Page 128 of Kings Don't Break
“Baby,” Mama says with a sigh that’s somehow both exasperated and playful. “When are you going to call it quits and get your butt over here? I’m all dressed up and ready to go!”
I laugh. “Mama, a little patience would be nice.”
“Patience? Who’s got time for patience? I ain’t getting any younger!”
“What are you talking about? You’re a hot young thing, Mama.”
“You’re right. I do still got it, don’t I?”
We hang up after trading more banter and the laughs that follow suit. I snatch my keys off the desk and head out to the parking lot, hopping into my 2001 Jeep Wrangler. It’s brick red and topless, with large wheels I fitted on myself—I worked on much of the vehicle when I saved up enough to purchase it off a used car lot.
It might be almost as old as I am, but it runs like a dream. Leaps and bounds better than my bumbling little Geo.
I drive across town with the late afternoon wind tousling my short hair and my huge sunglasses on.
Some would say it’s silly that I feel so alive during simple drives like this. That I relish every second of them as I speed down the long rural road. But for me, it’s a sense of freedom I can’t begin to put into words. It’s the open road up ahead and the fresh air brushing my skin. It’s the knowledge that I answer to no one.
Only myself.
After spending most of my adult life under the thumb of a man who expected me to bow down to him at every turn, it’s like I’m experiencing what it’s like to live for the first time. Be my own woman and own person. Decide for myself what I want to make of my life and how I want to shape my future.
No more am I the meek little wife that catered to Ken’s every whim. I got so used to suppressing myself, making myself small, dimming my shine, that I wasn’t a living, breathing human being anymore. I was an empty shell of a woman.
Amazing what starting over can do. In a matter of a few months I’ve become someone else entirely. I’ve regained confidence I haven’t had since freshman year in college… before I met Ken. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.
Self-assured and unshakable.
Therapy has helped. I found one in Portales that specializes in helping domestic violence survivors start over. I visit her twice a month in person and meet with her another two times a month via cam appointments. She’s helped me develop my new perspective.
So have friends and family. Mama has been there at my side every step of the way as we’ve begun again as a united team. The MC helped us buy her better quality health insurance, even a part-time home nurse that comes several times a week to ensure Mama’s taken care of.
Her condition’s more or less remained the same, but the doctors say it’s still something to be grateful for. She’s fighting like hell against things like early onset Alzheimer’s and diabetes and a host of other complications she has. Keeping her to a set routine day after day has helped tremendously. So has keeping her surrounded by love. No more tears whenever she has an accident. Just reassurance it’s okay and we love her more than she knows.
Sydney and I have become close friends. It started out as a forced friendship due to my relationship with Blake and hers with Mason, but the two us have developed a bond that stands on its own. We regularly have lunch at the saloon when she’s taking a break from running the club’s community relations and I’m taking time away from the Chop Shop. Mason’s joked that we’ve become even closer than he is to Blake.
As one of my first real female friends, I’m more than a little protective of our friendship. If Sydney and I have made plans for a lady’s night or mani-pedi afternoon, then there’s nothing and nobody that’s going to impede our time. It helps that Mama’s taken a liking to her too, which means sometimes the three of us go on our own female adventures outside of the club.
My life has never seemed so full of hope and promise. Every moment I treasure as I spend time on the road in my Jeep and reflect on the past six months.
Two days ago, my divorce with Ken was finalized. I didn’t fight him for a dime, even though my divorce attorney felt I could’ve squeezed some spousal support out of him. Ken has his own problems he has to answer for—an anonymous source sent the Pulsboro PD the body camera footage of the night he arrested Blake (Stein’s insider on the force if you ask me).
A thorough police investigation was launched, and Ken was arrested for misconduct. What started out as deep dive into the arrest that night then revealed a history of illegal activity and wrongful actions on his part. He’s currently in custody awaiting trial, trying to sell the house so he can pay the five hundred thousand dollar bond that’s been placed on him. Word is, he’ll be lucky not to serve some prison time.
If I didn’t believe in karma before, I damn sure believe in it now.
His absence from my life has made living in Pulsboro that much sweeter.
I’m so lost in my thoughts of reflection that I barely notice I’ve turned on the street I’ve been headed toward. I brake outside the community center where the latest Alcoholics Anonymous meeting has just let out.
The doors have flown open and a handful of people pour out. Each goes in a different direction. Blake emerges, a slight grin canting onto his face at the sight of me. He starts toward my Jeep, his golden brown hair caught in a gust of wind.
My heart goes still. My guy’s so damn sexy sometimes it makes me forget to breathe. It’s impossible to pin it down to one trait of his. More like it’s everything of his—from the swagger in his walk to the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life landing on me and sending a shiver up my spine. His handsome, perfect face lights up with the grin he flashes. Both permanently flirtatious and amused but also with a hint of affection reserved just for me.
His body’s toned muscle is shown off in a simple white t-shirt and torn jeans, and I’m certain any woman in town would blush at the idea of being in his bed. Blake Cash is just that damn sexy and irresistible. As Mama teasingly says, a real panty-dropper kind of man.
He finally reaches my Jeep and leans against the door, ducking his head into the window. “Hey,” he says. “You look familiar.”
I smile. “Weird, because so do you. Hop in.”
