate or through incarceration keeping his vices away from him. I had to leave it up to a judge; I wasn’t qualified to be the one to give him a pass.

  That he was even capable of the violence he’d inflicted on me? I could not take a chance that it’d ever happen again. If I let it go and he went on to become drug-free and find someone else, what if later on he had another relapse and beat some girl to death? Or hurt a child? Or mowed someone down while intoxicated in his car?

  If I didn’t make it so he had to answer for this, something bad happening down the road would be on me.

  I was so bloody sad. I’d gone back to work after several days of wallowing in Jenna’s apartment, Mom coming over daily. Dad was probably staying away as he didn’t want to see the physical damage. I’d talked to him on the phone, though.

  My dad (Phillip Sr.) is a trucker, Mom (Joanne) a Special Ed. teacher. Dad is a tough, stern, but loving dad, who works crazy hours and is often sleeping in his truck away from home, but Sunday dinners are sacrosanct in my family. And he is a lot like my brother, Phil, who is ten years older than me.

  Dad would not hesitate to go try to beat up Joe. If I’d gone home, Dad would’ve dealt. But, since I was intent on staying at Jenna’s, he simply talked to me on the phone. It saved him from seeing his daughter bruised and broken-hearted.

  “Pipsqueak,” he said gruffly. Dad and Phil both called me that, my brother usually shortening it to ‘Squeak’.

  “Hiya Dad.”

  “You good?”

  “I will be, Dad.”

  “Damn right you will be. You need anything?” He sounded close to choking up.

  And shit… that hurt.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Need some money?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  This was so my Dad. Phillip Griffin Sr. didn’t know how to deal emotionally, so he tried to help in whatever ways he could help.

  “Okay, little girl. Call me if you do. Or if you need anything. You done with him?”

  “I am.”

  “For sure?”

  “For sure, Dad.”

  “Good. Comin’ home? Gonna keep yer mother company?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m okay at Jenna’s for now.”

  “Okay. Here’s your mother.”

  That was Dad. Gruff. To the point. Trying to help but not always knowing how. And he loved his family.

  I skipped two Sunday dinners in a row, which was a punishable offence in my family, but I’d go to the next one tomorrow.

  After Penny’s text, I got upset and Jenna took it upon herself to round up a few of us girls for a night out.

  So, tonight: girls’ night at a safe playground. Deke’s Roadhouse.

  ***

  We’d been dancing to Mony Mony by Billy Idol when I’d spotted Spencer. I hadn’t seen him since a few hours after the confrontation with my brother. I’d been in bed, in Jenna’s embrace, when he poked his head in, made a face of anger at me, but then said,

  “I gotta get to the showroom. You good, Sunshine?”

  “Yep,” I assured. “Thank you. Seriously, thanks.”

  He looked at me a beat, flexing his jaw muscles, nodded at Jenna, and then he left.

  “Sunshine?” Jenna whispered, her cornflower blue eyes huge. “What’s with the Sunshine? That’s not the first time I’ve heard him call you that.”

  I gave her a nonchalant wave. “He’s called me that since we met.”

  “Hm,” she said, but I could see her wheels turning.

  I’d shrugged and went to the bathroom and saw my face in the mirror. Wow. Rough-looking would be an understatement. I had an angry-looking bruised cheekbone, a cut from my upper to lower lip, and fat upper lip and a scab on it. I figured that’s why his face went madder when he saw me in the morning light.

  I hadn’t talked to him since.

  But now, my face looks fairly normal again. My knees are still healing, and I do still have a touch o
f tenderness and the remnants of a bruise on my ribs, but to anyone looking at me right now, I look like me.

  Spencer was leaned against the bar, wearing a black tank and faded jeans with biker boots. A dozen girls danced on the dance floor.

  But, Spencer wasn’t casually watching all of us like the other bikers leaning against the bar or the railing at the edge of the dancefloor. Spencer was only watching me.

  Those eyes look hungry.

  I saw him like this once. It was the night we met, and he was looking at Ella this way. But not quite this way. This is more than hungry. This is thirsty and hungry. It was as if he was in predator mode.

  He’s the lion on the Savannah and I’m the gazelle.

  My stomach took a nosedive, my smile vanished, and still, he watched me with that expression. For some reason, maybe because of what I’d just been through, maybe because he saw me at that awful moment of vulnerability and looked after me and then got angry about it, calmed me down after nightmares, stood between me and my brother when my brother was losing it, all of it --- I don’t know how to explain why, really, but his demeanor kind of freaked me out.

  I signaled to the girls that I was heading off to the bathroom. Usually, we went in packs. But, this song? Those girls wouldn’t leave the dance floor in the middle of this song unless the fire alarm sounded.

  I rushed into the ladies’ room, had a pee, washed up, fluffed my hair, and then stared at my reflection for a minute, hands braced on the counter.

  My phone binged with an incoming text.

  Penny. A link. I opened it. YouTube video.

  In Between by Linkin Park.

  I frowned, let it play a minute, but then turned it off and shoved the phone into my bag.

  I had done a good job of concealing what was left of the yellowy-green (formerly dark purple) bruise on my cheek. My lips looked pretty much normal again.

  I dressed up a little bit tonight. I wore a nice blue blouse with cleavage, pink skinny jeans, and high heeled blue suede booties. My hair, thick and brown with highlights and lowlights, hit a few inches below my shoulders, and it’s usually bone straight, but tonight it had loads of volume. My eyes are brown, Mom calls them brandy-colored, and I’m wearing lots of sparkly makeup including gold glitter on my eyelids and a berry lip gloss. I felt great, getting out of my misery bubble and having fun in what I’d felt was a safe place.

  Yes, this biker dive bar is the safest place in the world for me, because this is my tribe and all of their men are like a protective shield.

  I headed out of the ladies’ room, thinking about my drink sitting on our table, anxious to down it and order another.

  But, he was in the alcove that led to the three washrooms. Men’s Women’s. Disabled. I put the brakes on, almost teetering on my heels, nearly colliding with him.

  His hands came up, landing on my biceps to steady me. His touch felt like an electric shock, though.

  “Uh, hey.” I took a step back.

  He looked me up and down. “You good?”

  I shrugged. “I’m all right.”

  “He leavin’ you alone?”

  I nodded, but felt my shoulders slump. “He’s gone from jail to rehab. By the time he’s out of rehab, he’ll be in court.”

  “I know. Brice is keepin’ me informed.”

  “He is?” I asked, meeting his gaze, realizing I’d been looking anywhere but his face.

  He nodded. “He’s family. New to town. No one knows that. Keep that under your hat. He’s my cousin.”

  “Oh.”

  An invisible weight seemed to hang in the air.

  “Buy you a drink?” he offered.

  I laughed nervously. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I’ve got one. Scott’s watching our drinks while we dance.”

  “You goin’ back to the dancefloor?” he asked, eyes traveling the length of me again.

  I shook my head. “I’m gonna sit with Scott a minute and catch my breath.”

  “I’ll sit with you.”

  He put his hand to my lower back and signaled for me to go ahead.

  I didn’t like this. I didn’t like the way he’d crowded me. I didn’t like the way he looked at me. His hand wasn’t just on my lower back, it was on my bare skin. My blouse was untucked and barely covered my waistband, so maybe it was by accident that his hand connected like a hot brand on my bare lower back, but it didn’t feel like an accident.

  It was making me feel sour. It was making me want to go back home and hide under the covers like I did most nights this past two weeks, even if I was barely sleeping.

  What did he think he was doing? Anxiety was climbing in my blood like mercury rising on a thermometer on July 4th.

  If he hadn’t been looking at me the way he’d been looking at me I’d figure he was just being a friend, checking on me after my…ordeal. But, his body language, the proprietary way he was with me, it made me feel like … like I had to make it stop. Not let him get any ideas.

  Surely, he didn’t think it was even an option to move in on me. But, the way he was acting?

  The girls were also heading back to the table. Conversation ensued and quickly turned to discussions about food. It was close to last call and as per usual with our clan, a girlie dance night ended with munchies.

  Ella, our short (a couple inches shorter than me and I was only 5’4”) and busty curly-haired blonde friend, absolutely tanked and as always when she’d had more than a few, was hilarious. She was trying to organize a group trip to Taco Bell.

  Deacon wasn’t around tonight. She’d said he was doing something for the MC.

  Rider was here, and he and Jenna were making out by the bar; Jenna’s hands were on his butt.

  Jenna was definitely on the getting drunk side of tipsy, and had been a dancefloor tease all night, making all sorts of eye contact with him. I had a feeling I’d be up all night, listening to them.

  Our walls weren’t exactly thin, but Jenna and Rider were loud and so I’d been hearing them every night. Both of them. If they’d been out partying, they were both extra loud. He liked to tell her what to do during sex, explicitly, and she clearly liked doing it.

  Lulu, our purple-haired, pierced and tattooed junior stylist started cutting hair at the salon a few months ago, and was eye-fucking a biker with an emblem on his MC leather that I didn’t recognize. He had lots of piercings (eyebrow, chin, lip, and giant ear spacers). He licked his lips, looking at her, and I saw his tongue was pierced, too. Looked like Lulu could be getting lucky.

  I had a boyfriend once with a tongue piercing. It was pretty fantastic, particularly the oral. I hadn’t had sex in about a month, though. Joe had zero libido the last month we were together, and a barely-there sex drive the three months previous. And it hurt, but I’d been in a state of denial about it and had been so tired of getting turned down, I stopped making moves. It had been at least a month for sex, probably three or more months since I’d had great sex.

  Scott was texting, and judging by the smile on his face, it was probably Deanna, who would’ve come out tonight, but couldn’t get a sitter. Scott was super-sweet with her, had offered to watch her two kids so she could come out instead, but Deacon had reportedly ordered Scott on girlie-night-out duty, to keep an eye on us, get us to and from the bar safely, and assist with any coordinated efforts to feed us our post-bar munchies.

  “You hungry?” Spencer leaned in, putting his arm around my chair.

  I tensed and shook my head. “Not really.”

  “All right!” Ella announced, “I need naked chicken chalupas. And I have to get food for Deacon for later, but he won’t eat Taco Bell, so we’ll stop and get him a cheesesteak at that other place. Wait. Maybe I want a cheesesteak instead.” She looked thoughtful. “Anyone want anything other than tacos or cheesesteak?”

  And then she sprang to her feet. “Let’s go! Cheesesteak, tacos, whatever. Smorgasbord!”

  I just wanted to go home.

  “Who’s drivin’?” Spencer asked.

 
“I’m drivin’ the Mystery Machine,” Scott answered, jingling keys in his hand as he got to his feet.

  The Mystery Machine, an old-school 80’s short school bus, belonged to the club. Scott had gotten into hot water when he got it for the club, because he was tasked with finding a bus or van for transporting groups, and bought it from a church via an online classified site. When he and a few other members went to pay for it and tow it out of there, they wound up going in the wrong door of what looked like a warehouse, but was really the path to the sanctuary of this unique church.

  Scott, Bronto, Pudge, and Blow wound up at the altar during a time when the pastor had asked anyone who wanted to be ‘saved’ to come up.

  Scott took a lot of flak for it. All of them did, because Pudge and Bronto went through with it, not wanting to be rude, which was surprising about Pudge. Pudge was a tall and skinny angry-looking biker ex-con with scraggly hair and a big full beard.

  Blow was the VP of the MC and promptly exited stage left with Scott, but they found themselves the only two outside. When they went back in to retrieve Bronto and Pudge, those men had already been ‘saved’ and the place was apparently a bit of a zoo with flashing strobe lights and people rolling on the floor, speaking in tongues.

  There were unconfirmed reports that said that Pudge’s motorcycle was seen parked outside that church most Sundays since.

  When they got the transaction taken care of, Scott took the bus to a friend who was supposed to have it painted by a family friend with a custom paint shop, but there was a mix-up between the school bus and a VW bus. It should’ve been painted black and with the MC’s emblem on the side. It got christened The Mystery Machine because it wound up with a bunch of hippie tie dye designs and peace symbols and at the back door, a painting of Scooby Doo was the finishing touch.