Scenic Route Page 9

  I’d absolutely creamed my panties with that kiss, with the feel of him getting hard against me. Thankfully, I’d found a way to gather my senses and stop it from going any further. Judging by the pose of defeat as we’d driven away, I’d gotten that message across.

  And I felt torn about it. And guilty. And still… aroused.

  I had the urge to slip my hand under my sunshine t-shirt into my undies and think about that kiss. I resisted that urge. I had to. I couldn’t let my head get any more muddled than it already was.

  4

  It was the next morning, after my coffee and my yoga practice. I dug through my wallet and found the business card I was looking for.

  I called Officer Brice Hodges, and left him a voicemail.

  “Hi. This is Pippa Griffin. I heard Joe was released from rehab and is on house arrest. Can you call me?”

  I recited my phone number and hung up.

  I wanted to get the text on record, in case it was Joe contacting me. I also wanted to make sure I was being informed of stuff, since no one had even told me Joe had been released from rehab into house arrest. Without an ankle monitor thing.

  I went to Mom and Dad’s for Sunday dinner. My aunt, uncle, and the neighbor were also there. Aunt Rachel, one of Mom’s sisters, knew what happened to me, not from Mom, but because she’d heard through the grapevine, which was very unsettling. It wasn’t fun to have to deal with her coddling and her advice about taking a break from relationships, giving myself time to heal, and maybe meeting a nice guy at church, rather than picking up men in bars.

  Joe and I had met in a bar. Joe and I spent a lot of time in bars. We were in our twenties. It was par for the course. Aunt Rachel, God love her, was uber-judgmental.

  At least my Uncle Rick and the neighbor seemed like they were in the dark and acted normal with me. Our neighbor, Mrs. Shubert, an elderly woman whose house and porch were attached to ours asked where my “young man” was. When I’d first taken Joe back, he wasn’t welcome at my parents’ house. That changed at Christmas and he’d come for dessert after Christmas dinner. After that, he was invited to Sunday dinners again. Mrs. Shubert loved to talk Joe’s ear off.

  The room went still and awkward at her question.

  “Oh, we aren’t together anymore, Mrs. Shubert,” I said, thinking oh man…

  “Handsome. Good job. Nice car.”

  “Yep,” I replied.

  “Nice guy?” she asked, her shrewd eyes on me.

  I gave her a tight smile. “Just didn’t work out.”

  “Didn’t you two, cohabitate?” she asked pointedly. I already knew she didn’t approve of living in sin, she’d made that clear more than once, so it was a dumb question, but I didn’t have it in me to be snippy with her.

  She was a good neighbor. She’d done alterations for all the special occasions dresses for everyone on the street for everything for years. Every baby that was born on our block got a hand-made sweater and hat set with a personalized embroidered tag.

  She was the neighborhood babysitter and never charged the parents, which made it hard to be a teen on our street as you couldn’t earn babysitting money, but her presence in our lives was steady.

  We devoured her tins of cookies at Christmas like they were laced with crack-cocaine and made with love. She made me a pair of mittens or a scarf every single year for Christmas until I moved off the street. I still had three pairs of those mittens and about six scarves all made by her. She was a lonely widow whose two kids rarely visited, and she was pretty opinionated, too, telling guys to cut their hair or tuck in their shirt. Telling girls if she thought we were wearing too much makeup or not enough clothing. When I was twelve, she told me I shouldn’t wear “dangly earrings or colored fingernail polish” at my age; they made me look cheap. She told me to stick to clear coat for some shine and stud earrings until I was sixteen.

  I didn’t listen. But, funny, I always heard her in my head when I saw a tween girl trying to look older than she was.

  Mom and Dad made sure to invite her over for Sunday dinner at least once a month, though. I could endure Mrs. Shubert today. I could endure normal opinionated people being unguarded, much easier than people walking on eggshells with me. It was a nice switch.

  I stayed late and watched a movie with my parents after helping with clean-up and then headed back to Phil’s apartment, getting there shortly after 11 o’clock. My Mom was flipped out by how late I’d stayed. I usually went to bed by nine thirty or ten o’clock. I didn’t tell her that I’d been having trouble sleeping since things had gone wrong in my life. Mom was worried enough about me --- I didn’t need to add more worry to her plate.

  ***

  It didn’t hit me at first that something was off, that the upstairs door wasn’t closed. The place had two doors, one at the street level, then a tall staircase and another door at the top. I was usually careful to lock them both when I left. But when the upstairs door was open, I figured I’d forgotten. Until I saw him. There was a good reason why the door was opened.

  Joe.

  I didn’t know how he’d gotten in.

  Joe sat in the near dark, just the light over the stove on. He was on the sofa, one arm thrown over the back of it, his eyes on me.

  I froze physically and verbally, until I finally found some words after a long moment of looking at the man I used to love and knowing, in that moment, that the love had absolutely shriveled to nothing.

  “You can’t be here.” I croaked that out, despite feeling like broken glass was stuck in my throat.

  How did he get in? How’d he know I was here, and that Phil wasn’t?

  I always went to dinner on Sundays at my parents. So, that wasn’t hard to deduce. But did he know Phil was out of town?

  “I needed to see you. It’s so good to see you.”

  “You’re not legally allowed to see me.” I opened the door wider and signaled down the staircase, fighting against visibly trembling. “Go now and I won’t call the cops on you.” I felt my body seize, remembering what’d happened the last time I threatened to call the cops on him.

  So much for fighting off the trembling…

  “Pippa,” Joe said with a pleading look. I saw flashes of that night, of the rage, the spit gathered in the corner of his mouth as he screamed the word cunt at me, the flash of the tread of his construction boot as it came at me. “We need to talk.”

  I flicked the big light on.

  He looked sober. He looked together, I guess. His dark hair had been trimmed, he was clean shaven, in jeans and a black t-shirt. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and he was pale, and maybe even a bit gaunt in the face, like he’d lost weight.

  “I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, baby.” His face looked about ready to crumble.

  “You have to go.”

  “Please sit down and let’s talk this out.” He had tears in his eyes. I’d never seen him with tears in his eyes before. Even last time when he’d pleaded repeatedly for me to take him back.

  “No,” I rasped.

  “I love---”

  “No!” That wasn’t a rasp. That time, it was shouted. I grabbed my phone from my jacket pocket and started scrolling until I got to Jenna’s name. I hit call and put the phone to my ear. “Don’t you ever say those words to me. Never!”

  “Who you calling?” he straightened up as he asked this, eyes looking alert.

  It went straight to Jenna’s voicemail. I was going to ask her to send Rider over here.

  “You go now, or I call 9-1-1!” I shouted and disconnected the call before the voicemail finished playing the greeting.

  Ella had sent me Deacon’s number the other day. And other numbers of members. The numbers were still in the text string; I hadn’t saved them yet.

  “I just wanna talk to you,” Joe tried to reason, looking defeated, not looking like he wanted to inflict bodily harm on me. He was sitting there, non-threatening. Not trying to intimidate me, but that didn’t matter to me.

  “Been clean for thir
ty-two days, Pippa. I’ll never touch booze, drugs, none of it again. Swear. Never hurt you again.”

  “Good. Please go.” I scrolled through the text string and got ready to hit the hot link on the screen to dial Deacon’s number, though she’d sent me Spencer’s number first.

  “They showed me the pictures. What I did to you.” His face dropped, and his shoulders shook. He was crying. “Last time, I didn’t remember. You knew I’d blacked out that first time, was sorry, but had no idea what I’d done. This time? I remember. And I saw the pictures of your face, your side. Your hands and knees. I’m in hell. I’ve been in hell thinking about what I did to y---"

  “Go!” I screeched. “Go, so you don’t have to keep me in that same hell!”

  He took a big breath. “Can you just sit down and let me---”

  “Ooooouuuut!” I shrieked.

  “I just wanna talk to you. I just want to explain where I’m at and how I’ll never, ever…” He stood up and took one step in my direction.

  I didn’t wait for him to finish or get any closer. I bolted. I ran down the stairs as fast as I could, and I was out of there. I didn’t even shut the bottom door. I got to my car and started it up and fishtailed out of the parking spot beside the building.

  I drove. I didn’t drive to my parents. Too close and maybe he’d follow. I drove to Jenna’s place. Joe knew Rider lived there and I hoped he would not dream of approaching me there where I’d have help from an angry-on-my-behalf biker.

  ***

  I was parked in back and saw that they weren’t home. Jenna’s car was gone. Rider’s car and motorcycle were also gone. I’d knocked on the door just in case, but there was no answer. Shit. I could’ve gone into the ivy on the trellis to nab the spare key that was tucked into a notch in the wood, I guess. (Jenna and Rider also had an alarm system and I knew the code) But stayed in my car and tried to think. I didn’t want to drive to my parents. I didn’t want to scare them.

  I put my forehead on my steering wheel and tried to decide what to do. I didn’t want to be by myself. I wondered how I could finagle a sleepover at my parents’ place without clueing them into what’d just happened.

  A motorcycle pulled in. Shit. I knew it’d be Spencer before he took his black helmet off his head, because it had to be, with my luck. I twisted the key to start my car back up.

  There was a rap on the window.

  I hit the button to make the window go down.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, breathless.

  “Stopped by to grab something from the shed.”

  “They’re not home,” I told him. I was all jittery. He looked strangely at me.

  “Know that. They ran to Sioux Falls this morning. What’s up? Ain’t it way past bedtime for you?”

  Shit. I forgot. She told me she was taking Monday off and that she’d be off today to Sioux Falls with Rider. I’d heard her and Jojo saying something at the bar about Jojo going, too. They were going to spread the ashes for Rider’s friend that had died, the first casualty of the Wyld Jackals feud a few months back. Jojo had secretly dated the guy and the three of them were driving to Sioux Falls together to spread his ashes at a look-out point that was sentimental to all of them.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “I forgot.”

  “What’re you doin’ here so late?” His smile had faded and now he was looking at me like he knew something was wrong.

  I was a notorious early-to-bed / early-to-rise gal. Everyone knew it.

  “I…” I winced. “Joe was at my brother’s apartment when I got home and he…”

  Spencer’s eyes went wide. “What the fuck?”

  “He didn’t hurt me. He tried to talk to me. I refused to do that, and he wouldn’t leave, so I left.”

  “Why didn’t you call the fuckin’ cops?” he roared as he ripped his phone out of his pocket and was talking into it before I could answer.

  Maybe I should’ve called the cops. Or I should’ve driven directly to the police station. What I probably shouldn’t have done was tell Spencer Valentine. Shit.

  “Jess. Where are you? Reardon’s in Pippa’s apartment. Yeah, above the flower shop on 6th. Get the boys. Ride out. Surround the place n’ call me back and lemme know if he’s still there.” He ended the call.

  “Jesse’s a few blocks from there. C’mon,” he said.

  “He’s probably gone already. Come on and what?”

  He shoved his hand in through my opened window and yanked the button to unlock the door and opened my door.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Clubhouse. Grab your bag.”

  “He probably left already.”

  “In case he didn’t, the boys’ll check it out.”

  He grabbed my hand, giving a tug so I had to get out. He hit the button to close the window and then pulled the keys out of the ignition, still holding my hand. Before I knew it, he was pulling me toward Jenna’s back stairs, hitting the button to lock my car.

  He unlocked and opened the shed. Rider had put it in just recently. They were going to start building a garage soon, so Rider could store his bikes and do building for his and Spencer’s custom bikes, but this had been put up to house some of their motorcycle stuff. Spencer reached in and grabbed a small toolbox. He also grabbed another motorcycle helmet that was hanging from a hook, then slammed the door and locked up.

  “Let’s go,” he said, stuffing the box into a leather pouch that hung off the side of his bike.

  His phone made a noise and he answered it.

  “Yeah? Yep. Good. Good, all right. I’m gettin’ her relaxed ‘n safe and then I’ll be there. Don’t let him leave.”

  What?

  “Spencer?”

  “C’mon, baby.” He put the helmet on my head and fastened it.

  I chewed my lip while he did that. He put his own on and got on the bike. “Climb on.”

  Ho boy.

  Putting my arms around his middle on the back of his motorcycle? I couldn’t even articulate how it made me feel. I’d been on bikes before. My brother drove a Kawasaki when he was 18. I’d heard Jenna and Ella go on about how great it felt to be on the back of a bike, arms wrapped around your guy. I didn’t ever think I’d have that. Joe wasn’t a motorcycle guy. He was a sports car guy. This kind of thinking I was having was dangerous thinking.

  My legs trembled, so did my hands.

  ***

  We were pulling up to Deke’s Roadhouse and then we were off his black Harley. He walked me up the side staircase, hand on my lower back, and hit buttons on a keypad to unlock the door at the top of the stairs.

  I’d never been in here before. Not before it was set on fire and now it was all brand-new. The bar downstairs looked much like it did before the fire. Like a dive bar. Up here, it was all stylish and modern.

  We entered and were in a big open room filled with couches, pool and foosball tables in the middle. One wall was all bar… a stocked bar with their catch phrase, “Death before Enslavement” and their signature eagle on a motorcycle emblem. The lights were on, but the room was empty of people. Everything was new and despite the scent of beer and smoke, I could still smell fresh paint. It had only been a little while that they’d been back here after the rebuild. I didn’t know what they’d use the space for after their clubhouse was built, but it looked great.

  He led me through a big cluttered industrial-like kitchen with a giant wood farm table in the middle, the scent of bacon hung in the air. That room led to a long hallway that had at least ten doors on each side, a fire exit at the other end, and I could see it turned a corner on the end. That fire exit was new, I’d heard about it being added after Deke, Rider, and Spencer had been trapped when the Wyld Jackals had tried to burn the place down. The third door down, Spence unlocked with a key.

  “One sec,” he said, and he banged on the door directly across the hall from it.

  In less than a minute, while I peered into the ope
ned door, Scott opened the opposite door and appeared in the doorway, looking sleepy, in just a pair of boxers.

  “Yo.” He rubbed his eyes.

  “Sit out there,” Spence pointed toward the way we’d come in. “Pippa stays in here until I get back. Got me? Watch. Get your phone.”

  “Yeah, man. What’s happening?”

  “Her ex is at her place. Surrounded. Bronto, Jess, Pudge, and Deacon are all there or on the way.”

  “Shit.” Scott looked more alert.

  “Yeah. Be back.” He turned to me. I was standing in the doorway of the room he’d unlocked and opened, but hadn’t turned lights on for yet.

  “You stay here. I’ll be back.”

  “Spence---” I tried.

  “Stay in here.” He stepped toward me, making me take a step backwards. He reached in, flicked a light on, and then shut the door between us.

  I was standing there, dumbfounded, staring at the tangle of jackets and stuff hanging off the back of his door. What the heck?

  No maybe about it. I should’ve called the cops instead. Shit.

  Maybe I should call Deacon. I sat on the edge of an unmade double bed, ignoring the big upholstered chair beside it, because it was covered in clothes.

  I went to Ella’s text string and Deacon’s contact info and tried him first.

  No answer. Shit.

  I called Bronto. It rang four times and went to voicemail.

  Should I call the police?

  No. Deacon would keep things level-headed. At least Deacon was there. Okay. Right. Okay. I could calm down.

  Maybe Joe already left and went back home.

  I looked around. The room was small and cluttered. Big honey-wood armoire with a TV on top. PlayStation. Xbox.

  Motorcycle posters on the wall and a poster of Bam Margera with an airborne skateboard in a big bowl-shaped dome.

  There was a rack on the wall with three skateboards. Two of them looked well-used. They all had fancy paint jobs, but they weren’t for show. Those paintjobs were definitely marred by use. The third one, the pristine one, had a vivid galaxy pattern of purple, pink, white, and blue.

  On the floor in a tangle of shoes and motorcycle boots sat the biggest laptop I’d ever seen. It had an alien head logo on top of it. Gaming computer. My little cousin has one of those.